A word to his groom, a shilling tossed to the page, and he was off almost before his feet had found the stirrups. But in spite of his delightful sense of urgency, and of being (as he himself would have phrased it) prime for a lark, young Mr Carrington had so far outgrown the heedless impulses of his schooldays as to defer his dash into Hertfordshire until he should have called, for the second time, at his brother’s house in Arlington Street.
Aldham, hurrying up from the basement to answer an imperative summons conveyed by a tug at the bell which set it jangling so noisily and insistently that Mrs Aldham very nearly suffered a spasm, was pardonably incensed when he discovered that it was only Mr Simon, trying to bring the house down over their heads. “Well, for goodness’ sake, sir!” he said indignantly. “Anyone would think you was that Bonaparty, escaped off St Helena! And don’t you try to bring that horse into the house, Mr Simon, for that I will not permit you to do!”
Simon, who, in default of finding any loafer in the street, had been obliged to lead his hack on to the flagway, to the foot of the few shallow steps which led up to the door of the house, retorted: “I don’t want to bring him into the house! All I want is to know where his lordship is! Do you know?”
“No, Mr Simon, I do not know!”
“Oh, don’t be so damned discreet!” said Simon explosively. “This is important, man!”
“Mr Simon, I promise and swear that I’m telling you the truth! All his lordship said, when he went off, was that he didn’t expect to be gone above a day or two, but he didn’t tell me where he was going to, and it wasn’t my place to ask him!”
“But—he has returned from Harrowgate, has he?” Simon said, frowning. “Did you give him my message?”
“Yes, sir, I gave it to him in your very words,” Aldham assured him. “‘Tell him I shall be in London till the end of the week,’ you said. And so I did, but his lordship only said to tell you, if you should come enquiring for him again, that he would give you a look-in when he came back. Which, Mr Simon, we are expecting him to do at any moment, Mrs Aldham being poised, as you might say, over the kitchen-stove, with a pigeon pie ready to be popped into the oven, and a couple of collops—”
“The devil fly away with the collops!” interrupted Simon wrathfully. “Where’s his lordship’s man? Where’s Stebbing?”
“His lordship gave Tain leave of absence, sir, him having taken a chill on the way back from Harrowgate; and Stebbing’s gone with him—with my lord, I mean—being that my lord has gone off in his curricle this time, and not travelling post”
“In his curricle? Then he can’t have gone far from London! If he should return today, tell him—No. Here, hold my horse, Aldham! I’ll scribble a note for his lordship!”
With these words he thrust his bridle into Aldham’s hands, and strode into the house, leaving that devoted but long suffering retainer to cast his eyes up in a mute appeal to heaven to grant him patience. It was wholly beneath his dignity to hold even his master’s horse, but he accepted the charge without demur, and upon Simon’s emergence from the house a bare three minutes later he went so far as to offer him a leg-up, and to chuckle when Simon vaingloriously refused this assistance.
“Pooh!” said Simon. “Do you take me for a cripple? Here, take this note, and see you give it to my brother the instant he arrives!”
“I will, Mr Simon,” promised Aldham. “Now hold a minute while I tighten the girths! If I’m not taking a liberty, where might you be bound for, sir?’
“Oh, only to Inglehurst!” answered Simon airily. “Thank you: that’s the dandy!” He then favoured Aldham with a smile, and a wave of his hand, and rode off at a brisk trot towards Piccadilly.
“And in which sort the wind is,” Aldham said, when recounting this episode to his wife, “I know no more than you do, my dearie! Though that’s not to say I haven’t got my suspicions! And one thing I will say for Mr Simon! For all his carryings-on he’s not one to cut his stick when my lord’s in trouble, which I’m much afraid he may be!”
Chapter 13
Simon, knowing the country in the midst of which his birthplace was situated like the back of his hand, reached Inglehurst shortly after three o’clock that afternoon, and turned in, at the lodge-gates hard on the heels of a landaulette, displaying on its panels the lozenge-shield proclaiming the widowhood of its owner, and drawn, at a sedate trot, by a pair of well-matched but sluggish bays. Uncertain of the identity of its solitary occupant (for she was holding up a parasol to protect her complexion from the strong sunlight), he kept at a discreet distance in the rear, until it drew up below the terrace of the house, and he saw, as she shut her parasol, and alighted from the carriage, that the unknown lady was not, as he had feared, Lady Silverdale, but her daughter. He then urged his tired mount forward, and called out, as Henrietta was on the point of walking up the broad, shallow steps to the house: “Hetta, Hetta! Stay a minute! I want to speak to you!”
She paused, quickly turning her head, and exclaimed:’”Simon! Good God, what in the world are you doing here? I had supposed you to be in Brighton! Have you ridden over from Wolversham?”
“No, I’ve come from London,” he replied, dismounting, and handing his bridle to one of the footmen who had jumped down from his perch at the back of the landaulette. With a brief request to the man to give the horse into the head groom’s charge, he turned, and grasped the hand Hetta was holding out to him, saying in an urgent undervoice: “Something very important to say to you! Must see you in private!”
She looked a little startled. “Oh, what is it, Simon? If it’s bad news, pray don’t try to break it gently to me! Your parents? Desford? Some accident has befallen one of them?”
“No, no, it ain’t that!” he assured her. “I’ve come to warn you, because it is bad news—devilish bad news! Wilfred Steane is on his way here!”
“Wilfred Steane?” she exclaimed. “But I thought he was dead!”
“Well, he ain’t,” said Simon. “He’s very much alive! Came to visit me this morning.”
“Oh, what a horrid creature you are! Trying to frighten me out of my skin, with your talk of bad news! I don’t call that bad news!”
“You will when you’ve seen him,” said Simon. “He’s a shocking fellow!”
“Oh, dear, how unfortunate!” she said, quite dismayed.
“You may well say so! I’ll tell you what passed between us, but not here! Won’t do for any of the servants to overhear us.”
“No, indeed! Come into the house! You can wait for me in the Green saloon. I won’t be above a couple of minutes, but I must show myself to Mama! I’ve been sitting with poor Mrs Mitcham all the morning, and you know what Mama is! If I venture to go more than five miles from home she is convinced that some dreadful fate will overtake me! Either I shall be robbed by highwaymen, or that there will be some accident to the carriage in which I shall be hideously hurt! It is too absurd, but it’s useless to argue with her. I expect I shall find her in high fidgets, for I’ve been absent for nearly five hours!”
She hurried up the steps, the folds of the delicate primrose muslin dress she was wearing gathered in one hand; and when she reached the terrace she saw that Grimshaw was waiting to receive her in the open doorway, an expression on his face of portentous gloom. “Thank God you have come home, Miss Hetta!” he said earnestly.