The effect of Sir Thomas’s morning-call could hardly have been said to have been happy. Its repercussions were felt mostly by the long-suffering Miss Morville, who was obliged not only to lend a sympathetic ear to the Dowager’s tedious and embittered animadversions on the duplicity of Lord Ulverston and the Bolderwoods, but also to dissuade her from casting repulsive looks at Ulverston, and from mentioning more than once a day that the task of entertaining her stepson’s friends at the Castle imposed a strain upon her enfeebled nerves which they could ill support.
Both Martin and Gervase came in for their share of her comprehensive complaints, for she could not suppose that Marianne would have rejected Martin’s suit, had he put himself to the trouble of using a little address in its prosecution; while as for Gervase, the more she considered his behaviour the greater grew her conviction that he was responsible for every evil which had fallen upon the family, dating from the shocking occasion when he had permitted a four-year old Martin to play with a tinder-box, and so set fire to the nursery blinds: an accident which would have led to the total demolition of the Castle had the nurse not entered the room at that moment, and beaten out the flames with a coal-shovel.
It was not the Earl’s practice to argue with his stepmother, but this accusation was so unexpected that he was surprised into exclaiming: “But I wasn’t there!”
He would have done better to have held his peace. The Dowager very well recollected that he had not been there, for it was what she had been saying for ever: he liked his brother so little that even when they had been children he had always preferred to slip away rather than to play with him. She had known how it would be from the outset; she had not the least doubt that he had brought Ulverston to Stanyon merely to ruin poor Martin’s chances of marrying an heiress; and now that she came to think of it, she had never liked Ulverston, besides knowing a very discreditable story about his Uncle Lucius.
“And as for your conduct in not wearing the Frant ring, and causing the Indian epergne to be removed from the Smaller dining-table, I am sure it is all of a piece, and just what anyone would have expected!” she said. “I daresay it is the influence of Lady Penistone, but on that head I shall maintain silence, for although I never liked her, and, indeed, consider her a fast, frivolous woman, I do not forget that she is your grandmother; and if I am persuaded that her third son was fathered by Roxby, as no one could doubt who had ever clapped eyes on him, I am determined that nothing shall prevail upon me to say so!”
She then startled Miss Morville, as much as the Earl, by bursting into tears; and Gervase, who had stiffened at this all too probable answer to the problem of his Uncle Maurice’s curious likeness to my Lord Roxby, relaxed again, and only said, in a coaxing tone: “It is very bad, ma’am, but although I had not enough good taste to get myself killed in the late wars, at least you may be sure that I shall never accuse Martin of attempting to put a period to my existence.”
Perhaps as much surprised as he by her unaccustomed display of weakness, she dried her eyes, saying: “It is one thing to think you would very likely not survive the war, and quite another to be contriving your death, St. Erth! You may choose to believe that I am in league with poor Martin to kill you, which only serves to convince me that I shall never meet with anything but ingratitude, for it is quite untrue, and I have instead been considering how I might contrive a very eligible match for you!”
He thanked her gravely, and she said: “You may ask Louisa if it is not so! But one thing I am determined on! No matter what comes of it I shall not desire her to assist me in the matter, for she has written me such a letter, and about her own brother, too, as makes me excessively sorry to think that she is coming into Lincolnshire this summer!”
After this, she begged Miss Morville to find her smelling-salts, and the Earl made good his escape.
His recovery from the effects of his wound was speedy enough to astonish everyone but the Viscount. Having once left his room, he showed no signs of suffering a relapse; and it was not many days before he was taking the air on horseback. On these gentle expeditions he was invariably accompanied by Ulverston, who refused to be shaken off even when the Earl’s intention was merely to return Mr. and Mrs. Morville’s call. Under these circumstances it was scarcely surprising that the visit should have passed without the exchange of anything but civilities. Lord Ulverston rattled on in his usual style; and the Earl, although primed by his friend with a description of that one of Mrs. Morville’s novels which he had been obliged by circumstances to read, and which he said was a devilish prosy book about a dead bore of a girl who never did anything but struggle against adversity, and moralize about it, wisely chose to confine his conversation with his hostess to the military career of her elder son. Nor did he make the mistake of attempting to hoax Mr. Morville into believing that he had ever so much as looked between the covers of one of his interesting histories, a piece of rare good sense which caused Mr. Morville slightly to temper his first criticism of him. He still said that he was a frippery young fashionable, whose exquisite tailoring bore every evidence of extravagance, but he now added, in a fair-minded spirit, that he was not such an empty-headed jackanapes as he looked.
Mrs. Morville fully appreciated the worth of this tribute, which, indeed, set the Earl considerably above either Captain Jack Morville, of the — th Foot, or Mr. Tom Morville, Scholar of Queens’ College, Cambridge, but it did not greatly elevate her spirits. She sighed, and said: “One cannot wonder at Drusilla, but I dare not suppose that her regard is returned. I perceive that his manners are so universally pleasing that I cannot but dread lest she may be refining too much upon what, with him, is the merest civility. I do not scruple to say, my dear sir, that his air, his address, and his person are all so exactly what must cause any girl in the possession of her senses to fall in love with him, that I quite despair! Do you think, Mr. Morville, that he betrays any decided partiality for Drusilla?”
“No,” responded her life’s partner unequivocally. “Not that I have given the matter a thought, for I believe it to be one of your fancies, my dear.”
Mrs. Morville might have been cheered had she known that she was not quite the only person to suspect the Earl of forming an attachment. Whether because his own thoughts were largely occupied by the tender passion, or because he knew his friend better than did anyone else at Stanyon, the lively Viscount had already cocked a knowing eye in his direction. In a burst of confidence, engendered in him by the Stanyon port, he had even dropped a hint in the Chaplain’s ear.
Mr. Clowne, much startled, exclaimed: “Indeed, if you are right, my lord, I must think it an excellent thing, for I have often thought that Miss Morville would most worthily fill a great position! But I fear — that is, I am sure! — that her ladyship has quite other plans for her stepson!”
The Viscount was amused. “Daresay she has. I wish I may see Ger letting her, or Theo, or me, or — damme, or anyone! — manage his affairs for him! Trouble is, my dear sir, you none of you know Ger!”
“I own, my lord, that that suspicion has once or twice occurred to me,” admitted Mr. Clowne.
“Any other suspicions occurred to you?” asked the Viscount abruptly. “You don’t say much, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you saw more than you’re prepared to blab. What about this man Martin Frant has hired?”
Mr. Clowne, feeling that he was being towed out of his depth, said: “Oh, I feel sure your lordship need not consider Leek! To be sure, he is not to be compared with Studley, but I understand how it was! Mr. Martin, you know, is careless in his dress, but he dislikes to have strangers about him, and I daresay he was glad to hire Hickling’s uncle, when it was suggested to him. Truly, a rough fellow, but I have always found him respectful, and anxious to conform to our ways at Stanyon!”
“Well,” said the Viscount bluntly, “if I had a valet who was always to be found where he had least business, I’d very soon send him packing!”
“My lord!” said the Chaplain, much perturbed. “Your words rouse the gravest apprehensions in my mind!”
“Try if you may rouse them in St. Erth’s mind!” recommended the Viscount. “ I can’t! He will only laugh!”
He spoke gloomily, for he had failed most signally to bring home to the Earl a sense of the danger in which he stood. All Gervase would say was that he found Leek a constant refreshment.
“Ger, it’s my belief the fellow spies on you!”
“Oh, so it is mine!” agreed Gervase. “I encourage him, and am daily enlarging my vocabulary. He tells me, for instance, that Stanyon would be an easy ken to mill, and expresses his astonishment that no prig has, as yet, slummed it!”
“That’s thieves’ cant!” said Ulverston quickly.
“Is it, Lucy? I am sure you know!”
“Stop bamming! This is serious!”
“Oh, no! For, you see, I — I think the expression is, rumbled his lay! — within five minutes of making his acquaintance! If it comforts you, let me assure you that I shall get rid of him exactly when it pleases me to do so!”
“Ay, will you so? And of me too, I daresay?” said the Viscount.
“I am sure that would be much more difficult,” said Gervase meekly.
He spent the rest of the day (particularly when the Viscount was present) either in attempting to use his left hand, and then, apparently, thinking better of it, or in tucking it into the front of his coat. These tactics very soon brought him under the notice of his friend, who demanded to know if his shoulder was paining him. He denied the smallest feeling of discomfort, and so swiftly turned the subject that the Viscount naturally became suspicious, and said: “I’ll take a look at it!”
“You will do no such thing!” retorted Gervase. “Much you would know if you did!”
“I’ve seen a few shot-wounds in my time, dear boy! I’ll know fast enough if it ain’t healing as it should! However, we can fetch the sawbones to you, if you prefer it!”
“I don’t! For God’s sake, Lucy, will you stop trying to cosset me?”
“Don’t want to cosset you. Thing is, you may have strained it. Better lie up tomorrow, if a night’s rest don’t put all to rights again.”
“Oh, fudge!” Gervase said.
He appeared at the breakfast-table next morning, but he still seemed reluctant to move his left arm; and he admitted, upon being rigorously questioned by the Viscount, that he had not slept well.
“Then let me tell you this, dear boy! You ain’t going to Whissenhurst this afternoon!”
“But if the Bolderwoods are going to town tomorrow, I think I ought to take leave of them!” objected Gervase. “After all, you will be driving, not I.”
“Don’t be a fool, Ger! You’d be fagged to death! Ill be the bearer of your excuses.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Gervase temporized. He glanced across the table at Martin. “Do you mean to go?”
“No, I have business in Grantham this morning,” Martin replied shortly. “I daresay I may be detained there. In any event, I’ve no thought of going to Whissenhurst!”
Gervase said no more, but rose from the table, and sauntered out of the room. Ten minutes later he was in the stables, inspecting Cloud’s forelegs.
“Healed beautiful, me lord!” Chard said.
“They have, haven’t they? Chard, presently Mr. Martin will be going to Grantham. Could you find business to take you there also? In case he should see you?”
“I could, me lord, of course: nothing easier!” Chard answered, looking at him intently. “Was your lordship meaning to go there too?”
“No, in quite another direction. I am going to Evesleigh, and I wish to be very sure that Mr. Martin does not take that road.”
Chard nodded, but said: “I’m thinking it’s all of ten miles, me lord, and the grays pretty fresh.”
“I can handle them.”
“I don’t doubt it, me lord, but — you’ll take young Wickham?”
“Oh, yes!”
“Well — not that you’d ever let him take the reins!” said Chard gloomily. “If you’ll pardon the liberty, me lord, I wish you’d wait till you are a bit more robusto! ”
“ Bastante! ”said Gervase, smiling. “I must see Mr. Theo, and as long as I don’t have Mr. Martin on my heels I shall take no sort of harm, I assure you!”
“Does he know your lordship means to go?”
“No one knows but you. My shoulder is thought to be troubling me, and I shall presently retire to my room. Say nothing to Wickham! Just tell him to remain on duty while you are in Grantham, in case I should need him!”
He then returned to the house, dawdled through the morning, and by noon had confessed his disinclination to accompany Ulverston to Whissenhurst. Miss Morville rescued him from a renewed threat of having the doctor sent for, by saying that there was no occasion for summoning a doctor if only he would behave with common-sense, and rest, instead of unnecessarily fatiguing himself. He allowed himself to be persuaded to lie down upon his bed; and Ulverston, who had insisted on seeing him comfortably bestowed, was able to report to Miss Morville a few minutes later that he showed every disposition to go to sleep. Ulverston then took himself off to Whissenhurst; and Miss Morville went out into the gardens to take the air. Half an hour later, rounding a corner of the Castle, with the intention of entering through the east door, she found herself confronting the invalid, who had just emerged through that doorway.
The Earl halted, exclaiming ruefully: “Miss Morville!”
Miss Morville, thoughtfully considering his caped driving-coat, the hat on his head, and the gloves in his hand, said in a voice of mild interest: “I expect you feel that a drive will do your shoulder good, my lord.”
He smiled. “Forgive me! I would not have hoaxed you, if I could have got rid of Lucy by any other means!”
She raised her eyes to his face. “Where are you going?” She coloured, and added: “I don’t mean to be prying and inquisitive, but I cannot help feeling a trifle anxious. If you don’t choose to tell me, you need not, of course.”
“I will hide no secrets from you,” he said lightly. “Indeed, I trust you implicitly, Miss Morville! I am going to see Theo.”
“Going to see Theo!” she echoed, staring at him. “Oh, pray do not! It — it is such a long way to Evesleigh!”
He took her hand, and held it. “No, it is not such a long way, nor shall I fall into any more ambushes. That is what you are afraid of, isn’t it? You need not be: Martin has gone to Grantham, and, although I trust he may not know it, Chard is watching him. He won’t let him out of his sight. Believe me, while Chard is with Martin I stand in no sort of danger.”
She swallowed, and managed to speak with very fair composure. “I believe you must be safe at Evesleigh. It is on the road! That is where it happened before!”
“But this time only you and Chard know that I am out.”
She was silent for a moment. After staring unblinkingly at a clipped hedge, she brought her eyes back to his face, and said: “It is never of the least use to interfere! I daresay you know very well what you are about. I only wish you may not return to Stanyon in a high fever!”
He laughed, and raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it. “You are a woman in a million!” he told her caressingly, gave her hand a pat, and let it go.
He found his under-groom, a zealous youth rigorously schooled by his senior, polishing a saddle in the harness-room. When he was bidden put-to the grays he looked surprised but pleased, and made all haste to obey the order. A couple of stableboys ran to draw the Earl’s curricle out of the coach-house; and while this was being done the Earl strolled away to look at his brother’s new hunter. Since he had not been expected to enter the wing of the stables devoted to Martin’s horses, Mr. Leek had no time to remove himself from the building, but shrank back instead into an empty loose-box. His nephew, who had been leaning on a broom-handle, began briskly to sweep out one of the stalls.
“Don’t be bashful, Leek!” said the Earl. “You were just having a word with your nephew, were you not? Where is Mr. Martin’s young ’un, Hickling? I haven’t seen him yet: fig him out!”
“Yes, my lord!” muttered Hickling, laying aside the broom, and casting a fulminating look in the direction of his uncle.
This gentleman, emerging from the loose-box, achieved a genteel cough behind his hand, and said that he hoped there was no offence.
“None at all,” replied the Earl, watching Hickling lead out a rather rawboned youngster, and following him into the yard.
“Exercising them grays, me lord?” enquired Mr. Leek, with another cough.
“A couple of inches too long behind the saddle,” said the Earl, disregarding this question.
“Very quick over his fences, my lord!” said Hickling.
“You run him down, Jem, and let his lordship see his paces!” recommended his uncle. “Meself, I’d say his middle-piece was a shade light — jest a shade!”
The Earl glanced at him. “You seem to know something about horses.”
“Brought up with them, in a manner of speaking, me lord!” said Mr. Leek promptly.
“Do you think you could handle my grays?”
Mr. Leek cast them a dubious look, but had no hesitation in asserting that he would back himself to the extent of a double finnup to do so.
“Well,” said the Earl, “Wickham cannot, so as I may need a little help you had better come with me in his stead.”
Hickling opened his mouth, and shut it again, as though thinking better of what he had been about to say. Mr. Leek’s expressionless eyes met the Earl’s rather quizzical ones with a blink. “Very pleased to go along with your lordship!” he said. “ And to lend a hand with them grays, if and when so desired!”
Wickham had not been admitted into Chard’s confidence, but he had a shrewd idea that Chard would by no means approve of the new arrangement. Blushingly conscious that it formed no part of the second groom’s duties to expostulate with his master, he yet plucked up enough courage to make the attempt. He was silenced, though not unkindly; and was left, ten minutes later, uneasily wondering what Chard would have to say to him when he returned from Grantham.
The grays were very fresh, but the Earl gave no sign that the task of controlling them was imposing too great a strain upon his injured shoulder. As the curricle bowled along the avenue, Mr. Leek ventured to enquire what was their destination.
“I am going to Evesleigh, to visit my cousin,” replied the Earl.
Mr. Leek stroked his chin. “Well, now, is that so?” he said. “Evesleigh! Ah! Unless I’m mistook, which don’t often happen, that’s all of ten miles, guv’nor. Done to a cow’s thumb, that’s what you’ll be!”
“Oh, no!” the Earl said calmly.
Mr. Leek relapsed into silence, which remained unbroken until the grays turned into a narrow lane, when he was moved to point out to the Earl that this was not, according to his information, the road to Evesleigh.
“Not the most direct road to Evesleigh,” the Earl corrected.
“O’course I ain’t what you might call familiar with these parts,” said Mr. Leek. “I’m bound to say, however, that it queers me why a cove — why a gentleman as come as near to slipping his wind as what you done, me lord, should take and drive down a lane which is as rough as this here lane.”
“Why, I have a reason for doing so!” said the Earl amiably.
Mr. Leek, himself far from enjoying the rough surface, said severely: “Nice set-out it’ll be if that hole you’ve got in you was to open again, me lord! Asking your pardon, it’ll be bellows to mend with you, if the claret starts to flow.”
But the Earl only smiled. Through what seemed to his companion a network of country lanes he drove his horses, never seeming to be at a loss for the way. Mr. Leek said grudgingly that he must know the countryside very well to be able to take such a roundabout way to his destination. “I do,” the Earl replied. “I have lately ridden over every inch of this ground. One never knows when familiarity with the country will stand one in good stead.” He began to check his horses as he spoke, and as the curricle rounded a bend in what was little more than a cart-track Mr. Leek perceived that a farm-gate blocked the way. Knowing well who would have to climb down from the curricle to open this gate (and possibly several more gates), he cast an unloving look at the Earl’s profile.
The grays came to a standstill, “If you please!” said the Earl.
Mr. Leek alighted ponderously. The gate was a heavy one, and he was obliged to lift the end before it would pass over the cart-ruts. The curricle moved forward, and stopped again a few yards beyond the gate. As Mr. Leek, who, being country-bred, had no thought of leaving it open, was shutting it again, the Earl spoke to him over his shoulder.
“You will have to forgive me, Leek,” he said. “Really, I bear you no ill-will, and I am quite sure your interest in me is friendly, but, you see, I don’t like being followed. You are now midway between Evesleigh and Stanyon: if I were you I would walk back rather than forward.”
“Hi!” exclaimed Mr. Leek, abandoning the gate, and starting towards the curricle. “ Hi,guv’nor!”
The grays were already moving. Mr. Leek broke into a run, but his years and his bulk were against him, and he very soon abandoned a hopeless chase, and stood with labouring chest and heated countenance, staring resentfully after the curricle until it vanished round a bend in the lane.
“Grassed!” he said bitterly. “Well, may I shove the tumbler if ever I been made to look blue by a mouth afore!” He removed his hat, and mopped his face and head with a large handkerchief. After a moment’s reflection, he added, with reluctant respect: “Which he ain’t — not by a very long way he ain’t!”
Having by this time recovered his breath, he resettled the hat on his head, and turned to find his way back to Stanyon. The deeply rutted lane made walking far from pleasant; and since he was quite lost, and had little expectation of receiving succour, his only consolation lay in the hope that several more cattle-gates stood between the Earl and his goal.
But the luck favoured him. At the end of half a mile, the track joined a rather better road, which led, a few hundred yards farther on, to a choice of three ways. Mr. Leek was doubtful which he should take, for none of them seemed to have a distinguishing feature by which he might have remembered it. A battered sign-post informed him that the ways led respectively to Climpton, Beaumarsh, and Forley, but as he was unacquainted with any of these villages this was not helpful. He stood under the post, considering, and just as he had decided to proceed down the lane which he fancied was the least unfamiliar to him the sound of an approaching vehicle suddenly came to his ears. Blessing himself for his good fortune, he waited; and in another few minutes a gig, drawn by a stout brown cob, came into sight. He hailed it, and it drew up beside him. The round-faced young farmer who was driving it looked down at him in some curiosity, and asked him what he wanted. Mr. Leek, laying a detaining hand on the gig, countered by demanding to know whither the farmer was bound. After staring very hard at him for a moment, the farmer disclosed that he was going to Cheringham, at the mention of which known name Mr. Leek brightened, and said: “If you’re going to Cheringham, young fellow, you wouldn’t be going so very far out of your way if you was to be so obliging as to set me down at Stanyon. Which I’ll thank you very kindly for.”
“Stanyon?” said the farmer. “Whatever would you be wanting to go there for?”
“Stanyon Castle,” said Mr. Leek, with dignity, “is the place where I live — tempor’y!”
“That’s a loud one!” remarked the farmer, laughing heartily.
Affronted, Mr. Leek retorted: “If you wasn’t half flash and half foolish, Master Hick, I wouldn’t have to tell you as I am a gentleman’s gentleman, because anyone as wasn’t a looby would know it the very instant he clapped his ogles on this toge of mine! The Honourable Martin Frant’s new valet, that’s what I am!”
“Mr. Martin!” said the farmer, apparently impressed. “Oh, if you’re one o’ Mr. Martin’s servants that’s diff’rent, o’course! Up you get!”
Mr. Leek clambered thankfully into the gig, and was gratified to observe that the farmer chose the very lane he had himself decided to explore. They had proceeded along it for nearly a quarter of a mile before the farmer, a slow thinker, suddenly demanded to know what Mr. Martin’s valet was doing five miles from the Castle. By this time, Mr. Leek, who had foreseen the question, had provided himself with a glib explanation of this circumstance. It was accepted, the fanner merely remarking that there was no telling what quirks Mr. Martin would take into his noddle, notwithstanding that, give him his due, he was a rare one for The Land; and the rest of the drive passed in an amicable exchange of views on the eccentricities of the Quality, and the chances of a good harvest.
While Mr. Leek was driving back to Stanyon by a rather less circuitous route than that chosen by the Earl, his employer was also homeward-bound. He reached the Castle some twenty minutes later than his valet, escorted by Chard, who rode behind him, very correctly, and received with an unmoved countenance a command to stable his hack. Martin, swinging himself from the saddle at the foot of the terrace-steps, handed over his bridle, saying with an unamiable smile, and a glittering look in his eye: “You may now, and for the first time today, make yourself useful, and take my horse to the stables!”
“Yessir!” said Chard woodenly, touching his hat.
He took the bridle, and led the horse off. Martin watched him go, gave a short laugh, and ran up the steps towards the open doors of the Castle.
Three minutes later, Miss Morville, passing along the gallery at the head of the Grand Stairway, on her way, through the Italian Saloon, to the Long Drawing-room, was checked by the sound of voices at the foot of the stair. She paused, for she recognized the unmistakably urban accents of Mr. Leek, and could not imagine what circumstance should have brought him into this part of the Castle.
“... so,thinking as this was the very thing for which I was, as you may say, brought in, I said as I would be happy to go with his lordship.”
“Well?”
That was Martin’s voice, lowered, but quite as unmistakable as Mr. Leek’s. Miss Morville caught up her demi-train, and stole softly down one branch of the stairway, to the broad half-landing, whence the stair led down, in one imposing flight, to the entrance-hall of the Castle.
“He give me the bag!” said Mr. Leek succinctly.
“What?” Martin’s voice was sharpened. “Do you mean that you let him get away?”
“Ah!” said Mr. Leek. “Loped off, he did! Bubbled me! Me! ”
“You fool! You blundering jackass!” Martin said, such molten wrath vibrant in his voice that Miss Morville let her train fall, and tiptoed to the balustrade, and gripped it, peeping over to look down into the hall.
“You knew I had gone to Grantham! You might have guessed that damned groom of his would follow me! You knew Lord Ulverston, even, was out of the way! And you let him escape you! God, how you have bungled it!”
Miss Morville, looking over the balustrade, saw him turn on his heel, and stride towards the vestibule. Her voice tore itself from her. “Martin, no! Stop!” she called.
Either he did not hear her, or he did not choose to hear her. He had disappeared already from her sight, and only Mr. Leek remained, gazing up the stairway in considerable discomfiture. Miss Morville disregarded him. Bent only upon detaining Martin, she darted to the head of the stairs, and began to hurry down them. Her foot caught in her short train, she lost her balance, clutched unavailingly at the massive, mahogany hand-rail, and pitched forward, tumbling and rolling down the stairs, to land in an inanimate heap at the feet of the dismayed Mr. Leek.
Martin, unaware even of her presence on the scene, was already outside the Castle. He did indeed hear Mr. Leek call to him, in agitated accents, but he paid no attention, making his way swiftly, yet with a certain caution, towards the stables.
The peace of the afternoon seemed to reign over them. There was no sign of Chard in the main yard, nor of any of the stable hands. Martin, after a quick look round, crossed the yard to the wing which housed his own cattle. At the door, he paused again, but he heard his groom’s voice say: “Get over now!” and he at once entered the stable.
He found Hickling engaged in rubbing down his hack, already haltered in his stall. He said, in an imperative undervoice: “Where’s Chard?”
“Gone off to his quarters, I think, sir. Mr. Martin, his lordship ain’t in his bed! He went off in his curricle, and my uncle with him, and — ”
“I know that!” Martin interrupted. “Any clodpole would have served me better than your damned uncle! Get my saddle on to the bay! Quick!”
“But, Mr. Martin — !”
A footstep sounded outside, and a not very melodious voice, humming one of the ditties popular at one time with the Army in Spain.
“Chard!” Martin whispered. “Leave the saddle — I’ll do it myself! Get that fellow out of earshot!”
“Mr. Martin, I don’t like it!” Hickling whispered in return. “If you’re meaning to go yourself, it’s too dangerous, sir! Only let me — ”
“No! Do as I bid you!” Martin said, and thrust him towards the door.
He waited, standing very still, until he heard Hickling speak to Chard.
“P’raps, Mr. Chard, if you happen to be at liberty, you’d like to take a look at his lordship’s Cloud, which you seen fit to turn into the meadow this morning,” said Hickling, with awful politeness. “Of course, it ain’t any business of mine, and I’m sure if you’re satisfied there’s nothing amiss, after all the experience you’ve had, I wouldn’t wish to raise my voice. I should have thought you’d have noticed it, when you brought him out, but there! you was in such a hurry to get off to Grantham I daresay you wasn’t looking at him very particular.”
“Now then, my lad, what are you talking about?” demanded Chard. “Anything there was to notice you can take it I noticed all right and tight!”
“Then I’m sure I must be mistook in thinking he’s got a spavin forming.”
“ Spavin? What d’ye mean?”
A smile twitched the corners of Martin’s mouth. He picked up his saddle, still warm from use, and went softly forward to where Hickling had hung up his bridle while he rubbed down the tired hack. He heard Hickling say that he would be happy to show his colleague just what he meant; listened to the sound of footsteps retreating; and quickly entered the loose-box which housed a good-looking bay.