Part 34 (1/2)
Again Lady Pen looked hard at Miles. She was wondering whether Meg had ever given away the reason for that short hair of hers.
”Oh, I've met her just casually, you know, with Miss Ross. She strikes me as a ... rather unusual sort of girl.”
”Ever mention me?”
”No, never that I can remember. I haven't seen much of her, you know.”
”Well, my son, the less you see of her the better, for her, I should say. She's a clever, industrious, good little thing, but she's not in your row. After all, these workin' girls have their feelin's.”
”I don't fancy Miss Morton is at all the susceptible idiot you appear to think her. It's other people's feelings I should be afraid of, not hers.”
”Oh, I grant you she's attractive enough to some folks. Artists, for instance, rave over her. At least, Anthony Ross did. Queer chap, that; would never paint me. Now can you understand any man in his senses refusin' to paint me?”
”It seems odd, certainly.”
”He painted her, for nothin' of course, over an' over again ... just because he liked doin' it. Odd chap he was, but very takin'. You couldn't dislike him, even when he refused to paint you. Awful sw.a.n.k though, wasn't it?”
”Were his pictures of Miss Morton--sold?”
”Some were, I believe; but Janet Ross has got a lot of 'em down at Wren's End. She always puts away most of her father's paintin's when she lets the house. But you take my advice, Miley, my son: you keep clear of that little girl.”
This was on Thursday, and, of course, after two warnings in one afternoon, Miles went down to Amber Guiting on Sat.u.r.day night.
”Aunt Mary, it's such a lovely morning, should you mind very much if I go for a stroll in the woods--or slack about in the fresh air, instead of going to church?”
At the word ”stroll” he had seen an interested expression lighten up Squire Walcote's face, and the last thing he wanted was his uncle's society for the whole morning.
”I don't feel up to much exercise,” Miles went on, trying to look exhausted and failing egregiously. ”I've had rather a hard week in town.
I'll give the vicar a turn in the evening, I will truly.”
Lady Mary smiled indulgently on this large young man, who certainly looked far from delicate. But only a hard-hearted woman could have pointed this out at such a moment, and where her nephew was concerned Lady Mary's heart was all kindly affection. So she let him off church.
Miles carried out a pile of books to a seat in the garden and appeared to be settled down to a studious morning. He waved a languid hand to his aunt and uncle as they started for church, and the moment they were out of sight laid down his book and clasped his hands behind his head.
The vicar of Amber Guiting was a family man and merciful. The school children all creaked and pattered out of church after morning prayer, and any other small people in the congregation were encouraged to do likewise, the well-filled vicarage pew setting the example. Therefore, Miles reckoned, that even supposing Miss Morton took the little boy to church (he couldn't conceive of anyone having the temerity to escort little Fay thither), they would come out in about three-quarters of an hour after the bell stopped. But he had no intention of waiting for that. The moment the bell ceased he--unaccompanied by any of the dogs grouped about him at that moment--was going to investigate the Wren's End garden. He knew every corner of it, and he intended to unearth Meg and the children if they were to be found.
Besides, he ardently desired to see William.
William was a lawful pretext. No one could see anything odd in his calling at Wren's End to see William. It was a perfectly natural thing to do.
Confound Mrs. Trent.
Confound Pen, what did she want to interfere for?
Confound that bell. Would it never stop?
Yes it had. No it hadn't. Yes ... it had.
Give a few more minutes for laggards, and then----