Harriet looked round the empty sittingroom with a curiously blank sensation. There was nothing to sit on except the window-sill, so she sat on that Bunter was upstairs, locking trunks and suit-cases. Peter walked aimlessly up and down the room.
‘I’m going up to Town,’ he said abruptly. He looked vaguely at Harriet. ‘I don’t know what you’d care to do.’
This was disconcerting, because she could not tell from his tone whether he wanted her in London or not. She asked:
‘Shall you be staying the night in Town?’
‘I don’t think so, but I must see Impey Biggs.’
So that was the difficulty. Sir Impey Biggs had been her own counsel when she had stood her trial, and Peter was wondering how she would take the mention of his name.
‘Do they want him for the prosecution?
‘No; I want him for the defence.’
Naturally-what a stupid question.
‘Crutchley must be defended, of course,’ pursued Peter, ‘though at the moment he’s in no state to discuss anything. But they’ve persuaded him to let a solicitor act for him. I’ve seen the man and offered to get Biggy for them. Crutchley needn’t know we’ve had anything to do with it. He probably won’t ask.’
‘Must you see Sir Impey today?’
‘I’d rather. I rang him up from Broxford. He’s in the House tonight, but he can see me if I go round after the debate on some Bill or other he’s concerned in. That will make it rather late for you, I’m afraid.’
‘Well,’ said Harriet, resolved to be reasonable whatever happened, ‘I think you had better run me up to Town. Then we can sleep at an hotel, if you like, or in your mother’s house, if the servants are there; or if you’d rather stay at your club, there’s a friend I can always ring up; or I can get out my own car and run down to Denver ahead of you.’
‘Resourceful woman! We’ll go to Town, then, and wait upon the event.’
He seemed relieved by her readiness to accommodate herself, and presently went out to do something or other to the car. Bunter came down, looking worried.
‘My lady, what would you’ wish to have done with the heavy luggage?’
‘I don’t know, Bunter. We can’t very well take it to the Dower House, and if we take it to Town, there’s nowhere much to put it, except the new house-and I don’t suppose we shall be going there, yet awhile. And I don’t care to leave it here, with no one to see to it, since we can’t possibly come back for some time. Even if his lordship-that is to say, we should have to get some furniture in.’
‘Precisely, my lady.’
‘I suppose you have no idea what his lordship is likely to decide?’
‘No, my lady, I regret to say I have not.’
For nearly twenty years, Bunter had known no plans which did not include the Piccadilly flat; and he was for once at a loss.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Harriet. ‘Go up to the vicarage and ask Mrs Goodacre from me whether we may leave it with her for a few days till we have made our plans. She can then send it on, carriage forward. Make some excuse for my not going myself. Or find me a piece of paper and I will write a note. I would rather his lordship could find me here when he wants me.’
‘I understand perfectly, my lady. If I may say so, I think that will be an excellent arrangement.’
One felt rather shabby, perhaps, for not going to say au revoir to the Goodacres. But, quite apart from what Peter might or might not want, the thought of Mrs Goodacre’s questions and Mr Goodacre’s lamentations was a daunting one. When Bunter returned, bringing a cordial note of assent from the vicar’s wife, he reported that Miss Twitterton was also at the parsonage, and Harriet was more than ever thankful to have escaped.
Mrs Ruddle seemed to have disappeared. (She and Bert were, indeed, having a sumptuous six o’clock tea with Mrs Hodges and a few neighbours, eager to have their news served up piping hot.) The only person who lingered to bid them farewell was Mr Puffett. He did not intrude; only, as the car moved out into the lane, he popped into ken from the top of a neighbouring gate, where he seemed to have been enjoying a peaceful smoke.
‘Jest,’ said Mr Puffett, ‘to wish you luck, me lord and me lady, and ’ope as we shall be seem’ you ’ere again afore long. You ain’t ’ad things so comfortable as you might ’ave ’oped, but there’s more than one ’ud be sorry if you wos to take a misliking to Paggleham on that account. And if you’d like them chimneys given a thorough over’aul. or any other little job in the sweepin’ or buildin’ line. you’ve only to mention it and I’d be ’appy to oblige.’
Harriet thanked him very much.
‘There’s one thing,’ said Peter. ‘Over at Lopsley there’s a sun-dial in the old churchyard, made from one of our chimney-pots. I’m writing to the squire to offer him a new sun-dial in exchange. May I tell him that you will call for the old one and see to getting it put back?’
‘I’ll do that and welcome,’ said Mr Puffett.
‘And if you know where any of the others have gone, you might let me know.’
Mr Puffett promised readily that he would. They shook hands with him, and left him standing in the middle of the lane, cheerfully waving his bowler till the car had turned the corner.
They drove for five miles or so in silence. Then Peter said:
‘There’s a little architect who would make a good job of that bathroom extension. His name’s Thipps. He’s a common little blighter, but he has a very real feeling for period stuff. He did the church over at Duke’s Denver, and he and I got really friendly about thirteen years ago, when he was troubled with a corpse in his bathroom, I think I’ll send him a line.’
‘He sounds just right… You haven’t taken what Puffett calls a misliking to Talboys, then? I was afraid you might want to get rid of it.’
‘While I live,’ he said, ‘no owner but ourselves shall ever set foot in it.’
She was satisfied and said no more. They ran into London in time for dinner.
Sir Impey Biggs extricated himself from his debate about midnight. He greeted Harriet with a cheerful friendliness, Peter as the lifelong friend and connection that he was/and both with all proper congratulations on their marriage.
Although there had been no further discussion of the subject, it had somehow been taken for granted that there was now no more question of Harriet’s going to sleep with a friend or driving to Denver alone. After dinner, Peter had merely said, ‘It’s no good going down to the House yet,’ and they had turned into a news-cinema and seen a Mickey Mouse and an educational film about the iron and steel industry.
‘Well, well,’ said Sir Impey. ‘So you want me to tackle a defence for you. This business down in Hertfordshire, I suppose.’
‘Yes. I warn you beforehand you haven’t a very good case.’
‘Never mind. We’ve tackled some pretty hopeless jobs before now. With you on our side I know we can put up a good fight.’
‘I’m not, Biggy. I’m a witness for the prosecution.’
The K.C. whistled. ‘The devil you are. Then why are you briefing counsel for the prisoner? Conscience-money?’
‘More or less. It’s rather a rotten show altogether, and we’d like to do our best for the man. I mean to say, don’t you know-there we were, just married and every thing pleasant about us. And then this happens, and the local bobbies can make nothing of it. And we horn in, looking all silk-lined, and fasten the crime on a poor devil who hasn’t got a bean in the world and hasn’t done us any harm except dig the garden-Well, anyway, we’d like you to defend him.’