“Admiral Taverner’s son,” said the Earl briefly.
Brummell nodded. “Yes, I met the Admiral in Brook Street once. He is a fellow, now, who would send his plate up twice for soup. I am perfectly willing to suspect any son of his.”
“Yes,” said the Earl, “I rather fancy that if nothing is heard of Peregrine, suspicion will point to Mr. Bernard Taverner. That would be unfortunate for Mr. Bernard Taverner.”
“I collect,” remarked Brummell, “that the gentleman in question is no friend of yours.”
“So little my friend,” replied the Earl, “that I shall own myself surprised if he does not presently set it about that it was I who caused Peregrine, and his groom, his tilbury, and his horses to disappear.”
“Which is absurd,” said Brummell.
“Which,” agreed the Earl, “is naturally absurd, my dear George.”
In Marine Parade Miss Taverner spent an uncomfortable day, running to the window at the least sound of carriage wheels stopping outside the house, and trying to think of some good reason for Peregrine’s prolonged absence. While Mrs. Scattergood did her best to reassure her, it was evident that she too felt a considerable degree of alarm, and when, at six o’clock, there was still no sign of Peregrine, it was she, and not Miss Taverner, who sent a footman round to the Steyne with an urgent note for the Earl of Worth.
He came at once, and was ushered into the drawing-room, where both ladies were awaiting him. Miss Taverner was looking pale, and greeted him with a rather wan smile. “He has not come back,” she said, trying to speak calmly.
“No, so I am informed,” he replied. “And you, I perceive, have been fancying him dead this hour and more.”