Part 14

And Bradstock swore. The bishop was too tired to swear, perhaps, but he was very cross. So were all the others, including her husband.

*CHAPTER XXII.*

They had relied greatly upon Bob. The bishop, though rather bitter on the subject of Bob, tried to be fair to him, and said he was a very promising boy.

"I think it most remarkable," said his lordship, when his fine but tired legs were beneath the mahogany once more, "that he should be able to drive these dreadful machines with such skill. He missed a great many things that he might have hit, but, as he said, he 'boosted' one dog over a hedge in a most skilful way. He said 'boosted,' a very peculiar word. I must write to Doctor Murray about it. But I do not think he has been brought up with care. He was not altogether respectful to me, Bradstock."

"I much regret it," said Bradstock, "but what can you expect at Goring? On the whole, his manners are not so bad. Perhaps you annoyed him. He does not like being annoyed."

"Indeed," said the bishop, "indeed! Well, I may have worried him in a way that I do not quite understand. But I have to own that for a boy to put his hand on my shoulder and say, 'Sit down, bishop,' in a most authoritative way, made me a little cross. And when I refused to enter the motorcar again, I think he might have given me more time to reflect on the fact that I was a very long way from anywhere. He was very short and peremptory with me. It was most curious, and I regret I did not go on with him, for I am extremely anxious to put an end to this scandal. One never knows what will happen. The duel in the moonlight under the cathedral was most remarkable. I wonder when Bob will return."

"So do I," said Bradstock, drily.

"Why do you say so in that tone?" asked the bishop.

"Because I doubt whether he will return at all if he finds Penelope," replied Bradstock.

"Good heavens!" cried the bishop, "but he went for the very purpose of discovering her."

"You don't know Pen," said Bradstock, "and he worships her. If she doesn't want to be discovered, she will keep him. I am certain of it."

This showed that Bradstock, though a silent peer, was a very sensible one. The bishop frowned and smote the table.

"I shall be extremely angry with Bob if you turn out to be right," he said, firmly. "I shall be extremely angry with him."

"Much he will care about that," said Bradstock. "You ought to have gone on with him."

"I believe I ought to have done so. Yes, you are right, Bradstock; it was an error of judgment. I was a coward. I was afraid to die. I did not like the idea of being 'boosted' over a hedge. I am ashamed of myself."

"Never mind," said Bradstock, consolingly, "I have seen heroes quail in a motor-car. I myself have quailed in one."

The bishop shook his head.

"Nevertheless, I blame myself. I ought not to have been afraid, even though I felt peculiar and unwonted sensations in my gaiters," he murmured.

He smote the table again.

"I will make amends, Bradstock. I will devote myself to the task of finding Penelope at any speed that is necessary. I cannot quite reconcile myself to the notion that I am a coward. I will find her if Bob deceives us."

"You can't," said Bradstock, rather gloomily.

"I can, I will," said the bishop. "I will use my brains."

It was a happy thought. The bishop mused. There was a knock at the outer door. It was a double, a telegraphic knock.

"From the duchess?" asked the bishop.

"From Bob, or I am a bishop," said the peer.

And Ridley gave him a telegram. Bradstock read it slowly, lifted his eyebrows, rubbed his handsome white head, and handed it to the bishop.

"From Bob, bishop, a very remarkable Bobbish document."

The bishop read it.

"It certainly is a remarkable document, a very remarkable document, indeed," said his lordship. "I see it was handed in at Lincoln. She won't say who it is because she has quarrelled with him. With her husband, that is to say. She will not let Bob come back. She quarrelled with _him_ because he said he was married to _her_. Very remarkable! Somewhat confusing. But it is a relief to hear that the baby is not black, Bradstock."

Bradstock was pessimistic.

"It may be half-black," he said, mournfully.

"Which half?" asked the bishop, with alarm. "If it is, I hope it will not be the top half."

"Absurd!" said Bradstock. "I mean it may be dun or yellowish."

"Let us trust not," replied the bishop. "I am inclined to think Bob would have said it was not very black if it had been at all coloured. I think we may dismiss the Jugpore legend."

"I trust we may," said Bradstock.

"I have an idea," said the bishop, "I have a luminous idea. Let us go to the library."

They adjourned to the library, and Bradstock lighted a cigar.

"What is your idea?" he asked.

"I will tell you in a few minutes," said the bishop, as he laid a big atlas upon his table. Bradstock watched him curiously. The bishop opened the atlas and laid a flat ruler on it. He shifted it once or twice, nodded his head, said "Ah!" and nodded it again.

"I believe I have it," said the bishop. "It will be worth trying, at any rate."

"What is it?" asked Bradstock.

"Come and look at the atlas," said the bishop, and Bradstock did as he was asked.

The bishop put his finger-tips together and began:

"Bob was following this person named Smith, and went north, did he not? Let us say north. I believe it is technically north by east. He put me out, or, to be fair even to Bob, I got out and was asked to return very casually, north of Spalding in the Boston road, miles from anywhere. This Smith was going back to Penelope. For while Bob and I were away, you got her telegram dated Spilsborough, sent to London and re-telegraphed to you here, saying that she was well, in reply to your _Times_ advertisement. Obviously, Penelope lives somewhere north of the spot where Bob left me without time for argument. Do you follow me?"

"Certainly," said Bradstock. "It is all as clear as quaternions."

"Now we get this very remarkable document from Lincoln."

"We do, bishop."

"It is obvious she doesn't live at Lincoln. She has sent this very fast Smith there to send off Bob's telegram. Is that not so?"

"Of course," said Bradstock.

"Let us imagine that Lincoln is nearly as far from where she is as Spilsborough is."

"Let us imagine it," said Bradstock. "I am willing to imagine it."

"What conclusion do you draw?" asked the bishop.

Bradstock shook his head.

"Really, Bradstock," said the bishop, "I am surprised at you. If she is between Spalding and Lough, as I'm sure she is, an equal distance from her to Lincoln and from her to Spilsborough would place her about Boston, or perhaps farther north. Now, if on inquiry we find she is not near Boston, she must be near a decent road fit for motor-cars to Lincoln. Do you follow me?"

"I do," said Bradstock.

"Then if she is not near Boston, where is she?" Bradstock studied the map.

"I should say Burgh, or Warnfleet, or Spilsby."

"Right," said the bishop. "I am almost sure of it. For if she had been farther north, she would not have chosen Spilsborough to telegraph from in the first instance. What do you say to that?"

"I say that I am not surprised that you are a bishop, though I may wonder why you are in the Church," said Bradstock.

"What do you mean by that, Bradstock?" asked his lordship.

"Nothing, nothing at all," replied Bradstock, hastily. "I agree with you. What shall we do?"

The bishop eyed him a little doubtfully, but returned to his muttons.

"I want to bowl out Bob," he said.

"A bishop is a human being, after all," thought Bradstock.

"He might have reasoned with me," said the bishop. "I am quite free the day after to-morrow, and we will go to Boston and make inquiries. If they fail, we will try Warnfleet and Spilsby and Burgh."

"We will," said Bradstock. "I think this idea of yours exceedingly clever, bishop."

"You do?"

"Certain, I do."

"I forgive your recent gibe," said the bishop. "It was clearer than quaternions to me, and much clearer than Bob's rudeness, which I continue to find inexplicable. And now I think the duchess should be informed of his telegram. It will console her, I am sure, to learn that this fatherless infant is not black."

"Not very black," insisted Bradstock.

And the bishop sent a wire to Titania, saying that Bob had disappeared into space, but had telegraphed saying that he had found Penelope with a normal infant.

"After all, he only said it wasn't black," sighed Bradstock.

But the bishop would not listen to him. So he went out and sent a wire to Titania himself.

"I should like to make Bob black and blue," the bishop said. For his legs still ached.

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

Next morning the bishop had an hysteric telegram from Titania. It was obscure and of great length:

"Do not understand anything, but have hopes. Your telegram arrived before Augustin's. You say normal; he says Robert's words do not convey anything but negation of extreme blackness. Jugpore going back to India, owing to scandalous conduct at music-hall. India Office furious. Secretary of State in bed. Rumour now affirms infant not Penelope's. Says adopted. Have just seen Plant and Gordon and Carteret Williams, and expect the others. They say they knew it all the time. Say they gave her the infant. Am confused, but hope you and Augustin will clear up details and find Penelope. Am exceedingly vexed with Robert. De Vere has just come, weeps, but seems pleased. Bramber wires wishes to see me, but father is ill at Pulborough, doctors (three) giving up hope. Goby just left. Will come to Spilsborough myself to-day if doctor permits, owing to palpitations. Keep me informed."

"Dear me!" said the bishop, "this seems quite a new development, a very surprising one. But I am sorry to see, Bradstock, that you sent another telegram without consulting me."

"I didn't want you to give her too much hope," replied Bradstock. "You were so certain. Your telegram was not logical. What is not black is not necessarily white, for not-black may be green, or blue, or magenta."

"You are a pessimist," said the bishop. "However, I forgive you. What surprises me is this adoption story. I don't believe it."

Bradstock was fractious.

"Well, I don't know, bishop. She always said if she had none of her own she would adopt one."

"Nonsense!" said the bishop.

"It is not nonsense," said Bradstock.

"Why don't you say they are twins?" demanded the bishop.

"What are twins?"

"It," said the bishop. "Really, Bradstock, don't you see you are unreasonable? You will believe anything."

"And this from a bishop," murmured Bradstock. "Why should I say it was twins?"

"If she adopted one, she might adopt two," said the bishop.

"That is ridiculous. I never heard of twins being adopted," cried Bradstock. "Besides, Bob says 'the baby.'"

"Well, well," said the bishop, "do not let us argue passionately about a detail."

"I do not see that twins can be called a detail," said Bradstock, crossly.

"Very well, call them what you like," said the bishop, hastily. "But I expect the duchess will be here any moment."

Bradstock said he shouldn't wonder if she was.

"She will insist on coming with us to-morrow," he said.

The bishop started.

"Bradstock, we will go to-day. I will put off my business and go at once. The duchess is a remarkable woman, but she talks too much."

And such was his lordship's energy that they started by train for Boston in less than half an hour.

"I rather enjoy this," said the bishop. "This is an unusual event in a life like mine, Bradstock. I wonder whether we shall succeed, and I wonder what the young rascal will say when he sees me. He will be rather abashed, I fancy."

"Do you fancy that?" asked Bradstock. "Is imagination necessary, by the way, for the clerical or episcopal life?"

"It is highly necessary, but rare," said the bishop.

"So I should imagine," said Bradstock.

"What do you mean by that?" asked the bishop, a little warmly.

Bradstock said he meant nothing by it, except that he was glad it was necessary. Nevertheless, the bishop looked at him sternly for some minutes, and he felt rather uncomfortable.

"I should not be surprised if Titania was now at the palace," he said, to change the conversation.

"Ridley and my housekeeper must deal with her," said the bishop. "Ridley deals with every one calmly. Kings and curates come equally and easily within his powers. Ridley may most distinctly be called an adequate butler. He will offer her my best spare bedroom, or arrange for her sojourn at the Grand. I do not believe an archbishop in a fit would throw Ridley off his balance. I rather wondered whether it would disturb him to see me come in with two duelling-swords under my arm upon that memorable occasion of the duel, but Ridley was as calm as--as an adequate butler. I rejoice in Ridley. If we fail to-day, I think I will ask his advice. He is a sound and solid thinker. I hardly think I should have been a bishop to-day, but for Ridley. When I was a vicar of St. Mary's at Ray Pogis, he came to me, then deeply engaged in smashing Harnack into dust, and said: 'Sir, the Prime Minister is staying at Pogis House.' I knew if he was at Pogis House, he would attend New Pogis church. The incumbent at New Pogis was one of those men whom it would require much courage to make an archdeacon of, and he was under great obligations to me. I spoke to him. He fell ill most opportunely. I preached a sermon which had every appearance of spontaneity, though I had spent months upon it, keeping it by me for some such occasion, as it dealt with the duties of men in high position, and three months later I was offered Spilsborough. But for Ridley, I might still be a vicar. This, I believe, Bradstock, is Boston."

They left the train and began to make inquiries just about the time that Ridley was dealing with the duchess. He knew all about her, all about the duke, all about Penelope, all about Bradstock, and all about the "horde." He had read all the telegrams, those which were sent and those which he had picked out of the bishop's waste-paper basket.

"Yes, your Grace," said Ridley, "his lordship the bishop was called away early with Lord Bradstock on important business. He wrote a letter which his lordship has probably taken away in his pocket, and desired me to ask your Grace whether you would prefer to stay here or at the Grand. The Grand is comfortable, but this is quiet."

"I will stay here," said the duchess. "I should like to lie down at once."

And when she was comfortable, Ridley cross-examined her maid about everything, and was soon on firm ground.

"You may rely on his lordship," said Ridley. "With me at his back, he will be an archbishop yet. No, certainly not. The baby is not black if his lordship says so."

"But they do say she's not married and it isn't hers," said the lady's maid, shaking her head. "They say now that she has adopted it."

"When I hear of young ladies adopting infants in obscure parts of the country, I know what to think," said Ridley.

"Lord, Mr. Ridley, but I can't believe it of her," urged the maid.

"I am alleging nothing against her young ladyship," said Ridley. "She states it is hers. I said that if she stated that she had adopted it, I should know what to think. When she states it, I will tell you what I think. And in the meantime I may say that I expect every one connected with this unseemly business to be here shortly. I am a man of some discernment. This adoption rumour will encourage these poor gentlemen, who are all mad, and they will follow her Grace here, or I am a mere footman in a poor family and my name's not Ridley."

It apparently was Ridley, for there was a very loud knock at the door.

"Mr. Ridley, will you see this gentleman?" said the footman, handing the butler a card, on which was engraved the name of Leopold Norfolk Gordon. "He seems very excited. I think he's a Jew."

"A Jew!" said Ridley.

"By the looks of 'im a Jew," said the footman. And her Grace's maid gave them a few details of Mr. Gordon's career.

"Oh, yes, of course," said Ridley. "I remember. Let him wait, Johnson. He can wait in the little room. As a Christian, I confess to feeling bitter against Jews, especially as I once borrowed money from one."

"This is a very nice one, though," said the lady's maid, "and Mr. Robert is quite fond of him."

"I cannot stomach the idea," said Ridley. "I thought better of the boy. But I suppose I must see what he wants, though I can guess."

He interviewed Gordon in the little room.

"I want to see his lordship the bishop," said Gordon.

"His lordship the bishop is absent on important business, sir," said Ridley. He added to himself, "As the butler of a Christian bishop, I object to calling him 'sir;' but as a butler in the habstract I must."

"Where has he gone?" asked Gordon. "Do you know?"

"He has gone to look for her young ladyship, sir."

"Ah! I guessed it! With Lord Bradstock?"

"Yes, sir, with his lordship."

"Which way has he gone?"

"I don't think, sir, that I should be justified in mentioning which way, sir," said Ridley.

"Oh, yes, you would," said Gordon. He put his hand in his pocket.

"I do not think so, sir. At least, I have doubts," said Ridley, with modified firmness.

Gordon took out a sovereign and scratched his nose with it.

"Which way?"

"Boston way," said Ridley. "Thank you, sir. But I do not think you can find him or catch him. Could I assist you in any manner, sir? Things are mixed, sir. Have you heard the news that Mr. Robert sent?"

"What news?" asked Gordon.

"I 'ardly think I should be justified in repeating it, sir," said Ridley.

"Oh, yes, you would," said Gordon, as he put his hand in his pocket.

And Ridley told him all about everything. Gordon knew very little beyond the fact that Bob had sent a telegram to Bradstock, who had sent it to the duchess, who had published it on the wires that the infant was not black. And of course he knew the fresh London rumour that Penelope had adopted it.

"Her Grace the Duchess of Goring is now in the palace, sir," said Ridley. "And between you and me, sir, I should not be surprised if all the other gentlemen came. I suppose you heard of the duel, sir?"

"What duel?" asked Gordon.

"I do not think I should be justified in saying which duel, sir," said Ridley.

"Oh, yes, you would," said Gordon, thinking that a Christian butler was a very expensive person to deal with. And Ridley told him.

"You'll send me word to the Grand when his lordship comes back?" said Gordon.

"I should hardly be--"

"Of course, you would be," said Gordon.

"Very well, I will, sir," said Ridley.

Gordon went back to the hotel, and Ridley went back to the others.

"He's not at all bad for a Jew," he said, contemplatively, "not at all bad. I only hope that the Christian gentlemen whom I expect every moment will be as reasonable."

Before the evening was over, he interviewed with varying results Mr. Rufus Q. Plant, Mr. de Vere, Captain Goby, and Mr. Carteret Williams. He knew that Lord Bramber couldn't come on account of the illness of the earl, and he heard that Carew was down with influenza and delirious on the subject of Penelope. He told the others what he thought of them all.

"Mr. Plant is a man I should like to meet often," said Ridley. "I have heard people say unpleasant things of Americans. It may be true that they know little of cathedrals. I myself have heard an American speak of our best Norman harches as vurry elegant Gothic. I have known one voluble with hadmiration of a beastly bit of late perpendic'lar. But a man may know little of harchitecture and be a very worthy person for all that. This Mr. Plant has ways that I've heard described as befitting a nobleman. My own opinion is that very few noblemen have ideas befitting an American millionaire. Dukes are often mean; earls also. I am acquainted with one viscount who is viciously careful. Mr. Plant is a gentleman far above the others, even above Captain Goby, who has a generous mind. Mr. Williams is peculiar, but, for a poor man, not mean. His second cousin, Lord Carteret, when I knew him, was as fine an open-handed, swearing nobleman as one would wish to meet. Mr. Austin de Vere is peculiar; mad, I think, about dogs especially. Young Mr. Robert told me he collected bulldogs. He said it with a wink which I did not understand. I wonder where his lordship is now."

His lordship the bishop and Lord Bradstock were both cross. They had drawn Boston blank, and found it too late and too hot to go on to Spilsby and Waynfleet and Burgh.

"Well," said the bishop, "we have proved a certain amount. She isn't at Boston."

"Nor at Windsor or Manchester or Bristol or Plymouth," said Bradstock, whose temper was rapidly going.

"I am surprised at you," said the bishop, who felt it necessary not to be cross when Bradstock was. "We have also proved that a yellow car comes through here very often, mostly without disastrous results. She is farther north. We will go to Spilsby to-morrow, I think."

"I think I will stay at home," replied Bradstock, "or at your place, and I'll read theology."

The bishop raised his eyebrows.

"It will do you good, if you can understand it," he said, a little tartly.

"I do not expect to understand it," said Bradstock.

"Then why read it?"

"Only to see if the theologians understand it," replied Bradstock.

It was quite evident that events were proving too much for Bradstock. It was also evident that Bradstock was proving too much for the bishop.

"As a layman, you had better stick to Paley," said the bishop, tartly. "But let us return to Spilsborough. I own my temper is a little touchy to-day, Bradstock."

Bradstock's heart softened.

"Bishop, I apologize for touching it," he said. "Penelope is rather too much for me."

"She is too much for all of us, I fear," said the bishop.

They took the train for home, and, as they moved out of the station, a man in the waterproof clothing of a chauffeur came on the platform. He was not wearing goggles.

"Bishop," said Bradstock, "that man is Geordie Smith."

"Do you think he saw us?"

"How do I know?"

"I didn't ask how you could know. I only asked what your opinion was," said the bishop.

"My opinion is worthless," said Bradstock.

"Dear me!" said the bishop, blandly.

*CHAPTER XXIV.*