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‘If he don’t throw her into gloom,’ said Curry. ‘He was fretting like a fly in a tar-box all the way here, my lord!’
‘He was indeed! But, unless I am much mistaken in him, he won’t do so when he feels himself to be responsible for her. You’ll drive back to Watford in the phaeton, and leave it there. The rest of the journey by post: you can take this!’
Accepting the roll of bills, Curry demurred a little. ‘You might need ’em, my lord!’
‘Not immediately. You will bring me a fresh supply tomorrow: Mr Trevor will attend to that. When you reach Upper Wimpole Street, try for a word with Miss Merriville! Inform her that my travelling-carriage will take her up tomorrow at whatever hour she may appoint, but don’t allow her to set out tonight! I think she has too much sense to do so. When you have arranged matters with her, go on to Alverstoke House, and give Mr Trevor the letter I am about to write to him. He’ll do the rest. You will escort Miss Merriville here – or possibly Miss Winsham – tomorrow, as far as to Watford, where you may pick up the grays, and my phaeton, and bring them to me here. And understand this, Curry! I am putting you in command of this journey, and if Miss Merriville should talk of hiring a post-chaise, or some such thing, you will tell her that my orders are that she is to travel in my carriage – which will certainly be needed when it becomes possible to remove Master Felix from this place. Now try if you can procure a pen, some ink, and some writing-paper from that extremely disobliging woman, and bring them to me in the parlour! It might be as well to puff off my consequence, perhaps!’
‘Oh, I’ve done that, my lord!’ returned Curry, grinning at him. ‘A regular brimstone, she is! But I said to her: “What his lordship wants,” I said, “he’ll pay for – handsome!” which made her change her note, my lord!’
‘I’m happy to hear it. Tell her to hire a woman from the village – as many women as she wants – and hang it up to me! Where’s her brother? Have you seen him?’
‘Not yet, I haven’t, my lord. He went off with some of his lads to help get that balloon packed up, and loaded on to his wagon – which is another thing Miss Brimstone don’t like!’
‘You astonish m
e!’ said his lordship.
The writing-materials which Curry presently brought to him in the parlour left much to be desired, the ink being muddy, the pen in urgent need of repair, and the paper both dog-eared and a trifle grimy. His lordship made the best of them, but revolted against a selection of coloured wafers, merely folding the note he had written to Charles Trevor. He might be forced to write with a spluttering pen on dirty paper, but for no consideration would he seal his letter with a wafer of virulent pink, green, or blue.
Handing his missive to Curry, he was about to go upstairs when he was delayed by the arrival on the scene of Mr Oulton, accompanied by the farmer. He was obliged to listen to Oulton’s explanations, accusations, and excuses with what patience he could muster; but he found Judbrook to be a man of few words and simple goodwill. Judbrook said: ‘You’ve only to tell me what you want, my lord, and I’ll see you get it. My sister has her crotchets, but it’s me as is master here, never you fear!’
Felix had been carried up to a large, low-pitched room, and was lying in a four-poster bed, hung with crimson curtains, and covered with a patchwork quilt. He was heavily asleep, breathing stertorously, his head bandaged, and looking so small and broken that Alverstoke’s anger melted, and he was aware only of pity. He stood watching Felix for a moment, and then turned his head to find that Jessamy’s eyes were fixed on his face, a painful question in them. As he met them, he realised suddenly that there was more than a question in them: there was trust as well. This queer boy, who was sometimes so much older than his years, not only trusted him, but was depending on him too, confident that he, who had all his life evaded irksome responsibilities, had seldom exerted himself on another’s behalf, and knew nothing about sickrooms, was competent to take charge of Felix, himself, the doctor, and even the hostile Miss Judbrook. It was the height of absurdity, but his lordship was not much amused: he thought Jessamy’s faith in him rendered him almost as pathetic a figure as his brother. If the boy only knew how little he wanted to accept the charge laid upon him, and how uneasily aware of his unfitness for it he was – ! As well that he didn’t know it, perhaps!
He smiled at Jessamy, and said, in a lowered voice: ‘We might have guessed he would come off with nothing worse than a couple of broken ribs, and a cut face, might we not? Little devil!’
There was a lightening of anxiety, but Jessamy said: ‘The doctor said it was too early to be sure. He looks dreadfully bad – and the way he’s breathing …’
‘Merely because he’s heavily drugged,’ said Alverstoke.
‘Oh! Are you sure, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Alverstoke replied, salving his conscience with the reflection that truth was of less importance than the need to allay Jessamy’s fears. ‘As for what the doctor said, he shares your own apprehension. It would be marvellous indeed, you know, if Felix didn’t contract a very severe cold after having been exposed as he was. Therefore, my child, the most immediate need is to fetch his sister. She will know just what to do for him.’
‘Yes – oh, yes! I have been wishing that she was here! She always knows! But how –’
‘I am going to send you back to London to bring her here tomorrow,’ Alverstoke said.
Jessamy recoiled. ‘Oh, no! No, no, I won’t leave him! How could you think –’
‘I am thinking of Frederica, not of you, Jessamy.’
‘Yes, yes, but – cannot you go, sir, and leave me to take care of Felix? It ought to be me!’
‘You are mistaken: he was in my charge, and mine must be the responsibility of taking care of him.’ He saw that Jessamy was looking stubborn, and added quizzically: ‘Do you think you could do that better than I could – and shall?’
‘No! I didn’t mean that! You’ll know just what to do, if he wakes, and grows restless, and – and he’ll mind you better. But – Oh, couldn’t Curry go, sir?’
‘Curry is going. He is putting the horses to now. You will dine at Watford, and go on post from there.’
‘Dine! I couldn’t swallow a mouthful! And why must I go as well as Curry?’
‘Hush! not so loud! You are going to be of help to Frederica, and to reassure her. Don’t fly into one of your ways! Consider instead how uneasy she must be if neither you nor I returned to London tonight! Curry could never convince her that Felix’s case was not desperate. She won’t think it extraordinary that I have stayed with Felix, I assure you; but if you stay too she will imagine him to be at death’s door – as well she might! As for not dining, you have eaten nothing since breakfast, and it would not be very helpful of you to arrive in Upper Wimpole Street in a fainting condition. And, really, my dear boy, to starve yourself because Felix has knocked himself up would be just a trifle melodramatic, don’t you think?’
A burning flush rose in Jessamy’s thin cheeks; he hung his head, muttering: ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to fall into a – a distempered freak! If you think it’s my duty to go, I will.’
‘Well, I do think it. She may need you. There will be arrangements to be made, I daresay a score of things to be done. She may even wish you to remain in London, to be with Charis, for she certainly won’t care to leave her alone, and as far as I can discover, your aunt spends her whole time in Harley Street.’
‘And Harry has gone off with his bacon-brained friend to Wells, for the races!’ said Jessamy bitterly. ‘Just when he is most needed!’
