'Hayfield? What the devil – ?'
'In my day it was the South Lawn.'
There was an uncomfortable silence. 'So you've been there, have you?' Stacy said sullenly.
'Yes, I've been there. I thought poor old Penn was going to burst into tears. Mrs Penn did. Fell on my neck, too, and went straight off to kill a fatted calf. The return of the Prodigal Son was nothing to it. No, I don't think I shall be shunned by the county, Stacy.'
Another silence fell, during which Stacy sat scowling down at the table. He said suddenly: 'Fifteen thousand? Paltry!'
'Perhaps,' suggested Miles, 'you are forgetting the little matter of the mortgages.'
Stacy bit his lip, but said: 'It's worth more – much more!'
'It is, in fact, worth much less. However, if you believe you can sell it for more, by all means make the attempt!'
'With you holding all the rest of the estate? Who the devil would buy a place like Danescourt with no more land attached to it than the gardens, and the park?'
'I shouldn't think anyone would.'
'Brought me to Point Non-Plus, haven't you?' said Stacy, with an ugly laugh.
'You're certainly there, but what I had to do with it I don't know.'
'You could help me to make a recover – give me time!'
'I could. I could also ruin you. I don't choose to do either – though when I saw Danescourt I was strongly tempted to let you take up residence in the King's Bench Prison, and leave you to rot there! Which is what you will do, if you refuse my offer.'
'Oh, damn you, I can't refuse it! How soon can I have the blunt?'
'As soon as the conveyance is completed. The necessary documents are being prepared, and you will find them with my lawyer. I'll furnish you with his direction. You had better take your own man with you, to see all's right, by the way.'
'I shall certainly do so! And I shall be very much obliged to you if you'll advance me a hundred, sir, at once!'
'I'll make you a present of it,' said Miles, drawing a roll of bills from his pocket.
'You're very good!' said Stacy stiffly. 'Then, if there's nothing more you wish to say, I'll bid you goodnight!'
'No, nothing,' replied Miles. 'Goodnight!'
Eighteen
Since Miss Butterbank, after a night and the better part of a day enduring the agonies of violent toothache, was closeted with the dentist when Mr Miles Calverleigh returned to Bath, the news of his arrival was not carried to Sydney Place until several hours after he had made an unexpected descent upon Miss Abigail Wendover.
He took her entirely by surprise. Not only did he present himself at an unusually early hour, but when Mitton admitted that he rather thought Miss Abigail was at home he said that there was no need to announce him, and ran up the stairs, leaving Mitton in possession of his hat and malacca cane, and torn between romantic speculation and disapproval of such informal behaviour.
Abby was alone, and engaged on the task of fashioning a collar out of a length of broad lace. The table in the drawing-room was covered with pins, patterns, and sheets of parchment, and Abby had just picked up a pair of shaping scissors when Mr Calverleigh walked into the room. She glanced up; something between a gasp and a shriek escaped her; the scissors fell with a clatter; and she started forward involuntarily, with her hands held out. 'You've come back! Oh, you have come back!' she cried.
The unwisdom, and, indeed, the impropriety of this unguarded betrayal of her sentiments occurred to her too late, and did not seem to occur to Mr Calverleigh at all. Before she could recover herself she was in his arms, being kissed with considerable violence. 'My bright, particular star!' uttered Mr
Calverleigh, into her ear.
Mr Calverleigh had very strong arms, and a shoulder most conveniently placed for the use of a tall lady. Abby, gasping for breath, gratefully leaned her cheek against it, feeling, for a few brief moments, that she had come safely to harbour after a stormy passage. She said, clinging to him: 'Miles! Oh, my dear. I've missed you so dreadfully!' But hardly had she uttered these words than all the difficulties of her situation rushed in upon her, with the recollection of the decision she had so painfully reached, and she said, trying to wrench herself free: 'No! Oh, I can't think what made me – ! I can't, Miles, I can't!'
Mr Calverleigh, that successful man of affairs, was not one to be easily rocked off his balance. 'What can't you, my heart's dearest?' he enquired.
Abby quivered. 'Marry you! Oh, Miles, don't! '
She broke from him, and turned away, groping blindly for her handkerchief, and trying very hard not to let her emotion get the better of her.