“Again?” said his lordship. “What do you mean?”
Horatia hung her head, and recounted haltingly the story of the ridotto at Ranelagh. The Viscount was delighted with at least one part of the story, and slapped his leg with glee.
“Yes, b-but I didn’t know it was Rule, and so I had to confess it all to him the next d-day and I won’t—I won’t make another c-confession! I said I w-wouldn’t see anything of Lethbridge while he was away and I can’t, I c-can’t tell him about this!”
“I don’t see it,” said the Viscount. “Plenty to bear you out. Coachman—what happened to him, by the way?”
“D-drugged,” she replied.
“All the better,” said his lordship. “If the coach came back to the stables without him, obviously you’re telling the truth.”
“But it d-didn’t! He was too clever,” said Horatia bitterly.
“I had the c-coachman in this morning. He thinks it was the b-bad beer, and the coach was taken back to the tavern. So I said I had been forced to get a link-boy to summon me a hackney. And I d-didn’t think it was quite fair to send him off when I knew he and the footman had been d-drugged, so I said this time I wouldn’t tell Rule.”
“That’s bad,” said the Viscount, frowning. “Still, Pom and I know you hit Lethbridge on the head, and got away.”
“It’s no good,” she said mournfully. “Of c-course you would be bound to stand by me, and that’s what Rule would think.”