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Between them, they had calmed the duenna’s fears, and Delagarde had been relieved when she was at last persuaded to retire to her bed. Her cold having gained upon her, Miss Wormley had sat sneezing and spluttering in great discomfort, and had appeared relieved at last to give in to Lady Hester’s pleadings.
“Have no fear, Ida. We will come to tell you the moment we have news of Maidie.”
With this assurance, the duenna had allowed herself to be contented, and she had departed, sped on her way by Lady Hester’s promise that a hot brick and a soothing drink would be sent up as soon as may be.
“I will have a tray brought to you a little later, in case you feel yourself able to swallow a few mouthfuls.”
Left alone with his great-aunt, Delagarde found himself the target of her intelligent and questioning gaze. He frowned. “Well?”
Lady Hester smiled. “You are hungry, Laurie, and it is affecting your temper. We will not wait dinner any longer. Ring the bell.”
He complied, but retorted acidly it was not lack of food affecting his temper. “Where can the little wretch have got to?”
“I know no more than you, my dear boy. But it will not help to starve ourselves.” She added, with something of her usual mischievous twinkle, “Nor to pace about in that restless fashion. Anyone would suppose you to be anxious.”
Delagarde flung himself ostentatiously into a chair. “There! Does that satisfy you? And you have very little power of observation if you suppose me to be suffering from anxiety. It is nothing to me if the wench chooses to behave in this impossible fashion. I am only irritated by the inconvenience of being obliged to arrive late at this ball.”
By nine o’clock, however, with dinner already over, Delagarde, unable to sit with any enjoyment over his port, re-joined his great-aunt in the drawing-room and suggested she should send round a note to this evening’s hostess.
“You had better tell her Maidie is indisposed.”
“Thank you, Laurie, but I believe I am capable of making up an appropriate tale to satisfy Lady Pinmore.”
Delagarde watched her seat herself at the little escritoire in the comer, and draw a sheaf of crested paper towards her. He was obliged to mend a pen for her to use, which he did with fingers which seemed not to wish to obey him. He cursed, seizing hold of the paring knife as the quill split a second time.
“Gently, Laurie,” chided his aunt, regarding him in some amusement. “If you cannot wait with any degree of patience, why don’t you change and go out to your club?”
“If you think,” said Delagarde, savagely attacking the quill, “that I am budging from this house until that cursed wench is safely back inside it, you have a very odd notion of my character.” He handed her the mended pen. “Here.”
Lady Hester accepted it, smiling to herself as she dipped the end in the ink-pot. Delagarde caught the smile, and swore under his breath, flinging away. How she could sit there, plainly amused, when none of them had the remotest idea where Maidie was or what she might be doing, he was unable to understand. That she had forgotten the engagement for tonight seemed incredible. What activity could possibly take her attention so thoroughly from the excitement of a first ball?
This thought was fuelling his apprehension. He could not give credence to the suggestion of kidnapping, but there were other, equally unpleasant possibilities he had no difficulty in believing. He did not give them voice, but his imagination played so upon him he was moved to ring the bell for Lowick to bring up some liquid refreshment to fortify his mind.
It did not help. The hair-raising visions worsened as time wore on. There seemed to be no end to the fates which could overtake a young girl out on her own in the darkness: she’d had an accident—been knocked over by a carriage and taken to one of the common hospitals; she had been attacked in the street by footpads, and left to fend for herself with no money; she had found herself in a seedy quarter of town where some evil person had practiced God knew what deceit upon her—sold her into slavery, drugged her or lured her into a life of prostitution. This last thought caused him to jerk up his wrist and swallow the rest of the contents of his glass in one gulp. Crossing the room, he seized the decanter Lowick had brought up on his demand over an hour ago.
“Is that really necessary, Laurie?” came from his great-aunt, who had contented herself with a single glass of wine.
He turned with the brandy decanter poised over his empty glass. He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It is nearly midnight, Aunt Hes. That girl is out there somewhere—alone. I only hope nothing dreadful may have befallen her, because that will make it impossible for me to strangle her when she does come home.”
He saw that Lady Hester was looking pale, her eyes troubled, and there was no trace of amusement in her voice. “Laurie, if anything untoward has happened to Maidie, I shall never be able to forgive myself for having encouraged her to live here.”
Laying down the decanter and his glass, he crossed to her, and held out his hand. She put hers into it and he clasped it strongly.
“Don’t look like that, Aunt Hes! In the morning, I shall go straight round to Bow Street.” But at that very instant, his ears caught the sound he had been unconsciously awaiting all evening. “Horses! It must be a carriage!”
Dropping Lady Hester’s hand, Delagarde flung across the room, thrust through the drawing-room door and strode down the hall, forestalling the sleepy porter who was just climbing out of his chair. He threw open the front door. A ponderous old-fashioned coach had stopped outside the house, and a servant was in the act of letting down the steps as the carriage door opened and Delagarde caught sight of Maidie within.
He ran down as Maidie bent forward to descend. Acting on sheer impulse, the Viscount reached into the coach, seized a startled Maidie by the waist, and swung her down into the road. He took a brief look inside the carriage, found it empty, and turned, grasping her by the shoulders.
“Where have you been? Whose chaise is this? Are you hurt at all?” His eyes scanned her face by the light of the carriage lamp. She was staring up at him in mute astonishment. “Don’t look at me like that, Maidie! If you knew—!” He broke off, suppressing a strong inclination to shake her, or—discovering the thought with a sensation of surprise—to pull her into a safe embrace. He did neither, instead turning her round to face the Charles Street mansion. “Go inside! My aunt is extremely anxious.”
These words caused Maidie to run up the steps, beset by a surge of guilt that overshadowed the complete amazement which had gripped her at Delagarde’s behaviour. If he had blasted her with invective, she could have understood it. But to be seized in that way! It had given her the oddest sensation of helplessness, and made her heart start up a tattoo in her chest in the most uncomfortable way. It hammered still as she entered the house, but the sight of Lady Hester’s face in the hall put all thoughts of Delagarde to flight. Oh, she was palpably to blame! Poor Lady Hester had been seriously disturbed. She blurted out a somewhat confused apology.
“Dear ma’am—so unkind of me—I am so sorry! You have been worried—Delagarde too! Truly, I did not mean to be so late. I had not realised the time, nor indeed intended to stay so long—forgive me!—but it was altogether too reminiscent of my times with Great-uncle. I forgot everything!”
She found herself enveloped in a hug, and was quite shocked to find, when the elder lady released her, that tears stood in Lady Hester’s eyes. Her voice was decidedly shaky.
“Maidie, Maidie, you must not do this! Perhaps you don’t realise how much violence you cause to the feelings of others, but I assure you we have all been distressingly upset with worry over your safety.”
