Part 55 (1/2)
”Grenfell, Grenfell--never heard of any Grenfells but c.o.x and Grenfell, the Piccadilly people, eh?”
Kate gave no answer, but still held the card, with her eyes fixed upon it.
”Sad thing to shoot a hen--very sad thing--and a remarkably fine bird; quite young, quite young,” muttered Sir Within to himself. ”Could scarcely be the game sauce Grenfell, I think, eh, Kate? This apology smacks of the gentleman. What was he like, Michael?”
”A fine-looking man, Sir, standing as tall as me; and about thirty-six or thirty-eight, perhaps. He had a nice spaniel with him, Sir, one of the Woburn breed; I know 'em well.”
”I'm sorry he shot that hen. Ain't you, Kate?”
But Kate was deep in thought, and did not hear him.
CHAPTER x.x.xIV. SIR WITHIN'S GUESTS
A short, somewhat plump, dark-eyed young man, with a low but wide forehead, and a well-formed but rather thick-lipped mouth, lay in his dressing-gown on the sofa smoking, and at intervals conversing with a smart-looking valet. These were Mr. Adolphus Ladarelle, and his man Fisk. The time--a little past midnight; the place--a bedroom in Dalradern Castle.
”The governor gone to bed yet, Fisk?”
”No, Sir; he's still talking with the old gent. They seemed to have had high words of it awhile ago, but they've got quiet again.”
”The governor came down expressly for that! He likes a bit of a breeze, too, and I believe it does him good.”
”Well, indeed I think you're right, Sir! I never seed him in such health as after that trial where Mr. Hythe, the cas.h.i.+er, was sentenced to fourteen years. It was just like putting so much to the master's own life.”
Whether the prospect of such longevity was so agreeable to the young gentleman, I cannot say, but he winced a little under the remark, and said, half moodily: ”This old cove here ought to be thinking of that same journey. It's slow work waiting for the death of a man, after he pa.s.ses seventy-four or five. The a.s.surance offices know that much.”
”It's to be all yours, Master Dolly, ain't it?” asked the man, in a coaxing sort of tone.
”Every stone of it, and every stick that the old boy doesn't manage to cut down in the mean while.”
”You'll never live here, Master Dolly? You'd not stand this lonesome place a week!”
”I don't think I should, Tom. I might come down for the shooting, and bring some fellows with me, or I might run down for a few weeks 'on the sly.' By the way, have you found out who she is?”
”No, Sir; they're as close as wax. Mrs. Simc.o.x, I see, knows all about it, but she won't say a word beyond the 'young lady as is my master's ward.'”
”Is she French or English?”
”Can't say, Sir; but I suspect she's French.”
”Is she his daughter?”
”At times I do think she is; but she ain't like him, Sir, not a bit!”
”But why can't you find out where she came from when she came here, who and what her friends, if she has any?”
”It's clear impossible, Sir. They has all got orders to know nothing, and it's nothing they know.”
”Did you try them with a 'tip,' Tom?”
”No use, Sir. In a town-house you can always do that, but these savages--they are just savages--in the country, think they are bound to their masters, body and soul.”