Jane and The Wandering Eye

Chapter 12 Accusation of a Dead Man

15 December 1804, cont.

THE BATH GAOL — A SMALL AFFAIR HARDLY INTENDED FOR the imprisonment of a criminal legion, since such were summarily dispatched to Ilchester to await the quarterly Assizes — sits within the old town walls, hard by the Pump Room and the Abbey. I am no stranger to the stricter forms of incarceration, having braved so stern an institution as Newgate itself, on behalf of my beloved Isobel; but the Bath gaol recalls more nearly the prison of Lyme, in being a white-washed hovel of a building, more fitted to the shelter of beasts than men. Colonel Easton’s chaise drew up before the gates, and we descended to a spare courtyard from which the bustle of Bath’s streets had thankfully been banished. It but remained to make ourselves known, and enquire of the constable where Simon, Lord Kinsfell, might be found.

The Colonel hastened immediately about this errand; and we were rewarded, in a very little while, with his reappearance in company with a constable — one of the two, I believe, who descended upon Laura Place the night of the murder. He was a jaded personage addressed only as Shaw, who possessed a broken front tooth displayed to advantage in leering at the Quality. I judged him to be full sixty years of age and unastonished by any of life’s present vicissitudes; accustomed to the seizure of pickpockets, drunkards, and footpads of every description, but hardly equal to the elucidation of a murder. He was content to believe that Kinsfell had stabbed poor Richard Portal from inebriated rage.

Mr. Shaw surveyed us with a curious blend of contempt and sympathy, and urged us to reconsider our notion of conversing with so dangerous a man; but Lady Desdemona was admirably determined. She pled the duty and feelings of a sister, and when seconded by so imposing a presence as the uniformed Colonel Easton, could not be gainsaid. Presently we were conveyed to a low door in a wall, where a gaoler sat whittling a stick. The fellow jumped up at our appearance, and pulled his forelock in salutation, at which Constable Shaw cuffed him absent-mindedly and bent to his keys.

“I shall return in a quarter-hour, sir,” he said with a bow to Easton, and an unfortunate exposure of the broken tooth, “a quarter-hour and no more.”

“Very well,” the Colonel replied.

Lady Desdemona drew a shaky breath, composed her features, and entered the dimly-lit room. I followed, with the Colonel behind.

I had known these odours before — of musty hay, poor drainage, and human excrement — but was nonetheless tempted to secure my handkerchief beneath my nose in an effort to block them out. The door shut-to at our backs, and I heard the key grate in the lock.

“Kinny!” Lady Desdemona cried.

A shadow against the opposite wall struggled to its feet, and shuffled but a few steps before halting to peer at us through the gloom. The cell was lit only by a small window cut into the wall at ceiling’s height, and so late in December the shadows outside were already long.

“Have you been riding, Mona?” Lord Kinsfell enquired easily. Upon closer observation, the gentleman was revealed as being in irons at his wrists and ankles. “I don’t suppose you thought to exercise the Defender. He must be kicking down his box door from sheer boredom. And who is that with you?”

“You remember Colonel Easton, Simon?” his sister anxiously enquired.

“How could I possibly forget? I stood second to Swithin. Your servant, sir — and no ill feelings, I hope.”

“None whatsoever,” Easton replied. “I should be a rogue, indeed, did I extend my grievance to my enemy’s friends.”

“And this is Miss Austen, Simon — an acquaintance of Uncle’s, and now a friend of mine.”

“Your humble servant, madam — particularly in my present circumstances,” Kinsfell said with a smile. He attempted to bow, but his shackles denied him something of grace; and I observed a wave of irritation to pass over his countenance, leaving it careworn and older than his five-and-twenty years. The weight of his fears — the ignorance of his fate — the enforced inactivity and misspent energy — all must eat away at his complaisance and tell upon his nerves. For I judged that like his uncle, Lord Kinsfell was a man who must be constantly doing something. To be confined was for him to be entombed alive.

I stepped forward and bobbed a curtsey. “We have already met, Lord Kinsfell. Indeed, we danced a half-hour in each other’s company at Her Grace’s rout.”

“The little Shepherdess! But how delightful to meet again! Though I confess I am astonished to find you here, and Mona, too,” he added, turning towards his sister. “The guv’nor will be fit to be tied, does he hear of it!”

“And what if he is? Papa has quite despaired of me already, I assure you, Simon. Are you well?”

“Well enough,” her brother said diffidently. “I long for an exchange from hay, however — and the victuals my gaoler is pleased to offer fairly turn my stomach! Never knew how glad I should be for a fresh pot of coffee, or a pipe if it comes to that, until they were quite beyond my reach!” He reached a hand to his tousled head, as though to make the fair locks more presentable — but the irons at his wrist turned the effort awkward and ineffectual. A muttered oath, and he dropped his arms to his sides. “But tell me if you are able — how does Uncle get on?”

“As swiftly as the most cunning mind in the kingdom may,” I assured him. “He is never idle on your behalf.”

“It gladdens my heart to hear it — for I am to be moved to Ilchester soon, and shall have precious little hope of news.” He hesitated, and looked from his sister to Colonel Easton. “At least that magistrate cove is done hanging about. He quite puts the wind up a fellow.”

“The impertinence of the Law is not to be borne,” Colonel Easton remarked, “but we cannot presume that impertinence will prevail. Have courage, Kinsfell — for I am certain matters will come right in the end.” He bowed, and moved to the door. “I should not wish to presume upon such intimacy, Lady Desdemona. I shall await you in the courtyard.”

“You are very good, Easton.”

“Perhaps I should go with the Colonel,” I remarked.

“No — stay, I beg of you,” she cried, with a hand to my arm.

Her brother did not speak until the door had closed behind the Colonel. “So Easton is dancing attendance again, Mona? And when did he arrive in Bath?”

“Only yesterday. He was so good as to call in Laura Place, and express his outrage at your cruel treatment.”

“Then all the world must know of this business, if Dash Easton has left St. James on the strength of it,” Kinsfell mused gloomily. “And did he shave his whiskers as a sign of deference to a family overset by misfortune, I wonder? Or has he learned that you prefer your beaux clean-shaven?”

“Never mind that, Kinny,” she retorted in exasperation, and then stopped short. “‘Dash’ Easton? However did he come by that name?”

The Marquis smiled faintly. “He won it as his right — the result of a wager. Some of the fellows at White’s said he couldn’t dash from London to Brighton in record time without changing horses, and Easton said he could.”

“And did he?” I enquired curiously.

“Oh, yes — though at the expense of the unfortunate horse. Poor brute expired not five minutes after achieving Brighton. But Easton thought it worth the toss — he had wagered a year’s pay.”

“Good Lord!” Lady Desdemona cried, though not without admiration. “But, Kinny — we did not come here to talk of Easton’s pranks. Miss Austen is entirely in Uncle’s confidence, and may hear whatever you would say.”

“I can tell you nothing, Mona,” her brother said wearily.

“You know that to be the grossest falsehood, Kinny,” Lady Desdemona retorted impatiently. “Swithin attended the inquest, and he is convinced that you labour under an affair of honour — that you mean to go to the gallows rather than betray your trust. I did not sleep a wink last night for considering of it!”

“Swithin! But I thought you despised the fellow!”

“Oh, as to that—” She paused awkwardly. “He is the most odious of men, and throws poor Easton into quite a favourable light. Do you know that Uncle suspects Swithin of the murder? And of leaving you to bear the blame?”

“But he was not even invited to Grandmère’s rout!”

“No more he was. But Uncle has found a pin we believe to be his — a snarling tiger, with rubies for eyes — dropped and forgotten in the anteroom passageway. You know it cannot have come there honestly, Kinny. Swithin must have crept in unannounced, under cover of a mask.”

“The Devil!” Lord Kinsfell exclaimed, and then looked to myself with comic anxiety. “I beg your pardon, Miss Austen. I hope I did not offend—”

“So you see, Kinny, there is no need to protect the Earl. You must tell us what you know,” his sister persisted. Her face shone palely through the gloom, and I knew that the abandonment of her favourite was not accomplished without a struggle. “Whatever your loyalty to Swithin, you must certainly never hang for it. He does not warrant such regard.”

“I do not pretend to understand you, Mona. I have no intention of shielding Swithin.”

“Kinny — you must try to be sensible, my dear.” Lady Desdemona reached a gloved hand for his manacled one. “Did you observe him, when first you entered the room and found Portal insensible?”

Lord Kinsfell shook his head. “I saw nothing of Swithin that night.”

“But perhaps you saw a Pierrot?” I suggested. “A broad-shouldered fellow, not unlike the Earl. Throughout Her Grace’s rout, I observed a similar figure in conversation with Maria Conyngham.”

He started at this, and surveyed me narrowly. “And what should Maria Conyngham have to do with Mr. Portal’s death? You saw yourself how destroyed she was by his end.”

I shrugged. “We know her to be allied in the closest terms with Lord Swithin.”

“I fear you are mistaken, madam,” Kinsfell cried, with a conscious look for Lady Desdemona. “Lord Swithin is excessively attached to my sister!”

“Oh, Kinny,” Lady Desdemona retorted in exasperation, “how can you serve Miss Austen so! She speaks no more than the truth. We have all been treated to a display of Swithin’s attachment for myself — and it is nothing compared to his attentions to Miss Conyngham! He waits upon her at the Theatre Royal, and the Lower Rooms; and she meets his attentions with the most lively sensibility.”

The Marquis threw himself down on the dirty hay and put his head in his hands. “I cannot believe it of Maria.”

“But you must, my dear,” Lady Desdemona said gently. “For it is no more than the truth. Whatever we each might have chosen to hope regarding the respective parties, I for one refuse to continue in ignorance.”

He was silent a moment, and his sister glanced at me uneasily.

“Kinny,” she said, “was it this that caused your words with Mr. Portal? Did he expose Miss Conyngham’s character to you that wretched night?”

“It matters nothing, now.”

“It matters a very great deal, indeed. I have only one brother, and I will not part with him for the sake of such a jade, for any inducement in the world!” Lady Desdemona cried stoutly. “You know something, I am sure of it.”

“Did you chance to observe the lady on your passage to the anteroom — while her brother was declaiming Macbeth?” I enquired.

The Marquis’s answer was drowned in the clamour of knocking at his door. “Time, my lady!” called Constable Shaw.

Lady Desdemona looked about her wildly. “Tell us, Kinny, I beg! Your life may depend upon it!”

“Very well,” he said, with infinite weariness; “I now no longer care what happens to myself. I did not observe Maria Conyngham, nor Swithin either. If he killed Portal and availed himself of the passage, however, it must have been at Miss Conyngham’s urging — for she knew of the passage’s existence, where Swithin could not. You will remember, Mona, how often the Conynghams dined in Laura Place, in the weeks before Her Grace’s rout; and any might observe the servants to pass from drawing-room to kitchen, by way of the anteroom passage.”

“That is no more than the truth,” his sister thoughtfully replied.

“But there is something, Lord Kinsfell, that you know regarding the lady,” I said.

He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes devoid of hope. And then he nodded once. “It is a word only.”

“A word?”

“Maria,” he said. “I heard it on Portal’s lips, in his final agony.”

WE LEFT LORD KINSFELL TO THE MOST MELANCHOLY thoughts, and found Colonel Easton pacing in the central courtyard. He very kindly escorted us both to his phaeton, and enquired of our direction; and at Lady Desdemona’s declaring herself faint from hunger, agreed to set us down in Milsom Street, for the procuring of a nuncheon at Molland’s, the confectioners.[60] There he was forced to part from us, being elsewhere engaged; but we assured him of our ability to walk the remaining distance home in the strongest accents possible.

A little while later we were established on a pair of stools in the bow-front window, well-fortified with chocolate and macaroons.

“It would seem that Portal named his killer in his last moments,” I began. “We must inform Lord Harold without delay.”

“May I beg you to accompany me to Laura Place, Miss Austen, and dine there with us? For the morning is much advanced, and you cannot return home without first advising my uncle. I should feel the deprivation of your understanding most acutely, I vow, in attempting to make sense of our interview with Kinny. You will not desert me?”

Having reasons of my own for wishing to consult Lord Harold — a consultation already too-long deferred — I readily agreed.

“Then do you jot a little note for the instruction of your family, and I shall send one of Mrs. Molland’s messengers to Green Park Buildings,” Lady Desdemona suggested, with admirable efficiency.

The paper was brought, the note written, and the messenger despatched in a matter of moments. Mrs. Molland refreshed our cups, and we settled down to indulge in a thorough canvassing of Lord Kinsfell’s affairs.

“Poor Kinny,” Lady Desdemona observed. “I fear he is sadly overset by the revelation of his beloved’s true character.”

“Had you any notion of your brother’s regard for Miss Conyngham?” I enquired.

“No, indeed,” Lady Desdemona exclaimed. “You must comprehend, Miss Austen, that Kinny is beset by the attention of ladies wherever he goes — and thus I suppose I have grown used to his general air of indifference. He is considered a most eligible parti, because of his title and Papa’s estates; and his personal address is not unpleasing. And though he has always been mad for the theatre, I had not understood that one among the multitude had particularly caught his eye.”

“Perhaps he found a value in discretion.”

“Rather than risk Papa’s disapproval, you would mean? I should not be greatly surprised. But I must reproach myself for failing to detect the change in his behaviour. For Kinny would never have been so ready to come to Bath upon Papa’s errand, or so little desirous of dragging me back again to London, had Miss Conyngham not been in residence here. He abhors the stupidity of Bath above all things.”

“A man of taste and elegance, I see. Does his acquaintance with the lady, then, predate this visit to Bath?”

“He came down last Easter to stay with Grandmère, and may have met Miss Conyngham then. I must suppose Mr. Portal to have thrown her in his way — for Portal was an intimate of long standing in Laura Place. But what I cannot comprehend, is why Miss Conyngham should wish to murder Mr. Portal. I always believed them united by the strongest ties of affection.”

“Perhaps she misconstrued his attentions to yourself,” I offered gently. “The theatre alone can give an hundred examples of jealousy inciting a murderous rage.”

“But it is too absurd!” my companion cried. “I cared nothing for the fellow!”

“—Though you may have encouraged him, from a desire to pique the Earl of Swithin.”

Lady Desdemona flushed hotly. “Perhaps I may — perhaps I did. I have never regretted a similar indiscretion so intensely in my life, Miss Austen. For if either Swithin or Miss Conyngham was driven to violence by the appearance of my regard for Mr. Portal, I shall never forgive myself.”

We were silent a moment, and toyed with our macaroons. I considered my nightmares of early morning, in some confusion and vexadon. Jealousy of Lady Desdemona — from either the Earl or Maria Conyngham — could not hope to explain the haunting pendant eye Lord Kinsfell had found on Richard Portal’s breast. “Do not reproach yourself excessively, Lady Desdemona,” I said at last. “I would warrant that the Earl — if indeed it was his hand that struck the blow — acted as much at Miss Conyngham’s behest, as from a desire to despatch his rival.”

She smiled faintly. “There is very little of comfort in that reflection, however. I cannot rejoice in the suspicion of Swithin’s attachment to another.”

I studied her narrowly. “You regret the Earl’s defection, then?”

“I cannot help but do so. The sensation is nothing, however, to my horror at his lordship’s being suspected of murder. The torments of the past few days, Miss Austen, have been extreme. You cannot have the slightest notion; for revolve the matter in solitude as I might, I can arrive at no very satisfactory conclusion. Lord Swithin is either a murderer, a deceiver, or both; and the knowledge can only give me pain.”

“Then why, when he was eager to marry, did you refuse his proposals?”

Her countenance clouded. “Mamma does not admire him, on account of his being so much in the way of the Carlton House set. They are very fast, you know, as is everything to do with the Prince, and spend a vast deal of money; and Mamma suspects that Swithin sought me for my fifty thousand pounds.”

I silently blessed Desdemona’s Mamma; and concluded that the Duchess of Wilborough was less empty-headed than I had thought her.

“But Papa saw nothing wrong in Swithin — and said that with so vast a fortune at his command, mine should be the merest pin money. He was almost gratified, in fact, that I should have attracted the suit of a man who has spurned nearly every woman in London.”

“The Earl is much sought-after?”

“Oh, Miss Austen — I have observed such doings in Town, as should curl your hair! Such barefaced flattery, and complaisant simpering, and obnoxious efforts to please! There are ladies who go about in nothing but puce, because they believe it to be his favourite colour — though I know he quite abhors it, and laughs at them all the while. And there are others who embroider his device upon their sleeves—” She stopped short, her eyes widening. “Oh, good Lord!”

I seized her hand. “Like Mrs. Fitzherbert, who carved the Prince’s feathers in the lintel of her door in Richmond Hill.[61] The tiger! Of course!”

“A gift to a lady, and not his own.”

“The Maria Portal named with his dying breath! Why did we not perceive it before?”

“And so it was Miss Conyngham who killed Portal, and fled through the anteroom passageway, and lost the tiger unbeknownst to herself,” Lady Desdemona whispered breathlessly. “Oh, my dearest Miss Austen — we must away to my uncle.”

We threw some coin on Molland’s counter, called hastily for chairs, and were gone.

DINNER WAS EXCESSIVELY GRAND, AND I FELT MY WANT OF evening dress acutely; but the Dowager kindly assured me that a trifling affair of two courses, comprising some twenty dishes, should never incommode so dear a friend as myself. Lord Harold presided at one end of the long table, his mother at the other, with myself and Lady Desdemona ranged in between; Miss Wren’s earlier presentiment of ill-health having been realised with a most tiresome cold in the head, she kept to her rooms and requested a little warm gruel on a tray, and a hot mustard bath for her feet.

Her Grace was suffered to offer an apology, at presenting so excessively stupid a table for my amusement. Before Lord Kinsfell’s misfortune, they had been wont to see some thirty guests in Laura Place at dinner; but a festive mood was wisely deemed unsuitable at such a time, and the Dowager had desisted in entertainment.

Lord Harold had greeted me with a bow, and a countenance devoid of expression; no mention was made of the offending item in that morning’s Chronicle; and I blessed the elegance of manner that allowed the preservation of my composure. The Gentleman Rogue is too accustomed to impertinence from a public quarter, to dignify it with outrage; whereas among the Austens, such notice is so unusual as to be met with dismay on every side.

Her Grace enquired anxiously after Lord Kinsfell, and Lady Desdemona was able to give a tolerable report of his spirits; but before the servants, some four of which remained in an attitude of readiness behind our respective chairs, she was loath to mention the interesting intelligence our visit to the gaol had elicited. In thus longing for the relative privacy of the drawing-room, we were encouraged to make short work of the sole, the pheasant, and the venison. But an hour and a half of steady application to the Dowager’s table, in fact, was required before I was released to the comforts of tea and feminine society.

When Lord Harold had done at last with the duty of his solitary Port, and appeared in the drawing-room reeking of tobacco, Lady Desdemona fairly leapt to his side. In a breathless accent, she related the whole of our morning’s endeavours.

Her uncle listened, and looked grave. “My errand in Orchard Street gains in urgency. I had intended the Theatre Royal this evening — both the Conynghams are to play — and now I believe I must hasten there without delay. It is unfortunate that Mr. Elliot bore the interesting pin away with him to London; for I might have made an addition to my attire, and displayed the tiger on the collar of my coat. It should never have excited too great a notice in general; but in one quarter, at least, it might have moved the guilty to betrayal.”

“But you do agree, Uncle, that it is possible Swithin had nothing to do with Mr. Portal’s end?” Lady Desdemona persisted.

He gazed at her an instant before replying. “I hesitate to declare Swithin innocent of anything, my dear, until our excellent Mr. Elliot has returned from London.”

“We need not await the magistrate’s intelligence on one point, at least,” I broke in, with an anxious look for Lady Desdemona. “For Lord Swithin’s sisters acknowledged only this morning that the Earl had business so near to Bath as Bristol the very morning after Mr. Portal’s murder. Certainly it was from Bristol that his lordship sent for the Fortescue ladies, before journeying to Bath himself on Wednesday. They joined him here on Thursday, I believe.”

“Did they, indeed? This is news of the first water.” Lord Harold considered my words a moment, then wheeled to confront his niece. “Would it comfort you, Mona, to know that Swithin was in the clear?”

“It would,” she replied, with downcast eyes.

“Though in all probability Miss Conyngham wore his device — in the most public admission of his patronage? You persist in valuing a man of so dissipated a character?”

His voice had grown quite stern, and Lady Desdemona quailed; but it was the Dowager who replied.

“Leave her be, Harry,” she said with a wave, “you need not fear she is abandoned to the reprobate. She merely hopes he is not entirely so past recall, as to have murdered Mr. Portal. There is nothing very singular in this.”

“Very well, Mamma. If we must consider Desdemona’s heart, I can see no alternative but to adventure Bristol on the morrow. There are only two inns I can conceive of Swithin gracing; and at one of these, he will be remembered. And now I must away, or Miss Conyngham will play without my admiration. Miss Austen? May I set you down in Seymour Street?”

“You may, my lord, with my deepest thanks.”

I made my adieux, and was very soon established in Lord Harold’s curricle.

“YOU ARE RATHER QUIET THIS EVENING, MISS AUSTEN. I hope my niece has not overtaxed your fund of strength.”

“Hardly — though I am, perhaps, a little oppressed in spirits.”

A swift glance, as swiftly averted. “I very much regret the impertinence of the newspaper, Jane.”

The gentleness of his tone, and his adoption of my Christian name, very nearly brought tears to my eyes — but I drew a shaky breath and attempted to affect a carelessness I could not feel.

“Oh, as to that — do not trouble to consider of it further. For what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn? It shall be forgot, and Green Park Buildings returned to its usual obscurity.”

“Your complaisance does you credit. I must hope that Maria Conyngham possesses not half so much — or I shall be sadly thwarted in my efforts to provoke her this evening.”

“Provocation is all very well — but I would counsel, my lord, that you undertake it only with the most zealous care for your person. There is a danger in travelling alone. My chair was waylaid by footpads as I attempted a return from the Lower Rooms last evening.”

“Footpads! I had not an idea of it!” Lord Harold turned to me in astonishment. “They were after your purse?”

“—Though there was little enough within. I recognised one of the men, however, as he held a knife to my throat — and informed the constable of his name and direction. He was a certain Smythe, of the Theatre Royal. I had remarked him Thursday when we ventured to the wings, as a man quite subject to Hugh Conyngham’s direction. And though his beard and headgear obscured his face, I could hardly have been mistaken — for Smythe possesses one blue, and one brown eye; and thus must be instantly known, even in darkness.”

I spoke with tolerable composure, but Lord Harold’s distress was sudden and extreme.

“He held a knife to your throat!”

“Do not concern yourself, I beg. He very soon ran off, when I summoned breath enough to scream. But I should be interested to learn whether the constable succeeded in seizing him. You might find it out at the theatre this evening.”

“And you believe this villain was despatched by one of the company?” Lord Harold enquired in the grimmest accent.

“I am utterly convinced of it — by Hugh Conyngham himself, perhaps. Our conversation in the Lower Rooms last night must somehow have excited that gentleman’s anxiety; and from a fear, perhaps, of the letters’ exposure — or a fear of my intimacy with yourself — he determined that I should be silenced.”

“But you cannot have betrayed our suspicions so completely, Jane! And yet you think the man Smythe intended your death?”

“I detected no gentleness in his look — only the coldest light of determination.”

Lord Harold snapped the reins over the back of his team, though the horses already moved smartly enough. “When I think that I might have prevented it! Had I never urged you to deceive Conyngham, while I searched the manager’s office, you should not have been exposed to this danger.”

“You must not reproach yourself, my lord. I am no slip of a girl to require excessive protection; what I have done, was done of my own free will. I impart the particulars only so that you may be on your guard. For if you persist in baiting Maria Conyngham, you surely risk the gravest injury. Have a care, Lord Harold — and trust no one’s appearance of benevolence.”

“You could not have bestowed your warning on a less likely object,” he replied with mirth. “It is many years, indeed, since I have trusted the appearance of anything like disinterested good.”

We achieved the stoop of Green Park Buildings, and he jumped down to hand me to the street.

“Jane, Jane,” he said with a sigh, “I regret your misfortune extremely.”

“Not another word, my lord. I would not forfeit the thrill of this chase for a thousand footpads. And there is Lord Kinsfell to be thought of — is he to rot in gaol for the preservation of a man like Smythe? Never!”

Lord Harold surveyed me with a judicious air. “It is as much as I would expect of you, my dear. Having risked your life thus far, may I enquire whether you would accompany me to Bristol on the morrow? I should value your penetration extremely.”

“Sunday travel? I should never hear the end of it, among the Austens,” I mused with a smile.[62] “But I think I shall attend you, all the same. Tomorrow is my birthday, Lord Harold, and I shall regard the journey as in tribute to my natal day! But you must allow me an hour first for the observance of morning service. I might pray to be forgiven my family’s poor opinion.”

“Capital!” he cried. “Expect my carriage at eleven o’clock. We shall be returned in time for dinner.”