“Then you had best recover him without any loss of time,” Carlyon said.
“Yes, I know I had, and I have the greatest dread that he may be caught in a trap, or perhaps shot by one of those brutes of keepers. For Sir Matthew swore he would tell them to shoot him if he disturbed his birds, and—”
“Well, I fancy Sir Matthew will not proceed to those lengths, but you should certainly go to look for him or you will find yourself quite in Sir Matthew’s ill graces.”
“I don’t care for that if only poor old Bouncer is not in trouble. You know, he did once get stuck in a fox’s earth, Ned, and had to be dug out. I own, I would wish to set out to search for him at once, only do you ought?”
“Most decidedly I do.”
“Yes, but there is Francis Cheviot to be thought of, after all!” Nicky reminded him.
“I am sure Bouncer is more important than Francis Cheviot.”
“I should just think he was! Why, he is worth a dozen of him! Only fancy, Ned, he barks at Francis whenever he sees him! And I did not teach him to do so! He is most intelligent! I have not let him bite Francis though, because with such a mean fellow there’s no saying what might come of it. I do wish he would come in!”
“From my knowledge of him, he is not at all likely to do so before nightfall.”
“Ned, I cannot be dawdling here when he may be caught in some trap!”
“My dear boy, there is no reason why you should.”
“Very well then, I shall go out after him. But I warn you, Ned, it may be hours before I find the old fellow, and while I am gone Francis may be up to some more of his tricks!”
“Unlikely, I think.”
“Of course,” said Nicky huffily, “if you do not choose to tell me what you have in your head you need not, but I think it pretty shabby of you!”
Not receiving any other answer to this than an amused look, he left the room with a dignified gait and was soon striding off in the direction of Sir Matthew Kendal’s lands. Carlyon left the bookroom and desired Barrow to send for his chaise from the stables. Miss Beccles found him drawing on his gloves in the hall, and said diffidently and a little anxiously, “You are leaving us, my lord?”
He smiled and nodded.
“I dare say there is no need for you to remain, sir?” she ventured.
“None, I believe. I have already begged Mrs. Cheviot to think no more of what has happened here today.”
“I am sure if you feel it to be safe for her to remain here, my lord, it must be so indeed,” she said simply.
His eyes lit with amusement but he let it pass, merely bowing and saying in a perfectly grave tone, “You are very good, Miss Beccles.”
“Oh, no! When it is you, my lord, who—Indeed, I am all obligation! Such distinguishing observance! Never backward in the least attention! I am sure we may place every dependence upon your lordship’s judgment. And as for—Well, I am sure when dear Mrs. Cheviot has been in a pucker, I have said to her a dozen times: “Depend upon it, my love, when his lordship comes, everything will be in a way to be settled!’”
He looked a trifle rueful. “And what does Mrs. Cheviot commonly reply, ma’am?”
The poor lady colored up and became entangled in a riot of half sentences from which it emerged that although dear Mrs. Cheviot had a mind capable of every exertion, indeed something more of quickness than most females, the awkwardness of her situation had inclined her to indulge lately in odd humors.
“I fear Mrs. Cheviot has no very high idea of my management,” he remarked.
“Oh, my lord, I am sure—I She has a kind of sportive playfulness which—But your lordship has such a superior understanding! I need not make the least excuse for the occasional liveliness of Mrs. Cheviot’s manners!”
“Not the least,” he agreed. “Does she abuse me soundly?”
“You know it is her way to indulge in a good deal of raillery, my lord!” Miss Beccles explained earnestly. “Then she has been so much on the fidgets, you know! I am sure it is no wonder! But with every disposition in the world to fancy herself able to contrive all without assistance, and perhaps with a little distaste of submitting to authority, it cannot be called in question that she can only be comfortable when your lordship is so obliging as to advise her how she should go on.”
He held out his hand. “Thank you. I depend upon your good offices, Miss Beccles. Good-by! I shall be at Highnoons again tomorrow.”
He was gone, leaving her to blink after him in bewilderment.
Less than an hour later, having assured herself that Elinor lay deeply and peacefully asleep, Miss Beccles, herself conscious of being very much exhausted by the events of the morning, went downstairs with the intention of desiring Mrs. Barrow to send some tea and bread and butter to the parlor on a tray. She was brought up short by the sight of Francis Cheviot standing in the hall enveloped in his fur-lined cloak, a muffler swathed about his throat, and his hat already in his hand. He was giving Barrow some languid directions, but he turned when he heard the governess’s footsteps on the stairs and said, “Ah, I am happy to have this opportunity of addressing you, ma’am! I would not have you sent for, in case you should be ministering to poor dear Mrs. Cheviot, but I am glad you are come—very glad! And how does the sufferer find herself?”
“Mrs. Cheviot is asleep, sir, I thank you,” she replied, dropping him a prim little curtsy.
“One hoped she might be. ‘Great nature’s second course,’ you know. Upon no account in the world will I have her disturbed!”
“Oh, I should not think of doing such a thing, sir!” she said naively.
“Ah, I knew I should find you persuadable in this! And yet propriety of taste dictates that I should take my leave of her! How difficult it is to decide what one should do!”
“Are you—are you leaving us, sir?” she uttered, hardly able to believe her ears.
“Alas! With every wish to show dear Mrs. Cheviot attention, I find I cannot remain at Highnoons with any degree of comfort. My nerves are already sadly disordered, ma’am. It would not do for me to stay. I should not be the least use to my cousin.” He raised one white hand. “Yes, yes, I know what you would say! Am I wise to run the risk of exposing myself to all the hazards of a journey undertaken in this inclement weather? It is very just, but I am persuaded I ought to make the attempt. And if Crawley wraps me up well and I draw my muffler over my mouth, we must trust that no ill will result—no irremediable ill!”
She was so thankful to learn that he was indeed leaving Highnoons that she agreed to this with so much eagerness that he frowned and reminded her gently that the evil properties of the east wind could scarcely be overestimated. She said hopefully that perhaps the wind would not be found to be so very much in the east as he feared. “But you will not go without a little nuncheon, sir! Oh, dear, if it is not one o’clock already! I am sure so much has happened today I have not noticed how the time has flown! I will send to the kitchen directly!”
“You are most obliging, dear ma’am, but if I am to reach London by dinnertime I must remove at once. And I could not support the notion of dining at an inn in my present sad state of health. I could not answer for the consequences! My chaise is called for already; indeed, I cannot imagine why it is not at the door, but these fellows take a delight in dawdling, you know! I wonder if Crawley has procured a hot brick to put at my feet? Where is Barrow? Ah, he has gone to fetch the clock, as I desired him to do! Miss Beccles, I have been searching my mind to discover in what way I may serve my kind hostess, for one must wish to show every observance! That clock, which has vexed her so much by its lamentable trick of declaring the hour to want but a quarter of an hour to five o’clock! A handsome timepiece, and so like my poor Cousin Eustace to let it remain out of order! But I will have it set to rights, ma’am, and it shall be attended to by, my own clockmaker. I would not trust it to another, for some of those fellows, you know, meddle more than they mend. Pray inform Mrs. Cheviot that her clock shall be returned to her in working order as soon as I can contrive it! Ah, here is Barrow! Place it carefully inside my chaise, Barrow, if you please! You will present my most respectful compliments to Mrs. Cheviot, Miss Beccles, and of course my deep apologies for not making my adieus to her in person. She will, I trust, forgive me! That she will appreciate my anxiety to be safely in my own lodging before nightfall I cannot doubt. She has such exquisite sensibility! I am happy to think such air estimable female should have become one of my family. Ah, and dear Nicholas! Now, where is dear Nicholas? A charming boy, I am sure, if he would but outgrow his taste for savage mongrels. Barrow, you may send for Mr. Nicholas. I know he will wish to say good-by to me, and not for the world would I wound him by the smallest show of inattention!”