The Talisman Ring (14 page)

‘You are too harsh, my dear Tristram,’ said the Beau. ‘But we know how kind-hearted you are under your – er – severity.’

‘Indeed!’ said Shield, looking most forbidding.

‘Yes, yes, I have heard all about Eustacie’s smuggler, and how you helped to protect him from the riding-officers. I have been much moved. A – a connection of Sylvester, I believe?’

Sir Tristram replied coolly: ‘Just so. I thought there would be less noise made over the affair if he were allowed to escape.’

‘I expect you were right, my dear fellow. How quick of you to recognize one of Sylvester’s – ah, I must not offend Eustacie’s sensibilities again! – one of Sylvester’s relations.’

Sir Tristram was not in the least put out by this. He said: ‘Oh, I knew him at once! So would you have done. You remember Jem Sunning, don’t you?’

‘Jem Sunning!’ There was just the faintest suggestion of chagrin in the Beau’s voice. ‘Is that who it was? I thought he went to America.’

‘So did I. Apparently he found free-trading more to his taste, however. Eustacie, if you are ready to return to Hand Cross, I shall do myself the honour of escorting your carriage.’

Bearing in mind her avowed dislike of him, Eustacie thought it proper to demur at this suggestion, and some time was wasted in argument. Miss Thane enacted the rôle of peacemaker, and finally the whole party took their leave of the Beau, and set off for Hand Cross.

When he had handed the ladies into their chaise, and seen it drive off with Sir Tristram riding beside it, the Beau walked slowly back to the house, and made his way to the library. His face wore an expression of pensive abstraction, and he did not immediately occupy himself in any way. He wandered instead to the window and looked out over the neat beds of his formal garden. His gaze seemed to question the clipped hedges; his eyebrows were a little raised; his hand went as though unconsciously to his quizzing-glass, and began to play with it, sliding it up and down the silk ribbon that was knotted through the chased ring at the end of the shaft. At this idle employment he was found a few minutes later by his valet, a discreet, colourless person of self effacing manners and unequalled skill in all details concerning a gentleman’s toilet. He came into the room with his usual hushed tread, and laid a folded journal on the table with a finicking care that seemed to indicate the handling of some precious and brittle object.

The Beau, recognizing these stealthy sounds, spoke without turning his head. ‘Ah, Gregg! That riding-officer.’

The valet folded his hands meekly and stood with slightly bowed head. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘He described mademoiselle’s groom to you, I think?’

‘Imperfectly, sir. He was struck by a resemblance to the late lord, but I could not discover that this lay in anything but the nose.’ He coughed, and added apologetically: ‘That may be seen in Sussex – occasionally, sir.’

The Beau made no response. Gregg waited, his eyes lowered. After a short interval the Beau said slowly: ‘A young man, I think?’

‘I was informed so, sir.’

The Beau bit the rim of his quizzing-glass meditatively. ‘How old by your reckoning would Jem Sunning be at this present?’

The valet’s eyes lifted, and for a moment stared in surprise at the back of his master’s powdered head. He replied after a moment’s reflection: ‘I regret, sir, I am unable to answer with any degree of certainty. I should suppose him to be somewhere in the region of one- or two-and-thirty.’

‘My memory is very imperfect,’ sighed the Beau, ‘but I think he was always used to be dark, was he not?’

‘Yes, sir.’ The valet gave another of his deprecating coughs. ‘It is generally said amongst the country people, sir, that my lord gave his own colouring to his descendants.’

‘Yes,’ agreed the Beau. ‘Yes, I have heard that. In fact, I think I can call only one exception to mind.’ He turned, and came away from the window to stand in front of the fire. ‘I cannot but feel that it would be interesting to know whether mademoiselle’s groom conformed to the rule – or not.’

‘The riding-officer, sir,’ said Gregg, in an expressionless voice, ‘spoke of a fair young man.’

‘Ah!’ said the Beau gently. ‘A fair young man! Well, that is very odd, to be sure.’

‘Yes, sir. A trifle unusual, I believe.’

The Beau’s gaze dwelled thoughtfully upon a portrait hanging on the opposite wall. ‘I think, Gregg, that we sometimes purchase our brandy from Joseph Nye?’

‘We have very often done so, sir.’

‘We will purchase some more,’ said the Beau, polishing his eye-glass on his sleeve. ‘Attend to it, Gregg.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘That is all,’ said the Beau.

The valet bowed and walked towards the door. As he reached it the Beau said softly: ‘I should not like you to display any vulgar curiosity at the Red Lion, Gregg.’

‘No, sir. You may rely on me.’

‘Oh, I do, Gregg, I do!’ said the Beau, and picking up the journal from the table, sat down with it in a winged armchair by the fire.

The valet lingered for a moment. ‘If I may venture to say something, sir?’ he suggested meekly.

‘By all means, Gregg.’

‘The lady who accompanied Sir Tristram into this room, sir. I understand she was desirous of inspecting the panelling?’

The Beau raised his eyes from the journal. ‘Well?’

‘Just so, sir. It would, of course, explain conduct which seemed to Thomson and myself a trifle odd. I beg pardon, I’m sure.’

‘In what way odd?’

‘Well, sir, it appeared to Thomson and myself that Sir Tristram and the lady were inspecting the woodwork very closely,’ said the valet. ‘The lady went so far as to stand upon a chair to inspect the frieze, and Sir Tristram, when I entered the room, seemed to me (but I might be mistaken) to be sounding the lower panels.’

The Beau lowered the journal. ‘Did he?’ he said slowly. ‘Did he, indeed? Well, well!’

Gregg bowed himself out. It was a few minutes before the Beau picked up his journal again. His eyes stared across the room at a certain portion of the wainscoting; and there was for once no trace of a smile upon his thin lips.

Meanwhile Miss Thane, seated beside Eustacie in the chaise, had nothing to report but failure. She said that her fingers were sore from pulling and pressing wooden bosses, and that her nervous system was shattered for ever. No fewer than three interruptions had occurred during the short time she and Sir Tristram had had at their disposal. First had come the housekeeper with a bowl of flowers to set upon the table and a tongue only too ready to wag. She had hardly been got rid of when the door opened again, this time to admit the butler, who had come in to make up the fire. ‘And what he must have thought, I dare not imagine!’ said Miss Thane. ‘I was standing upon a chair at that precise moment, trying to move a wooden pear well above my reach.’

Eustacie gave a giggle. ‘What did you do?’

‘Most unfortunately,’ said Miss Thane, ‘my back was turned to the door, and I had not heard it open. I am bound to confess, however, that your cousin Tristram showed great presence of mind, for he immediately told me to look closely at the carving, and to observe most particularly the top chamfer of the cross-rail.’

‘One must admit that Tristram is not stupid,’ said Eustacie fair-mindedly.

‘No,’ agreed Miss Thane, casting a glance out of the window at the straight figure riding beside the chaise, ‘not stupid, but (I am sorry to say) both autocratic and dictatorial. His remarks to me once the butler had left the room were quite unappreciative and not a little unfeeling, while his way of handing me down from the chair left much to be desired.’

‘He does not like females,’ explained Eustacie.

Miss Thane’s eyes returned to the contemplation of Sir Tristram’s stern profile. ‘Ah!’ she said. ‘That would account for it, of course. Well, we did what we could to make my standing upon a chair seem a natural proceeding – but I don’t doubt the butler thinks us a pair of lunatics – being once more alone, and Sir Tristram having spoken his mind to me on the subject of female folly, we returned to our search. It affords me some satisfaction to reflect that it was Sir Tristram, and not I, who was engaged in sounding the panels when a most odiously soft-footed individual stole in to place a snuff-jar upon the desk. At least, it afforded me the opportunity to show that I, too, have some presence of mind. I begged your cousin to admire the spear-head finish.’

‘I think that you are very clever!’ said Eustacie approvingly. ‘I should not have known that there was a – a spear-head finish.’

‘There wasn’t,’ said Miss Thane. ‘In fact, the mere mention of a spear-head finish in connection with those panels was a solecism which caused a spasm to cross Sir Tristram’s features. When the snuff-bearer had taken himself off he was obliging enough to inform me that before he accompanied me on another such search he would give me a few simple lessons in what to look for in wood-panelling of that particular kind. By that time I had undergone so many frights that my spirit was quite in abeyance, and I not only thanked him meekly, but I even acquiesced in his decision to abandon the quest. Yes, I know it was wretchedly weak of me,’ she added, in answer to a look of reproach from Eustacie, ‘but to tell you the truth, I think the task is well-nigh hopeless. Ludovic must remember more precisely where the panel is.’

‘But you know very well that he cannot!’

‘Then he must go and look for it himself,’ said Miss Thane firmly.

Eustacie was inclined to be indignant, but the chaise had by this time drawn up outside the Red Lion, and she was forced to postpone her recriminations until a more convenient occasion. Shield, dismounting lightly from his horse, himself opened the door and let down the steps for the ladies to descend. Having handed them out of the chaise, he gave his horse into the charge of one of the ostlers and followed them into the inn. Here they were met by Nye, who informed them in the voice of one who had done his best to avert disaster but failed, that they would find Ludovic in Sir Hugh Thane’s room.

‘In my brother’s room?’ exclaimed Miss Thane. ‘What in the world is he doing there?’

‘He’s playing cards, ma’am,’ replied Nye grimly.

‘But how came he to go into my brother’s room at all?’ demanded Miss Thane. ‘We left him in bed!’

‘You did, ma’am, but you hadn’t been gone above five minutes before his lordship started ringing the bell for Clem. Nothing else would do for him but to get up and dress, and me not being by Clem helped him. That’s how it always was: what Mr Ludovic took it into his head to do, Clem would help him to, no matter what.’

Eustacie turned to her cousin. ‘You should not have brought his clothes!’

‘Nonsense!’ said Shield. ‘Ludovic must leave his bed sooner or later. He’ll take no hurt.’

‘That is all very well,’ said Miss Thane, ‘but even though he might get up, I can see no reason for him to go into Hugh’s room. I have a great value for Hugh, but I cannot feel that he is the man to keep a momentous secret. Nye, you should have intervened.’

Nye smiled somewhat wryly. ‘It’s plain you don’t know his lordship, ma’am. No sooner was he dressed than what must he do but walk out of his room just to see how his legs would carry him. While he was showing Clem how well he could manage, Sir Hugh (who’d been pulling his bell fit to break it, according to what he told me) put his head out of his room to shout for Clem. By what I can make out from Clem, Sir Hugh and Mr Ludovic got into conversation right away, Sir Hugh not seeming to be surprised at finding another gentleman in the house, and Mr Ludovic, of course, as friendly as you please. “Oh, are you Sir Hugh Thane?” he says. “My name’s Lavenham” – oh yes, ma’am, he came out with that quite brazen! That’s Mr Ludovic all over. “Well,” says Sir Hugh, “I can’t say I call your face to mind at the moment, but if you know me I’m devilish glad of it, for I’ve had more than enough of my own company. Do you play piquet?” Well, that was quite sufficient for Mr Ludovic, and before Clem rightly knew what was happening, he’d been sent off downstairs to fetch up a couple of packs of cards and a bottle of wine. By the time I was back in the house there was no doing anything, ma’am, for they was both in Sir Hugh’s room, as thick as thieves, as the saying is.’

The ladies looked at one another in consternation. ‘I had better go upstairs and see what is happening,’ said Miss Thane resignedly.

It was, however, just as Nye had described. Lord Lavenham and Sir Hugh Thane, both attired in dressing-gowns, were seated on opposite sides of a small table drawn close to the fire in Sir Hugh’s bed-chamber playing piquet. A glass of wine was at each gentleman’s elbow, and so absorbed were they in the game that neither paid the least heed to the opening of the door, or, in fact, became aware of Miss Thane’s presence until she stepped right up to the table. Sir Hugh glanced up then, and said in an abstracted voice: ‘Oh, there you are, Sally!’ and turned his attention to the cards again.

Miss Thane laid her hand on Ludovic’s shoulder to prevent his rising, but remarked significantly: ‘What if I had been the Beau, or an Exciseman?’

‘Oh, I’m well prepared!’ Ludovic assured her, and in the twinkling of an eye had whisked a small, silver-mounted pistol from his pocket.

‘Good God, I hope you don’t mean to fire on sight!’ said Miss Thane.

Sir Hugh put up his glass to look at the pistol. ‘That’s a nice little gun,’ he observed.

Ludovic handed it to him. ‘Yes, it’s one of Manton’s. I’ve a pair of his duelling-pistols, too – beautiful pieces of work!’

Sir Hugh subjected the pistol to a careful inspection. ‘Myself I don’t care for silver sights. Apt to dazzle the eye.’ He sighted along the pistol. ‘Nice balance, but too short in the barrel. No accuracy over twelve yards.’

Ludovic’s eye gleamed. ‘Do you think so? I’ll engage to culp a wafer at twenty!’

‘With this gun?’ said Sir Hugh incredulously.

‘With that gun.’

‘I’ll lay you a pony you don’t.’

‘Done!’ said Ludovic promptly.

‘And where,’ inquired Miss Thane, ‘do you propose to hold this contest?’

‘Oh, in the yard!’ said Ludovic, receiving the pistol back from Sir Hugh.

‘That, of course, will be very nice,’ said Miss Thane politely. ‘The ostlers will thus be able to see you. I forbid you to encourage him, Hugh. Let us admit that he is a crack shot, and be done with it.’