Six weeks after Hero’s disappearance, the Hobys came back to London. Sherry heard of their arrival, and grimly awaited the return of his wife. She did not come; but her cousin did — to call upon her. The Viscount received her, and ten minutes in her company were enough to convince him that she knew nothing of Hero’s whereabouts, had not the smallest notion of her being away from home, and had journeyed into Ireland for the purpose of attending her mother-in-law’s sickbed.
The Viscount’s brain reeled under the shock. Remorse, anxiety, and despair played havoc with him; and he seriously disquieted Bootle by spending the entire night in the back room, called his library, alternately striding up and down the floor and sitting with his head in his hands over the fire. He consumed a considerable quantity of liquor during this session, but he was not drunk when Bootle ventured to enter the room early the following morning; and this, the valet said darkly to Bradgate, was a very bad sign.
The Viscount looked at him unseeingly for a moment, and then passed a hand through his tumbled locks, and said curtly: “Send round to Stoke, and tell him I desire to see him immediately!”
Mr Stoke, when he arrived, was shocked by his patron’s haggard appearance. He listened in silence to the blunt story the Viscount related, and received, without visible discomposure, a command to set every possible means in motion to discover Lady Sheringham’s whereabouts. He asked the Viscount one or two searching questions, did his best to hide his own absence of hope, and went away promising to strain every nerve to find her ladyship.
The Viscount was still waiting for his man of business to justify his existence when the dowager arrived in London, and summoned him to visit her at Grillon’s Hotel, where she was putting up. He found her with Miss Milborne in her train, and learned from her that the unusually damp winter had so aggravated her numerous rheumatic disorders that nothing short of a visit to Bath was likely to be of benefit to her. Miss Milborne, too, she said, had been sickly for some weeks. So she had had the idea of inviting the sweet girl to accompany her to Bath, to try what the waters would do for her, and to fill the place of Mr Paulett, who was employed in making the Dower House habitable. She desired the Viscount to perform the filial duty of escorting them on their perilous journey.
The Viscount refused with wholly unfilial promptness. He said that nothing would prevail upon him to leave London; and that if his Mama thought herself in danger of being held up by highwaymen, she would find a couple of outriders of more practical use than himself. The dowager smiled wanly, rose up from her chair, saying that perhaps Someone Else would have the power to make him change his mind, and drifted out of the room, leaving him alone with Miss Milborne.
The Viscount stared at the shut door, and then at the Beauty, incredulity struggling with wrath in his countenance. “What the deuce — ?” he demanded explosively.
Miss Milborne got up and took his hand, saying with a good deal of feeling: “My poor Sherry, you look so wretchedly! Have you had no word from Hero?”
He shook his head. “Not one. I’ve set my man of business on to it. Told him to call in the Runners if need be, though God knows I don’t want — But what else can I do? And then my mother comes here teasing me to take her to Bath, of all places! And let me tell you, Bella, that while I have no wish to offend you, if her ladyship meant that you have the power to persuade me into going, she was never more mistaken in her life!”
She smiled. “Indeed, I know it! You never cared a button for me, Sherry. I believe it must always have been Hero, though perhaps you did not know it until you lost her.”
He stood looking down at her. “You said something of the sort the day I offered for you, and I told you Severn would never come up to scratch. We’re an unlucky pair, ain’t we?”
She withdrew her hand, flushing. “Sherry, you have known me since we were children, and if you are to believe that I am wearing the willow for Severn, I cannot bear it! Oh, I don’t deny I was flattered by his making me the object of his attention! and, yes, perhaps I did a little like the notion of being a duchess! But when I thought how it would be to be married to him, to be obliged to live with him for the rest of my life — oh, I could not!”
“What, you don’t mean that he really did come up to scratch, and you refused him?” he exclaimed.
She nodded. “Yes, I could not prevent him. My going to Severn Towers at Christmas was fatal! But do not speak of this, Sherry, if you please! It would be so unbecoming in me to boast of having made such a conquest, and Severn would very much dislike to have it known!”
“Well, by God!” said Sherry, quite thunderstruck.
She tried to smile. “How odious you are! You may imagine how deeply I am in disgrace with Mama. The only person, except poor Papa, who has been kind is your mother, and that is in part why I am going with her to Bath. To be open with you, Sherry, I believe she has taken a foolish notion into her head that you may divorce poor little Hero, and end by marrying me after all.”
“Well, I shan’t,” said his lordship, with an entire absence of gallantry.
“Don’t flatter yourself I would accept you!” retorted Miss Milborne. “I care no more for you than I cared for Severn! Well, yes, perhaps a little more, but not very much!”
“I wish I knew who it is you do care for!” said Sherry.
She turned her face away. “I had thought you did know. If you do not, I am glad.”
“George?” Then, as she made no answer, he said: “Of all the stupid coils! George took such a pet over you that there’s no doing a thing with him these days. Riding as hard as he can to the devil. You’d best stay in London, Bella!”
“No,” she replied. “I should not dream of doing so. George may think me what he wills: I shall go to Bath with Lady Sheringham.”
“Don’t you! It’s a rubbishing place: can’t stand it myself!” He stopped abruptly, his brows snapping together, his eyes holding an arrested expression. “Bath! When was I talking of the place last? Said I should be obliged to go there if — Great God, why did I never think of that before? Bath — school — governess! That’s what she’s done, the little fool, the little wretch! My Kitten! Some damned Queen’s Square seminary, you may lay your life, and very likely turned into a drudge for a parcel of — Tell my mother I’ll escort her to Bath with the greatest pleasure on earth, but she must be ready to start tomorrow!”
“Sherry!” she gasped. “You think Hero may be there?”
“Think! I’m sure of it! If I weren’t a rattle-pated gudgeon I should have thought of it weeks ago! Tell you what, Bella, if we mean to keep my mother in a good humour, we’d best say nothing about this. Let her suppose you persuaded me: it don’t make a ha’porth of odds to me, but she can be deuced unpleasant if things don’t go the way she wants, and if you’re to be cooped up in a coach with her for two days — for she’ll never consent to do the journey in one! — you’ll get a trifle tired of the vapours!”