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  The same unfortunate resemblance was to be observed, though in a less pronounced degree, in Mrs Griffin. The lady was built on massive lines, and appeared to be feeling the heat. Possibly a travelling costume of purple satin trimmed with a quantity of sarsenet, and worn under a spencer, and a voluminous cloak of drab merino cloth, might have contributed to her discomfort. Her locks were confined in a round cap, and over this she wore a beehive bonnet of moss-straw, trimmed with enough plumes to remind Sir Richard forcibly of a hearse. The landlord was standing in front of her in an attitude of concern, and as Sir Richard stepped into the entrance-parlour, she said in tones of strong resolution: ‘You are deceiving me! I demand to have this – this youth brought before me!’

  ‘But, Mama!’ said the stocky young man unhappily.

  ‘Silence, Frederick!’ pronounced the matron.

  ‘But consider, Mama! If the – the young man the landlord speaks of is travelling with his uncle, he could not possibly be – be my cousin, could he?’

  ‘I do not believe a word of what this man says!’ declared Mrs Griffin. ‘I should not wonder if he had been bribed.’

  The landlord regretfully said that no one had tried to bribe him.

  ‘Pshaw!’ said Mrs Griffin.

  Sir Richard judged it to be time to call attention to his own presence. He walked forward in the direction of the staircase.

  ‘Here is the gentleman!’ said the landlord, with a good deal of relief. ‘He will tell for himself that what I’ve said is the truth, ma’am.’

  Sir Richard paused, and glanced with raised eyebrows from Mrs Griffin to her son, and from Mr Frederick Griffin to the landlord. ‘I beg your pardon?’ he drawled.

  The attention of the Griffins instantly became focused upon him. The gentleman’s eyes were riveted to his cravat; the lady, taking in his air of elegance, was plainly shaken.

  ‘If your honour pleases!’ said the landlord. ‘The lady, sir, is come in search of a young gentleman, which has run away from school, the same being her ward. I’ve told her that I have but one young gentleman staying in the house, and him your honour’s nephew, and I’d be glad if you’d bear me out, sir.’

  ‘Really,’ said Sir Richard, bored, ‘I don’t know whom you have staying in the house besides myself and my nephew.’

  ‘The question is, have you a nephew?’ demanded Mrs Griffin.

  Sir Richard raised his quizzing-glass, surveyed her through it,and bowed slightly. ‘I was certainly under the impression thatI had a nephew, ma’am. May I ask in what way he interests you?’

  ‘If he is your nephew, I have no interest in him whatsoever,’ declared the matron handsomely.

  ‘Mama!’ whispered her son, anguished. ‘Recollect, I beg of you! A stranger! No proof ! The greatest discretion!’

  ‘I am quite distracted!’ said Mrs Griffin, shedding tears.

  This had the effect of driving the landlord from the room, and of flustering Mr Griffin. Between trying to pacify his parent, and excusing such odd behaviour to the elegant stranger, he became hotter than ever, and floundered in a morass of broken phrases. The look of astonishment on Sir Richard’s face, the pained lift of his brows, quite discomposed him, and he ended by saying: ‘The truth is my mother is sadly overwrought!’

  ‘My confidence has been betrayed!’ interpolated Mrs Griffin, raising her face from her damp handkerchief.

  ‘Yes, Mama: precisely so! Her confidence has been betrayed, sir, by – by the shocking conduct of my cousin, who has –’

  ‘I have nourished a viper in my bosom!’ said Mrs Griffin.

  ‘Just so, Mama. She has nourished – at least, not quite that, perhaps, but it is very bad, very upsetting to a lady of delicate sensibility!’

  ‘All my life,’ declaimed Mrs Griffin, ‘I have been surrounded by ingratitude!’

  ‘Mama, you cannot be surrounded by – and in any case, you know it is not so! Do, pray, calm yourself ! I shall claim your indulgence, sir. The circumstances are so peculiar, and my cousin’s behaviour has exerted so strong an effect upon my poor mother that – in short –’

  ‘It is the impropriety of it which is worse than anything!’ said Mrs Griffin.

  ‘Exactly so, Mama. You see, it is the impropriety, sir – I mean, my mother is not quite herself.’

  ‘I shall never,’ announced the matron, ‘hold up my head again! It is my belief that this person is in league with her!’

  ‘Mama, most earnestly I implore you – !’

  ‘Her?’ repeated Sir Richard, apparently bewildered.

  ‘Him!’ corrected Mr Griffin.

  ‘You must forgive me if I do not perfectly understand you,’ said Sir Richard. ‘I apprehend that you have – er – mislaid a youth, and have come –’

  ‘Precisely so, sir! We mis – at least, no, no, we did not mislay him, of course!’

  ‘Ran away!’ uttered Mrs Griffin, emerging from the handkerchief for a brief instant.

  ‘Ran away,’ corroborated her son.

  ‘But in what way,’ enquired Sir Richard, ‘does this concern me, sir?’

  ‘Not at all, sir, I assure you! No such suspicion is cherished by me, upon my word!’

  ‘What suspicion?’ asked Sir Richard, still more bewildered.

  ‘None sir, none in the world! That is just what I was saying. I have no suspicion –’

  ‘But I have!’ said Mrs Griffin, in much more robust tones. ‘I accuse you of concealing the truth from me!’

  ‘Mama, do but consider! You cannot – you know you cannot insult this gentleman by insinuating –’

  ‘In the execution of my duty there is nothing I cannot do!’ responded his mother nobly. ‘Besides, I do not know him. I mistrust him.’

  Mr Griffin turned wretchedly to Sir Richard: ‘You see, sir, my mother –’

  ‘Mistrusts me,’ supplied Sir Richard.

  ‘No, no, I assure you! My mother is sadly put out, and scarcely knows what she is saying.’

  ‘I am in the fullest possession of my faculties, I thank you, Frederick!’ said Mrs Griffin, gathering strength.

  ‘Of course, of course, Mama! But the agitation – the natural agitation –’

  ‘If he is speaking the truth,’ interrupted Mrs Griffin, ‘let him summon his nephew to stand before me!’

  ‘Ah, I begin to understand you!’ said Sir Richard. ‘Is it possible, ma’am, that you suspect my nephew of being your errant ward?’

  ‘No, no!’ said Griffin feebly.

  ‘Yes!’ declared his mother.

  ‘But Mama, only consider what such a thought must imply!’ said Mr Griffin in a frenzied aside.

  ‘I can believe anything of that unnatural creature!’

  ‘I should doubt very much whether my nephew is upon the premises,’ said Sir Richard coldly. ‘He was engaged to spend the day with friends, upon an expedition of pleasure. However, if he should not yet have left the house, I will engage to – er – allay all these heart burnings.’

  ‘If he has run out to escape us, I shall await his return!’ said Mrs Griffin. ‘And so I warn you!’

  ‘I admire your resolution, ma’am, but I must point out to you that your movements are of no possible interest to me,’ said Sir Richard, stepping over to the bell, and jerking it.

  ‘Frederick!’ said Mrs Griffin. ‘Will you stand by and hear your mother being insulted by one whom I strongly suspect of being a dandy?’

  ‘But Mama, indeed, it is no concern of ours if he is!’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Sir Richard, in arctic tones, ‘it may be of service if I make myself known to you, ma’am. My name is Wyndham.’

  Mrs Griffin received this information with every appearance of disdain, but its effect upon her son was staggering. His eyes seemed to be in danger of bursting out of thei
r sockets; he started forward, and ejaculated in tones of deepest reverence: ‘Sir! is thispossible? Have I the honour of addressing Sir Richard Wyndham?’

  Sir Richard bowed slightly.

  ‘The celebrated whip?’ asked Mr Griffin.

  Sir Richard bowed again.

  ‘The creator of the Wyndham Fall?’ pursued Mr Griffin, almost overcome.

  Tired of bowing, Sir Richard said: ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Mr Griffin, ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance! My name is Griffin!’

  ‘How do you do?’ murmured Sir Richard, holding out his hand.

  Mr Griffin clasped it. ‘I wonder I should not have recognized you. Mama, we have been quite mistaken. This is none other than the famous Sir Richard Wyndham – the friend of Brummell, you know! You must have heard me – you must have heard him spoken of. It is quite impossible that he can know anything of my cousin’s whereabouts.’

  She seemed to accept this, though with obvious reluctance. She looked Sir Richard over with disfavour, and said paralysingly: ‘I have the greatest dislike of all forms of dandyism, and I have ever deplored the influence exerted by the Bow-Window set upon young men of respectable upbringing. However, if you are indeed Sir Richard Wyndham, I dare say you would not object to showing my son how to arrange his cravat in what he calls the Wyndham Fall, so that he need no longer spoil every neckcloth in his drawer before achieving a result which I consider lamentable.’

  ‘Mama!’ whispered the unhappy Mr Griffin. ‘I beg of you!’

  The entrance of a servant, in answer to the bell’s summons came as a timely interruption. Upon being asked to discover whether Sir Richard’s nephew were in the house, he was able to reply that the young gentleman had left the inn some time previously.

  ‘Then I fear there is nothing for you to do but to await his return,’ said Sir Richard, addressing himself to Mrs Griffin.

  ‘We should not dream of – Mama, there can be no doubt that she – he – did not come here after all. Lady Luttrell disclaims all knowledge, remember, and she must certainly have known if my cousin had come into this neighbourhood.’

  ‘If I could think that she had gone to cousin Jane, all would not yet be lost!’ said Mrs Griffin. ‘Yet it is possible? I fear the worst!’

  ‘This is all very perplexing,’ complained Sir Richard. ‘I was under the impression that this mysterious truant was of the male sex.’

  ‘Frederick, my nerves can stand no more!’ said Mrs Griffin, surging to her feet. ‘If you mean to drag me the length of England again, I must insist upon being permitted the indulgence of half an hour’s solitude first!’

  ‘But Mama, it was not I who would come here!’ expostulated Mr Griffin.

  Sir Richard again rang the bell, and this time desired that a chambermaid should be sent to him. Mrs Griffin was presently consigned to the care of an abigail, and left the room majestically, commanding hot water to wash with, tea, and a decent bedchamber.

  Her son heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I must beg pardon, Sir Richard! You must allow me to beg your pardon!’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘Yes, yes, I insist! Such an unfortunate misunderstanding! An explanation is due to you! A slip of the tongue, you know, but my mother is labouring under strong emotion, and does not quite heed what she says. You noticed it: indeed, no one could wonder at your surprise! The unhappy truth, sir is that my cousin is not a boy, but – in a word, sir – a female!’

  ‘This explanation, Mr Griffin, is quite unnecessary, believe me.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Mr Griffin earnestly, ‘as a Man of the World, I should value your opinion! Concealment is useless: the truth must be discovered in the end. What, sir, would you think of a member of the Weaker Sex who assumed the disguise of a man, and left the home of her natural protector by way of the window?’

  ‘I should assume,’ replied Sir Richard, ‘that she had strong reasons for acting with such resolution.’

  ‘She did not wish to marry me,’ said Mr Griffin gloomily.

  ‘Oh!’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘Well, I’m sure I can’t see why she should be so set against me, but that’s not it, sir. The thing is that here’s my mother determined to find her, and to make her marry me, and so hush up the scandal. But I don’t like it above half. If she dislikes the notion so much, I don’t think I ought to marry her, do you?’

  ‘Emphatically not!’

  ‘I must say I am very glad to hear you say that, Sir Richard!’ said Mr Griffin, much cheered. ‘For you must know that my mother has been telling me ever since yesterday that I must marry her now, to save her name. But I think she would very likely make me uncomfortable, and nothing could make up for that, in my opinion.’

  ‘A lady capable of escaping out of a window in the guise of a man would quite certainly make you more than uncomfortable,’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘Yes, though she’s only a chit of a girl, you know. In fact, she is not yet out. I am very happy to have had the benefit of the opinion of a Man of the World. I feel that I can rely on your judgment.’

  ‘On my judgment you might, but in nothing else, I assure you,’ said Sir Richard. ‘You know nothing of me, after all. How do you know that I am not now concealing your cousin from you?’

  ‘Ha-ha! Very good, upon my word! Very good, indeed!’ said Mr Griffin, saluting a jest of the first water.

  Eight

  The Griffins did not leave Queen Charlton until the cool of the afternoon, and by the time he saw their chaise off the premises of the George, Sir Richard was heartily sick of the company of surely one of his most devout worshippers. No sign was seen of Pen, who had no doubt fled the house upon the Griffins’ arrival. What sustenance she had snatched up to bear her strength up through a long day Sir Richard had no means of knowing.

  Mrs Griffin, tottering downstairs to partake of light refreshment, found her son hanging upon Sir Richard’s bored lips. Upon hearing that he had divulged the secret of Pen’s identity, she first showed a dangerous tendency to swoon, but upon being supplied with a glass of ratafia by Sir Richard, revived sufficiently to pour out her wrongs into his ear.

  ‘What I ask myself,’ she said dramatically, ‘has become of that tiresome girl? Into what company may she have fallen? I see that you, Sir Richard, are a person of sensibility. Conceive of my feelings! What – I say, what if my unfortunate niece should have fallen into the hands of some Man ?’

  ‘What indeed!’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘She must marry him. When I think of the care, the hopes, the maternal fondness I have lavished – but it is ever so! There is no gratitude in the world to-day.’

  Upon this gloomy reflection, she ordered her chaise to be got ready to bear her instantly to Chippenham. She would have remained at Queen Charlton for the night, she explained, only that she suspected the sheets.

  Sir Richard, having seen her off, walked down the street, to cool his heated brow, and to consider the intricacies of his position.

  It was while he was absent that Miss Creed and the Honourable Beverley Brandon, approaching the George from widely divergent angles, but with identical circumspection, came face to face in the entrance-parlour.

  They eyed one another. A few moments’ conversation with the tapster had put Beverley in possession of information which he found sufficiently intriguing to make him run the risk of perhaps encountering Captain Trimble in entering the inn, and prosecuting further enquiries about Sir Richard Wyndham. Sir Richard, the tapster had told him, was putting up at the George with his nephew.

  Now, Sir Richard’s nephew, as Beverley knew well, was a lusty young gentleman not yet breeched. He did not mention this circumstance to the tapster, but on hearing that the mysterious nephew in question was a youth in his teens, he pricked up his ears, and penetrated from the tap-room into the main parlour of
the inn.

  Here Pen, entering the George cautiously from the stableyard, came plump upon him. Never having seen his face, she did not at once recognize him, but when, after an intent stare, he moved towards her, saying with a slight stammer: ‘How d-do you do? I think you m-must be Wyndham’s n-nephew?’ she had no doubt of his identity.

  She was no fool, and she realized at once that anyone well-acquainted with Sir Richard must be aware that she was not his nephew. She replied guardedly: ‘Well, I call him my uncle, because he is so much older than I am, but in point of fact we are cousins only. Third cousins,’ she added, making the relationship as remote as she could.

  A smile which she did not quite like lingered on Beverley’s rather slack mouth. Mentally, he was reviewing Sir Richard’s family, but he said with great affability: ‘Oh, indeed? Ch-charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr-er-er?’

  ‘Brown,’ supplied Pen, regretting that she had not thought to provide herself with a more unusual surname.

  ‘Brown,’ bowed Beverley, his smile widening. ‘It is a great p-pleasure to me to m-meet any connection of W-Wyndham’s. In such a remote spot, too! Now d-do tell me! What b-brings you here?’

  ‘Family affairs,’ answered Pen promptly. ‘Uncle Richard – Cousin Richard, I mean, only I have always been in the way of calling him uncle, you understand – very kindly undertook to come with me.’

  ‘So it was on y-your account that he came to Queen Ch-Charlton!’ said Beverley. ‘That is most interesting!’ His eyes ran over her in a way that made her feel profoundly ill-at-ease. ‘M-most interesting!’ he repeated. ‘P-pray present my c-compliments to Wyndham, and tell him that I perfectly understand his reasons for choosing such a secluded locality!’