Sherry, who had been standing transfixed by amazement, pulled himself together. “Yes, by God!” he said. “Here, Kitten, into the carriage! Can’t be dawdling here all night!”
But Hero had withdrawn her hand from his arm. “Oh, the poor creature!” she exclaimed pitifully, and ran down the remainder of the steps to the distracted girl.
“Now we are in the basket!” muttered Sherry. “Good God, Gil, what’s to be done? What a damned thing!”
“Think I’ll be going home, Sherry, dear old boy,” said Ferdy in a very cowardly manner. “Won’t be needing me!”
“No, Ferdy!” said Mr Ringwood firmly. “Can’t rat on Sherry. Devilish awkward situation!”
“You know what, Gil?” Ferdy confided in his ear. “Always said the fellow was a commoner! Proves it!”
“Well, I don’t like him: never did: but dash it, I’m deuced sorry for any fellow in a fix like this!” responded Mr Ringwood frankly.
“Yes, by God!” agreed Ferdy, struck most forcibly by this point of view.
Hero, meanwhile, had put her arm round the stranger. “Oh, pray do not — ! There, let me cover up the dear little baby! Don’t cry! Only tell me what it is, and indeed I will help you!”
“Kitten! No, really, Kitten! Dash it, you can’t — Not our affair!” expostulated Sherry.
For once she paid no heed to him; the girl was speaking in a panting voice. “Ask him if he dare deny his own child! Ask him if he did not promise me marriage! Ask him if I was not an honest maid when he saw me first? O God, what is to become of me?”
“No, Kitten, for heaven’s sake — !” said Sherry quickly, as Hero turned towards Revesby. “You can’t ask Monty — Why the devil don’t you do something, Monty, instead of standing there?”
“I beg Lady Sheringham will not allow herself to be imposed upon,” Revesby said, his voice a little strained. “The unfortunate female appears to be out of her senses. I recommend she should be escorted to the nearest Roundhouse.”
A moan from the girl made Hero clasp her more securely in her arms, and say indignantly: “How dare you? Have you no compassion for the poor soul? Is this dear little baby indeed yours?”
“His! his!” cried the girl. “Look, is she not like him?”
Ferdy, peering at the unconscious infant, said dubiously: “Queer thing, the way females can see a likeness in a baby. Well, what I mean is they don’t look like anything much. Remember thinking so when my sister Fairford’s eldest was born. She and my mother would have it it was the image of poor Fairford. Mind you, I’m not saying he isn’t a plain-looking fellow, Fairford, but — ”
“Oh, be quiet, Ferdy!” interrupted Sherry, quite exasperated. “Yes, I thought as much! Now we are beginning to attract a crowd! Ten to one, someone will be leaving Almack’s at any moment, too, and a pretty set of gudgeons we must look — For God’s sake, Monty, take the girl away!”
“My dear Sherry, I have already stated that I never set eyes on her before in my life. I must decline any responsibility in this affair. If you are wise, you will summon the Watch and have the wench removed.”
All this time the Sheringhams’ footman had been standing holding open the door of the barouche, apparently deaf and blind to what was going on. A couple of sedan chair bearers, who had lounged over from the opposite side of the street, now showed an inclination to take up the cudgels in defence of the deserted girl; the door of the Assembly Rooms opened and voices sounded. Revesby turned abruptly on his heel and strode off down the street. A despairing cry from the girl made Mr Ringwood shudder, and goaded Sherry into desperate action.
“Here, for the lord’s sake get into the carriage!” he said, pushing both women towards it.
“Yes, do pray come with me!” Hero said to her protégée. “The baby will take cold in this horrid, draughty street, and I promise we will look after you, won’t we, Sherry?”
“Yes. I mean — well, never mind that now!” replied her harassed husband. “Drive home, John!”
The coachman acknowledged this command with great stateliness; the door was shut on the two women; the footman jumped up behind; and the barouche moved forward, just as a party of ladies, with their attendant squires, began to descend the steps of Almack’s.
Ferdy was still staring at the spot where he had last seen Revesby. Mr Ringwood thrust a hand in his arm and drew him to walk with himself and the Viscount towards Half Moon Street.
“Never seen anything to beat it!” Ferdy said. “Fellow just walked off! Not a word to anyone! Ratted, by God! Bad, very bad!”
“You wanted to rat yourself,” Mr Ringwood reminded him.
“Devilish awkward start! Don’t know that I blame him.”
“No right to leave Sherry with the baby,” said Ferdy severely. “Not Sherry’s baby, dash it!”
“The girl’s mad!” Sherry said.
“No, she ain’t,” contradicted Mr Ringwood. “Dare say it is Revesby’s baby: wouldn’t be the first.”
“Well, damn it, man, what of it? Deuced unfortunate she should have run Monty to earth outside Almack’s, but no one ever supposed he was a saint!”
“Ferdy’s right,” said Mr Ringwood. “Fellow is a commoner! No business to leave the baby to starve. Easy enough to provide for it if it is his baby.”
“Girl seemed very certain of it,” offered Ferdy. “Said it was like him. Tell you what, Giclass="underline" take another look at the baby!”
“No use doing that. Fellow disowned it. Can’t force him to provide for it.”
“Dash it!” Sherry exclaimed. “If every bit of mus — ”
“Didn’t look to me like a bit of muslin, Sherry.”
“I don’t believe Monty — ”
“No, very likely you don’t,” said Mr Ringwood ruthlessly. “Fellow’s a damned rake, if you ask me.”
“Lord, who cares for that? Anyone would think — ”
“No one cares. Point is — ”
“Fellow has a perfect right to be a rake,” agreed Ferdy. “No harm in that. No right to leave the baby in the gutter. Bad ton.”
“That’s what I was going to say,” nodded Mr Ringwood. “Devilish bad ton!”
“It’s a damned coil!” Sherry said, frowning. “I wouldn’t have thought it of Monty! Dash it, there must be a mistake! Monty wouldn’t walk off like that if the wench had been one of his fancy pieces!”
“Looked devilish sick,” said Mr Ringwood dispassionately.
“Sick as a horse,” corroborated Ferdy. He added, after a moment’s reflection: “Would have myself. Dash it, middle of King Street! Everyone coming away from Almack’s! But I’ll tell you what, Giclass="underline" I wouldn’t have left Sherry with the baby. Not Sherry!” Struck by a sudden thought, he looked at his cousin. “What are you going to do with the baby, Sherry?”
“Damme, I’m not going to do anything with the baby!” replied Sherry indignantly. “It ain’t my affair!”
Mr Ringwood coughed discreetly. “Dear old fellow — Lady Sherry! What does she mean to do with it?”
“That’s it,” nodded Ferdy. “Seemed very taken with it.”
“She’ll do what I tell her,” answered Sherry shortly.
“Well, what are you going to tell her?” asked Mr Ringwood.
“I shall think of something,” said Sherry, with cold dignity.
Mr Ringwood began to think that there was more in Mr Fakenham’s desire to disassociate himself from these proceedings than he had at first perceived. He said tentatively: “Dare say you’d like us to leave you, dear boy. Delicate situation: won’t want guests!”
“Oh no, you don’t!” retorted his lordship.
“Just as you please, Sherry!” said Mr Ringwood. “Only thought you might prefer to be alone with Lady Sherry!”
“Well, I wouldn’t!” said his lordship bluntly.
They had arrived by this time at his house. They were admitted by Bradgate, who informed them that my lady had taken the young person upstairs to her bedchamber. His manner indicated that he accepted no responsibility for this, and washed his hands of whatever consequences might ensue. The Viscount told him to fetch the brandy to the drawing-room, and escorted his two friends up the one pair of stairs which led to his apartment. A fire burned in the grate, but the candles had not been lit. The Viscount thrust a taper into the fire and went round the room kindling the wicks, a heavy scowl marring his countenance. The canary hanging on the window embrasure awoke, apparently in some confusion of mind, and began to sing its morning hymn. The Viscount, with a few bitter animadversions on birds in general, and misguided friends in particular, cast a cloth over the cage and the song ceased abruptly. The butler shortly appeared with a tray, and said in accents of extreme repulsion that he understood that the young person would be spending the night in the spare bedroom. He then withdrew, and the Viscount exclaimed: “Well, that’s a nice thing! If it isn’t just like Kitten! Now what am I to do? I’m dashed if I’ll have Monty’s chere-amie in my spare bedroom!”