CHAPTER THIRTEEN #2
The cry brought Sir Lucius up short. Coming along a path at ninety degrees to him was Gregory Escott, his 173face unnaturally flustered, even for the weather, his lavender-gloved fists clenched by his sides.
Sir Lucius was not particularly concerned.
A true madman might attack without warning, but if Escott was going to come up to him face to face, he had absolutely no doubt that he could neutralise any threat he might pose.
That this showed in his expression only drove the enraged Mr Escott to an even higher level of frustrated anger. So ‘the Wicked Sir Lucius’, who sought to ruin his life, thought him no more than a worthless fribble, did he? Well, he would find out just how wrong he was.
‘You!’ he repeated, half an octave higher.
Sir Lucius merely looked bored. ‘That is a singularly pointless observation, Escott. However great the excess spleen from which you are suffering, please do not waste my time by venting it upon me. The afternoon is too warm and I have more important things to consider.’
‘Yes, no doubt. How to seduce my Muse.’
‘I take it that you are referring to Miss Ashling. You are wrong in both assumptions, both that I have any reprehensible intentions towards that lady, and that she in any sense is “yours”. Both are also insulting to me and to Miss Ashling, and if you repeat them in public I shall have no compunction in knocking you down.’
‘You need not call me out, for I shall call you out, Villain.’
‘Stop being histrionic. If you want to behave like that you should be on the stage.’
‘You cannot refuse to meet me and call yourself a man of honour,’ goaded Mr Escott.
‘Not only could I do so, but the reverse is true. If you 174think meeting a feckless greenhorn like you at dawn would show me in an honourable light, you are far off the mark. For goodness’ sake, grow up and behave like a sane man, if that is possible.’
‘You don’t understand.’ Mr Escott sounded petulant.
‘No, I probably do not, but it does not make my words less true.’
‘I cannot write without her,’ wailed Escott.
‘It is my opinion that not writing would do you the world of good.’ It could not be said that Sir Lucius was going out of his way to be placatory.
‘You have no poetic soul,’ bemoaned the tortured poet, almost wringing his hands.
‘No.’
‘She is perfection. She is inspiration. She is—’
‘A young woman who does not deserve that you make her acutely embarrassed,’ Sir Lucius observed.
Gregory Escott was nearly hopping from one foot to the other, and looked like a cat preparing to pounce. Sir Lucius appeared unconcerned, but was fully prepared.
‘Philistine!’ cried Mr Escott, rocking on the balls of his feet.
‘I say, you can’t go around shouting things like that, Escott.
’ Lord Bensthorpe, who had turned into Green Park to take the shady route to a meeting of the Patrons of St George’s Hospital at Hyde Park Corner, spoke most reprovingly.
He had espied Sir Lucius and the irate poet, and approached, frowning.
‘This is no matter of yours, my lord,’ Escott declared pompously. 175
‘Dashed well is if you start insulting my friends, and if,’ Lord Bensthorpe announced, noting Mr Escott’s pugnacious stance, ‘you think you can start a mill in Green Park then you are very mistaken. Terribly bad ton. Ladies might see, if,’ he added honestly, ‘there should be any about. That is, they would see Lucius draw your cork within seconds. Not nice. Might faint. The ladies that is, not Lucius.’
Sir Lucius watched, amused, as Mr Escott digested this slightly confused speech.
‘Escott, you have no knowledge of Miss Ashling whatsoever. All you have is an image in your head, and upon which you let your over fertile imagination feed.’ Sir Lucius drove home his point.
‘What was at first merely mildly embarrassing is fast becoming unsavoury and unpleasant. If you have any feeling towards the lady at all, you will desist in this theatrical and highly unbecoming pursuit of her, and keep your muses purely imaginary.’
‘Thus leaving the way open for yourself, Sir Lucius.’
Sir Lucius scowled. ‘You know, despite Bensthorpe’s sound advice, I may just plant you a facer anyway, you impertinent cub.’
‘Best not, Lucius.’ Bensthorpe laid a hand upon his friend’s sleeve. ‘Not seemly here. Come with me to St George’s.’
‘I am not a patron, Bensthorpe.’
‘Er, no, but it is a devilish good cause so perhaps you might become one,’ offered Lord Bensthorpe, with a hint of desperation.
Sir Lucius laughed. Mr Escott found himself suddenly sidelined and was prey to mixed emotions.
Part of him, obviously, wanted violent action, but a good upbringing 176gave him a voice within his head that acknowledged the Awful Truth, with capital letters.
There seemed no easy way to withdraw from the encounter without considerable loss of face.
He caught Lord Bensthorpe’s eye, and there was some sympathy in the gaze.
‘Not quite up to snuff yet, Escott, dear boy. Everyone makes mistakes, so best put this down to experience and toddle off like a good fellow. No point in making a cake of yourself, eh?’
Mr Escott looked almost beseechingly at Sir Lucius, and gabbled some incoherent phrases in which an apology was at least indicated. Then he raised his hat and stalked away with as much dignity as he could manage, which was not a lot.
‘Looby,’ muttered Sir Lucius.
‘No real harm in the boy, Lucius, and we have all suffered calf love at some point in youth.’
‘Oh, this was not love, but “poetry”. He thought I had unpoetic designs upon his muse.’
‘Miss Ashling. Mmm, well I daresay he will not be the only one to wish you uncharitable thoughts in the near future.’
‘What do you mean?’ Sir Lucius frowned, bemused.
‘Miss Ashling and yourself, Lucius. Can’t say I didn’t fancy a tilt in that direction myself, but she is a difficult girl to get close to, and it all seemed a bit like hard work in the end. But I wish you well, truly I do.’
‘But there is no understanding between Miss Ashling and myself.’
Lord Bensthorpe blinked. ‘As of this moment, perhaps 177not, but I mean, if you have got as far as the purchase of a ring, then—’
‘A ring? What on earth are you talking about, Bensthorpe? Burgundy or claret, was it, last night?’
‘No, no, my dear fellow, not bosky at all. Couldn’t have been.
Heard it from my mother, and I wouldn’t be sitting there with her if I was on the go, now would I?
Besides, this has been common knowledge for days.
Everyone knows you are about to make the Unassailable an offer.
In fact, some fellows were wondering why you were delaying, afraid to put it to the touch, perhaps.
She can be quite daunting, the Unassailable. ’
Sir Lucius’s expression was one of horror. ‘But this is ridiculous. My mother asked me to take a family piece to be cleaned, after which I made an insignificant purchase, certainly not a ring, and even if I had, what cause would there be to assume I was going to propose to Miss Ashling?’
‘No idea how the ring came up, but you know, everyone has noted how you have become a bit like a guard dog about the Unassaila—’
‘For Heaven’s sake, stop calling Miss Ashling that, Bensthorpe. She is not a bastion.’
‘Well, no doubt poor Escott, who is clearly dicked in the nob, as poets so often are, believed every word, saw what he thought was true, and was overwrought. Old Farncombe is going to have to take him in hand, or he’ll be clapped up in Bedlam.
You can’t have fellows dashing about Town threatening violence like that. Dear me, no.’
Sir Lucius was by now only half attending.
He was thinking, and the results of his cogitations were not pleasant.
178The rumour had sprung from a half truth, so someone had seen him with Mr Rundell.
Lady Rendlesham’s arrival came to mind. Yes, she was the sort of woman who would enjoy mischief, and he had little doubt she knew the truth to be different.
She was also reputed to be Easby’s most recent flirt.
Why she should advance Easby’s cause by putting a spoke, as she would see it, in his own wheel …
‘Oh my God, that was why she was like that in the park.’
It was Lord Bensthorpe’s turn to look perplexed. ‘Who, my dear fellow?’
Sir Lucius merely shook his head, his brows drawn together in a frown. ‘Try and keep what passed here to yourself, Bensthorpe, for the sake of old Farncombe, and also the lady.’