“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.

“Well, of course I’ve come home!” she replied, with a touch of impatience. “I haven’t been to the North Pole! I have been, as you very well know, a distance of no more than twelve miles, and since I had my mother’s coachman to drive me there, and both her footmen to protect me from any eccentric highwaymen who might have chanced to fall upon the carriage, and to rescue me if those showy slugs had bolted, and overturned us, you cannot have been under the smallest apprehension that any disaster had befallen me!”

“No, miss, I was under no such apprehension. It is her ladyship’s state which makes me thankful to see you back. She has suffered a terrible shock, and, I regret to say, is in great affliction.”

“Good heavens, is my mother ill? Has there been some accident?” she cried.

“Not, so to say, an accident, Miss Hetta,” replied Grimshaw, heaving a deep sigh, and casting a reproachful look at her. “But when the terrible news was conveyed to her ladyship she felt a very severe spasm and went into strong hysterics.”

“But what news?” demanded Henrietta, in considerable alarm.

“I regret to be obliged to inform you, miss,” said Grimshaw, in a tone of ghoulish satisfaction, “that we have every reason to fear that Sir Charles has eloped with Miss Steane.”

“Oh, my God!” muttered Simon, at Henrietta’s elbow. “Now we are in the basket!”

“Fiddle!” she snapped. “How dare you talk such moonshine, Grimshaw? Who had the spiteful impudence to tell such a ridiculous story to her ladyship? Was it you, or was it Cardle? I can believe it of either of you, for you have both tried, from the moment Miss Steane set foot inside this house, to make her ladyship believe that she was an odious schemer! But it is you and Cardle who are the odious schemers! I don’t wish to hear another word from you—though I promise you you will hear a great many words from Sir Charles when I tell him of this piece of wicked mischief-making! I am going to my mother now, but I am expecting a visit from Miss Steane’s father, Mr Wilfred Steane. When he arrives, you will show him into the library, and advise me of it.”

Before this blaze of wrath, as alarming as it was unprecedented, Grimshaw quailed. “Yes, Miss Hetta!” he said hastily. “Her ladyship is laid down on the sofa in the drawing-room, miss! Being a little restored by some drops of laudanum. It wasn’t me that broke it to her that Sir Charles was gone off with Miss Steane, and I’m sure I wouldn’t have said anything about it until you was come home—”

“That will do!” said Henrietta superbly.

“Yes, miss!” said Grimshaw, almost cringing. “I will show Mr Steane into the library, exactly as you say, miss!”

“Or the Baron Monte Toscano!” interpolated Simon.

Henrietta had started in the direction of the drawing-room, but she checked at this, and looked over her shoulder, saying quickly: “No, no, Simon! I can’t receive strangers at such a moment!”

“Same man!” he explained, in an undervoice. “Explain it to you later! But for the lord’s sake, Hetta, don’t see him until you’ve first seen me! Something dashed important to warn you about!”

She looked bewildered, but promised she would join him in the Green saloon as soon as might be possible.

The scene that met her eyes when she entered the drawing-room bore eloquent testimony to Lady Silverdale’s attack of the vapours. Her ladyship lay moaning softly on the sofa; Cardle was waving smelling-salts under her nose with one hand, and with the other dabbing her brow with a handkerchief drenched in vinegar; and on the table beside the sofa was a collection of bottles, ranging from laudanum and tincture of Valerian-root, to Hungary Water and Godfrey’s Cordial.

“Thank God you are come home at last, Miss Hetta!” cried Cardle dramatically. “See what that wicked creature has done to her ladyship!”

“Oh, Hetta!” quavered Lady Silverdale, opening her eyes, and holding out a limp hand.

“Yes, Mama, I’m here,” said Henrietta soothingly. She took the limp hand, and patted it, and said coldly: “You may go, Cardle.”

“Nothing,” announced Cardle, bridling, “shall induce me to leave my beloved mistress!”

“Your mistress doesn’t need you while she has me to look after her,” said Henrietta. “This show of devotion would be more affecting if you had not quite deliberately thrown her into such agitation! I’ll speak to you later: for the present, you will please leave me to be private with her ladyship.”

“That I should have lived to hear such words addressed to me!” uttered Cardle, clasping her hands to her spare bosom, and casting up her eyes to the ceiling. “I that have served her blessed ladyship faithfully all these years!”

“Yes, yes, but go away now!” said her blessed ladyship, reviving sufficiently to push away the vinegar-soaked handkerchief. “I don’t want this nasty-smelling stuff! You know I don’t like it! Oh, Hetta, thank you, dearest!” she added, receiving from her thoughtful daughter a fresh handkerchief, sprinkled with lavender-water, and sniffing it. “So refreshing! You see, Cardle, that Miss Hetta knows just what to do to make me better, so you needn’t scruple to leave me in her care! And take away the vinegar, and the laudanum, and all those bottles, except the asafoetida drops, in case I should feel another spasm coming upon me! And give me my smelling-salts, please! And perhaps you should leave the cinnamon water, but not Godfrey’s Cordial, which I am persuaded doesn’t suit my constitution. And don’t, I beg of you, Cardle, start sobbing, for my nerves are shattered, and I find myself in a very agitated state, and nothing upsets me more than to have people crying over me!”