“Fiddle-de-dee!” said Louisa tartly. “Sir Richard, as I suppose, is in his bed!”
“No, my lady. As I informed your ladyship, Sir Richard’s bed has not been slept in.” He paused, but Louisa only stared at him. Satisfied with the impression he had made, he continued: “The evening attire which Sir Richard was wearing yesterday was found by his man, Biddle, upon the floor of his bedroom. Sir Richard’s second-best top-boots, a pair of buckskins, a blue riding-coat, his drab overcoat, and a fawn coloured beaver, have all disappeared. One is forced to the conclusion, my lady, that Sir Richard was called away unexpectedly.”
“Gone off without his valet?” George demanded in a stupefied tone.
The butler bowed. “Precisely so, my lord.”
“Impossible!” George said, from the heart.
Louisa, who had been frowning over these tidings, said in a brisk voice: “It is certainly very odd, but there is no doubt some perfectly reasonable explanation. Pray, are you certain that my brother left no word with any member of his household?”
“None whatsoever, my lady.”
George heaved a deep sigh, and shook his head. “I warned you, Louisa! I said you were driving him too hard!”
“You said nothing of the sort!” snapped Louisa, annoyed with him for talking so indiscreetly before a palpably interested servant. “To be sure, he may well have mentioned to us that he was going out of town, and we have forgotten the circumstance.”
“How can you say so?” asked George, honestly puzzled. “Why, didn’t you have it from Melissa Brandon herself that he was to call—”