Georgette Heyer - The Foundling by The Foundling

Author:The Foundling
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2012-04-28T12:28:56+00:00

Chapter XV

Lord Lionel passed a disturbed night. He came down to breakfast in the expectation of finding a letter from his errant nephew awaiting him; but in despite of the fact that the sum of one pound was paid to the Post Office every year by Mr. Scriven, out of the Duke’s income, to ensure the early delivery of the mail, no such letter gladdened his lordship’s eyes. Matters did not, of course, appear to be quite so desperate as they had seemed during the chill small hours, but there was no denying that Lord Lionel had little appetite for his breakfast. He was curt with Borrowdale, and even brutal to Nettlebed; and when a message was brought to him that Captain Belper had called he instructed the footman to tell this unwelcome visitor that he had gone out.

In a very short time he did go out. He spent the better part of the morning at White’s and at Boodle’s, and, being no fool, was soon able to discern that Gilly’s disappearance was the main topic of conversation amongst the haut ton. Interesting discussions ended abruptly with his entrance into a room; and from several hints that were dropped he discovered, to his wrath, that speculation was rife on his son’s part in the mystery. He had almost gone to Albany when he bethought him of an old crony, and strode off instead to Mount Street. Whatever the on-dits of town might be, it was certain, he reflected grimly, that Timothy Wainfleet would know them all.

He found his friend at home, huddled over a fire in his book-room, and looking at once wizened and alarmingly alert. Sir Timothy welcomed him with exquisite courtesy, gave him a chair by the fire, and a glass of sherry, and murmured that he was enchanted to see him. But it did not seem to Lord Lionel that Sir Timothy was quite as enchanted as he averred, and, being a direct person, he said so, in express terms.

“Dear Lionel!” said Sir Timothy, faintly protesting. “Indeed, you wrong me! Always enchanted, I assure you! And how are the pheasants? You do shoot pheasants in October, do you not?”

“I have not come to talk to you of pheasants,” announced Lord Lionel. “What is more, you know as well as I do when pheasant-shooting begins!”

Sir Timothy’s shrewd grey eyes twinkled ruefully. “Yes, dear Lionel, but I apprehend that I would rather talk of pheasants than—er—than what you have come to talk about!”

“Then you have heard of my nephew’s disappearance?” demanded Lord Lionel.

“Everyone has heard of it,” smiled Sir Timothy. “Yes! Thanks to the folly of Gilly’s steward, who, I find, could think of nothing better to do than to spread the news at White’s! Now, we are old friends, Wainfleet, and I look to you to tell me what is being said in town! For what I hear I don’t like!”

“I wonder why I did not tell my man to deny me?” mused Sir Timothy. “I never listen to gossip, you know.

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