Part 33 (2/2)

So the children were satisfied, and Miss Baldwin had gathered from the talk at supper that their elders thought themselves fortunate in finding such a house for themselves. There was talk of panelled rooms and a fine oak staircase, and of restorations that were to be made to bring it back to the state from which it had somewhat fallen. It was a house of the same quality as Town Farm at Hayslope. Colonel Eldridge's chief regret seemed to be that he could not restore his own house in the same way, instead of renting one from somebody else.

To Miss Baldwin's observant eyes, Colonel Eldridge seemed to have aged since she had last seen him. He had been unwell, and was not quite himself yet, though he wouldn't acknowledge it. But the change in him didn't come from that. He was depressed and silent, and made fewer efforts to conceal his mood before his family than was his custom. Miss Baldwin wondered whether his family knew everything that was behind this somewhat startling change in his life. Was he hiding anything from them? Was he a secret gambler, with a chapter to come in which his horses would be led away from the door, and his wife would lean over a ruined man with bent head and nervous fingers clutching a pack of cards?

But she rejected the idea. Colonel Eldridge only had one horse, and an old pony, and he could hardly be induced to make a four at family Bridge, with stakes of threepence a hundred. The estrangement from his brother still continued; she had gathered that. There was something there to wonder about, perhaps a recently discovered will, perhaps the change of an heir at birth. Time would show. There was not enough yet to alter the interest of a love story into one of mystery.

She divined, with some special sense that she had, that Fred Comfrey was a definitely rejected suitor; though the children had hardly mentioned his name and the others not at all. But it could not have been that which made Pamela almost as silent and sad-looking as her father, in spite of her efforts to behave with her usual brightness, and especially so to him. It was only at odd moments that Miss Baldwin caught the look on her face which told her so much; and the silence was for when her father and mother were not there.

What was it then that was troubling her? Miss Baldwin formed many conjectures, but recognized that she must wait for further material in order to set her thoughts to one of them.

The occasion that she wanted came two days after she had returned to Hayslope. Lord Horsham came over to lunch, and stayed for the afternoon. He was going back to Oxford the next day.

Pamela's spirits had come back to her. She laughed and chattered in her old way. Lord Horsham had never had such a reception from her in Miss Baldwin's recollection, though all of them were brought into it, and there was no time that Miss Baldwin knew of when she was alone with him during that lively afternoon. When he had gone, she relapsed into her listless mood, which was even more marked than it had been before.

So now Miss Baldwin knew. Pamela loved Lord Horsham, and any separation from him lay heavy upon her spirits. She wondered what had brought the change, for Pamela had certainly not been in love with him a month ago.

As for him, there was no doubt about it. He was head over ears, and showed it plainly. It could not be long now before that chapter, and with it the whole story, was satisfactorily closed.

Colonel Eldridge had a great deal of estate work to do now, which had fallen somewhat into arrears during the days he had been laid up.

Besides hours spent in his office, where there was now only a clerk to help him, he had to be out constantly, and in all weathers. Mrs.

Eldridge tried to dissuade him from going about so much, but he was not a man who would respond to such dissuasion, with the result that he caught another bad cold and had to take to his bed. There she had him to some extent at her mercy, but she could not prevent him worrying himself over what ought to have been done, but couldn't be done, or from busying himself with papers, when he ought to have been lying still doing nothing.

He began to mend on the third day, and proposed to get up on the next.

She took up his breakfast herself, and his letters, and then went down to her own. When she went up again, he was lying still, with very little breakfast eaten and half his letters unopened. She persuaded him to eat a little more, and he talked to her for a time, and then said he should like a message sent over to ask Lord Crowborough to come and see him. He thought he would go to sleep in the meantime; there wouldn't be much to do this morning; better take full advantage of his last day in bed. He smiled at her and said that she was not to come bothering him until Lord Crowborough came. He wanted to see him about something particularly.

Perhaps she'd better send the car for him, and a note. No, he would write the note himself. She was to go down and order the car, while he wrote it.

An hour or so later Lord Crowborough was ushered into his room, with a face of concern. This was apparently on account of Colonel Eldridge's illness, for he was quite cheerful with Mrs. Eldridge until she left them, with instructions not to interrupt their confabulation, which might take some time. But when the door had been shut behind her his face was more concerned than ever as he came to the bedside, and said: ”You've had some bad news, Edmund. I'm very sorry to hear that. And you're not in a fit state for it, either. I can see that.”

Colonel Eldridge handed him a letter. ”You're the only man, I suppose, who knows all about it,” he said. ”Is it true?”

Lord Crowborough read the letter through, with pursing of the lips, and a deepening frown. Colonel Eldridge watched his face anxiously for a time, and then turned his eyes away, and lay quite still until he had finished.

Lord Crowborough glanced at him, when he had come to the end, and waited a moment before speaking. Then he folded the letter and said: ”Yes, Edmund, it's true, in all essentials; but what a wicked thing to send it to you! The woman must be mad.”

Colonel Eldridge roused himself. ”Oh, you see what she says. It has been lying on her conscience.... Spiritualism, and all that.... She wants excitement, of course. We needn't bother about her; she's had the money, thank goodness. She can't do anything more, except put it about, which I dare say she will do, though she swears she won't. It's you I'm thinking of, John. I quarrelled with you for saying it; I behaved badly to you.

I....”

Lord Crowborough lifted hands of deprecation. ”Oh, my dear Edmund; my dear fellow! I ought not to have taken the line I did about it. I regretted it very much afterwards, when the poor boy was killed. Don't think anything more about that. And don't let it affect you towards his memory. He'd gone wrong; yes, more than you knew; but he made up for it in the end. I've thought kindly of him, you know, for a long time past, and I knew it all the time. Perhaps it would have been better if you had known it at the first. It's a blow, coming now. But nothing is changed by it. You must put it aside. You will, in time. It's all forgiven.”

There was silence for a time. Then Colonel Eldridge said: ”You're kind and good about it, John. I knew you would be, when I sent for you. And you've been kind all along. I know now that my son--cheated--yours out of a large sum of money, besides pus.h.i.+ng him into something that he'd never have taken up, if he had been left to himself. I know Horsham well enough to say that; and my son was an older man, who ought to have looked after him--coming into the Regiment as a boy--the son of one of my oldest friends. It was very bad. I can't quite bring my mind to it.

But the first thing to be done is to arrange for the payment--”

Lord Crowborough had tried to break in once or twice, and now did so decisively. ”My dear Edmund, the money was paid. William knew, and he insisted on doing it. I couldn't refuse. Whatever I might have done, if I'd been left to myself, I don't deserve the credit of that. There's nothing more to be done there.”

”William paid, you say?”

”Yes. Fortunately I told him all about it--you knew that, didn't you? It was when I was still very angry, and had let out to you what I did, that you took such exception to. I hope I should have done afterwards what I did do, and draw back from what I had said, so as to keep the knowledge of it from you. But it was William who showed me that it was the right thing to do, and almost directly afterwards the poor boy was killed, and then I can tell you I was very glad that I hadn't pressed it with you.

William saw it at once. He made me take a cheque for the--for the loss, then and there, and promise never to mention it again, even to him. I've wished lately....”

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