“Elinor, my love! Indeed, you let the liveliness of your mind betray you into saying what is not at all becoming!”
“Tell his lordship with your compliments,” corrected Carlyon. “You should always add your compliments to any message you wish to render excessively cutting.”
She cast him a withering glance and prepared to retreat in good order. To her surprise, he followed her out of the attic and downstairs, saying, “Your unwelcome visitor has put me in mind of something I should have spoken of before, Mrs. Cheviot. Shall we go into the parlor?”
“Now what horrid surprise do you mean to spring on me?” she asked suspiciously.
“On my honor, none at all! But it occurs to me that it will be proper for me, as my cousin’s executor, to advance you sufficient moneys to pay for all those items, I dare say a great many, which it may not be convenient to charge up.”
“No, pray do not! There can be not the least necessity!”
“On the contrary, you are not to be spending out of your own purse.”
“I shall not. Why, what should I spend money on?”
“Depend upon it, there will be a score of things.” He added with a slight smile, “At any moment a peddler may come to the door and you will buy a broom from him or a chintz patch or some such thing!”
“Well, if I do that is quite my own affair. I had rather you did not give me any money.”
“You are overscrupulous, ma’am, but since you have this extreme nicety I will place a sum in Miss Beccles’ charge.”
She almost stamped her foot at him. “I wish you will not treat me as though I were a schoolgirl, my lord!” she said. She read an answer in his eye, and added hurriedly, “And do not tell me that I behave as one, because it is quite untrue!”
“Certainly not. I know you to be a sensible woman, a little too much in the habit of having your own way.”
She fairly gasped. “This reproach from you, my lord!”
“Very true. We agreed, did we not, that my disposition is overbearing? But you will own that my way is in general more reasonable than yours.”
“Not while I still retain the possession of my faculties!” she declared. “Indeed, I do not know how you dare make such a claim! It quite takes my breath away! When I consider in what apposition you have placed me, and then am obliged to listen to you talking as though you had done nothing out of the ordinary, but on the contrary had acted in the best possible manner—”
“Well, you know, ma’am, given a situation which you will allow to have been excessively awkward, I think I did,” he said.
Mrs. Cheviot sank into a chair and covered her eyes with one hand.
Carlyon regarded her in some amusement. “Still regretting Mrs. Macclesfield, ma’am?”
“Oh, no! how could I, sir?” she retorted. “How dull I must have been in her house! I dare say she had never a French agent within it, let alone a distraint upon the furniture!”
“I am sure hers is a most respectable household. I should be surprised if her husband has ever done anything as mildly reprehensible as to look for a keg of brandy by his back door.” He broke off. “Yes, that puts me in mind of something else,” he said. “It is the season when we may reasonably expect to find a few such kegs. I am sure Eustace had his brandy from the free traders. If you should come upon any kegs in some unexpected place such as an outhouse, for instance, just tell me, ma’am! Do not raise an outcry!”
“This only was needed!” said Elinor. “I am now to enter into dealings with a pack of smugglers! Perhaps, after all, you had better leave some money with me, for I dare say they will wish to be paid for their trouble! And though, to be sure, life at Highnoons has been a trifle flat these past two days, I should not care to be at loggerheads with a set of desperate persons who would not, I dare say, boggle for an instant at murder!”
“Oh, I do not think they will murder you!” he replied cheerfully. “I will set the word going, however, in the proper quarters, that any consignment ordered by my cousin may be delivered up at the Hall.”
“And I have no doubt whatsoever,” stated Mrs.
Cheviot, “that you are a Justice of the Peace!”
“Yes, certainly.”
“I wonder you should not be ashamed to own it!” she said virtuously.
“My dear ma’am, there is nothing in the least derogatory in being a Justice of the Peace!” he replied, at his blandest.
Mrs. Cheviot sought in vain for words adequate to the occasion, and could only regard him in speechless dudgeon.
Chapter XIII
The next day, the eve of the funeral, passed in much the same busy but uneventful style. The piles of rubbish grew higher yet. Miss Beccles was made happy by being permitted to make the stillroom and the linen cupboard her particular concerns. Elinor began to think that in time the house might be made very tolerable. And Nicky beguiled the morning by taking Bouncer to a neighboring farm and engaging in a rat hunt which might have been more successful had not Bouncer jumped to an overhasty conclusion that his first duty was to rid the world of the flea-ridden terrier who should have assisted him in his work of destroying all the rats in the big barn.
Returning from the day’s sport midway through the afternoon, Nicky strolled up to the house by the short cut that led through the surrounding woodland in time to see an elegant post-chaise-and-four drawn up before the front door. As he paused, in surprise, a very obvious gentleman’s gentleman jumped down from it, a dressing case in his hand, which he tenderly set down on the porch before turning back to assist his master to alight.
A slim and exquisite figure descended languidly onto the drive and stood with the utmost patience while I the valet straightened the numerous capes of his greatcoat and anxiously passed a handkerchief over the gleaming surface of a pair of well-cut Hessian boots. A high-crowned gray beaver with a curling brim was set at a slightly rakish angle on the gentleman’s head of glossy chestnut curls. He wore one gray glove and carried the other in the same hand, together with an ebony walking cane. From under the brim of his hat a pair of weary, blue eyes gazed in insufferable boredom at nothing in particular. Their expression of worldly cynicism made them sit oddly in a face decidedly round, and a nose inclined to the retroussé, and an almost womanishly delicate mouth and chin.
“Hell and the devil confound it!” uttered Nicky under his breath, recognizing the visitor.
Bouncer, who had been standing with his tail up and his ears on the prick, needed no more encouragement than these muttered words to send him forward like a bolt from the blue to execute his clear duty. Barking like a fiend, he launched himself upon the intruder.
The exquisite gentleman whirled about at the first bark, and as Bouncer came at full tilt across the ill-kept lawn, his ungloved right hand grasped the ivory top of his cane, deftly twisted it and drew a thin, wicked blade hissing from the ebony stick that formed its sheath.
“Heel, Bouncer!” Nicky roared, terror for his pet lending such ferocity to his voice that Bouncer checked in mid-career, dropping tail and ears, and cowering to the earth in startled dismay.
Nicky came striding up, his eyes sparkling with wrath, his countenance flushed, and sternly admonished Bouncer.
The visitor kept his swordstick poised but raised his eyes, suddenly very wide open, to Nicky’s face. He was breathing a little fast, but his lips smiled, and he said smoothly: “I do not—like—dogs!”
“By God, Cheviot, if you so much as touch my dog with that blade of yours I’ll ram it down your gullet!” swore Nicky, glaring at him.
The smile grew, the arched brows rose. Francis Cheviot restored his blade to its sheath. “What, Nicholas! Determined to purge the world of Cheviots?”
Nicky’s color darkened and his fists clenched themselves involuntarily. Francis Cheviot laughed softly and patted his shoulder with one white hand. “There, there!” he said soothingly. “I was only funning, dear boy! I am sure you would not really ram my blade down my throat.”