The viscount grimaced. "Thank you, Bannister. I'm off to the kitchen now, ma'am, to tell Cook I have your blessing for my depredations on her larder."

Iverbrook was seated at the kitchen table, attacking a large beefsteak, when Tom Arbuckle arrived.

"Young Jem says Master Peter's getting better!" He gave Cook a hearty kiss and a squeeze."Which is more nor you'll do, an his lords.h.i.+p sees you," she retorted, waving a wooden spoon in theviscount's direction.

Tom started and blushed. "Beg pardon, m'lord, I'm sure."

"That's all right, Tom, go ahead. After all, I am an intruder in Cook's territory. Just let me know whenyou are done."Tom's face deepened to beetroot red. "All done, m'lord," he a.s.sured his master. "Is it true, then, about Master Peter?"

"True enough. He is not yet in prime twig, but goes on as well as can be expected. What news from London? Sit down, man, and ask your sweetheart for something to eat.''

Tom flushed again, but he sat down at the table. Cook drew him a mug of ale and set another piece of

beef to fry.

"I give your letter to Mr. Crowe, m'lord, and he says as how he's had his eye on that Hubble for many ayear and he'll fix it up all right and tight.""Good. Did you see Joshua?""Aye, m'lord, and that's another thing Mr. Crowe said, that Mr. Joshua'd be the best clerk he ever had and he'll give a tryout like to the other young man you recommended. Mr. Joshua and Mr. JamesGoodenough kindly invited me to dine with them, m'lord, and we was joined by Mr. Hastings's man. Mr.Dimbury that is. And one thing leading to another, Mr. Hastings come down with me and he's putting upat the inn in the village."

"Hasty's here? Good heavens! I must go and see him right away.""I hope I done right, m'lord, to bring him?""Of course, though how the devil you could stop him if you'd wanted to I'd like to know. I suppose he has Dimbury with him?""What do you think, m'lord?""Now, Tom, don't be cheeky to his lords.h.i.+p!" put in Cook."Don't worry, Cook, Tom is almost as necessary to me as Dimbury is to Mr. Hastings. Mark that '

almost,' Tom.""Yes, m'lord!"The viscount finished his meal and went in search of Lady Whitton. He found her in the stillroom, making up a dose for Peter.

"What are you giving him now?" he asked with interest.

"He is still somewhat feverish, so here is more yarrow. Then a general tonic, made from betony, pennyroyal, St. John's wort, and agrimony."

"Ugh. No eye of newt and blood of bat?"

"'Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat...'"

"'...and tongue of dog.' Was Shakespeare acquainted with a witch or two, do you suppose, or did he invent the whole?"

"I suspect he made it up," said Lady Whitton with a twinkle in her eye. "At least, many of the country folk hereabouts think me a witch, and I have certainly never used such ingredients."

"What, no scale of dragon? No tiger's chaudron? You disappoint me. Perhaps only wicked witches use them, for you are certainly a good witch. Do you wish me to help you pour your potion down Peter's throat?"

"Not unless you choose to. Now that I have time, I sweeten it with honey and anise, and he takes it without trouble."

"Then I will leave you to it. My servant is just now come from town and he tells me a very good friend of mine is staying at the Royal Oak, so I shall walk down to see him. My legs need stretching. Can I perform any errands for you in the village?"

"I think not. Mrs. Tooting sent one of the maids earlier. But Hugh, I cannot allow a friend of yours to put up at the inn. You will invite him to stay with us while he is in the neighbourhood."

"Have I ever told you that I adore you?" he asked, kissing her cheek. "You are quite the nicest person I know."

"Silly boy! You will tell him that we do not entertain a great deal, but he is to treat the Manor as his home and come and go as he pleases."

"You do not even know his name! Besides, I must tell you that he is very much attached to his valet and will not go anywhere without him. You are already housing and feeding an extra servant, and cannot wish to take on another."

"Fustian! Perhaps his valet would consent to help with Aubrey's clothes, for if I have heard him complain of Bannister's attentions once I have heard him a hundred times. And I'm sure poor Bannister cannot be expected to learn the business at his age, besides having his own duties."

His lords.h.i.+p grinned a wicked grin. "I look forward to hearing Dimbury's reaction to Sir Aubrey's wardrobe," he said. "Never fear, I shall advise Hasty of your kind invitation."

"Hasty?"

"Mr. Lennox Hastings, known to his friends as Hasty because of his tendency to speak before he thinks. He will amuse you, ma'am. I'll not fail to bring him back with me to pay his respects at least."

As Iverbrook left the house, he heard the church clock in the village striking five. It was a pleasant evening, sunny and warm for the time of year. The lane was still muddy, so he walked along the gra.s.s verge, shuddering involuntarily as he pa.s.sed the spot where he had met Peter.

A flock of rust and blue chaffinches was gorging on the crimson berries in the hawthorn hedge. At his approach they rose, flas.h.i.+ng the black and white bars on their wings, then quickly settled again behind him. A c.o.c.k pheasant, its plumage even gaudier, ran ahead of him for a few yards, then forced its desperate way through the hedge as if it knew the shooting season was no more than a fortnight away.

The viscount reached the crossroads and turned left to Kings Milford. A couple was strolling towards him arm in arm. One glance at the man's mulberry coat told his lords.h.i.+p his ident.i.ty, and the pair was not much slower to recognise him.

"My lord!" exclaimed Polly, pink faced, and pulled away from her companion. "I come across Sir Aubrey in the village and he up and offered to carry me parcels." Nervously she smoothed her black stuff gown, then s.n.a.t.c.hed a basket from the baronet and fled, showing a very neat ankle as she pa.s.sed Iverbrook.

Sir Aubrey's face clashed abominably with his jacket.

"I suppose you will tell my aunt," he growled.

"You are foolish beyond permission," said his lords.h.i.+p gently. "What sort of despicable wretch do you take me for?"

"Then I can count on your discretion, my lord? She's a pretty piece, is she not? But reluctant, I must admit, very hesitant. Not like those hot-blooded wenches in the Indies, eh?" He smiled and winked.

"You mistake me, sir. I will not tell because I mislike bearing tales, not because I have any sympathy with your conduct. The girl's unwillingness serves to raise her in my estimation, but not you, sir, most certainly not you. Have a care what you are about."

A shade of grey entered Sir Aubrey's complexion, so that it nearly matched his coat. He muttered something and hurried round the corner after the maid.

Lord Iverbrook strode on into the village. At the Royal Oak, a low brick building with a gilt sign proclaiming the proprietors.h.i.+p of Jacob Liddell, Esquire, he enquired for Mr. Hastings.

"Where'd ya put the gemmun, Maisie?" roared Jacob Liddell, Esquire.

"In the front room, Jacob!" roared back his wife, an enormous woman presiding at the bar in the taproom.

"Alf, take the gemmun up to the front room," bellowed the landlord at a tired-looking waiter.

Alf scurried up the stairs in front of Lord Iverbrook, tapped timidly at a door, and announced in a high, squeaky voice, "Gemmun to see you, sir." He then twitched past Iverbrook and scurried down the stairs again.

"Come in?" said Hasty's voice, uncertainly. "My dear fellow, how good to see you! I thought I heard that wretched waiter scratching at the door."

"Pour me a gla.s.s of brandy, Hasty," said his lords.h.i.+p, sinking into a chair. "I think I must be entering my dotage. Can you imagine me in the role of defender of virtue?"

Chapter 12.

"Indeed I cannot, sir," said Dimbury tearfully. "His coats are all different shades of red. It makes me bilious only to look at them. And the waistcoats!"

"They cannot all be as devilish as that green and pink affair he wore last night." Mr. Hastings, sitting up in bed with a cup of chocolate, had never seen his correct manservant so nearly succ.u.mbing to emotion.

"Oh, can't they!" My lord Iverbrook lounged in a chair in the corner of the narrow chamber. The scene

was providing quite as much amus.e.m.e.nt as he had foreseen. "Still, never mind, Dimbury. Lady Whitton will find a prescription to settle your stomach."

The valet eloquently ignored him.

"Sir, if you saw his linen! Ready made, I am certain of it."

"The exigencies of life in the Indies. It is your duty to remedy the defects in his wardrobe," said his inexorable master.

"That will not be easy," said the viscount. "Sir Aubrey, or 'the Bart' as the servants call him, is purse-pinched if not quite at point-non-plus. His intention is to marry Miss Whitton and allow her to feather his nest."

"Tallyho, a villain, a money-grubbing villain! In that case, Dimbury, it is your plain duty to make the Bart look ridiculous."

"Sir, there is nothing I can do which can possibly make him look more ridiculous than he makes himself."

The quiet conviction of his tone silenced Mr. Hastings momentarily, but he made a quick recover.

"Then, Dimbury," he sighed, "since you will not do this small thing for our kind hostess, we shall have to return to the inn."

The valet blenched. His ears still rang with the boom of the landlord's voice, not to mention his wife's.

"Sir!" he said reproachfully.

His master took this for capitulation.

"All you need do is keep his things clean and in order, and you have my permission to filch the worst of

the waistcoats."

Iverbrook laughed, and let the subject drop. "When are you getting up, Hasty?" he asked.

"My dear Hugh, it cannot be a moment past nine o'clock! This is unconscionably early, even for the

country."

"Gammon! I want to introduce you to my nephew this morning, and later I must ride out with Selena so that she can explain the lambs to me."

"Explain the lambs? Lambs, Hugh, are baby sheep," Hasty said kindly. "You know, mutton? Wool? Baa,

baa."

"These lambs are going to market, whither I have offered to accompany them. Hence Miss Whitton is totell me what prices she expects to get, as I have wagered that I can do better.""So Miss Whitton inflates her price and you lose. You have been rusticating too long, my lord. Your wits are wandering."

"Selena is incapable of deceit. I'd as soon distrust you, Hasty." Mr. Hastings raised his eyebrows anddirected a speculative look at his friend. He swallowed the last of his chocolate, pulled off his nightcap,and announced, "I'll come with you."

"Do! Perhaps Delia will join us. Her mother was saying at breakfast that she ought to go out today,

having watched Peter most of yesterday."

"You have breakfasted already? Heaven help me, I am fallen among heathen! Really, my dear chap, this is going too far. I suppose next you will invite the Bart to go along?"