A Poached Peerage Part 21

"Of course," Lady Agatha corroborated, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had practically sent him off as having no further use for him.

"Mr. Sharnbrook might have known we never could be so inhospitable."

Sharnbrook gave an enquiring glance at Peckover, who could only helplessly reply by a sign directing his attention to Miss Leo, at sight of whom hope gave way to despair in the Sharnbrook bosom.

Bisgood announced luncheon. Lady Agatha's look at Peckover said as plainly as speech--"What are you going to do with these impossible people?" And under the look he felt more limp and nonplussed than ever.

Under the circ.u.mstances Peckover was actually relieved when the tension of the situation was snapped by a loud exclamation of satisfaction from Carnaby. "Lunch! Good! I'm all there!" With a stride he placed himself by Lady Agatha's side, and offered her his arm with what might be supposed to stand in the Bush for the grand manner. Ignoring his arm, Lady Agatha crossed her own and walked stiffly and resentfully from the room. By no means abashed, Carnaby looked round and pounced upon Dagmar, who, having lost Sharnbrook in a struggle for him with her sister, was also disappointed of getting Peckover, whom Miss Leo had taken prompt care to annex. But Carnaby was hardly acceptable, even as a consolation prize. Dagmar drew back and made a sudden dart after her mother leaving the rest to follow in various degrees of discontent.

"Oh, mother," she exclaimed breathless with indignation, "what appalling people! We had better keep an eye on the silver. Do you know, I saw that horrid man again in the shrubbery just now."

As the last of the party were pressing through the library door "that horrid man" came up to the window and looked furtively in. It was none other than Lord Quorn, the real Lord Quorn; he who had drunk Peckover's drugged champagne at the _Quorn Arms_ at Great Bunbury.

CHAPTER XVIII

"I've had enough of this, I'm going to get up," Mr. Gage, the _soi-disant_ Lord Quorn, declared, as Peckover after luncheon devoted a few minutes of his present complicated existence to visit that impatient patient.

"No, you don't."

"Won't I?" was the querulous rejoinder. "Why not? The doctor's gone, and----"

"There's something worse than the doctor come," said Peckover with a long face.

"I don't know what's worse than the doctor, unless it's the undertaker," returned Gage.

"Well, I do," said Peckover feelingly. "A most unfortunate thing has happened. A girl who I was a bit sweet on out there has followed me over."

Gage whistled. "Then our game's all up. Of course she'll know you are Quorn and I am not."

"No," replied Peckover subtly. "I have made it all right about that.

Told her there was a mistake and I was not the rightful heir."

"That was smart of you," Gage said with gloomy approval. "Well, what's the trouble, then. The lady doesn't expect me to marry her, does she?"

"Yes," answered Peckover with intensity, "she does."

"What?" Gage nearly landed out of bed in his surprise. "Me?" Then laughed incredulously.

"She says she has come six thousand miles to be Lady Quorn and she is going to be Lady Quorn."

"The deuce she is. How is she going to manage that?"

"By force."

"What?" Gage shouted. "Marry me by force?"

"Yes," answered Peckover seriously. "You see, she has brought her brother with her, a dare-devil rampaging brute of a bush-ranger, six foot three tall, and broad in proportion, who sticks at nothing but your favourite vital part with a bowie knife."

"I'd like to see him," Gage observed scornfully

"You will, if you get out of bed and come downstairs," returned Peckover impressively. "Also you will have an opportunity of remarking the havoc he has made with the fire-irons."

"What? Fire-irons?"

"He has been snapping a few pokers and tongs just to show what he will do with you when he catches you."

"What absurd rot," Gage said with rising exasperation. "I never had anything to do with the brute's sister."

"But you have got to marry her," rejoined Peckover quite seriously, "or take the consequences."

"Oh, have I?"

"Yes; you had better stop in bed."

"Had I?" Gage exclaimed, flinging off the clothes. "I rather think I'll get up and hand the ruffian over to the police, as you don't seem to have the _nous_ to do it."

"Not I," returned Peckover shrewdly. "Not quite such a fool. Once open police-court proceedings, and our little arrangement will come out and be spoilt, even if nothing else happens."

"Well, what are we to do?" Gage demanded, recognizing the weight of his friend's objection.

"You stop in bed," said Peckover, with an air of authority based upon expediency.

"D----d if I do," Gage retorted.

"If you don't, you'll have to," replied Peckover with truth underlying paradox. "A fortnight of the downy is better than six months of the plank."

"What, stop here for a fortnight?" Gage cried wrathfully. "It's a regular take in. A rollicking time I'm having for my money; cold-shouldered, half-drowned, and now tucked up in this beastly bed for weeks. Where does Lord Quorn come in?"

"Lord Quorn," observed Peckover sententiously, "will go out if Mr.

Carnaby Leo gets hold of him. He has got a museum at home of pickled ears, and eyes and noses, et cetera, of which he has deprived certain parties who didn't do as he told them. After all," he added persuasively, "it is better to stop in bed with the schedule of your features complete than to get up for a rollick and find some of the items missing."

"Why the devil didn't you tell me you'd been playing the fool with a bush-ranger's sister?" Gage snapped savagely. "I wouldn't have looked at you or your t.i.tle. You've got my money under false pretences."

"You never gave me time to go into my past history," was the plausible reply. "You might have known when you took over a peerage you were letting yourself in for something of the sort. You know it's a way we have."

"A pretty brilliant way, to get tangled up with bush-rangers," sneered Gage.

"He didn't come on the scene till an hour ago. I suppose, by the way,"

he suggested mischievously, "you would not care to marry her, and so see your way to getting out of bed without damage?"

"Marry ten thousand devils! That's not my idea of fun."

"Lalage is a fine figure of a woman," Peckover continued. "Make an imposing Lady Quorn. Fine mover; takes the drawing-room in three, including anything that stands in the way. The coronet would suit her better if she'd let her hair grow."

"Crops her hair short?" Gage enquired, in a tone of infinite disgust at the picture.

Peckover nodded. "Bit too much of the dragoon for our taste, my boy.