Part 57 (1/2)

”Well, Sir, I don't know I'm sure what business it is of yours!” said the woman, flus.h.i.+ng with anger. ”He got bad news of his son, whose s.h.i.+p arrived at Portsmouth yesterday, and the young man said to be dying, on board. So he went off this afternoon. I've only left it for ten minutes and I'm going back directly. Mrs. Cresson here had asked the children to tea, and I brought them over. And I'll thank you, Sir, not to go spying on honest people!”

And she would have slammed the door in his face, but that Delia came forward.

”We had no intention of spying upon you, Miss Daunt--indeed we hadn't.

But I am Miss Blanchflower, who came here before Christmas, with Mr.

Winnington, and I should have been glad to see Mr. Daunt and the children. Lily!--don't you remember me?”--and she smiled at the crippled child--a delicate blue-eyed creature--whom she saw in the background.

But the child, who seemed to have been crying violently, did not come forward. And the other two, who had their fingers in their mouths, were equally silent and shrinking. In the distance an old woman sat motionless in her chair by the fire, taking no notice apparently of what was going on.

The young woman appeared for a moment confused or excited.

”Well, I'm sorry, Miss, but my Uncle won't be back till after dark. And I wouldn't advise you to come in, Miss,”--she hurriedly drew the door close behind her--”the doctor thinks two of the children have got whooping-cough--and I didn't send them to school today.”

”Well, just understand, Miss Daunt, if that's your name,” said Lathrop, with emphasis--”that till you return to the house, we shall stay there.

We shall walk up and down there, till you come back. You know well enough there are people about, who would gladly do an injury to the house, and that it's not safe to leave it. Monk Lawrence is not Sir Wilfrid Lang's property only. It belongs to the whole nation, and there are plenty of people that'll know the reason why, if any harm comes to it.”

”Oh, very well. Have it your own way, Sir! I'll come--I'll come--fast enough,” and the speaker, with a curious half-mocking look at Lathrop, flounced back into the cottage, and shut the door. They waited. There were sounds of lowered voices, and crying children. Then Miss Daunt emerged defiantly, and they all three walked back to Monk Lawrence.

The keeper's niece unlocked the door leading to Daunt's rooms. But she stood sulkily in the entry.

”Now I hope you're satisfied, Sir. I don't know, I'm sure, why you should come meddling in other people's affairs. And I daresay you'll say something against me to my uncle!”

”Well, anyway, you keep watch!” was the stern reply. ”I take my rounds often this way, as your Uncle knows. I daresay I shall be by here again tonight. Can the children find their way home alone?”

”Well, they're not idiots, Sir! Good-night to you. I've got to get supper.” And brusquely shutting the door in their faces, she went inside. They perceived immediately afterwards that she had lit a light in the kitchen.

”Well, so far, all right,” said Lathrop, as he and Delia withdrew. ”But the whole thing's rather--queer. You know that old woman, Mrs.

Cresson, is not all there, and quite helpless?”

He pondered it as they walked back through the wood, his eyes on the ground. Delia shared his undefined anxiety. She suggested that he should go back to the house in an hour or so, to see if Daunt had returned, and complain of his niece's breach of rules. Lathrop agreed.

”How do we know who or what that girl is?”--he said slowly--”that she mayn't have been got hold of?”

The same terror grew in Delia. She walked on beside him absorbed in speculation and discussion, till, without noticing, she had reached the farther gate of the wood-walk. Outside the gate, ran the Wanchester road, climbing the down, amid the woods. To reach the field path leading to the Abbey, Delia must cross it.

She and Lathrop emerged from the wood still talking in low voices, and stood beside the gate. A small car, with one man driving it, was descending the long hill. But Delia had her back to it.

It came nearer. She turned, and saw Winnington approaching her--saw the look on his face. For a moment she wavered. Then with a bow and a hasty ”Good Evening,” she left Lathrop, and stepped into the road, holding up her hand to stop the car.

”How lucky!” she said, clearly, and gaily,--”just as it's going to rain! Will you take me home?”

Winnington, without a word, made room for her beside him. The two men exchanged a slight greeting--and the car pa.s.sed.

Lathrop walked quickly back in the direction of Monk Lawrence. His vanity was hugely pleased.

”By George!--that was one to me! It's quite evident she hasn't taken him into her confidence--doesn't want magistrates interfering--no doubt. And meanwhile she appeals to _me_--she depends on _me_. Whatever happens--she'll have to be grateful to me. That fellow with his wry face can't stop it. What a vision she made just now under the wood--'belle dame sans merci!'--hating my company--and yet compelled to it. It would make a sonnet I think--I'll try it tonight.”