He shut the door, and advanced towards Henrietta, who had exclaimed thankfully: “Desford!”
“Hetta, my love!” he responded, smiling at her, and kissing her hand. He stood holding it in a warm clasp for a minute, as he said: “Had you despaired of me? I think you must have, and I do beg your pardon! I had hoped to have been with you before this.”
She returned the pressure of his fingers, and then drew her hand away, saying playfully: “Well, at all events, you’ve arrived in time to make the acquaintance of Cherry’s father, who isn’t dead, after all! You must allow me to make you known to each other: Mr Wilfred Steane, Lord Desford!”
The Viscount turned, and raised his quizzing-glass, and through it surveyed Mr Steane, not for very long, but with daunting effect. Henrietta was forced to bite her lip quite savagely to suppress the laughter that bubbled up in her. It was so very unlike Des to do anything so odiously top-lofty! “Oh,” he said. He bowed slightly. “I am happy to make your acquaintance, sir.”
“I would I might say the same!” returned Mr Steane. “Alas that we should meet, sir, under such unhappy circumstances!”
The Viscount looked surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lord Desford, I have much to say to you, but it would be better that I should speak privately to you!”
“Oh, I have, no secrets from Miss Silverdale!” said Desford.
“My respect for a lady’s delicate sensibilities has hitherto sealed my lips,” said Steane reprovingly. “Far be it from me to ask a question that might bring a blush to female cheeks! But I have such a question to put to you, my lord!”
“Then by all means do put it to me!” invited Desford. “Never mind Miss Silverdale’s sensibilities! I daresay they aren’t by half as delicate as you suppose—in fact, I’m quite sure they are not! You don’t wish to retire, do you, Hetta?”
“Certainly not! I have not the remotest intention of doing so, either. I cut my eye-teeth many years ago, Mr Steane, and if what you have already said to me failed to bring a blush to my cheeks it is not very likely that whatever you are about to say will succeed in doing so! Pray ask Lord Desford any question you choose!”
Mr Steane appeared to be grieved by this response, for he sighed, and shook his head, and murmured: “Modern manners! It was not so in my young days! But so be it! Lord Desford, are you betrothed to Miss Silverdale?”
“Well, I certainly hope I am!” replied the Viscount, turning his laughing eyes towards Henrietta. “But what in the world has that to say to anything? I might add—do forgive me!—what in the world has it to do with you, sir?”
Mr Steane was not really surprised. He had known from the moment Desford had entered the room, and had exchanged smiles with Henrietta, that a strong attachment existed between them. But he was much incensed, and said, far from urbanely: “Then I wonder at your shamelessness, sir, in luring my child away from the protection of her aunt’s home with false promises of marriage! As for your effrontery in bringing her to your affianced wife—”
“Don’t you think,” suggested the Viscount, “that foolhardiness would be a better word? Or shall we come down from these impassioned heights? I don’t know what you hope to achieve by mouthing such fustian rubbish, for I am persuaded you cannot possibly be so bacon-brained as to suppose that I am guilty of any of these crimes. The mere circumstance of my having placed Cherry in Miss Silverdale’s care must absolve me from the two other charges you have laid at my door, but if you wish me to deny them categorically I’ll willingly do so! So far from luring Cherry from Maplewood, when I found her trudging up to London I did my possible to persuade her to return to her aunt. I did not offer her marriage, or, perhaps I should add, a carte blanche! Finally, I brought her to Miss Silverdale because, for reasons which must be even better known to you than they are to me, my father would have taken strong exception to her presence under his roof!”
“Be that as it may,” said Mr Steane, struggling against the odds, “you cannot—if there is any truth in you, which I am much inclined to doubt!—deny that you have placed her in a very equivocal situation!”
“I can and do deny it!” replied the Viscount.
“A man of honour,” persisted Mr Steane, with the doggedness of despair, “would have restored her to her aunt!”
“That may be your notion of honour, but it isn’t mine,” said the Viscount. “To have forced her into my curricle, and then to have driven her back to a house where she had been so wretchedly unhappy that she fled from it, preferring to seek some means, however menial, of earning her bread to enduring any more unkindness from her aunt and her cousins, would have been an act of wicked cruelty! Moreover, I hadn’t a shadow of right to do it! She begged me to carry her to her grandfather’s house in London, hoping that he might allow her to remain there, and convinced that if he refused to do that he would at least house her until she had established herself in some suitable situation.”
“Well, if you thought he’d do any such thing, either you don’t know the old snudge, or you’re a gudgeon!” said Mr Steane. “And from what I can see of you it’s my belief you’re the slyest thing in nature! Up to every move on the board!”
“Oh, not quite that!” said Desford. “Only to your moves, Steane!”
“You remind me very much of your father,” said Mr Steane, eyeing him with considerable dislike.
“Thank you!” said Desford, bowing.
“Also that young cub of a brother of yours! Both of a hair! No respect for your seniors! A pair of stiff-rumped, bumptious bouncers! Don’t think you can put the change on me, Desford, trying to hoax me with your Banbury stories, because you can’t!”
“Oh, I shouldn’t dream of doing so!” instantly replied his lordship. “I never compete against experts!”
Henrietta said apologetically: “Pray forgive me, but are you not straying a little away from the point at issue? Whether Desford was a gudgeon to think that Lord Nettlecombe would receive Cherry, or whether he thought what any man must have thought, doesn’t seem to me to have any bearing on the case. He did drive her to London, only to find Lord Nettlecombe’s house shut up. He then brought her to me. What, Mr Steane, do you suggest he should rather have done?”
“Thrown in the close!” murmured the Viscount irrepressibly.
“I must decline to enter into argument with you, ma’am,” said Steane, with immense dignity. “I never argue with females. I will merely say that in accosting my daughter on the highway, coaxing her to climb into his curricle, and driving off with her his lordship behaved with great impropriety—if no worse! And since he abandoned her here—if she is here, which I gravely doubt!—what has he done to redress the injury her reputation has suffered at his hands? He would have me think that he sought my father out in the belief that he would take the child to his bosom—”
“Not a bit of it!” interrupted Desford. “I hoped I could shame him into making her an allowance, that’s all!”
“Well, if that’s what you hoped you must be a gudgeon!” said Mr Steane frankly. “Not that you did, of course! What you hoped was to be able to fob her off on to the old man, and you wouldn’t have cared if he’d offered to engage her as a cook-maid as long as you were rid of her!”
“Some such offer was made,” said Desford. “Not, indeed, by your father, but by your stepmother. I refused it.”
“Yes, it’s all very well to say that, but how should I know if you’re speaking the truth? All I know is that I return to England to find that my poor little girl has been tossed about amongst a set of unscrupulous persons, cast adrift in a harsh world—”