“What?” exclaimed the Duke, starting up in his chair.

The bailiff was slightly alarmed. “I’m sure I beg your Grace’s pardon, if I’ve done wrong to bring the matter up!” he faltered.

“Did you say Mudgley?”demanded the Duke sharply.

“Why, yes, your Grace, but indeed I would never—”

“Don’t tell me the man is one of my tenants!”

“Well, your Grace, he is, and then again he isn’t!” said Moffat, looking at him in considerable perturbation.

The Duke dropped his head in his hands. “And I have been hunting high and low for the confounded fellow! Of course, if he lives near Cheyney, his letters must all go to Bristol, not here! No wonder I could discover no trace of him! Good God, and I very nearly said I would not see you!”

“Hunting high and low for young Mudgley, your Grace?” said Moffat, in a stupefied voice. “But—but does your Grace wish to see him?”

“Yes, I tell you! I have come all the way from Hertfordshire for no other purpose!”

Moffat stared at him in great misgiving. “I beg pardon, but—but is your Grace feeling quite well?” he asked, concerned.

The Duke began to laugh. “No, no, I haven’t run mad, I assure you! I can’t explain it all now, but I have most urgent need of the man! Where does he live? You said he was one of my tenants.”

“Not exactly, I didn’t, your Grace. He’s a freeholder, but he rents the Five-acre field from your Grace. It was on account of that I was wishful to speak to your Grace.”

“Where’s the Five-acre field?”

“If you will allow me,” said Moffat, spreading open a map upon the table, “I will show your Grace. Now, it’s right here that Mudgley’s farm lies, hard by Willsbridge.”

“But I don’t own any land west of the river, do I?” objected the Duke, looking at the map.

“Well, that’s just it, your Grace. It isn’t part of the estate and never has been. It came into the family when your Grace’s grandfather acquired it. They do say that he won it at play, but I don’t know how that may be. There was a tidy bit of it when I was a boy, but your Grace’s father, he never set much store by it, and it was cut up, Sir John Marple buying the house, and the demesne, and the rest going piecemeal, all but a few fields and such, of which the Five-acre is one.” He paused, and glanced deprecatingly at the Duke. “If it had been part of Cheyney, I ask your Grace to believe I wouldn’t have thought of such a thing, let alone have mentioned it]”

“But what is it that you want?” asked the Duke.

“It’s young Jasper Mudgley as wants it, your Grace!” said Moffat desperately. “Maybe I shouldn’t be speaking to you of it, seeing that Mr. Scriven won’t hear of letting it go, nor his lordship either, by what Mr. Scriven writes to me, the both of them setting their faces against selling any of your Grace’s land, as is right and proper. But young Mudgley’s father and me was boys together, and I’ve always kept an eye over Jasper, as you might say, since his father was taken. He’s a good lad, your Grace, and the way he’s worked his farm up is wonderful, and things not always easy for him. But he’s by way of being a warm man now, and he’d beright glad to buy the Five-acre off of your Grace, if you’d be willing to sell it. I told him my lord wouldn’t hear of it, but it seemed to me as I might venture just to mention the matter to you.”

“Of course! You did just as you should!” said the Duke enthusiastically. “Only tell me one thing, Moffat! Is he married, or single?”

“Single, your Grace. He lives with his mother, him being her only one.”

“The Five-acre shall be his bride’s dowry!” said the Duke, rolling up the map, and handing it to the astonished bailiff.

“But, your Grace, he’s got no thought of marriage!” protested Moffat.

“Then I must put one into his head,” said the Duke.

“Your Grace won’t do that, by what Jane Mudgley was telling me,” said Moffat. “Seemingly, there was a wench in Bath he fell head over ears in love with back in the spring, but she went off somewhere unbeknownst, and he doesn’t seem to be able to put her out of his mind. Not but what she didn’t sound to me the kind of wench I’d have chosen for a steady young fellow like Jasper.”

“She is the bride I have chosen for him!” said the Duke, his eyes dancing. “Does his mother dislike it excessively? I imagine she might! Do you think I can persuade her to accept the girl? Perhaps I had best see her before I take Belinda to her,”

“But—but—” stammered Moffat.

“That was why I wanted to find Mudgley!” explained the Duke. “The girl is under my care, and I have promised that I will find him for her. You may take me out to the farm. How did you come into Bath?”

“I rode in, your Grace. But—”

“Very well: only give me time to change my dress, and I will ride back with you! Francis must find me a horse! Sit down, Moffat: I shall not keep you waiting many minutes!”

“Your Grace!” Moffat, looking extremely worried, made a detaining gesture.

“Yes, what is it?” the Duke said impatiently.

“Your Grace, I don’t know how to say it—and I beg your Grace’s pardon for what may offend you! But I know young Mudgley, and—and he wouldn’t—not for a moment!—he wouldn’t be agreeable to—to—”

The Duke’s puzzled frown vanished. “He wouldn’t take my leavings, eh? Excellent fellow! No, no, Moffat, it’s nothing of the sort, I promise you! She is staying in Bath under Lady Harriet Presteigne’s protection. I do hope Mudgley will believe me! Is he a fine, lusty fellow? Well, I shall depend upon you to guard me from his vengeance, if he doesn’t believe me!”

He vanished leaving his bailiff to start after him in great perplexity.

Nettlebed, upon being summoned to lay out his master’s riding-breeches and coat, demurred at once. He said that his Grace would be quite knocked-up with all this dashing about the country, and a ball on the top of it.

“Help me out of this coat!” ordered the Duke.

“Now, your Grace, do but listen to reason!” begged Nettlebed.

“Nettlebed, do you wish me to run away from you again?” demanded the Duke.

“No, no, you wouldn’t do that, your Grace!” said Nettlebed, quailing.

“That, or engage a new valet,” said the Duke inexorably.

This terrible threat utterly subjugated Nettlebed, and in almost trembling haste he helped to array his master in his riding-dress.

“I am not in the least fatigued,” said the Duke, straightening his cravat.

“No, your Grace!”

“I shall not be knocked up,” said the Duke, walking over to the door.

“No, your Grace!”

“I shall dance into the small hours.”

“Yes, your Grace!”

“And,” pursued the Duke, opening the door, and casting a mischievous look at his cringing servitor, “I shall not engage a new valet!”

“Now, your Grace!” said Nettlebed, in quite a different voice.

But the Duke had gone.

He rode out towards Willsbridge beside his bailiff in a mood of gay good-humour, which much rejoiced that worthy man’s heart. By his request, they gave Cheyney a wide berth, the Duke having no desire to encounter his uncle while going upon an errand of which Lord Lionel would violently disapprove, and Moffat understanding this without the Duke’s having the least need to explain it to him. They reached Furze Farm without meeting anyone with whom the Duke was acquainted, and, tethering the horses to the gateposts, walked across the yard to the open kitchen door. A girl in a cotton apron and a mob-cap, who had stepped out to empty a pail of water, dropped a curtsy to Moffat, and informed him that Missus was in the kitchen, rolling out the pastry. Her voice brought a spare, middle-aged woman to the door. She had a worn, kindly face, and after casting the Duke a doubtful look, smiled at Moffat, and said: “Come you in, Mr. Moffat! Now, if I’d but known you would be passing this way today—!”

“Mrs. Mudgley, ma’am, I’ve brought his Grace to see your Jasper,” said Moffat, indicating his companion.

She gave a gasp, and made haste to curtsy and to wipe the flour from her hands at the same time. “Your Grace! Oh, Mr. Moffat! And me all unprepared, and Jasper out in the fields, and you bringing his Grace to the kitchen, instead of round the front, as it fitting! I do not know what to say, your Grace, but I’m sure I beg your pardon! If you would please to step into the parlour, I will send directly to fetch my son!”

“Will you let me rather come into your kitchen, and talk to you, Mrs. Mudgley?” he said, with his shy smile.

She looked rather wildly at Moffat, faltering that it was not fit. The bailiff said in a heartening tone: “Take his Grace in, ma’am: I’ll warrant he will like it very well!”

She dropped another curtsy, and the Duke stepped over the threshold, and laid his hat and gloves down on a chair, saying, as he looked round the room: “Yes, indeed I do. How comfortable it is! Am I disturbing you?”

“Oh, no, indeed, your Grace!” she assured him. She saw how young he was, and suddenly felt less nervous. She set a chair for him, whisked her pastry up into a damp cloth, and said diffidently: “If your Grace would partake of a little refreshment after the ride? Just a cup of my cowslip wine, belike?”

“Thank you: you are very good!” he said, hoping that it would not disagree with him as much as he feared it would. “Moffat, while I am talking to Mrs. Mudgley, will you be so good as to find her son for me?”

Mrs. Mudgley looked a little scared at being left without support, but by the time she had poured out a glass of her wine for the guest, and he had tasted it, and said how good it was, and had asked her how it was made, she began to forget his exalted status, and even allowed herself to be persuaded to sit down in a chair opposite him.