The first thing which met the Viscount’s eyes upon his return to his parent’s lodging was a neat oblong of pasteboard lying on the table in the hall. He glanced cursorily at this, and his temper was by no means improved by the discovery that it bore Sir Montagu Revesby’s name, in flowing copperplate characters. He passed on upstairs to — change his travelling dress for raiment more suited to his mother’s dinner-table. His sense of filial duty fell short, however, of the stockings and knee breeches which she was old-fashioned enough to consider de rigueur; he compromised with a pair of exquisitely fitting pantaloons, strapped tightly under his feet; and one of Stultz’s best coats of superfine cloth. His parent, who seemed to be in excellent spirits, welcomed him into the dining-room with a fond smile, and, when he offered a curt apology for his tardiness, said that it did not signify. He took his place at the end of the table, saying disagreeably, as he did so: “I saw that that fellow has wasted no time in calling upon you, Bella!”
“If you mean Sir Montagu,” returned Miss Milborne composedly, “he was so obliging as to wait on us to discover if there were any service he could render us. We are already indebted to him for the flowers we found awaiting us.”
“Yes, indeed!” agreed Lady Sheringham. “Such a delightful man! His air so distinguished: everything about him proclaiming the gentleman! I am sure he said everything that was kind and civil, and only fancy, Anthony, he was able to give me some excellent advice about the treatment I should seek! It seems that there is a Dr Wilkinson, who has lately acquired the Abbey Baths, who Sir Montagu thinks would do me a great deal of good. The Baths are private, you know, and it seems that this Dr Wilkinson has a most interesting scheme in mind for the erection of a Pump Room in Abbey Street, where one may be able to drink four different waters! Conceive of it! Then, too, the doctor is a great advocate for the Russian method of Vapour Baths, which I had not before heard of, but which I am sure would benefit me excessively. I do not know when I have been so pleased with anyone! Sir Montagu spoke, too, of you, with the most flattering degree of affection, dear Anthony.”
“I’ll thank him to keep his affection for those who may value it!” replied his lordship unequivocally. It was apparent to him that Sir Montagu had not been slow to sum Lady Sheringham up, and had spared no pains to ingratiate himself with her. The idea of Revesby’s having the effrontery to come to a house where he was known to be lodging gave him a passing twinge of annoyance, but as he had a far greater cause for annoyance weighing upon him, he did not waste more than a moment or two’s thought upon it. He noticed that Miss Milborne had quite recovered her composure, and was able to eat her dinner with a tolerably good appetite. He himself tasted and rejected various dishes, and bore little part in the discussion between the two ladies of plans for the immediate future. He did indeed wonder that Miss Milborne could so calmly talk of the several acquaintances she had at present sojourning in Bath, of taking out subscriptions to the Balls at the Assembly Rooms, of visiting the best circulating libraries, and of a dozen other such irrelevant trifles.
As soon as dinner was over, he excused himself from joining the ladies in the parlour, and demanded of the butler if his Tiger had returned from the errand on which he had despatched him.
Jason was waiting downstairs, and was at once sent for. He grinned cheerfully at his master and announced that Lord Wrotham, whom he described as a peevy cull, was putting up at the White Hart, in Stall Street. The Viscount then changed his footwear for a pair of gleaming Hessians, called for his hat, and his drab Benjamin, and left the house.
Chapter Twenty-Two
LORD WROTHAM HAD ARRIVED IN BATH A DAY ahead of Sherry, and had stayed only to remove the travel stains from his person at the White Hart before repairing to Upper Camden Place. He was out of luck, the day being Wednesday, and Lady Saltash and her young friend having gone to attend the weekly concert at the New Assembly Rooms. George was obliged to wait until the following morning before delivering his warning to Hero. He found her at home then, winding wool for her hostess, and as soon as he was announced, she flew up out of her chair, and ran forward to greet him, with both her hands held out, and such an expression of joy in her face that Lady Saltash raised her brows a trifle. But Lady Saltash was shrewd enough to perceive that the welcome bestowed on this handsome young blood was sisterly in its nature, and she condescended to allow George to kiss her gnarled hand, and lost no time in putting him in his place, by recalling under what circumstances she had last met his Mama, how she had been an intimate friend of one of his more formidable aunts, and what she had said to his father when that deceased gentleman had scandalized his well-wishers by mortgaging his estates. She ended by drawing a vivid word picture of himself at his christening, and in this masterly fashion contrived to make that dangerous and dashing blade feel much younger and less important than he had done for years.
“But, George, what brings you here?” asked Hero, smiling mischievously up at him. “It is not at all the sort of place for you! They do not allow hazard in the Rooms, you know, and nobody waltzes, so how will you go on?”
“I know: deuced slow place!” George agreed. “But I did not come for that! Kitten — Lady Sheringham, I mean” — he corrected himself, a guilty eye on Lady Saltash.
“No, no, don’t call me that! I am known as Miss Wantage here, but please call me Kitten! It seems so long since anyone did!” Hero said, a catch in her voice.
He pressed her hand in a very feeling manner. “But you are well? You are tolerably comfortable?”
“Yes, indeed! Dear Lady Saltash has been so kind! But you have not told me why you are here?”
“Kitten, it’s the deuce of a coil, and I did not know what you would wish me to do! Gil must needs go off to Melton, just when he was most wanted, and there was no sense in consulting Ferdy.”
“George, nothing has happened to Sherry?” Hero cried.
“No, nothing. But he is even now upon his way here!”
Such a light sprang to her eyes, such a vivid colour into her cheeks that if he could have brought Sherry into her presence there and then he would have done it. “To — find — me, George?” she faltered, looking beseechingly at him.
He was obliged to shake his head. There was a long silence. Hero broke it. “No. I quite see. But — but it seems very odd of Sherry to be coming here, if it is not for that, because he cannot bear Bath.”
“The thing is,” said George, roughly, to conceal his overflowing sympathy, “that the dowager has taken a fancy to drink the waters, and nothing would do for her but that Sherry must escort her. She brings Miss Milborne with her.”
“She brings — Oh!” Hero said numbly. “That is why Sherry — Yes, I see. It — it was very kind in you to come to warn me, dear George.”