The Reluctant Widow (33 page)

“Oh, is Nicky cross? Perhaps Mr. Cheviot has vexed him! Has that odious creature taken to his bed again? I have a very good mind to tell Mrs. Barrow not to be making him any more gruel, in the hope that he may thus be induced to leave Highnoons!”

“Oh, my love, there is no need! He has gone!”

Elinor stared. “Becky! You are trying to take me in!”

“No, indeed, I would not do such a thing! He said he could not bear to stay after what happened to you this morning. I must say, I thought it poor-spirited of him and not quite manly, but I was so thankful to say good-by to him I would not put the smallest rub in his way!”

“No, not for the world! But this is marvelous indeed! It is Carlyon’s doing! He told me Mr. Cheviot might be gone before I expected it! Now, how may he have contrived this blessed deliverance? It puts me quite in charity with him, I declare!”

“My love, I wish you will not talk in that wild, heedless fashion! It is not becoming in you, when his lordship, I am sure, has shown himself all compliance, and most truly the gentleman! Such a contrast to Mr.

Cheviot, too! One cannot but be struck by it!”

Elinor showed a heightened color, but said lightly, “Oh, let a man but be well-looking and domineer over you, and I know you must fall into admiration, Becky! But how came Mr. Cheviot to leave Highnoons in such haste?”

“Indeed, my love, I fear we have wronged him, and it was not his doing that you were hurt. And I think it cannot have been his lordship who sent him off, for he had left the house an hour before, you know. Mr. Cheviot desired his kind compliments to you and his apologies for not taking leave of you in person, but he would not stay to see you for fear of not being in town in time for his dinner. Though, to be sure, I think he could have had a neat, plain dinner at an inn, but “he has such odd fancies!”

“He wants only gruel! I am obliged to him for his civility, and hope I may never be called upon to entertain him again.”

“No, my love, but I do think he meant to be conciliating. He was so obliging as to say that he desired above all things to show you observance, and he had the happy notion of taking away that provoking clock to be mended for you.”

Elinor had been leaning back in her chair, but she sat up with a start at this and exclaimed, “Took the clock away? Which clock?”

“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!” “No, but—”

“I have ransacked every chest and cupboard in that horrid house, only to oblige you! I have not enjoyed a moment’s peace this whole week! I have been brutally assaulted, and all on account of the papers which are now safely in your possession! Well! I am happy to learn of this circumstance, sir, but I think it monstrous that I should be obliged to drive seven miles to

do so!”

“It was certainly imprudent,” he responded calmly. “You would have been told of it tomorrow, at Highnoons. Now let me relieve you of that pelisse!”

“I shall do no such thing! I desire you will call for my phaeton immediately!” raged the widow. “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Cheviot!” he said. “I am not so very much to blame, you know, if you will but consider for a moment! Until I had opened the clock, all was conjecture and I would not, in the very natural condition of nerves you were then in, trouble you any more upon the matter. My first concern was to see you laid down upon your bed to recover from the shock you had undergone. When I found that my suspicion was justified, another consideration strengthened my resolve to keep the discovery to myself. It can hardly need any words of mine to apprise you of the peculiar delicacy of this whole business. I believe I know which course of action I should pursue, but before I take any step in the matter I think it right to discuss the question with my brother John. It was for that reason that I concealed from you and indeed from Nicky too the knowledge that the paper was found. Had I found John here when I returned this afternoon, and had settled with him what I should do, I believe I must have gone back to Highnoons tonight to set all your minds at rest. Unfortunately, however, I found that John had taken a gun out to shoot rabbits, and he is still not come in. I expect him at any moment now. May I take your pelisse, ma’am?”

She let him do so and was glad to remove the hat from her head as well, but although she was a little mollified by the quiet good sense of what he said, she still felt herself to have been hardly used, and remarked with a good deal of bitterness that she might have known he would have a smooth answer ready.

“I have only told you the truth, ma’am,” he replied. “I am sorry to have vexed you, however, and I beg you will not hesitate to tell me how odious has been my conduct! You will find that chair tolerably comfortable, I believe, and out of the draft. Is your head easier? I see that you have cast off your bandages. You should not have done so.”

“If I had not been obliged to drive out I might be wearing my bandages still!” said Elinor mendaciously. “I suppose even you would not expect me to show myself abroad presenting such a very odd appearance!”

“By no means, but I did not expect you to show yourself abroad at all today, ma’am, and cannot approve of it.”

She was prevented from uttering a retort by the entrance of the butler with a tray, which he set down upon a table. He withdrew again and Carlyon poured out a glass of madeira and brought it to his guest with a dish of macaroons. She was obliged to take the glass from him but frigidly declined the macaroons. He put the dish down beside her and went to pour out a second glass of wine for himself. The widow eyed his back view malevolently. “I am sorry I did not send Nicky after Mr. Cheviot, if only to spite you!” she said.

“I am persuaded I might rely on your good sense not to do so,” he returned. “If he had been in the house I dare say I should have done so, but he was gone out!” “Yes, I took care of that,” he remarked, turning and coming back to the fire. Her bosom swelled. “I am obliged to you, my lord! I now perceive the worth of your compliments!”