“That will do, George!” said Louisa, quelling him with a look so terrible that he quailed under it. “Tell me, Porson,” she resumed, turning again to the butler, “has my brother gone in his post-chaise, or is he driving himself?”
“None of Sir Richard’s vehicles, my lady, sporting or otherwise, is missing from the stables,” said Porson, relishing the cumulative effect of his disclosures.
“He is riding, then!”
“I have ascertained from the head groom, my lady, that none of Sir Richard’s horses has been abstracted. The head groom has not seen Sir Richard since yesterday morning.”
“Good Gad!” muttered George, his eyes starting with dismay at the hideous thought which presented itself to him. “No, no, he would not do that!”
“Be quiet, George! For heaven’s sake, be quiet!” Louisa cried sharply. “Why, what nonsensical notion have you taken into your head? I am sure it is most provoking of Richard to slip off like this, but as for—I won’t have you say such things! Ten to one, he has gone off to watch some odious sporting event: prize-fighting, I dare say! He will be home presently.”
“But he didn’t sleep at home!” George reminded her. “And I’m bound to say he wasn’t cold stone sober when he left Almack’s last night. I don’t mean he was badly foxed, but you know what he’s like when he’s—”
“I am thankful to say that I know nothing of the kind!” retorted Louisa. “If he was not sober, it would account for his erratic behaviour.”
“Erratic behaviour! I must say, Louisa, that is a fine way to talk when poor Ricky may be at the bottom of the river,” exclaimed George, roused to noble courage.
She changed colour, but said faintly: “How can you be so absurd? Don’t say such things, I beg of you!”