Bedlington emerged from his handkerchief to demand ha trembling accents, “What can you mean? A few irregularities—the extravagances of youth—ay, and of a youth brought up under the rule of one—but I say no more! You best know how much you are to blame for the poor lad’s excesses!”
“By God, that’s too much!” exploded John, his complexion darkening.
“Then do not add to it, John. Had you no suspicion, sir, that these irregularities might have gone beyond the bounds of what even you could pardon?”
Bedlington flushed. “This is base slander! You never liked Eustace! I shall not listen to you! I do not know what you would be at, but my brother’s son—! No, no, I will not listen to you!”
Carlyon bowed slightly and waited in silence while he gulped down the wine in his glass. This seemed a little to restore the balance of his lordship’s mind. He allowed John to refill the glass, asking abruptly: “How came he to marry that young woman I found installed at Highnoons? Yes, I have been there already, and I do not know when I have been more taken aback! Who is she, and how can such a thing have come about? I do not understand why Eustace should have excluded me from his confidence!”
“She is the daughter of Rochdale of Feldenhall,” replied Carlyon.
The blue eyes started at him. “What! He who shot himself, and left his widow and family destitute?”
Carlyon bowed.
“Well!” Bedlington said, puffing out his lips. “If that is so, of course I perceive why he should not have cared to tell me! I do not like the match. I must have done my possible to have prevented it. This is marvelous indeed! And it was you who contrived the wedding? I do not know what to say! She told me all was left to her!”
Carlyon bowed again.
“Wonderful!” Bedlington said, shaking his head. “You are a strange man, Carlyon! There is no getting to the bottom of you!”
“You flatter me, sir. If you could but bring yourself to believe that I have never wanted to inherit Highnoons you would not find me at all unfathomable.”
“Well, Carlyon, I must own that I have wronged you!” Bedlington said, sighing. “But this tragedy has so overset me I do not know what I say!”
“It is very natural,” said Carlyon. “I dare say you will wish to be alone. Let me take you up to the rooms I have had prepared for you! Dinner will be served in an hour.”
“You are very good. I own I shall be glad of a period of quiet reflection,” said Bedlington, rising with a groan and tottering in his host’s wake to the door.
John remained in the saloon, waiting in some impatience for his brother’s return. It was some time before Carlyon rejoined him, and when he did it was to say, “Really, John, you are as foolish as Nicky! Must you take up the cudgels in my defence quite so violently?”
“Never mind that!” said John. “I can’t stand those playacting ways of his and never could! What did you think of him?”
“Nothing very much.”
“Well, by God, I didn’t believe what you were saying to me, but I’ll swear the man’s in the devil of a pucker! I wondered to hear you give him such a hint of what you suspect!”
“I wanted to see what the effect of it might be on him. I cannot be said to have got much good by it.”
“I think he was frightened.”
“Very well. That can do no harm. If he himself has no suspicion I have told him nothing. If, as I think might well be, he has reason to think that Francis Cheviot might be up to some mischief I hope I may have pricked him into taking the matter into his own hands. I should be glad to see it out of mine!”
“Did you believe his story of having learned of Eustace’s death from his valet?”
Carlyon shrugged. “It might be. No, I don’t think I did.”
John looked dissatisfied. “Well! And what had he to say to you abovestairs? You were long enough away!”
“He was boring me with recollections of Uncle Lionel. I may add that none of these tallied with my own, but let that pass. He would be glad to regain possession of the letters he wrote to him. But as I have found none I was unable to oblige him in the matter.”
“Ned, was he trying to discover whether you had come upon his damned memorandum among Eustace’s papers?” John demanded.
“My dear John, Bedlington may be an old fool but he has not worked in a government department without learning not to commit himself! If I chose to give my suspicions rein, I may read into his inquiries just such an object. If, on the other hand, I keep an open mind, I need see nothing in them but the natural desire of a fond uncle to be informed as to the exact nature of his nephew’s follies and obligations. I was quite frank with him.”
“Quite frank with him?” ejaculated John, rather dismayed.
“Yes, I gave him to understand that I had come upon little beyond bills, vowels, and some amatory correspondence which I propose to burn,” responded Carlyon tranquilly.
John burst out laughing. “You are the most complete hand! You did not tell him of Nicky’s last adventure?”
“On the contrary, I told him that Mrs. Cheviot had been sadly discomposed by a thief s breaking into the house.”
“What had he to say to that?”
“He said that he hoped no valuables had been stolen.”
“Well? Well? And then?”
“I said that so far as we could ascertain nothing had been stolen,” replied Carlyon.
“I wonder what he will do next!” John said.
“He informs me that he must return to London in the morning, but will be in Sussex again to attend the funeral. Upon which occasion,” Carlyon added, taking a pinch of snuff, “he will put up for the night at Highnoons.”
“Good God, Ned, I begin to believe you may have been right!”
“Yes, I can see you do,” said Carlyon. “But I begin to think I may have been wrong!”
Chapter XII
When he reappeared, in time for dinner, Lord Bedlington seemed to have shaken off his petulance. He sighed heavily from time to time and twice was obliged to wipe his eyes, but his hosts were gratified to observe that his bereavement had not affected his appetite. He partook lavishly of every dish and was so much moved by the excellence of the Davenport fowls, stuffed, parboiled, and stewed in butter, that he sent a complimentary message to the cook and congratulated Carlyon on having acquired such a treasure. By the time he had worked his way from the Hessian soup and ragout which began the repast through a baked carp dressed in the Portuguese way, some beefsteaks with oyster sauce, the fowls, and a floating island, with a fruit pie as a remove, he was so far reconciled to his nephew’s death as to be able to recount three of the latest good stories circulating town and to confide to Carlyon as he ecstatically savored the bouquet of the port, that he really could not agree with his old friend Brummell in deeming it a wine only fit for the lower orders to drink. He certainly drank a great many glasses of it, but whatever hopes John might have cherished of his tongue’s being loosened soon vanished. My Lord Bedlington had not kept company with the Regent for years without acquiring a hard head and the digestion of an ostrich. Mellow he might become, and indiscreet stories he certainly told, but not his worst enemy would have accused him of being foxed.
When he could at last be parted from the decanters Carlyon took him off to his library, firmly excluding John by saying that he knew he had letters he wished to write. John made a face at him but bowed to this decree and went off to kick his heels in one of the saloons.
After commenting on the comfort of a log fire, the luxury of the chair he was sitting in, and the superlative qualities of the brandy he was rolling round his palate, his lordship seemed to bethink him of his nephew again and to recall the sad circumstance which had brought him into Sussex. He very handsomely owned that he believed Carlyon had acted always with the best of intentions, and even confessed that his own partiality for his dear brother’s only son might have made him overlenient toward faults in Eustace which he perceived as clearly as anyone could wish. He blamed the most of them on the bad company which Eustace had kept, and, lowering his tone to a confidential note, asked Carlyon if he had any reason to fear that Eustace might have been in some worse scrape than any of them suspected.