'But, Roger, you had my letter. And what I said in it I meant. How could I refrain from taking pity on her? 'Tis true that she was thoughtless in showing no consideration for my feelings, but not wicked. You must go back, forgive her and endeavour to put this whole wretched business out of your mind.'
'I'll be damned if I will. When I had to tell her yestere'en that I was going abroad again, I was mightily unhappy for her. But after what she has done to Susan, I am so no longer. I sail from Greenwich three days hence. Till then I'll stay with Droopy Ned.'
Georgina shook her head. 'I've long since learned 'tis useless to argue with you. And, sorry as I am for her, 'twill comfort me greatly to know that you are doing what you can to save my boy. But if you wish to avoid further wrangles with your wife, you had best not stay with Droopy. 'Tis the first place she will go to look for you. I suggest you should stay here.'
'I thank you, dear one, but I'll not do that. You're right that she will seek me at Droopy's. Failing to find me there, she will next come to you. She already suspects that there is more than friendship between us, and I am greatly averse to strengthening that impression, for both your sake and hers. I have it, though. The perfect hide-out. Your studio.'
'By all means. But I'll not go out there with you. To disport ourselves as we have so oft done there one needs a carefree mind.'
Roger sighed. 'Alas, you are right. Without it our bodies would take no real joy of one another.'
'You will find your chamber robe and toilet things in their usual place, and I'll send out a footman to valet you. Also, if you wish to lie low there, one of my under-chefs to cook your meals.'
'I thank you, but I'll not need the last, as I'll eat out. I would, though, that tomorrow morning, dressed in plain clothes so that it will not be known that he is one of your people, the footman should take a coach out to Richmond with a letter to old Dan, telling him what I require packed for my voyage, then return with my valises.'
After a by no means cheerful supper with Georgina, Roger rode out to Kensington, stabled and fed his horse, then undressed. He had never slept alone in her big bed and, as he was about to get into it, he was suddenly conscious of a feeling that to do so would be a sacrilege against their abiding love, so he spent the night in the room that buxom Jane occupied when her mistress was staying there.
In the morning the footman arrived with a supply of food, and cooked breakfast for him, then set off for Richmond with the list of things that Roger wished Dan to pack. By midday he was at White's and sent a note to Droopy, asking him to look in at the Club.
An hour later Droopy joined him. Georgina's guess had been right. Mary had arrived at ten o'clock, and poured out her woes to Judith, who was still trying to comfort her when Droopy came downstairs. Both he and Judith had quite truthfully assured her that they had no idea where Roger was, and offered to put her up until she had news of him. She had been grateful, but declined, saying that she would next try Kew House and that, if Roger was not there, would go home and stay there as—not knowing that he had had his things collected that morning— she felt sure he would return to get them before leaving England.
When Droopy had been told of the latest developments, he shook his head. 'I think you're wrong, Roger, to treat her so harshly. 'Tis true that by her impetuosity she has caused young Susan needless suffering; but remember that she knows nothing of this threat to Charles's life, only that he is a prisoner. It is natural that she should resent your leaving her, solely to save the boy from a few extra weeks' captivity.'
'How could I tell her of the vision, Ned? Had I done so, I would have had to admit to having been secretly with Georgina. That would have made them enemies for life, and might have wrecked our marriage for good. In any case, it would have meant that every time in the future that I spent a night away from her, there would have been a most awful rumpus; and that I will not have.'
'I take your point. Nonetheless, 'tis clear that what she did was done on account of the great love she bears you. I pray you think on that.'
'I will,' Roger promised. But as soon as Droopy had left him to keep an appointment, his thoughts reverted to his poor young daughter and the misery Mary had so selfishly brought upon her.
On the two days that followed, he killed much of the time by taking long walks through parts of the metropolis he did not usually frequent. It was several years since he had done so, and he was sadly shocked by the change that had taken place. Many of the shops were closed and shuttered, their owners having gone bankrupt. Groups of men stood about on street corners, obviously out of work, their clothes were ragged and they looked half-starved. Even many of the more prosperous citizens lacked spring in their step and had gloomy expressions.
It brought home to him the fact that Napoleon's Continental System was at last having its effect, just as the British blockade of the Continent was ruining the French. Both nations were utterly weary of the war. That England would never give in he was fully convinced, but the sight of so much suffering was heartbreaking. He could only pray that Austria would join the Coalition and, in the autumn, finally defeat the terrible Corsican egoist who for so many years had inflicted widespread misery on the peoples of a dozen nations.
On the morning of Sunday, the 25th, Roger had his valises loaded into a hired coach, lavishly tipped the footman who had looked after him, and drove to Kew House to say good-bye to Georgina, as had been arranged when he last saw her. To his amazement and intense annoyance, he was told that both Her Grace and Miss Brook were no longer there. Georgina had left a scribbled note for him, to the effect that an emergency had necessitated Susan and herself leaving for the country. She added that she would be constantly thinking of him and praying for his success and safe return.
Greatly disgrunded, he wondered what possible emergency could have caused her to let him leave England without a farewell meeting. As he got back into the coach and ordered the driver to take him to Amesbury House, it occurred to him that she might have received news that her old Duke had died, and felt it incumbent on her to set off for Newmarket immediately. If so, that would be all to the good as, on his return, she would be free to be with him more frequently. But they could not marry, for he now had Mary.
At the thought of Mary, he sighed. For the past few days he had determinedly put her out of his thoughts, but now he wondered if, by not returning to Richmond even to say good-bye, he had not punished her too severely. After all, Droopy had been right in that what she had done she had been driven to by love. Well, it was not too late to send her an affectionate message, and reassure her that it was not his intention to leave her permanently.
In the courtyard of Amesbury House, Droopy's coach was waiting as, whenever possible, he saw Roger off. Roger had his luggage transferred to it, then went inside the house, to find Droopy waiting for him with a bottle of fine Bordeaux wine that had just been decanted.
When the two friends were half-way through it, Roger said:
'About Mary, Ned. I did not take your advice, and now regret it. Please see her for me and tell her I'm sorry I pained her so; also that she has no need to worry about money. Yesterday, when I filled my money belt with gold at Hoare's Bank, I transferred ample funds to her account for her to draw upon.'
Twenty minutes later, they were on their way to Greenwich. As the coach pulled up at the jetty off which the frigate Pompey lay, Roger noticed that another coach was standing there. When he got out, he saw to his delight that it was Georgina's. At the same moment, followed by Susan, she emerged from it. His daughter ran forward and threw her arms round his neck. Having fondly embraced her, he took Georgina's hand, kissed it and said with a smile: