46. ENCKWORTH (continued)--THE ANGLEBURY HIGHWAY
He had not paced behind the firs more than ten minutes when Ethelbertaappeared from the opposite side. At great inconvenience to herself, shehad complied with his request.
Ethelberta was trembling. She took her brother's hand, and said, 'Isfather, then, gone?'
'Yes,' said Sol. 'I should have been gone likewise, but I thought youwanted to see me.'
'Of course I did, and him too. Why did you come so mysteriously, and, Imust say, unbecomingly? I am afraid I did wrong in not informing you ofmy intention.'
'To yourself you may have. Father would have liked a word with youbefore--you did it.'
'You both looked so forbidding that I did not like to stop the carriagewhen we passed you. I want to see him on an important matter--hisleaving Mrs. Doncastle's service at once. I am going to write and begher to dispense with a notice, which I have no doubt she will do.'
'He's very much upset about you.'
'My secrecy was perhaps an error of judgment,' she said sadly. 'But Ihad reasons. Why did you and my father come here at all if you did notwant to see me?'
'We did want to see you up to a certain time.'
'You did not come to prevent my marriage?'
'We wished to see you before the marriage--I can't say more.'
'I thought you might not approve of what I had done,' said Ethelbertamournfully. 'But a time may come when you will approve.'
'Never.'
'Don't be harsh, Sol. A coronet covers a multitude of sins.'
'A coronet: good Lord--and you my sister! Look at my hand.' Solextended his hand. 'Look how my thumb stands out at the root, as if itwere out of joint, and that hard place inside there. Did you ever seeanything so ugly as that hand--a misshaped monster, isn't he? That comesfrom the jackplane, and my pushing against it day after day and yearafter year. If I were found drowned or buried, dressed or undressed, infustian or in broadcloth, folk would look at my hand and say, "That man'sa carpenter." Well now, how can a man, branded with work as I be, bebrother to a viscountess without something being wrong? Of coursethere's something wrong in it, or he wouldn't have married you--somethingwhich won't be righted without terrible suffering.'
'No, no,' said she. 'You are mistaken. There is no such wonderfulquality in a title in these days. What I really am is second wife to aquiet old country nobleman, who has given up society. What morecommonplace? My life will be as simple, even more simple, than it wasbefore.'
'Berta, you have worked to false lines. A creeping up among the uselesslumber of our nation that'll be the first to burn if there comes a flare.I never see such a deserter of your own lot as you be! But you werealways like it, Berta, and I am ashamed of ye. More than that, a goodwoman never marries twice.'
'You are too hard, Sol,' said the poor viscountess, almost crying. 'I'vedone it all for you! Even if I have made a mistake, and given myambition an ignoble turn, don't tell me so now, or you may do more harmin a minute than you will cure in a lifetime. It is absurd to letrepublican passions so blind you to fact. A family which can behonourably traced through history for five hundred years, does affect theheart of a person not entirely hardened against romance. Whether youlike the peerage or no, they appeal to our historical sense and love ofold associations.'
'I don't care for history. Prophecy is the only thing can do poor menany good. When you were a girl, you wouldn't drop a curtsey to 'em,historical or otherwise, and there you were right. But, instead ofsticking to such principles, you must needs push up, so as to get girlssuch as you were once to curtsey to you, not even thinking marriage witha bad man too great a price to pay for't.'
'A bad man? What do you mean by that? Lord Mountclere is rather old,but he's worthy. What did you mean, Sol?'
'Nothing--a mere sommat to say.'
At that moment Picotee emerged from behind a tree, and told her sisterthat Lord Mountclere was looking for her.
'Well, Sol, I cannot explain all to you now,' she said. 'I will send foryou in London.' She wished him goodbye, and they separated, Picoteeaccompanying Sol a little on his way.
Ethelberta was greatly perturbed by this meeting. After retracing hersteps a short distance, she still felt so distressed and unpresentablethat she resolved not to allow Lord Mountclere to see her till the cloudshad somewhat passed off; it was but a bare act of justice to him to hidefrom his sight such a bridal mood as this. It was better to keep himwaiting than to make him positively unhappy. She turned aside, and wentup the valley, where the park merged in miles of wood and copse.
She opened an iron gate and entered the wood, casually interested in thevast variety of colours that the half-fallen leaves of the season wore:more, much more, occupied with personal thought. The path she pursuedbecame gradually involved in bushes as well as trees, giving to the spotthe character rather of a coppice than a wood. Perceiving that she hadgone far enough, Ethelberta turned back by a path which at this pointintersected that by which she had approached, and promised a more directreturn towards the Court. She had not gone many steps among the hazels,which here formed a perfect thicket, when she observed a belt of holly-bushes in their midst; towards the outskirts of these an opening on herleft hand directly led, thence winding round into a clear space ofgreensward, which they completely enclosed. On this isolated and mewed-up bit of lawn stood a timber-built cottage, having ornamentalbarge-boards, balconettes, and porch. It was an erection interestingenough as an experiment, and grand as a toy, but as a buildingcontemptible.
A blue gauze of smoke floated over the chimney, as if somebody was livingthere; round towards the side some empty hen-coops were piled away; whileunder the hollies were divers frameworks of wire netting and sticks,showing that birds were kept here at some seasons of the year.
Being lady of all she surveyed, Ethelberta crossed the leafy sward, andknocked at the door. She was interested in knowing the purpose of thepeculiar little edifice.
The door was opened by a woman wearing a clean apron upon a not veryclean gown. Ethelberta asked who lived in so pretty a place.
'Miss Gruchette,' the servant replied. 'But she is not here now.'
'Does she live here alone?'
'Yes--excepting myself and a fellow-servant.'
'Oh.'
'She lives here to attend to the pheasants and poultry, because she is soclever in managing them. They are brought here from the keeper's overthe hill. Her father was a fancier.'
'Miss Gruchette attends to the birds, and two servants attend to MissGruchette?'
'Well, to tell the truth, m'm, the servants do almost all of it. Still,that's what Miss Gruchette is here for. Would you like to see the house?It is pretty.' The woman spoke with hesitation, as if in doubt betweenthe desire of earning a shilling and the fear that Ethelberta was not astranger. That Ethelberta was Lady Mountclere she plainly did not dream.
'I fear I can scarcely stay long enough; yet I will just look in,' saidEthelberta. And as soon as they had crossed the threshold she was gladof having done so.
The cottage internally may be described as a sort of boudoir extractedfrom the bulk of a mansion and deposited in a wood. The front room wasfilled with nicknacks, curious work-tables, filigree baskets, twistedbrackets supporting statuettes, in which the grotesque in every caseruled the design; love-birds, in gilt cages; French bronzes, wonderfulboxes, needlework of strange patterns, and other attractive objects. Theapartment was one of those which seem to laugh in a visitor's face and oncloser examination express frivolity more distinctly than by words.
'Miss Gruchette is here to keep the fowls?' said Ethelberta, in a puzzledtone, after a survey.
'Yes. But they don't keep her.'
Ethelberta did not attempt to understand, and ceased to occupy her mindwith the matter. They came from the cottage to the door, where she gavethe woman a trifling sum, and turned to leave. But footsteps were atthat moment to be heard beating among the leaves on the othe
r side of thehollies, and Ethelberta waited till the walkers should have passed. Thevoices of two men reached herself and the woman as they stood. They wereclose to the house, yet screened from it by the holly-bushes, when onecould be heard to say distinctly, as if with his face turned to thecottage--
'Lady Mountclere gone for good?'
'I suppose so. Ha-ha! So come, so go.'
The speakers passed on, their backs becoming visible through the opening.They appeared to be woodmen.
'What Lady Mountclere do they mean?' said Ethelberta.
The woman blushed. 'They meant Miss Gruchette.'
'Oh--a nickname.'
'Yes.'
'Why?'
The woman whispered why in a story of about two minutes' length.Ethelberta turned pale.
'Is she going to return?' she inquired, in a thin hard voice.
'Yes; next week. You know her, m'm?'
'No. I am a stranger.'
'So much the better. I may tell you, then, that an old tale is flyingabout the neighbourhood--that Lord Mountclere was privately married toanother woman, at Knollsea, this morning early. Can it be true?'
'I believe it to be true.'
'And that she is of no family?'
'Of no family.'
'Indeed. Then the Lord only knows what will become of the poor thing.There will be murder between 'em.'
'Between whom?'
'Her and the lady who lives here. She won't budge an inch--not she!'
Ethelberta moved aside. A shade seemed to overspread the world, the sky,the trees, and the objects in the foreground. She kept her face awayfrom the woman, and, whispering a reply to her Good-morning, passedthrough the hollies into the leaf-strewn path. As soon as she came to alarge trunk she placed her hands against it and rested her face uponthem. She drew herself lower down, lower, lower, till she crouched uponthe leaves. 'Ay--'tis what father and Sol meant! O Heaven!' shewhispered.
She soon arose, and went on her way to the house. Her fair features werefirmly set, and she scarcely heeded the path in the concentration whichhad followed her paroxysm. When she reached the park proper she becameaware of an excitement that was in progress there.
Ethelberta's absence had become unaccountable to Lord Mountclere, whocould hardly permit her retirement from his sight for a minute. But atfirst he had made due allowance for her eccentricity as a woman ofgenius, and would not take notice of the half-hour's desertion,unpardonable as it might have been in other classes of wives. Then hehad inquired, searched, been alarmed: he had finally sent men-servants inall directions about the park to look for her. He feared she had fallenout of a window, down a well, or into the lake. The next stage of searchwas to have been drags and grapnels: but Ethelberta entered the house.
Lord Mountclere rushed forward to meet her, and such was her contrivancethat he noticed no change. The searchers were called in, Ethelbertaexplaining that she had merely obeyed the wish of her brother in goingout to meet him. Picotee, who had returned from her walk with Sol, wasupstairs in one of the rooms which had been allotted to her. Ethelbertamanaged to run in there on her way upstairs to her own chamber.
'Picotee, put your things on again,' she said. 'You are the only friendI have in this house, and I want one badly. Go to Sol, and deliver thismessage to him--that I want to see him at once. You must overtake him,if you walk all the way to Anglebury. But the train does not leave tillfour, so that there is plenty of time.'
'What is the matter?' said Picotee. 'I cannot walk all the way.'
'I don't think you will have to do that--I hope not.'
'He is going to stop at Corvsgate to have a bit of lunch: I mightovertake him there, if I must!'
'Yes. And tell him to come to the east passage door. It is that doornext to the entrance to the stable-yard. There is a little yew-treeoutside it. On second thoughts you, dear, must not come back. Wait atCorvsgate in the little inn parlour till Sol comes to you again. Youwill probably then have to go home to London alone; but do not mind it.The worst part for you will be in going from the station to the Crescent;but nobody will molest you in a four-wheel cab: you have done it before.However, he will tell you if this is necessary when he gets back. I canbest fight my battles alone. You shall have a letter from me the dayafter to-morrow, stating where I am. I shall not be here.'
'But what is it so dreadful?'
'Nothing to frighten you.' But she spoke with a breathlessness thatcompletely nullified the assurance. 'It is merely that I find I mustcome to an explanation with Lord Mountclere before I can live herepermanently, and I cannot stipulate with him while I am here in hispower. Till I write, good-bye. Your things are not unpacked, so letthem remain here for the present--they can be sent for.'
Poor Picotee, more agitated than her sister, but never questioning herorders, went downstairs and out of the house. She ran across theshrubberies, into the park, and to the gate whereat Sol had emerged somehalf-hour earlier. She trotted along upon the turnpike road like a lostdoe, crying as she went at the new trouble which had come upon Berta,whatever that trouble might be. Behind her she heard wheels and thestepping of a horse, but she was too concerned to turn her head. Thepace of the vehicle slackened, however, when it was abreast of Picotee,and she looked up to see Christopher as the driver.
'Miss Chickerel!' he said, with surprise.
Picotee had quickly looked down again, and she murmured, 'Yes.'
Christopher asked what he could not help asking in the circumstances,'Would you like to ride?'
'I should be glad,' said she, overcoming her flurry. 'I am anxious toovertake my brother Sol.'
'I have arranged to pick him up at Corvsgate,' said Christopher.
He descended, and assisted her to mount beside him, and drove on again,almost in silence. He was inclined to believe that some supernaturallegerdemain had to do with these periodic impacts of Picotee on his path.She sat mute and melancholy till they were within half-a-mile ofCorvsgate.
'Thank you,' she said then, perceiving Sol upon the road, 'there is mybrother; I will get down now.'
'He was going to ride on to Anglebury with me,' said Julian.
Picotee did not reply, and Sol turned round. Seeing her he instantlyexclaimed, 'What's the matter, Picotee?'
She explained to him that he was to go back immediately, and meet hersister at the door by the yew, as Ethelberta had charged her.Christopher, knowing them so well, was too much an interested member ofthe group to be left out of confidence, and she included him in heraudience.
'And what are you to do?' said Sol to her.
'I am to wait at Corvsgate till you come to me.'
'I can't understand it,' Sol muttered, with a gloomy face. 'There'ssomething wrong; and it was only to be expected; that's what I say, Mr.Julian.'
'If necessary I can take care of Miss Chickerel till you come,' saidChristopher.
'Thank you,' said Sol. 'Then I will return to you as soon as I can, atthe "Castle" Inn, just ahead. 'Tis very awkward for you to be soburdened by us, Mr. Julian; but we are in a trouble that I don't yet seethe bottom of.'
'I know,' said Christopher kindly. 'We will wait for you.'
He then drove on with Picotee to the inn, which was not far off, and Solreturned again to Enckworth. Feeling somewhat like a thief in the night,he zigzagged through the park, behind belts and knots of trees, until hesaw the yew, dark and clear, as if drawn in ink upon the fair face of themansion. The way up to it was in a little cutting between shrubs, thedoor being a private entrance, sunk below the surface of the lawn, andinvisible from other parts of the same front. As soon as he reached it,Ethelberta opened it at once, as if she had listened for his footsteps.
She took him along a passage in the basement, up a flight of steps, andinto a huge, solitary, chill apartment. It was the ball-room. Spaciousmirrors in gilt frames formed panels in the lower part of the walls, theremainder being toned in sage-green. In a recess between each mirror wasa statue. The ceilin
g rose in a segmental curve, and bore sprawling uponits face gilt figures of wanton goddesses, cupids, satyrs withtambourines, drums, and trumpets, the whole ceiling seeming alive withthem. But the room was very gloomy now, there being little lightadmitted from without, and the reflections from the mirrors gave adepressing coldness to the scene. It was a place intended to look joyousby night, and whatever it chose to look by day.
'We are safe here,' said she. 'But we must listen for footsteps. I haveonly five minutes: Lord Mountclere is waiting for me. I mean to leavethis place, come what may.'
'Why?' said Sol, in astonishment.
'I cannot tell you--something has occurred. God has got me in his powerat last, and is going to scourge me for my bad doings--that's what itseems like. Sol, listen to me, and do exactly what I say. Go toAnglebury, hire a brougham, bring it on as far as Little Enckworth: youwill have to meet me with it at one of the park gates later in theevening--probably the west, at half-past seven. Leave it at the villagewith the man, come on here on foot, and stay under the trees till justbefore six: it will then be quite dark, and you must stand under theprojecting balustrade a little further on than the door you came in by. Iwill just step upon the balcony over it, and tell you more exactly than Ican now the precise time that I shall be able to slip out, and where thecarriage is to be waiting. But it may not be safe to speak on account ofhis closeness to me--I will hand down a note. I find it is impossible toleave the house by daylight--I am certain to be pursued--he alreadysuspects something. Now I must be going, or he will be here, for hewatches my movements because of some accidental words that escaped me.'
'Berta, I shan't have anything to do with this,' said Sol. 'It is notright!'
'I am only going to Rouen, to Aunt Charlotte!' she implored. 'I want toget to Southampton, to be in time for the midnight steamer. When I am atRouen I can negotiate with Lord Mountclere the terms on which I willreturn to him. It is the only chance I have of rooting out a scandal anda disgrace which threatens the beginning of my life here! My letters tohim, and his to me, can be forwarded through you or through father, andhe will not know where I am. Any woman is justified in adopting such acourse to bring her husband to a sense of her dignity. If I don't goaway now, it will end in a permanent separation. If I leave at once, andstipulate that he gets rid of her, we may be reconciled.'
'I can't help you: you must stick to your husband. I don't like them, orany of their sort, barring about three or four, for the reason that theydespise me and all my sort. But, Ethelberta, for all that I'll play fairwith them. No half-and-half trimming business. You have joined 'em, and'rayed yourself against us; and there you'd better bide. You havemarried your man, and your duty is towards him. I know what he is and sodoes father; but if I were to help you to run away now, I should scornmyself more than I scorn him.'
'I don't care for that, or for any such politics! The Mountclere line isnoble, and how was I to know that this member was not noble, too? As therepresentative of an illustrious family I was taken with him, but as aman--I must shun him.'
'How can you shun him? You have married him!'
'Nevertheless, I won't stay! Neither law nor gospel demands it of meafter what I have learnt. And if law and gospel did demand it, I wouldnot stay. And if you will not help me to escape, I go alone.'
'You had better not try any such wild thing.'
The creaking of a door was heard. 'O Sol,' she said appealingly, 'don'tgo into the question whether I am right or wrong--only remember that I amvery unhappy. Do help me--I have no other person in the world to ask! Beunder the balcony at six o'clock. Say you will--I must go--say youwill!'
'I'll think,' said Sol, very much disturbed. 'There, don't cry; I'll tryto be under the balcony, at any rate. I cannot promise more, but I'lltry to be there.'
She opened in the panelling one of the old-fashioned concealed modes ofexit known as jib-doors, which it was once the custom to constructwithout architraves in the walls of large apartments, so as not tointerfere with the general design of the room. Sol found himself in anarrow passage, running down the whole length of the ball-room, and atthe same time he heard Lord Mountclere's voice within, talking toEthelberta. Sol's escape had been marvellous: as it was the viscountmight have seen her tears. He passed down some steps, along an area fromwhich he could see into a row of servants' offices, among them a kitchenwith a fireplace flaming like an altar of sacrifice. Nobody seemed to beconcerned about him; there were workmen upon the premises, and he nearlymatched them. At last he got again into the shrubberies and to the sideof the park by which he had entered.
On reaching Corvsgate he found Picotee in the parlour of the little inn,as he had directed. Mr. Julian, she said, had walked up to the ruins,and would be back again in a few minutes. Sol ordered the horse to beput in, and by the time it was ready Christopher came down from the hill.Room was made for Sol by opening the flap of the dogcart, and Christopherdrove on.
He was anxious to know the trouble, and Sol was not reluctant to sharethe burden of it with one whom he believed to be a friend. He told,scrap by scrap, the strange request of Ethelberta. Christopher, thoughignorant of Ethelberta's experience that morning, instantly assumed thatthe discovery of some concealed spectre had led to this precipitancy.
'When does she wish you to meet her with the carriage?'
'Probably at half-past seven, at the west lodge; but that is to befinally fixed by a note she will hand down to me from the balcony.'
'Which balcony?'
'The nearest to the yew-tree.'
'At what time will she hand the note?'
'As the Court clock strikes six, she says. And if I am not there to takeher instructions of course she will give up the idea, which is just whatI want her to do.'
Christopher begged Sol to go. Whether Ethelberta was right or wrong, hedid not stop to inquire. She was in trouble; she was too clear-headed tobe in trouble without good reason; and she wanted assistance out of it.But such was Sol's nature that the more he reflected the more determinedwas he in not giving way to her entreaty. By the time that they reachedAnglebury he repented having given way so far as to withhold a directrefusal.
'It can do no good,' he said mournfully. 'It is better to nip her notionin its beginning. She says she wants to fly to Rouen, and from therearrange terms with him. But it can't be done--she should have thought ofterms before.'
Christopher made no further reply. Leaving word at the 'Red Lion' that aman was to be sent to take the horse of him, he drove directly onwards tothe station.
'Then you don't mean to help her?' said Julian, when Sol took thetickets--one for himself and one for Picotee.
'I serve her best by leaving her alone!' said Sol.
'I don't think so.'
'She has married him.'
'She is in distress.'
'She has married him.'
Sol and Picotee took their seats, Picotee upbraiding her brother. 'I cango by myself!' she said, in tears. 'Do go back for Berta, Sol. She saidI was to go home alone, and I can do it!'
'You must not. It is not right for you to be hiring cabs and drivingacross London at midnight. Berta should have known better than proposeit.'
'She was flurried. Go, Sol!'
But her entreaty was fruitless.
'Have you got your ticket, Mr. Julian?' said Sol. 'I suppose we shall gotogether till we get near Melchester?'
'I have not got my ticket yet--I'll be back in two minutes.'
The minutes went by, and Christopher did not reappear. The train movedoff: Christopher was seen running up the platform, as if in a vain hopeto catch it.
'He has missed the train,' said Sol. Picotee looked disappointed, andsaid nothing. They were soon out of sight.
'God forgive me for such a hollow pretence!' said Christopher to himself.'But he would have been uneasy had he known I wished to stay behind. Icannot leave her in trouble like this!'
He went back to the 'Red Lion' with the ma
nner and movement of a man whoafter a lifetime of desultoriness had at last found something to do. Itwas now getting late in the afternoon. Christopher ordered a one-horsebrougham at the inn, and entering it was driven out of the town towardsEnckworth as the evening shades were beginning to fall. They passed intothe hamlet of Little Enckworth at half-past five, and drew up at a beer-house at the end. Jumping out here, Julian told the man to wait till heshould return.
Thus far he had exactly obeyed her orders to Sol. He hoped to be able toobey them throughout, and supply her with the aid her brother refused. Healso hoped that the change in the personality of her confederate wouldmake no difference to her intention. That he was putting himself in awrong position he allowed, but time and attention were requisite for suchanalysis: meanwhile Ethelberta was in trouble. On the one hand was shewaiting hopefully for Sol; on the other was Sol many miles on his way totown; between them was himself.
He ran with all his might towards Enckworth Park, mounted the lofty stonesteps by the lodge, saw the dark bronze figures on the piers through thetwilight, and then proceeded to thread the trees. Among these he strucka light for a moment: it was ten minutes to six. In another five minuteshe was panting beneath the walls of her house.
Enckworth Court was not unknown to Christopher, for he had frequentlyexplored that spot in his Sandbourne days. He perceived now why she hadselected that particular balcony for handing down directions; it was theonly one round the house that was low enough to be reached from theoutside, the basement here being a little way sunk in the ground.
He went close under, turned his face outwards, and waited. About a footover his head was the stone floor of the balcony, forming a ceiling tohis position. At his back, two or three feet behind, was a blankwall--the wall of the house. In front of him was the misty park, crownedby a sky sparkling with winter stars. This was abruptly cut off upwardby the dark edge of the balcony which overhung him.
It was as if some person within the room above had been awaiting hisapproach. He had scarcely found time to observe his situation when ahuman hand and portion of a bare arm were thrust between the balusters,descended a little way from the edge of the balcony, and remained hangingacross the starlit sky. Something was between the fingers. Christopherlifted his hand, took the scrap, which was paper, and the arm waswithdrawn. As it withdrew, a jewel on one of the fingers sparkled in therays of a large planet that rode in the opposite sky.
Light steps retreated from the balcony, and a window closed. Christopherhad almost held his breath lest Ethelberta should discover him at thecritical moment to be other than Sol, and mar her deliverance by heralarm. The still silence was anything but silence to him; he felt as ifhe were listening to the clanging chorus of an oratorio. And then hecould fancy he heard words between Ethelberta and the viscount within theroom; they were evidently at very close quarters, and dexterity must havebeen required of her. He went on tiptoe across the gravel to the grass,and once on that he strode in the direction whence he had come. By thethick trunk of one of a group of aged trees he stopped to get a light,just as the Court clock struck six in loud long tones. The transactionhad been carried out, through her impatience possibly, four or fiveminutes before the time appointed.
The note contained, in a shaken hand, in which, however, the well-knowncharacters were distinguishable, these words in pencil:
'At half-past seven o'clock. Just outside the north lodge; don't fail.'
This was the time she had suggested to Sol as that which would probablybest suit her escape, if she could escape at all. She had changed theplace from the west to the north lodge--nothing else. The latter wascertainly more secluded, though a trifle more remote from the course ofthe proposed journey; there was just time enough and none to spare forfetching the brougham from Little Enckworth to the lodge, the villagebeing two miles off. The few minutes gained by her readiness at thebalcony were useful now. He started at once for the village, divergingsomewhat to observe the spot appointed for the meeting. It wasexcellently chosen; the gate appeared to be little used, the lane outsideit was covered with trees, and all around was silent as the grave. Afterthis hasty survey by the wan starlight, he hastened on to LittleEnckworth.
An hour and a quarter later a little brougham without lamps was creepingalong by the park wall towards this spot. The leaves were so thick uponthe unfrequented road that the wheels could not be heard, and the horse'spacing made scarcely more noise than a rabbit would have done in limpingalong. The vehicle progressed slowly, for they were in good time. Aboutten yards from the park entrance it stopped, and Christopher stepped out.
'We may have to wait here ten minutes,' he said to the driver. 'And thenshall we be able to reach Anglebury in time for the up mail-train toSouthampton?'
'Half-past seven, half-past eight, half-past nine--two hours. O yes,sir, easily. A young lady in the case perhaps, sir?'
'Yes.'
'Well, I hope she'll be done honestly by, even if she is of humblestation. 'Tis best, and cheapest too, in the long run.' The coachmanwas apparently imagining the dove about to flit away to be one of thepretty maid-servants that abounded in Enckworth Court; such escapades asthese were not unfrequent among them, a fair face having been deemed asufficient recommendation to service in that house, without too close aninquiry into character, since the death of the first viscountess.
'Now then, silence; and listen for a footstep at the gate.'
Such calmness as there was in the musician's voice had been produced byconsiderable effort. For his heart had begun to beat fast and loud as hestrained his attentive ear to catch the footfall of a woman who couldonly be his illegally.
The obscurity was as great as a starry sky would permit it to be. Beneaththe trees where the carriage stood the darkness was total.