‘Only that I wish you will be more careful, and not give me such a fright!’ said Miss Morville, drawing her shawl more securely about her. ‘And, if I were you, Martin, I would not stand talking here, for if you do so much longer you will be bound to wake Lady St Erth.’
This common-sense reminder had the effect of sending him off on tiptoe. Miss Morville, conscious of her bare toes, which her nightdress very imperfectly concealed, and of the neat cap tied under her chin, would have followed him had she not happened to look into the Earl’s face. He was watching Martin’s retreat, and, after considering him for a moment, Miss Morville asked softly: ‘Pray, what has occurred, sir?’
He brought his eyes down to her face. ‘Occurred?’
‘You seem to be a good deal put-out. Is it because Martin stole away to the village? Boys will do so, you know!’
‘That! No! – if it was true!’
‘Oh, I expect it was!’ she said. ‘I thought, did not you? that he had been drinking what my brother Jack calls Old Tom.’
‘I know of no reason why he must go to the village to do so.’
‘Oh, no! I conjecture,’ said Miss Morville, with the air of one versed in these matters, ‘that it was to see some cocking that he went.’
‘Cocking!’
‘At the Red Lion. To own the truth, that was what I thought he meant to do when he said he had the head-ache and would go to bed.’
‘But, in God’s name, why could he not have told me so?’
‘They never do,’ she replied simply. ‘My brothers were just the same. In general, you know, one’s parents frown upon cocking, on account of the low company it takes a boy into. Depend upon it, that was why he would not tell you.’
‘My dear ma’am, Martin can hardly regard me in the light of a parent!’
‘No – at least, only in a disagreeable way,’ she said. ‘You are so much older than he, and have so much more experience besides, that I daresay the poor boy feels you are a great distance removed from him. Moreover, he resents you very much at present. If I were you, I would not mention his having gone out tonight.’
‘I shall certainly not do so. How deep is his resentment, Miss Morville? You seem to know so much that perhaps you know that too!’
‘Dear me, no! I daresay he will recover from it when he is better acquainted with you. I never heeded him very much, and I expect it will be better if you do not either.’
‘You are full of excellent advice, ma’am!’
‘Well, I am not clever, but I am thought to have a great deal of common-sense, though I can see that you mean to be satirical,’ she replied calmly. ‘Good-night! – I think the wind is less, and we may perhaps be able to sleep at last.’
She flitted away down the gallery, and the Earl returned to his bedchamber. Sleep was far from him, however, and after drawing the curtain across the window again he began to pace slowly about the room, thinking over all that had passed. The creak he had heard might, he supposed, have been caused merely by the settling of a chair; but he could not charge his nerves with having led him to imagine the closing of a door. He could have sworn that a latch had clicked very softly, and this sound was too distinctive to be confused with the many noises of the storm. He glanced towards the door into his dressing-room, and took a step towards it. Then he checked himself, reflecting that his silent visitor would scarcely return to his room that night. Instead of locking the door, he bent to pick up his handkerchief, which had fallen on the floor beside the bed, and stood for a moment, kneading it unconsciously between his hands, and wondering
whether the click he had heard had not been in the room after all, but had been caused by Martin’s closing of the door leading to the stairway down the gallery. He could not think it, but it was useless to cudgel his brain any further at that hour. He tossed the handkerchief on to his pillow, and took off his dressing-gown. Suddenly his abstracted gaze became intent. He picked the handkerchief up again, and held it near the candle, to perceive more clearly the monogram which had caught his eye. Delicately embroidered on the fine lawn were the interlinked initials, M and F.
Seven
A bright day succeeded the storm, with a fresh wind blowing, but the sun shining, and great cumulus clouds riding high in a blue sky. Some of the havoc wrought from the night’s tornado could be observed from the windows of the breakfast-parlour; and when Martin strode in presently, he reported that at least one tree had been struck in the Home Wood, and that shattered tiles from the roof of the Castle littered the courts.
‘I trust your lordship’s rest was not too much disturbed?’ Mr Clowne said solicitously. ‘It was indeed a tempestuous night!’
‘His lordship will tell you, sir,’ said Theo, ‘that, having bivouacked in Spain, an English thunderstorm has no power to disturb his rest. He was boasting of it to me last night. I daresay you never enjoyed a quieter sleep, eh, Gervase?’
‘Did I boast? Then I am deservedly set-down, for I must own that my rest was not quite undisturbed.’ He met his brother’s wary, kindling glance across the table, and added, meeting those dark eyes smilingly, but with irony in his own lazy gaze: ‘By the by, Martin, I fancy this must be yours!’
Martin caught the handkerchief, tossed to him, and inspected it casually. ‘Yes, it is. Did you find it amongst your own?’
‘No,’ said Gervase. ‘You dropped it.’
Martin looked up quickly, suspicion in his face. ‘Oh! I daresay I might have: it can easily happen, after all!’ He turned away, and began to tell his cousin about the damage caused by the storm which had so far been reported.
‘Then, as I really mean to ride towards Hatherfield this morning,’ observed the Earl, ‘I shall no doubt be besieged with demands for new roofs and chimney-stacks. What shall I say to my importunate tenants, Theo?’
‘Why, that they must carry their complaints to your agent! Do you indeed mean to go there? I had abandoned hope of bringing you to a sense of your obligations! Mind, now, that you don’t deny old Yelden the gratification of receiving a visit from you! He has been asking me for ever when he may hope to see you. You have no more devoted a pensioner, I daresay! He swears it was he who taught you to climb your first tree!’