He would need shirts, too, and his night-gear, and ties, wrist-bands, brushes, combs, razors, and no doubt a hundred other things which it was his valet’s business to assemble for him. He had a dressing-case, and a toilet-battery, but he could not take either of these. Nor could he take the brushes that lay on his dressing-table, for they naturally bore his cypher. And if he abstracted a few ties and shirts from the pile of linen in his wardrobe, would Nettlebed instantly discover their absence, and run him to earth before he had had time to board the coach? He decided that he must take that risk, for although he knew he could purchase soap, and brushes, and valises, he had no idea that it might be possible to purchase a shirt. One’s shirts were made for one, just as one’s coats and breeches were, and one’s boots. But to convey out of Sale House, unobserved, a bundle of clothing, was a task that presented insuperable obstacles to the Duke’s mind. He was still trying to hit upon a way out of the difficulty when Nettlebed came in, and softly drew back the bed-curtains.
The Duke sat up, and pulled off his night-cap. He looked absurdly small and boyish in the huge bed, so that it was perhaps not so very surprising that Nettlebed should have greeted him with a few words of reproof for the late hours he had kept on the previous evening.
“I never thought to see your Grace awake, not for another two hours I did not!” he said, shaking his head. “The idea of Mr. Matthew’s sitting with you for ever, and keeping you from your bed until past three o’clock!”
The Duke took the cup of chocolate from him, and began to sip it. “Don’t be so foolish, Nettlebed!” he said. “You know very well that during the season I was seldom in bed before then, and sometimes much later!”
“But this is not the season, my lord!” said Nettlebed unanswerably. “And what is more you was often very fagged, which his lordship observed to me when we left town, and it was his wish you should recruit your strength, and keep early hours, and well I know that if he had been here Mr. Matthew would have been sent off with a flea in his ear! For bear with Mr. Matthew’s tiresome ways his lordship never has, and never will! And I think it my duty to tell you, my lord, that the piece of very gratifying intelligence your Grace was so obliging as to inform me of last night, in what one might call a confidential way, is known to the whole house, including the kitchenmaids, who have not above six pounds a year, and do not associate with the upper servants!”
“No, is it indeed?” said the Duke, not much impressed, but realizing from long experience that Nettlebed’s sensitive feelings had received a severe wound. “I wonder how it can have got about? I suppose Scriven must have dropped a hint to someone.”
“Mr. Scriven,” said Nettlebed coldly, “would not so demean himself, your Grace, being as I am myself, in your Grace’s confidence. But what, your Grace, am be expected, when—”
“Nettlebed,” said the Duke plaintively, “when you call me your Grace with every breath you draw I know I have offended you, but indeed I had no notion of doing so, and I wish you will forgive me, and let me have no more Graces!”
His henchman paid not the least heed to this request, but continued as though there had been no interruption. “But what, your Grace, can be expected, when your Grace scribbles eight advertisements of your Grace’s approaching nuptials, and leaves them all on the floor to be gathered up by an under-servant who should know his place better than to be prying into your Grace’s business?”
“Well, it doesn’t signify,” said the Duke. “The news will be in tomorrow’s Gazette, I daresay, so there is no harm done.”