“Now, that,” said Sir Horace fair-mindedly, “was wrong of her! In fact, I’m surprised to hear of her behaving so improperly, for it is not at all like her. What should have got into her to make her do such a thing?”
“Merely her damnable desire to pick a quarrel with me!” said Mr. Rivenhall bitterly. “I see it all now, clearly enough, and if she is not careful she will find she had succeeded better than she bargained for!”
“I am afraid, my boy,” said his uncle, an irrepressible twinkle in his eye, “that you do not like my little Sophy!”
“Your little Sophy, sir, has not allowed me — us! — one moment’s peace or comfort since she descended upon this house!” said Mr. Rivenhall roundly.
“Charles, you shall not say so!” cried his mother, flushing. “It is unjust! How can you — how can you, when you recall her goodness, her devotion — !” Her voice failed; she groped blindly for her handkerchief.
The color rose also to Mr. Rivenhall’s cheeks. “I do not forget that, ma’am. But this exploit — !”
“I cannot think where you can have had such a notion! It is untrue! Sophy went away because of the intemperate language you used toward her, and as for imagining that Charlbury was with her — ”
“I know he was with her!” he interrupted. “If I needed proof, I have it in this note she was so obliging as to leave for me! She makes no secret of it!”
“In that case,” said Sir Horace, refilling his glass, “she is certainly up to some mischief. Try this Madeira, my boy. I’ll say this for your father, he’s a capital judge of a wine!”
“But, Charles, this is terrible!” gasped Lady Ombersley. “Thank heaven I did not forbid Cecilia to go after her! Only think what a scandal! Oh, Horace, pray believe I had no suspicion!”
“Lord, I’m not blaming you, Elizabeth! I told you not to let Sophy worry you! Well able to take care of herself; always was!”
“I declare, Horace, you pass all bounds! Is it nothing to you that your daughter is in a fair way to ruining herself?”
“Ruining herself!” said Mr. Rivenhall contemptuously. “Do you indeed believe in such a fairy tale, ma’am? Have you lived with my cousin for six months without getting her measure? If that Spanish woman is not also at Lacy Manor at this moment I give you leave to call me a blockhead!”
“Oh, Charles, I pray you may be right!”
Sir Horace began to polish his eyeglass with considerable assiduity. “Sancia, eh? I was meaning to speak to you about her, Lizzie. Is she still at Merton?”
“Pray, where else should she be, Horace?”
“I just wondered,” he said, studying the result of his labors. “I daresay Sophy may have told you of my intentions in that direction.”
“Of course she did, and I paid her a visit, as I suppose you must have wished me to do! But I must say, my dear Horace, that I cannot conceive what should possess you to offer for her!”
“That’s the trouble,” he replied. “One gets carried away, Lizzie! And there’s no denying she’s a devilish fine woman. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised me to have heard she had someone else dangling after her. Pity I settled her out at Merton! But there it is! One does these things on the spur of the moment, and it is not until one has had leisure to reflect — However, I don’t mean to complain!”
“Plenty of beauties in Brazil, sir?” inquired his nephew sardonically.
“I don’t want any of your impudence, my boy,” said Sir Horace genially. “Fact of the matter is, I doubt if I’m a marrying man!”
“Well, if it’s any consolation to you,” said Mr. Rivenhall, “you may know that my cousin has been doing her possible to hold Talgarth off from the Marquesa!”
“Now, why the devil,” demanded Sir Horace, roused to irritability, “must Sophy meddle? Talgarth, eh? Didn’t know he was in England! Well, well! He has a great deal of address, has Vincent, and, what’s more, I’ll wager he has an eye to Sancia’s fortune!”
Lady Ombersley, quite affronted, broke in on this, exclaiming, “I think you are quite shameless! And what has all this to do with poor Sophy’s escapade? You sit there, as though you had no concern in her affairs, while all the time she is trying to ruin herself! And you may say what you choose, Charles, but if it is true that she has gone off with Charlbury, it is the most shocking thing imaginable, and she must be brought back at once!”
“She will be!” said Mr. Rivenhall. “Can you doubt it, when you have sent off Cecilia and Eugenia, in the highest style of romance, to rescue her, ma’am?”
“I did no such thing! I knew nothing of this, but naturally I would not let your sister go alone, so when she told me that Eugenia had been kind enough to offer to accompany her, what could I do but be grateful?” She paused, struck by an unexplained circumstance. “But how do you know that they went to rescue her, Charles? If Dassett is so lost to all sense of his position as to gossip to you — ”
“No such thing! I am indebted to Eugenia herself for my information! And I must take leave to say, ma’am, that if you and my sister had been so obliging as to have kept this news to yourselves, I might have been spared a damned impertinent letter from Eugenia! What can have possessed you to have confided such a tale to her is something I can never cease to marvel at! Good God, don’t you know that she will spread it all over town that my cousin has behaved outrageously?”
“But I did not!” almost wailed his mother. “Charles, I did not!”
“One of you must have done so!” he said impatiently. He turned to his uncle. “Well, sir, do you mean to remain there, commending my father’s taste in wine, or do you mean to accompany me to Ashtead?”
“Set off for Ashtead at this hour, when I have been traveling for two days?” said Sir Horace. “Now, do, my boy, have a little common sense! Why should I?”
“I imagine that your parental feeling, sir, must provide you with the answer! If it does not, so be it! I am leaving immediately!”
“What do you mean to do when you reach Lacy Manor?” asked Sir Horace, regarding him in some amusement.
“Wring Sophy’s neck!” said Mr. Rivenhall savagely.
“Well, you don’t need my help for that, my dear boy!” said Sir Horace, settling himself more comfortably in his chair.
Chapter 18
THE FIRST FEW minutes following the arrival of the Marquesa’s party from Merton were taken up with that lady’s . freely expressed complaints of the situation in which she found herself. The draught occasioned by the opening of the front door had caused the fire to belch forth fresh clouds of acrid smoke into the hall, and not all Mrs. Clavering’s distracted efforts had sufficed to make this apartment look other than neglected. Mrs. Clavering, much impressed by the richness of the Marquesa’s attire, stood bobbing curtsies to her; and the Marquesa, quite unimpressed by Mrs. Clavering, said, “Madre de Dios! If I had brought Gaston it might then have been supportable, and if my cook as well, better still! Why must I come to you in this house, Sophie? Why do you send for me so suddenly, and when it is raining, moreover? Su conducta es perversa?”
Sophy at once told her that she had been summoned to play a duenna’s part, an explanation which made an instant appeal to one in whose veins ran the purest Castilian blood. So well satisfied was the Marquesa that she quite forgot to inquire why Sophy had placed herself in a situation that required the attendance of any other duenna than her aunt, but said approvingly that Sophy had conducted herself with great propriety, and she grudged no fatigue in such a cause. After that, she became aware of Charlbury’s presence and with an effort of memory even recalled his name.
“Hallo, are you hurt?” Sir Vincent asked, nodding at his lordship’s arm sling. “How came that about?”