Warren began to talk of something else, but after a few minutes the Captain said abruptly: ‘I beg pardon, sir, but can you furnish me with General Summercourt’s direction?’
‘I didn’t ask where he was staying, but I fancy he usually puts up at Grillon’s when he’s in town,’ replied Warren, looking an enquiry.
The Captain coloured slightly. ‘Thank you. If he is in some trouble – I am pretty well acquainted with him – it would be civil to call upon him!’
Nothing more was said on the subject, but Beatrix received the impression that the casual piece of information let fall by her husband had arrested Captain Kendal’s attention more than had anything else that had been said to him.
Not long after dinner, when the gentlemen had joined Beatrix in the drawing-room, the butler came in, and, after hesitating for a moment, went to where his master was sitting, and bent to say, in an apologetic and lowered tone: ‘I beg your pardon, sir, but Sir Gareth’s head groom is below. I said you was engaged, but he seems very anxious to speak to you.’
The words were intended only for Mr Wetherby’s ears, but Beatrix’s hearing was sharp, and she heard them. She broke off in the middle of what she was saying to her guest, and demanded: ‘Did you say Sir Gareth’s head groom? I will come at once.’ She nodded to her husband, and got up. ‘I left a message in Berkeley Square that I wished Trotton to come here. Captain Kendal will excuse me, I am sure, if I run away for a few minutes.’
‘I beg pardon, ma’am, but it is the master Trotton has come to see,’ interposed the butler, catching Mr Wetherby’s eye, and exchanging with him a meaning look.
‘Nonsense! It is I who want to see Trotton, not your master!’ said Beatrix, not blind to this by-play.
‘Stay where you are, my dear,’ said Warren, going to the door. ‘I’ll find out what Trotton wants. There’s no occasion for you to put yourself out.’
She was vexed, but to engage in a dispute with him in the presence of a guest did not suit her notions of propriety. She resumed her seat, and said, with rather a forced smile: ‘Pray forgive us! The thing is that I am in some anxiety about my brother, whose groom it is who has just come here.’
‘I am excessively sorry!’ he said. ‘I collect he is ill? Would you like me to go away? You must be wishing me at the devil!’
‘Indeed I am not! I beg you won’t think of running away! My brother is not ill – at least, I don’t think so.’ She stopped, and then said, with a little laugh: ‘It is very likely nothing at all, and I am refining too much upon the event. The fact is that my brother went into the country on a visit more than a fortnight ago, and although his servants were in the expectation of his returning four days later, he didn’t return, or send any word, so that I cannot help indulging a great many foolish fancies. But you were telling me about the fiestas in Madrid: do continue! How pretty the candles set on all the window-sills must have looked! Were you quartered in the town, Captain Kendal?’
He answered her, and she led him on to describe such features of the Spanish scene as he had thought memorable, an expression on her face of absorbed interest, suitable comments rising mechanically to her lips, and her mind almost wholly divorced from anything he was saying.
The circumstance of Trotton’s asking particularly to speak with Warren rather than with herself was not reassuring; a chilling fear that some dreadful news was presently to be broken gently to her by her husband began to creep into her heart; and only her good breeding kept her from jumping up, and following Warren.
He was gone for what seemed to her to be an ominously long time, and when he at last came back into the room he was wearing the expression of a man who did not wish his wife to suspect that anything was wrong. It was too much; she exclaimed sharply: ‘What is it? Has some accident befallen Gary?’
‘No, no, nothing of the sort! I’ll tell you about it presently, but there’s no need for you to worry your head over it.’
‘Where is Gary?’ she demanded.
‘Well, I can’t tell you that, but you may depend upon it he’s perfectly well and safe wherever he is. Trotton parted from him at Kimbolton, so I daresay he may have gone off to stay with Staplehurst.’
‘Kimbolton?’ she repeated, astonished. ‘What in the world took him there, pray?’
‘Oh, well, that’s a long story, and of no interest to Kendal, my love!’
‘If you’ll allow me, sir, I’ll take my leave,’ said the Captain. ‘Mrs Wetherby must be very anxious to learn more. I would have gone before, only that she wouldn’t suffer me to!’
‘I should rather think not, and nor will I! Sit down, my boy!’
‘Oh, yes, pray do!’ Beatrix said. ‘Is Trotton still in the house, Warren?’
‘Having a heavy-wet in the pantry, I expect.’
‘Then, if Captain Kendal will excuse me, I will go down and speak to him myself!’ she said. ‘I don’t stand on ceremony with you, sir, but I am persuaded you will not care for that.’
‘I should rather think not, ma’am!’
She smiled, and hurried out of the room. The Captain looked at his host, and said bluntly: ‘Bad news, sir?’
‘Lord, no!’ said Warren, with a chuckle. ‘But it ain’t the sort of news to blab to his sister! The groom’s a silly clunch, but he had that much sense! From what I can make out, my brother-in-law has picked up a very prime article, and has made off with her the lord knows where! He’s never been much in the petticoat-line, so his groom don’t know what to make of it. Told me he was sure Ludlow had gone out of his mind!’
‘Oh, I see!’ said the Captain, with a laugh. ‘No, that’s not a story for Mrs Wetherby, certainly!’
‘Trust Trotton to turn her up sweet!’ said Warren confidently. ‘Catch him giving his master’s secrets away! Devoted to him, you know: been with him since Gareth was a lad. The only wonder is he told me. Don’t suppose he would have, if my wife hadn’t summoned him to come here. The silly fellow’s in the deuce of a pucker: thinks his master’s heading for trouble! Funny thing about these old servants: never can be brought to believe one ain’t still in short coats!’