The Captain smiled and picked up the wine bottle. “Are you?” he said. “Perhaps my brother has a reason for that as well.”
He began to pour out the wine, but his left hand was still unused to doing the work of his right, and some of the liquid was spilled, and splashed on to his immaculate breeches. He said with a good deal of annoyance: “Can you perform the simplest office with your left hand? I cannot, as you see. Damnation!” He set the bottle down, and snatching his handkerchief from his pocket, dabbed angrily at the stain on his knee. But in pulling out his handkerchief he caught up something else as well, which fluttered to the floor between his chair and Taverner’s. He looked down, and made a swift movement to retrieve it.
Mr. Taverner was before him, however. His fingers closed on the paper just as Captain Audley reached for it. He looked at it for one moment, and then raised his eyes to the Captain’s face. “Am I to wish you joy, Captain Audley?” he asked in a measured voice. “I had no idea that you were contemplating matrimony, but since you carry a special licence in your pocket, I must suppose the happy day to be imminent.”
The Captain took the paper from him rather quickly, and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Oh lord, no!” he said easily. “It is not for me, my dear fellow. A friend of mine is about to be married, and charged me with procuring the licence, that is all!”
“I see,” said Mr. Taverner politely.
Chapter XXII
Sunday dragged past without bringing any news of Peregrine to his sister. She went to church with Mrs. Scattergood in the morning, and on coming out after the service was hailed by her uncle, who came hobbling towards her, leaning upon his stick. She had not seen him since some days before Peregrine’s disappearance, and so strong was her mistrust of him that she found it hard to greet him with the distinction their relationship demanded. He did not look to be in health; his usually red cheeks had a sallow tinge, but he ascribed it all to his gout, which had kept him indoors for the past week. This, he told his niece, was his first day out. She experienced a strong feeling of suspicion upon his so pointedly telling her this, but forced herself, from a wish not to be backward in any attention that was due to him, to inquire whether he had tried the Warm Bath. He had done so, but without receiving much benefit from it. It was evident that he did not wish to make his own health the subject of his conversation; he begged his niece to give him her arm to his carriage, and was no sooner walking slowly away with her than he looked anxiously round into her face, and said in a low tone: “You know, I should have been with you two days ago, my dear, had I not been aground with this curst foot of mine. It is a dreadful business! I do not know what to say to you. I would not have had such a thing happen for the world! Ay, poor girl, I see how you feel it!”
His hand squeezed hers; meeting his eyes she saw so troubled an expression in them that she could almost have acquitted him. She thanked him, and said: “I do not let myself despair, sir. I believe Lord Worth will find Peregrine.”
“Ay, and so I hope he may do,” he answered. “It is a dreadful business, a dreadful business!”
“My cousin is not with you today, sir?” she observed, not wishing to discuss Peregrine’s fate with him.