“Why, the one from the bookroom, my love, that has vexed you so! He will have it mended by his own clockmaker, and—”
“Becky, you cannot have let him do so!” Elinor cried, her countenance grown suddenly white.
“But, my dear Mrs. Cheviot, what objection can there be?”
“Objection! When you knew what we have been so much afraid of! What he came here to find!”
“Elinor, this is the merest irritation of nerves! Pray, what has a clock that will not go to do with secret papers?”
Elinor seemed not to be attending. She had both hands pressed to her temples as though in an effort to concentrate her thoughts. “The clock was locked,” she said. “I had been trying to open it. Then I put it back as it was, and—yes, yes, it was then that I picked up the inventory again from the mantelpiece where I had laid it down! And then I saw the clock was not standing quite straight, and I adjusted it, those papers in my hand! And it was then that I was struck down! Becky, Becky, what a fool I have been not to have perceived it before! That was why he stunned me! He thought I had contrived to open the back of the clock and had discovered the papers in it! I see it all now, and it is too late! He knew they were there and must have been only waiting his moment to take them out! Oh, Becky, what a piece of work is this! Oh, how could you have let him take the clock away? But the blame is mine! What shall I do? We must get it back! Nicky—” She broke off. “No, not Nicky! he would dash off in pursuit and very likely get hurt, and I should never forgive myself, nor would Carlyon, I dare say! Becky, what must I do?”
Miss Beccles looked very much agitated, and said, “Indeed, I am very sorry! I do not see what is to be done, and certainly you, my love, are in no state to exert yourself! Do, pray, be still! You will bring on your headache if you allow yourself to get into a pucker!”
Elinor said impatiently, “Headache! What can that signify in face of this disaster—for it is no less! It may be too late to recover that document, but at least it is my duty to advise Carlyon instantly of what has occurred! Oh, why did he leave Highnoons? He might have guessed everything would go awry if he went away! It is just like him! Odious, provoking man! Becky, run to find Barrow, and tell him I must have a carriage brought round to the door as soon as may be! If there is nothing fit for me to go in but the gig, I will go in that, and the groom must be ready to accompany me. Do not sit staring at me, Becky, but hurry, I beg of you! I am going upstairs to fetch my hat and cloak!”
“Mrs. Cheviot!” gasped Miss Beccles. “You will not be so mad as to venture out! And in a gig! Elinor!”
Mrs. Cheviot fairly stamped her foot. “Do as I bid you, Becky, for I was never more in earnest in my life! And if Nicky should come in, not one word to him, mind, of Mr. Cheviot’s having taken that clock away!”
Chapter XVIII
Once having taken her resolution, not all Miss Beccles’ prayers—and she uttered many—had the power to prevent Elinor from setting forth in search of Carlyon. The barouche which the late Mrs. Cheviot had used was still in the coach house, but so covered with dust that it was obviously useless to expect it to be got ready for Elinor in the little time at her disposal. She adopted instead Barrow’s suggestion that she should take Eustace Cheviot’s phaeton, a vehicle very much more to her taste than the gig. The groom, rather pleased to have something more in his line to do than the gardening to which he had been set, hurried to put on his livery and to harness one of Eustace Cheviot’s horses to the carriage. When he discovered that his mistress had formed the intention of driving herself and required him merely to sit beside her and to direct her, he looked dubious and ventured to inform her that the mare, not having been exercised for some days, was lamentable fresh. Mrs. Cheviot deigned no reply to this but took the reins in a businesslike way and drove off at a spanking pace. By the time the groom had watched her loop a rein, as they swung out of the gate onto the lane, and catch the thong of her whip without so much as glancing at it, he was very much impressed, and treated her with all the deference she could have desired.
Highnoons was only some seven miles distant from the Hall, but the roads to it were narrow and full of bends, so that it was nearly three-quarters of an hour before Mrs. Cheviot was drawing up outside the Hall. The drive had done much to steady the agitation of her nerves, and she was able to ask for his lordship in a voice of tolerable composure. The butler and the footman who admitted her were both too well trained to show any surprise at her unconventional arrival, and she was at once bowed into a handsome saloon and begged to take a seat while his lordship was informed of her visit. She had not long to wait. The firm tread she was beginning to know soon came to her ears, and she started up out of her chair even as the butler flung open the door for Carlyon to pass into the saloon.
“My dear Mrs. Cheviot!” he said, coming toward her with his hand held out. “You should be laid down upon your bed! How is this?”
Her gloved hand clung to his urgently. “My lord, I had to come! I am quite well—the fresh air has even done me good. I was obliged to come had I been twice as unwell!”
“You cannot doubt of my happiness in welcoming you to my house, ma’am. Only the conviction that it cannot be good for you to exert yourself so unwisely has the power to mar it. But will you not come into the library? It is chilly in here and I think you are cold already.”
“Thank you. It is nothing to signify! I have something of the greatest importance to disclose to you!”
“We shall be perfectly private in the library,” he said, opening the door for her and leading her across the hall. The footman sprang to open the library door and was desired to bring wine and cakes to the room.
“Indeed, I require nothing!” Elinor said.
“You will let me be the best judge of that, ma’am,” Carlyon said, closing the door. “May I take your pelisse? I wonder what you were thinking of to come out in this weather with only that to protect you from the wind?”
She brushed it aside impatiently. “What can it signify? My lord, Mr. Cheviot left Highnoons this afternoon while I was sleeping and he took with him the clock from the bookroom!”
“Ah, did he so?” he said, apparently rather amused.
“You do not understand! I did not think of it myself until Becky told me that he had taken the clock upon the pretext of having it mended for me! My lord, I believe that paper to have been concealed in it! He knew it, and now he has it!”
“No, no, Mrs. Cheviot, he has not got it, I assure you!” he said soothingly. “Do let me take your pelisse!”
She struck her hands together in exasperation. “You must attend to me, my lord! You have not realized—how should you indeed?—that I had my hands on that clock when I was struck down! And—”
“I did realize it, Mrs. Cheviot. If you remember, you told us so when you recovered consciousness. I am afraid it is you who have not attended to me. Did I not tell you that you had no need to feel any further alarm? I think you deserve that I should be a little angry with you for running the risk of injuring your health in this way.”
She gazed up at him in astonishment. “You realized it! But you did not think what it might mean?”
“On the contrary, it occurred to me that that might be the answer, and when you had gone up to your room I looked to see whether one of my cousin’s keys might not fit that lock. It was so, and I found that my suspicions were correct. I removed the papers, and they are now safely in my possession.”
She was bereft of speech and could only stare at him in gathering indignation. Twice her lips parted and twice she closed them again before she could regain sufficient command over herself to say, “You removed the papers! But this is beyond everything! I dare say you thought I should not be interested in such a trifling piece of news!”