The Corinthian (19 page)

'Why indeed?' agreed Sir Richard. 'I apprehend that you have little sympathy to spare for such folly?'

'None at all,' said Pen. 'In fact, I think it's silly, besides being improper.'

'You are severe!'

'I can tell by your voice that you are laughing at me. I expect you are thinking of my climbing out of a window. But
I
was not going to meet a lover by moonlight! Such stuff!'

'Fustian,' nodded Sir Richard. 'Did she disclose the identity of her lover?'

'No, but she said her own name was Lydia Daubenay. And no sooner had she told me that than she went off into another taking, and said she was distracted, and wished she had not told me. Really, I was quite glad when she decided to go home without waiting for you.'

'Yes, I had rather gathered the impression that her company was not agreeable to you. I suppose it hardly signifies. She did not appear to me to be the kind of young woman who could be trusted to bear a still tongue in her head.'

'Well, I don't know,' said Pen thoughtfully. 'She was so frightened I quite think she may not say a word about the adventure. I have been considering the matter, and it seems to me that she must be in love with someone whom her parents do not wish her to marry.'

'That,' said Sir Richard, 'seems to be a fair conclusion.'

'So that I shouldn't be at all surprised if she conceals the fact that she was in the wood to-night. By the way, was it the stammering-man?'

'It was, and Miss Daubenay was right in her suspicion: he is dead.'

Miss Creed accepted this with fortitude. 'Well, if he is, I can tell you who killed him. That girl told me all over again how it happened, and there is no doubt that the other man was Captain Trimble. And he did it to get the necklace!'

'Admirable!' said Sir Richard.

'It is as plain as a pikestaff. And now that I come to think of it, it may very likely be all for the best. Of course, I am sorry for the stammering-man, but you can't deny that he was a very disagreeable person. Besides, I know perfectly well that he was threatening you. That is why I followed you. Now we are rid of the whole affair!'

'Not quite, I fear. You must not think that I am unmoved by your heroic behaviour, but I could wish that you had gone to bed, Pen.'

'Yes, but I find that most unreasonable of you,' objected Pen. 'It seems to me that you want to keep all the adventure for yourself!'

'I appreciate your feelings,' said Sir Richard, 'but I would point out to you that your situation is a trifle—shall we say irregular?—and that we have been at considerable pains to excite no undue attention. Hence that abominable stage-coach. The last thing in the world I desire is to see you brought forward as a witness to this affair. If Miss Daubenay does not disclose her share in it, you may yet escape notice, but, to tell you the truth, I place little dependence on Miss Daubenay's discretion.'

'Oh!' said Pen, digesting this. 'You think there may be a little awkwardness if it should be discovered that I am not a boy? Perhaps we had better leave Queen Charlton?'

'No, that would indeed be fatal. We are now committed to this adventure. I am going to inform the local magistrate that I have discovered a corpse in this spinney. As you have encountered Miss Daubenay, upon whose discretion we have decided to place no reliance, I shall mention the fact that you accompanied me upon my evening stroll, and we must trust that no particular notice will be taken of you. By the way, brat, I think you had better become my young cousin—my remote young cousin.'

'Ah!' said Miss Creed, gratified. 'My own story!'

'Your own story.'

'Well, I must say I am glad you don't wish to run away,' she confided. 'You cannot conceive how much I am enjoying myself! I dare say it is otherwise with you, but, you see, I have had such a very dull life up till now! And I'll tell you another thing, Richard: naturally I am very anxious to find Piers, but I think we had better not send any word to him until we have finished this adventure.'

He was silent for a moment. 'Are you very anxious to find Piers?' he asked at last.

'Of course I am! Why, that is why we came!'

'Very true. I was forgetting. You will see Piers to-morrow morning, I fancy.'

She got up from the bank. 'I shall see him to-morrow? But how do you know?'

'I should have mentioned to you that I have just had the felicity of meeting him.'

'Piers?' she exclaimed. 'Here? In the wood?'

'Over Beverley Brandon's body.'

'I thought I heard voices! But how did he come to be here? And why didn't you bring him to me directly?'

Sir Richard took time over his answer. 'You see, I was under the impression that Miss Daubenay was still with you,' he explained.

'Oh, I see!' said Pen innocently. 'Yes, indeed, you did quite right! We don't want her to be included in our adventure. But did you tell Piers about me?'

'The moment did not seem to be propitious,' confessed Sir Richard. 'I told him to come to visit me at the "George" to-morrow morning, and on no account to divulge his presence in the wood to-night.'

'What a surprise it will be to him when he finds me at the "George"!' said Pen gleefully.

'Yes,' said Sir Richard. 'I think it will be—a surprise to him.'

She fell into step beside him on their way back to the road. 'I am glad you did not tell him! I suppose he had come to look for the stammering-man? I can't conceive how he could have had such a disagreeable person to visit him!'

Sir Richard, who had rarely, during the twenty-nine years of his existence, found himself at a loss, now discovered that he was totally incapable of imparting his own suspicions to his trusting companion. Apparently, it had not occurred to her that the sentiments of her old playfellow might have undergone a change; and so fixed in her mind was a five-year-old pact of betrothal that it had not entered her head to question either its durable qualities, or its desirability. She evidently considered herself plighted to Piers Luttrell, a circumstance which had no doubt had much to do with her friendly acceptance of Sir Richard's companionship. Phrases of warning half-formed themselves in Sir Richard's brain, and were rejected. Piers would have to do his explaining; Sir Richard could only hope that upon coming face to face with him after a lapse of years, Pen might discover that as he had outgrown a childhood's fancy, so too had she.

They entered the George together. Pen went up to bed at a nod from Sir Richard, but Sir Richard rang the bell for a servant. A sleepy waiter came in answer to the summons, and, upon being asked for the direction of the nearest magistrate, said that Sir Jasper Luttrell was the nearest, but was away from home. He knew of no other, so Sir Richard desired him to fetch the landlord to him, and sat down to write a short note to whom it might concern.

When the landlord came into the parlour, Sir Richard was shaking the sand off the single sheet of paper. He folded it, and sealed it with a wafer, and upon being told that Mr John Philips, of Whitchurch, was the nearest available magistrate, wrote this gentleman's name on the note. As he wrote, he said in his calm way: 'I shall be obliged to you if you will have this letter conveyed directly to Mr Philips.'

'To-night, sir?'

'To-night. Mr Philips will, I imagine, come back with your messenger. If he asks for me, show him into this room. Ah, and landlord!'

'Sir?'

'A bowl of rum punch. I will mix it myself.'

'Yes, sir! Immediately, sir!' said the landlord, relieved to receive such a normal command.

He lingered for a moment, trying to summon up sufficient resolution to ask the fine London gentleman why he wanted to see a magistrate thus urgently. Sir Richard's quizzing-glass came up, and the landlord withdrew in haste. The waiter would have followed him, but was detained by Sir Richard's uplifted forefinger.

'One moment! Who gave you the note which you delivered to me this evening?'

'It was Jem, sir—the tapster. It was when I went up to the bar for a pint of burgundy for a gentleman dining in the coffee-room that Jem gave it to me. It was Captain Trimble who picked it up off the ground, where it was a-laying. It got swep' off the bar, I dessay, sir, the taproom being crowded at the time, and Jem with his hands full.'

'Thank you,' said Sir Richard. 'That is all.'

The waiter went away considerably mystified. Sir Richard, on the other hand, felt that the mystery had been satisfactorily explained, and sat down to await the landlord's return with the ingredients for a bowl of punch.

Mr Philips' residence was situated some five miles from Queen Charlton, and it was consequently some time before the clatter of horses' hooves in the street heralded his arrival. Sir Richard was squeezing the lemon into the punch bowl when he was ushered into the parlour, and looked up fleetingly to say: 'Ah, how do you do? Mr Philips, I apprehend?'

Mr Philips was a grizzled gentleman with a harassed frown, and a slight paunch.

'Your servant, sir! Have I the honour of addressing Sir Richard Wyndham?'

'Mine, sir, is the honour,' said Sir Richard absently, intent upon his punch.

'Sir,' said Mr Philips, 'your very extraordinary communication—I may say, your unprecedented disclosure—has, as you perceive, brought me immediately to enquire into this incredible affair!'

'Very proper,' said Sir Richard. 'You will wish to visit the scene of the crime, I imagine. I can give you the direction, but no doubt the village constable is familiar with the locality. The body, Mr Philips, is—or was—lying in the clearing in the middle of the spinney, a little way down the road.'

'Do you mean to tell me, sir, that this story is true?' demanded the magistrate.

'Certainly it is true. Dear me, did you suppose me to be so heartless as to drag you out at this hour on a fool's errand? Are you in favour of adding the juice of one or of two lemons?'

Mr Philips, whose eyes had been critically observing Sir Richard's proceedings, said, without thinking: 'One! One is enough!'

'I feel sure you are right,' said Sir Richard.

'You know, sir, I must ask you some questions about this extraordinary affair!' said Philips, recollecting his errand.

'So you shall, sir, so you shall. Would you like to ask them now, or after you have disposed of the body?'

'I shall first repair to the scene of the murder,' declared Philips.

'Good!' said Sir Richard. 'I will engage to have the punch ready against your return.'

Mr Philips felt that this casual way of treating the affair was quite out of order, but the prospect of returning to a bowl of hot rum punch was so agreeable that he decided to overlook any trifling irregularity. When he returned to the inn, half an hour later, he was feeling chilled, for it was now past midnight and he had not taken his overcoat with him. Sir Richard had caused a fire to be kindled in the wainscoted parlour, and from the bowl on the table, which he was stirring with a long-handled spoon, there arose a very fragrant and comforting aroma. Mr Philips rubbed his hands together, and could not refrain from ejaculating: 'Ha!'

Sir Richard looked up, and smiled. His smile had won more hearts than Mr Philips', and it had a visible effect on that gentleman.

'Well, well, well! I won't deny that's a very welcome smell, Sir Richard! A fire, too! Upon my word, I'm glad to see it! Gets chilly at night, very chilly! A bad business, sir! a very bad business!'

Sir Richard ladled the steaming brew into two glasses, and gave one to the magistrate. 'Draw up a chair to the fire, Mr Philips. It is, as you say, a very bad business. I should tell you that I am intimately acquainted with the family of the deceased.'

Mr Philips fished Sir Richard's note out of his pocket. 'Yes, yes, just as I supposed, sir. I do not know how you would otherwise have furnished me with the poor man's name. You know him, in fact. Precisely! He was travelling in your company, perhaps?'

'No,' said Sir Richard, taking a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. 'He was staying with a friend who lives in the neighbourhood. The name was, I think, Luttrell.'

'Indeed! This becomes more and more— But pray continue, sir! You were not, then, together?'

'No, nothing of the sort. I came into the west country in family affairs. I need not burden you with them, I think.'

'Quite, quite! Family affairs: yes! Go on, sir! How came you to discover Mr Brandon's body?'

'Oh, by accident! But it will be better, perhaps, if I recount my share in this affair from its start.'

'Certainly! Yes! Pray do so, sir! This is a remarkably good bowl of punch, I may say.'

'I am generally thought to have something of a knack with a punch bowl,' bowed Sir Richard. 'To go back, then, to the start! You have no doubt heard, Mr Philips, of the Brandon diamonds?'

From the startled expression in the magistrate's eyes, and the slight dropping of his jaw, it was apparent that he had not. He said: 'Diamonds? Really, I fear— No, I must confess that I had not heard of the Brandon diamonds.'

'Then, I should explain that they make up a certain famous necklace, worth, I dare say, anything you like.'

'Upon my word! An heirloom! Yes, yes, but in what way—'

'While on my way to Bristol with a young relative of mine, a slight accident befell our coach, and we were forced to put up for the night at a small inn near Wroxhall. There, sir, I encountered an individual who seemed to me—but I am not very well-versed in these matters—a somewhat questionable character. How questionable I did not know until the following morning, when a Bow Street Runner arrived at the inn.'