MR. LYDD, observing these proceedings out of the tail of his eye, preserved silence and a wooden countenance for perhaps two minutes. Then, as the gig, rounding a bend, passed the entrance to a rough lane, leading up to the moors, he gave a discreet cough, and said: “Fine young fellow, our new gatekeeper, miss. I disremember when I’ve seen a chap with a better pair of shoulders on him. Quite the gentleman, too—even if he is Ned Brean’s cousin.”
“You know very well that he is not, Joseph,” said Miss Stornaway calmly. “He is a Captain of Dragoon Guards—or he was, until he sold out.”
“A Captain, is he?” said Joseph, interested. “Well, it don’t surprise me, not a bit. He told me himself he was a military man, miss, and that didn’t surprise me neither, him having the look of it. In fact, I suspicioned he might be an officer, on account of the way he’s got with him, which makes one think he’s used to giving his orders, and having ’em obeyed—and no argle-bargle, what’s more!”
“When did he tell you he was a military man?” demanded Nell.
Under the accusing glance thrown at him, Mr. Lydd became a little disconcerted. He besought his young mistress to keep her eyes on the road.
“Joseph, when has Captain Staple had the opportunity to tell you anything about himself, and why did he?”
“To think,” marvelled Mr. Lydd, “that I should have gone and forgotten to mention it to you, missie! I’m getting old, that’s what it is, and things slip me memory, unaccountable-like.”
“If you have been at the toll-house, prying into Captain Staple’s business——”
“No, no!” said Joseph feebly. “Jest dropped in to blow a cloud, being as I was on me way to the Blue Boar! Yesterday evening, it was, and very nice and affable the Captain was. We got talking, and one thing leading to another he jest happened to mention that he was a military man.”
“You went there on purpose!” said Nell hotly. “Because he—because you thought—I wish to heaven you and Rose would remember that I am not a child!”
“No, Miss Nell, but you’re a young lady, and seeing as Sir Peter can’t look after you no more, like you ought to be—and Rose being an anxious sort of a female,” he added basely, “it seems like it’s me duty to keep me eye on things, as you might say!”
“I know you only do it out of kindness,” said Nell, “but I assure you it is unnecessary! You have no need to be anxious about me!”
“Jest what I says to Rose, missie! Them was me very words! ‘We got no need to be anxious about Miss Nell,’ I tells her. ‘Not now, we haven’t.’ That, out of course, was after I come home from the tollhouse.”
Miss Stornaway, fully and indignantly conscious of the unwisdom of attempting to bring to a sense of his presumption a servitor who had held her on the back of her first pony, extricated her from difficulties in an apple-tree, and, upon more than one occasion, rescued her from the consequences of her youthful misdeeds, accomplished the rest of the short journey in dignified silence.
Kellands Manor was an old and a rambling house, standing at no great distance from the pike road, which, in fact, ran through the Squire’s land. Its pleasure gardens, though well laid-out, were neglected, the shrubbery being overgrown, the flower-beds allowed to run riot, and the wilderness to encroach year by year on lawns once shaven and weedless. Miss Stornaway, unlike the one remaining gardener, looked upon this decay with indifference. Behind a crumbling stone wall an extensive vegetable plot was in good order; new trees had been planted in the orchard; and the home farm was thriving.
Miss Stornaway, walking up from the stables with her rather mannish stride, the tail of her worn riding-dress looped over her arm, entered the house through a side-door, and made her way down a flagged corridor to the main hall. From this an oaken staircase rose in two graceful branches to the galleried floor above. She was about to mount it when a door on one side of the hall opened, and her cousin came out of the library. “Oh, there you are, cousin!” he said, in the peevish tone which was habitual with him. “I have been in these past twenty minutes, and desirous of having a word with you.”
She paused, a hand on the baluster-rail, and one booted foot already on the first step of the stairway. “Indeed!” she said, looking down at him from her superior height, her brows lifting a little.
His was not an impressive figure, and he was never so conscious of this as when he stood in his magnificent cousin’s presence. He had neither height nor presence, and a strong inclination towards dandyism served only to accentuate the shortcomings of his person. Skin-tight pantaloons of an elegant shade of yellow did not set off to advantage a pair of thin legs, nor could all the exertions of his tailor disguise the fact that his narrow shoulders drooped, and that he was developing a slight paunch. His countenance was tolerably good-looking, but spoilt by a sickly complexion and the unmistakable marks of self-indulgence; and his rather bloodshot eyes seemed at all times incapable of maintaining a steady regard. He sported several fobs and seals, wore exaggeratedly high points to his collars, and fidgeted incessantly with snuff-box, quizzing-glass, and handkerchief.
“I’m sure I don’t know where you can have been,” he complained. “And Huby and that woman of yours quite unable to tell me! I must say, I don’t consider it at all the thing.”
“Perhaps they thought my whereabouts no concern of yours,” suggested Nell. “I have been transacting some business in Tideswell. What is it that you wish to say to me?”
Instead of answering, he embarked on a rambling censure of her independent manners. “I can tell you this, cousin, you present a very odd appearance, jauntering all over the country as you do. I wonder that my grandfather should suffer it, though I suppose the old gentleman is in such queer stirrups he don’t realize what a figure you make of yourself. Nat was saying to me only this morning—”
“Pray spare me a recital of Mr. Coate’s remarks!” she interrupted. “If my odd ways have given him a distaste for me, I can only say that I am heartily glad of it!”
“There you go!” he exclaimed bitterly. “I should have supposed you might have taken pains to be civil to a guest, but no! You behave—”
“Let me remind you, Henry, that Mr. Coate is a guest in this house neither by my wish nor my invitation!”
“Well, he’s here by mine, and if you weren’t such an unaccountable girl you’d be glad of it! Handsome fellow, ain’t he? Slap up to the mark, too, as you’d say yourself!”
“I should never describe Mr. Coate in such terms.”
“Oh, don’t put on those missish airs with me, Nell! Lord knows I’ve heard you using all sorts of sporting lingo!”
“Certainly! I trust, however, that I am in general veracious!” she retorted.
“I’m not surprised that fine aunt of yours couldn’t nabble a husband for you!” he said, nettled. “You’ve a damned nasty tongue in your head! I can tell you this, a Long Meg like you can’t afford to put up the backs of people as you do!”
“That is the second thing you have been so obliging as to tell me, and no more interesting to me than the first. Have you anything more to say?”
“Yes, I have! I wish you will accord Nat a little common civility! It’s no very pleasant thing for me to have my cousin behaving like a shrew! One would have thought you would have been pleased with the very flattering distinction he accords you! I don’t know what you think is to become of you when the old man slips his wind! You needn’t look to me to provide for you, for if he has more to leave than the title and an estate mortgaged to the hilt—”
“Are you having the effrontery to suggest that I—I, Nell Stornaway!—should encourage the advances of Coate?” she demanded. “Perhaps you think he would make a suitable match for me?”
“Oh, well!” he muttered, his eyes shifting from hers. “You might do worse, and you’re not likely to do better. I don’t say—I never spoke of marriage, after all! All I care for is that you should make his visit agreeable. You don’t give a fig for the awkwardness of my position! If you open your mouth at the dinner-table, ten to one it is only to say something cutting to Nat—”
“Yes, indeed! You would fancy that he must be sensible by now, would you not, that his presence at Kellands is only less distasteful to me than the extremely improper style of his advances? But, no!”
“A woman of address would know how to turn it off without flying into a miff!”
“Yes, and some women, no doubt, are more fortunate than I in those male relatives whose duty it might be thought to guard them from such unwanted attentions!”
He coloured, and shot her a resentful glance. “What a piece of work you make about a trifle! I suppose you expect Nat to toad-eat you, though how you should when you wear a gown with a darn in it—the shabbiest thing! puts me to the blush, I can tell you!—and serve such plain dinners—only one course, and that ill-dressed! And then, to crown all, go off afterwards, and never come into the drawing-room, as you should! No tea-tray brought in: nothing as it should be!—’pon my soul, I don’t know why you should look to be treated with any extraordinary civility!”
“Good gracious, does Mr. Coate desire tea in the evening?” she exclaimed. “I thought it was the brandy he wanted! I will not fail to tell Huby that between us we have quite mistaken the matter; and a tray shall be brought to you. My presence, however, you must dispense with: I sit every evening with my grandfather.”
“Yes! If Nat had the good fortune to please you, you wouldn’t choose to spend your time with an old dotard who’s had his notice to quit!”
She took a swift step towards him. He shrank back instinctively, but not quickly enough to escape a swinging box on the ear, which made him stagger. “You will speak of my grandfather with respect in this house, Henry! Understand that!”
A burst of hearty laughter, coming from the direction of the front door, made her turn, at once startled and mortified. Nathaniel Coate stood upon the threshold, laughing, and waving his hat like a huntsman capping hounds to a scent. “Bravo, bravo! That was a wisty one, by God! It’s bellows to mend with you, Henry: she’ll give you pepper, by God, she will!” He tossed his hat and his whip on to a chair, and came forward, saying: “What have you been about, you stupid fellow? Why don’t you take that Friday-face of yours away before Miss Nell slaps it again?”
Henry, taking this broad hint, retired again into the library, shutting the door behind him with a vicious slam, which made his friend give another of his loud laughs, and say: “Silly ninny hammer! Now we shall have him in the sullens! Ah, don’t be in a hurry to slip off, Miss Nell! Damme if this ain’t the first time I’ve laid eyes on you today!”
Since he had contrived to step between her and the staircase she was unable to slip off. He was looking her over in a way that gave her the unpleasant sensation of having been stripped of her clothing; and although she was not at all afraid of him she would have been glad to have been able to escape. She said coolly: “You might have seen me at the breakfast-table, but you are not an early riser. Now, if you please, I must go to my grandfather!”
He did not move from the stairs. “Ah, that’s a slap for me, ain’t it? I shall have to mend my ways, shan’t I? Why don’t you take me in hand, eh? Blister me if I wouldn’t enjoy being schooled by you! I don’t know when I’ve taken such a fancy to a girl as I have to you, and that’s the truth! Ay, you may look down that high-bred nose of yours, lass, and try to barn me you’re a stone statue, but I know better! Full of spirit, you are, and that’s how I like women to be—women and horses, and devilish alike they are! You’re a beautiful stepper, and a ginger besides, and that’s the metal for my money!”
“If we are to employ the language of the stables, Mr. Coate,” she replied, rigid with wrath, “I will inform you that having lived all my life with a nonpareil I have nothing but contempt for mere whipsters! Now, if you will be so obliging as to permit me to pass——!”
She had the momentary satisfaction of knowing that she had touched him on the raw, for he flushed darkly, but she regretted it an instant later. He strode up to her, an ugly look in his face, and said in a thickened voice: “Contempt, eh? We’ll see that!” He flung his arms round her before she could evade him, chuckling deep in his chest.
She was a strong woman, and as tall as he, but found herself helpless. He was immensely powerful, and seemed to control her struggles without any particular effort. “Kiss and be friends, now!” he said, his breath hot on her face.
A dry cough sounded from the staircase; a voice devoid of all expression said: “I beg pardon, miss: might I have a word with you, if convenient?”
Coate swore, and released Nell. For a moment she confronted him, still unafraid, but white with anger, her eyes blazing. Then she swept past him, and went up the stairs to where her grandfather’s valet stood awaiting her. He stepped aside, bowing politely, and followed her to the gallery off which her own and her grandfather’s apartments were situated.
“Thank you!” she said curtly. “I’m much obliged!”
“Not at all, miss,” said Winkfield, as though such interventions were an accustomed part of his duties. “It was fortunate that I happened to be at hand. If I may say so, I feel that Mr. Coate would feel himself more at home in a different class of establishment. Perhaps, a hint to Mr. Henry—?”
“Quite useless! Don’t disturb yourself, Winkfield! I’ll take good care never to be alone with him again!”
“No, miss, it would be wiser, I expect. But if Sir Peter knew—”
“Winkfield, most earnestly I forbid you to breathe one syllable to him!”
“No, miss, and indeed I have not! But he knows more than we think for, and it’s my belief he’s fretting over it. He keeps asking me things, and wanting to know where you are, and the day he sent for Mr. Henry to come to his room he was too much like his old self—if you understand me!”
“We should not have allowed it. It put him in a passion, didn’t it?”
“Well, miss, he never could abide Mr. Henry, but you know as well as I do that it won’t do to cross Sir Peter. What I didn’t like was the way seeing Mr. Henry seemed to make Sir Peter feel his own helplessness more than he has done for a long time now. Several times he’s said to me that he’ll make us all know who’s master at Kellands before he’s booked. Then he gets restless, and testy, and I know he’s been brooding over it, and raging in his mind because he hasn’t the power to do so much as get up out of his chair without he has me to lift him.”
She said in a breaking voice: “Oh, if he had but died when he had that stroke!”
“Yes, miss, I’ve often thought the same. It comes hard on a gentleman like Sir Peter to be as he is.”
“Winkfield, you have not told him that my cousin has a friend staying here?”
“No one has told him that, miss, unless Mr. Henry did, but he knows it well enough.”
“On no account must he be permitted to set eyes on the creature! We must—we must get rid of the pair of them!”
“Yes, miss, that’s what I have been thinking myself. But without we tell Sir Peter the whole there’s not much we can do. If it was only Mr. Henry, it would be enough for Sir Peter to tell him to be off: we could do the rest—if I may make so bold as to say so, Miss Nell! But that other! I don’t doubt Sir Peter would have him out, if he had to send for a law-officer to do the trick, but, by what Dr. Bacup says, it would bring on another stroke if he was to get agitated.”
“No, no!” Nell said, dashing a hand across her eyes.
“No, miss, that’s my own feeling. I couldn’t do it—not after all these years. We must hope that we can send Mr. Coate off without bringing Sir Peter into it.” He added thoughtfully: “Betty forgot to put a hot brick in his bed last night, but he made no complaint. It won’t do to damp the sheets, as I have told Rose, because we don’t want him laid up on our hands; but I’d say he was one as is partial to good living, and that mutton you had for dinner yesterday, Miss Nell—well! Let alone Mrs. Parbold scorching it on the spit, which she did, and the tears running down her face, Rose tells me, because we all have our pride, and no one can send up a better dressed dinner than she can!”
“Winkfield!” Nell choked, between tears and laughter. “It was shocking! I was never so mortified!”
“No, miss, I’m sure! But Sir Peter had the wing of a chicken, poached just as he likes it, and a curd pudding with wine sauce,” said Winkfield consolingly. “And Huby has been busy in the cellar all the morning, and no doubt he will warn you, miss, not to touch the burgundy at dinner. If you should be at liberty now, Sir Peter has been asking for you this hour past.”
“I will come to him directly. I must put off this old riding dress: you know how much he dislikes to see me shabbily gowned!”
She hurried away to her own bedchamber, to strip off the well-worn habit in which she spent the greater part of her days, and to put on instead a morning-gown of green velvet, not perhaps fashioned in the latest mode but not yet showing such signs of wear as would be perceptible to her grandfather. Ten minutes later she entered the dressing-room which formed an antechamber to Sir Peter’s big bedroom, and tapped on the door between the two. It was opened to her by Winkfield, who gave her a significant look, but said nothing, and at once went away, leaving her alone with her grandfather.
“Nell?”
She crossed the floor to the wing-chair that stood beside the wide fireplace. “Yes, sir. Now, don’t, don’t scold me, for I have passed the most amusing morning!” she said, bending to kiss Sir Peter’s brow.
He did not raise his head, which was sunk forward on his breast, but he glanced up at her under his brows, and lifted his right hand. The other was almost powerless, and lay lightly clenched on his knee. “Well?” he said.
His utterance was a little slurred, and he seemed to speak with a slight effort. He was the wreck of a once big man, the flesh having wasted away from large bones. His left side was semi-paralysed, and it was only with his valet’s assistance that he could move from his bed to a chair. He wore always a brocade dressing-gown, but every day it was Winkfield’s duty to arrange a freshly laundered neckcloth round his neck in the style he had adopted years earlier.
Nell took the hand held up to her, and sat down beside him. “Well! I conveyed our new gatekeeper to Tideswell, as you know, while Joseph took care of the pike.”
“H’m! I trust he behaved himself!”
“With all the propriety in the world, sir! You need not look so suspiciously: he is most truly the gentleman.”
“Much you know!” he grunted. “Playing off the airs of an exquisite, I daresay.”
“Oh, no! nothing of the kind! He’s a soldier, not a fribble, dearest! I thought his coat was very well cut, but it was quite plain, and put me in mind of the coats Jermyn used to wear.”
“Scott,” said Sir Peter. “If he was a Captain, and ain’t hoaxing you! Most of the military men go to him—or they did, in my day.”
“Very likely. At all events, there was no fault to be found with his air, or address, and I think you would say that he has a well-bred ease of manner. I found him excellent company, and I am sure he must have great delicacy of principle, for he was most steady in refusing to drive with me into the town! He said that it would not do, and obliged me to set him down before we reached it.”
Sir Peter grunted again. “What did you talk of?” he demanded.
“Oh, all manner of things!” she replied easily. “He told me many—many interesting things about the Pyrenees, for instance!”
“He did, did he? Fellow sounds to me like a damned nincompoop!” said Sir Peter irascibly.
She laughed, but blushed too. “Oh, no! In fact, I fear he must cause his family the gravest anxiety with these whimsical starts of his! You, I think, would like him, sir. I have not, of course, seen him with a team, but I fancy he has good, even hands.”
“That’s as may be. But what the devil’s he doing at the tollhouse?”
“Oh, diverting himself! I think he finds life sadly flat.”
He said no more, and she picked up a newspaper, and glanced through it, knowing that although he might weary soon of conversation he liked to feel that she was in the room. She thought he had fallen into a light sleep, but he startled her suddenly by saying in an abrupt tone: “Who is the fellow you have staying in the house?”
“Henry, Grandpapa?”
“Don’t be a fool, girl—or think me one! I want none of your bamboozling! Who is he?”
“Oh, Coate!” she said indifferently. “A friend of my cousin’s.”
“Why hasn’t he been brought to see me?”
“Because I am persuaded you would give the poor man one of your famous set-downs, sir,” she replied, with great coolness. “He is not quite up to the trick, you know.”
“Then what the devil does Henry mean by bringing him to my house? Henry’s half flash and half foolish, and any friend of his is bound to be a loose fish!”
She was alarmed, for his colour was considerably heightened, and there was a note in his voice which warned her of rising temper. She said: “Oh, pray don’t send him away, sir! To be obliged to entertain my cousin would not suit me at all! I am grateful to Coate for bearing him company, and never see either of them, except at dinner.”
“What brought Henry here? What is going on in my house, Nell? By God, I will not be hoaxed and humdudgeoned! Do you take me for a child, or a lunatic?”
“No, sir, but indeed I don’t know what should be going on! You know that we settled it between us that Henry is escaping from his creditors! That was your notion, do you remember? and I am pretty sure you were right.”
He stared at her, his eyes fierce under the jutting brows. “Don’t lie to me, Nell! don’t lie to me! You’re on the fidgets—blue-devilled! They’ve cut up your peace between the pair of ’em, eh? Damme, I should have seen to it you had a respectable female to keep you company!”
“Now, that would indeed cut up my peace!” she said, laughing. “My dear sir, I cannot decide which of us would most deserve pity—me, or your respectable female! A widow, of course, and elderly, with the strictest notions of propriety! I should be the death of her!”
He beat his hand against the arm of his chair, in a gesture of fretting impotence. “There is no one to look after you. I might as well be coffined!”
She managed to possess herself of his hand, and held it between both of hers. “Dearest, this is the merest irritation of the nerves! I am beset by protectors!”
He moved his head impatiently. “Servants, servants! That won’t fadge!”
She said coaxingly: “You must not be so cross, sir: indeed, there is no reason for you to be vexed! If I needed a protector—which I assure you I do not!—I should send a message to the toll-house, and desire my military giant to come to my aid! I daresay he would be very happy to hurl out of your house anyone you chose to indicate.”
He seemed to be diverted. He looked at her intently, and she was thankful to see that the angry spots of colour in his face were fading. “He would, would he?”
“Certainly! He is a very obliging person, and has expressed his willingness to serve me at any time!” she said, with a saucy look. “And if we should feel the need of a man capable of ridding our house of invaders—which, however, I do not at all anticipate—he would be the very one for the task! I am persuaded, my dear sir, that he would mill cannisters, darken daylights, and draw corks with all the gaiety in the world! Like Hotspur, you know, in that passage which always makes you laugh! Fie upon this quiet life! I want work! is what he would say!”
He smiled rather grimly. “Baggage!” he said. “Did I teach you that language?”
“Yes, to be sure you did, and a great deal more beside!” she said merrily. This drew a laugh from him, and an adroit question putting him in mind of a contest he had once witnessed she soon had the satisfaction of seeing him restored to tranquillity. He dropped into a doze presently, and the knowledge that his memory was erratic encouraged her to hope that when he awoke he would have forgotten the episode.
It seemed as though it had indeed faded from his mind. He did not speak of it again, and she had the comfort, when she went away to change her dress for an evening-gown, of seeing him settle down to his dinner in quiet good spirits.
The relief was short-lived. Her own dinner was partaken of in the company of her cousin and Mr. Coate. She sat at the head of the big table, entirely mistress of the situation, maintaining with quelling composure a conversation of such inane propriety as must, she hoped, lead her unwanted admirer to revise his opinion of her charms. He was apparently conscious of a little awkwardness in meeting her again, and seemed anxious to reinstate himself in her good graces; but before very long he was ogling her, and paying her broad compliments expressed in terms that could only disgust. She was almost glad when these were interrupted by an outcry from her cousin against the burgundy, which he declared, with an angry look at Huby, to have been watered; but civility obliged her to desire Huby to fetch up a fresh bottle, which was not at all what she had wished to do. Then she caught sight of the butler’s face, and her vexation yielded to an almost overmastering wish to burst out laughing. Every feeling had been offended: he was looking as outraged as though he had not, in fact, committed just that crime.
The uncomfortable meal dragged on; she rose at last from the table, and was about to retire to the sanctuary of Sir Peter’s room when the hopes she had been cherishing were shattered by the entrance of Winkfield into the room, with a message from his master. Sir Peter, he announced, begged that Mr. Coate would do him the honour of drinking a glass of brandy with him.
Nell gazed aghast at the valet, but he very slightly shook his head. She knew her grandfather well enough to guess that Winkfield judged it to be more dangerous to oppose his will than to permit Coate to be seen by him. She turned her eyes towards Coate, and said as calmly as she could: “I must beg you, sir, not to linger in my grandfather’s room. I need not remind you, I daresay, that he is a sick man.”
“Oh, don’t fear me!” he said, with one of his loud laughs. “I shall be very happy to visit Sir Peter—famous sportsman, wasn’t he? We shall deal capitally!”
In an agony, she watched him precede Winkfield out of the room. Her cousin’s voice broke into her agitated thoughts. “I must say I’m deuced glad the old gentleman’s sent for Nat!” Henry said, refilling his glass. “I wonder he shouldn’t have done so before, for it’s only civil, after all. What’s more, it’ll do him good. He’ll like Nat: you see if he don’t! Nat’s devilish good company—just the man to cheer the old gentleman up!”
“Just the man to kill him!” she said, in a shaking voice. “One look at him will be enough to throw him into a passion! How could you bring such a creature into this house? how could you?”
“Oh, pooh, you know nothing of the matter! My grandfather likes a good sportsman, and Nat’s a buck of the first head! Up to every rig and row in town, too. They’ll go along like winking!”
She could not trust herself to answer him, but hurried out of the room, bent on warning Rose of what might at any moment befall. Her way led her past her grandfather’s apartments, and, after hesitating for a moment, she softly opened the door into the dressing-room, and looked in. Winkfield was there, and greeted her with a smile of reassurance. He said in a low voice: “You need not be afraid, miss. I fancy Sir Peter does not mean to lose his temper with that person. Remarkably calm, he is.”
“It must do harm!” she whispered. “You know how much he dislikes men of Coate’s stamp! I am fearful of what the consequences may be! Could you not have prevented it?”
“It seemed to me, miss, that once the master had formed a determination to see Mr. Coate it would be wiser to do as he bade me. He will not be opposed. And to fob him off with excuses would be to set up the very irritation to his nerves which Dr. Bacup has particularly warned us against.”
She sighed, listening anxiously to the sound of voices in the room beyond. “You will not go out of earshot, Winkfield?”
“I shall not leave this room, miss. We cannot but be uneasy, but I fancy Mr. Coate is comporting himself as well as he knows how, besides being set a little in awe of the master.”
It was true. Coate, ushered formally into Sir Peter’s room, was indeed a trifle over-awed. He had a disconcerting feeling that he had been granted an audience, and the immobility of the gaunt figure in the wing-chair did nothing to dispel this. As he stood for a moment on the threshold, unusually uncertain of himself, he was aware of being scanned from head to foot by a pair of eyes, deep-sunken, but as hard and as fierce as an eagle’s. He began, without knowing it, to fidget with the elaborate folds of his neckcloth. A hand the colour of parchment found, and raised to one eye, a quizzing-glass. It was levelled at him; he thought all at once that the room was overheated. The glass was allowed to fall. “How do you do?” Sir Peter said courteously. “You must forgive my inability to rise from this chair, Mr. Coate.”
“Oh, not at all! don’t give it a thought! Never one to stand upon ceremony! Sorry to find you in queer stirrups, sir!”
“Thank you,” said Sir Peter, in a thin voice. “Pray be seated! I regret that circumstances should have prevented my making your acquaintance before, Mr. Coate. I apprehend that I have had the honour of entertaining you for some days. I trust my people have attended to your comfort?” Mr. Coate thought fleetingly of unaired sheets, underhung mutton, and watered wine, and said that he had no complaint to make. A slight lifting of his host’s brows then made him wish that he had phrased this assurance differently.
Sir Peter made a sign to his valet, and said: “Do you mean to make a long stay in Derbyshire, sir?”
“Oh, as to that—!” said Coate, watching Winkfield pour brandy into two glasses. “Daresay you know how it is! One needs to go into the country on a repairing lease every now and then, and my friend Stornaway having begged me to bear him company—well, the long and the short of it was that I told Mawdesley—you are acquainted with his lordship, I daresay: capital fellow! one of the Melton men!—he must not look for me immediately. ‘Why, how is this?’ he cried. ‘You do not mean to miss the cubbing! Here am I depending upon you to give us all a lead!’ But I was adamant. ‘My friend Stornaway has a claim upon me,’ I said. ‘I am promised to him, and there is no more to be said.’”
“Ah, you hunt in the Shires?” said Sir Peter.
“Oh, lord, where else should a man hunt? No humbug country for Nat Coate! Neck-or-nothing Nat: that’s what they call me! No fence you can’t get over with a fall, I say!”
Sir Peter, who had thought it one of Mr. Assheson Smith’s sayings, smiled, and sipped his brandy. He encouraged his guest to talk, and when he saw his guest’s glass empty, he begged him to refill it. Under this genial influence Mr. Coate expanded like a peony on a hot summer’s day, and thought he had achieved so excellent an understanding with his host that he was fatally emboldened to compliment him upon his granddaughter’s looks and high spirit. He said that he did not mind owning that he had not expected to find his friend’s cousin such a dashing chipper, and wound up this tribute by giving Sir Peter to understand that although he had steered clear of marriage and was not to be thought a fellow that was hanging out for a wife, he was damned if he wasn’t beginning to change his mind.
It was at this point that Winkfield entered the room. He said that he fancied that Mr. Henry was waiting for Mr. Coate in the library; and since he stood holding the door in the evident expectation of ushering his master’s guest out of the room immediately, there was nothing for Coate to do but to bid Sir Peter good-night, and take himself off. This was not accomplished without his shaking Sir Peter’s hand, and saying, with a wink, that he was happy to have met him, for he rather thought that they had reached a very tolerable understanding.
Having closed the dressing-room door behind the guest, Winkfield returned to the bedchamber, and began quietly to clear away the glasses.
“Winkfield!”
“Sir?”
“You may get me to bed!” Sir Peter said harshly.
He did not speak again until he lay between the sheets, and the valet was drawing the curtains round his bed. Then he said, in quite a strong voice: “Send Joseph up to me in the morning!”
“Very good, sir,” Winkfield said, carefully lowering the wick of the lamp he had carried into the room.
Sir Peter watched him, a grim smile curling his mouth. “I’ve had notice to quit, Winkfield, but I can stick to my leaders still, by God!”