understand….”
“You will, the moment you see him—at Octavia Sea ham’s ball, I believe. I think you will wish you had remained in Charterleigh.”
Her green eyes moved slowly over his face. “I wish that anyway, sir.”
He smiled. “No doubt. Good day, Alabeth.”
“Sir.”
She watched him walk away, wondering what he had meant when he had talked of the Count. She was conscious that she was trembling still, and she sat down, auto matically picking up her book, but the pages swam blindly before her and she closed it again, glancing back along the path where he had gone.
The curiosity she had felt at his remarks about the Count faded into the background, and anger stirred again in her breast. Let him threaten what he would, she would not temper her conduct in the slightest, for he merited every thing he received at her hands. Please let it not be that Jillian had formed an attachment for him, for that would be too dreadful to countenance. She lowered her eyes, angry with herself then, for not once during the time he had been with her had she thought of saying anything to him about Jillian. She should have done so; she should have informed him that she expected him to stay well away from her sister, over whom she had total charge.
Suddenly she stood up again; she could no longer delay writing to Wallborough. As she entered the house, she called Sanderson.
“Yes, my lady?”
“I wish to write a letter.”
“I will bring the materials immediately, my lady.”
She returned to the morning room, where it was still sunny, and a minute or so later the butler was setting out the paper, inkstand, and quills. Alone again, she sat at the table. How did one write discreetly that one suspected one’s father of not telling the entire truth and one’s sister of maybe conducting a clandestine affair with an unsuit able gentleman? Pensively she drew the quill through her fingers, gazing at the gleaming silver inkstand, and then at last she dipped the quill in the ink and began to write.
Dear Mr. Bateman,
Forgive me for writing such an unusual letter to you, and please understand that my only anxiety is to be careful in attending to my duties as my sister’s guardian. I know that I may safely communicate with you as you are an old and trusted friend. As you are no doubt aware, I have charge of my sister this summer, but I am troubled that there is something which I have not been told, something which most probably occurred while she was at Wallborough. I fear that a certain gentleman’s name may be involved, the same gentleman whose appearance at Charterleigh caused so much upset several years ago. I realize that I may be asking you to break my father’s confidence, but my position is rendered very difficult by not being in full possession of the facts. Please understand that my father will never hear of any reply you may give me. I will certainly destroy any communication, for I would not wish to jeopardize your situation in any way. Forgive me again for involving you in my predicament.
I am, yours very sincerely,
Alabeth Manvers
She read the letter again, pondering the steward’s reaction when he received it. She could see him now, a comfortable, rather untidy man complete with a rather dilapidated gray-powdered wig and clay pipe, sitting back in his enormous high-backed chair in the kitchen at the home farm. He was indeed an old and trusted friend, and she knew in her heart that if he knew anything at all concerning Jillian, he would respond to this appeal.
She folded the letter and then held the sealing wax to a candle flame. The thick wax dripped onto the paper and a moment later she was pressing her seal ring into the soft surface. There, it was done now—it would be taken by the letter carrier that very afternoon and would reach Derby shire in a day or so. She hated going behind people’s backs in this way, but Jillian’s present attitude made any other course impossible, and after the
“You will, the moment you see him—at Octavia Sea ham’s ball, I believe. I think you will wish you had remained in Charterleigh.”
Her green eyes moved slowly over his face. “I wish that anyway, sir.”
He smiled. “No doubt. Good day, Alabeth.”
“Sir.”
She watched him walk away, wondering what he had meant when he had talked of the Count. She was conscious that she was trembling still, and she sat down, auto matically picking up her book, but the pages swam blindly before her and she closed it again, glancing back along the path where he had gone.
The curiosity she had felt at his remarks about the Count faded into the background, and anger stirred again in her breast. Let him threaten what he would, she would not temper her conduct in the slightest, for he merited every thing he received at her hands. Please let it not be that Jillian had formed an attachment for him, for that would be too dreadful to countenance. She lowered her eyes, angry with herself then, for not once during the time he had been with her had she thought of saying anything to him about Jillian. She should have done so; she should have informed him that she expected him to stay well away from her sister, over whom she had total charge.
Suddenly she stood up again; she could no longer delay writing to Wallborough. As she entered the house, she called Sanderson.
“Yes, my lady?”
“I wish to write a letter.”
“I will bring the materials immediately, my lady.”
She returned to the morning room, where it was still sunny, and a minute or so later the butler was setting out the paper, inkstand, and quills. Alone again, she sat at the table. How did one write discreetly that one suspected one’s father of not telling the entire truth and one’s sister of maybe conducting a clandestine affair with an unsuit able gentleman? Pensively she drew the quill through her fingers, gazing at the gleaming silver inkstand, and then at last she dipped the quill in the ink and began to write.
Dear Mr. Bateman,
Forgive me for writing such an unusual letter to you, and please understand that my only anxiety is to be careful in attending to my duties as my sister’s guardian. I know that I may safely communicate with you as you are an old and trusted friend. As you are no doubt aware, I have charge of my sister this summer, but I am troubled that there is something which I have not been told, something which most probably occurred while she was at Wallborough. I fear that a certain gentleman’s name may be involved, the same gentleman whose appearance at Charterleigh caused so much upset several years ago. I realize that I may be asking you to break my father’s confidence, but my position is rendered very difficult by not being in full possession of the facts. Please understand that my father will never hear of any reply you may give me. I will certainly destroy any communication, for I would not wish to jeopardize your situation in any way. Forgive me again for involving you in my predicament.
I am, yours very sincerely,
Alabeth Manvers
She read the letter again, pondering the steward’s reaction when he received it. She could see him now, a comfortable, rather untidy man complete with a rather dilapidated gray-powdered wig and clay pipe, sitting back in his enormous high-backed chair in the kitchen at the home farm. He was indeed an old and trusted friend, and she knew in her heart that if he knew anything at all concerning Jillian, he would respond to this appeal.
She folded the letter and then held the sealing wax to a candle flame. The thick wax dripped onto the paper and a moment later she was pressing her seal ring into the soft surface. There, it was done now—it would be taken by the letter carrier that very afternoon and would reach Derby shire in a day or so. She hated going behind people’s backs in this way, but Jillian’s present attitude made any other course impossible, and after the
Similar Books
