Things had not been going well with Percy Rimbolt since we saw him last,
six or eight months ago, just before Jeffreys' expulsion from the house
in Clarges Street. Mrs Rimbolt had some reason to modify her self-
congratulations on that occasion, when Percy and Raby, who, it will be
remembered, had been out riding at the time, returned home. Percy
returned in high spirits; his new horse had turned out a beauty, and the
canter in the park had acted like a tonic.
"Hullo, mother!" he said, as his parent came into the hall to meet him.
"We've had a grand time, Raby and I. We saw the Prince of Wales and
W.G. Grace, and the Queen, and everybody, and I gave Raby two hundred
yards from the corner and ran her down before we were off Knightsbridge,
and nearly got hauled up for furious riding. I say, I mean to make
father get a horse for old Jeff, and we'll go out early in the mornings,
when the Row's empty, and try handicaps, eh, Raby? Where's Jeff, I
say?" and he ran whistling upstairs.
His mother, with some premonitory misgivings followed him.
"Where are you, Jeff?" she heard him shout. "I say, mother," he added,
as Mrs Rimbolt approached, "where's Jeff? Is he out?"
"He is," said Mrs Rimbolt solemnly. "I want to speak to you, Percy."
"All right. But I say, when will he be in? He said he couldn't leave
his work this afternoon. I want him to see Bendigo before he goes round
to the stables."
"You had better tell the groom he need not wait, and then please come to
my room, Percy," said Mrs Rimbolt.
Percy shouted down to Walker to send away the horse, and followed his
mother into her boudoir.
"Percy, my dear boy," began the lady, "I am sorry to say I have just had
to perform a very unpleasant duty. You can hardly understand--"
"What about--anything about Jeff?" interrupted the boy, jumping at the
truth.
"It is. It has been necessary, for everybody's sake, that he should
leave here."
"What!" thundered Percy, turning pale and clutching the back of his
chair; "you've sent Jeff away--kicked him out?"
"Come, Percy, don't be unreasonable. I--"
"When did he go--how long ago?" exclaimed the boy, half frantic.
"Percy, you really--"
"How long ago?"
"It is more than an hour since--"
Percy waited to hear no more; he dashed down the stairs and shouted to
Walker.
"Did you see Jeffreys go? Which way did he go?"
"I didn't see--"
"Come and help me look for him, he's sure to be about. Tell Appleby, do
you hear? Raby, I say," he exclaimed, as his cousin appeared in the
hall, "Jeff's been kicked out an hour ago! I'm going to find him!" and
the poor lad, with a heart almost bursting, flung open the door and
rushed out into the street.
Alas! it was a fool's errand, and he knew it. Still, he could not
endure to do nothing.
After two weary hours he gave it up, and returned home dispirited and
furious. Walker and Appleby had taken much less time to appreciate the
uselessness of the search, and had returned an hour ago from a
perfunctory walk round one or two neighbouring streets.
Our young Achilles, terrible in his wrath, would see no one, not even
his mother, not even Raby. Once or twice that evening they heard the
front door slam, and knew he once more was on the look-out. Mrs
Rimbolt, alarmed at the storm which she had raised, already repented of
her haste, and telegraphed to Mr Rimbolt to come to London.
Raby, bewildered and miserable, shut herself up in her room and was seen
by no one. It was a wretched night for everybody; and when next morning
Mrs Rimbolt, sitting down to breakfast, was met with the news that
neither Master Percy nor Miss Raby wanted breakfast, she began to feel
that the affair was being overdone.
When Mr Rimbolt arrived, though he concealed his feelings better, he
was perhaps the most mortified of all at the wretched misadventure which
during his absence had turned Jeffreys adrift beyond recall. He had
known his secretary's secret, and had held it sacred even from his wife.
And watching Jeffreys' brave struggle to live down his bad name, he had
grown to respect and even admire him, and to feel a personal interest in
the ultimate success of his effort. Now, a miserable accident, which,
had he been at home, could have been prevented by a word, had wrecked
the work and the hopes of years, and put beyond Mr Rimbolt's power all
further chance of helping it on.
About a week after Mr Rimbolt's return, when all but Percy were
beginning to settle down again into a semblance of their old order of
things, Raby knocked at her uncle's door and inquired if he was busy.
She looked happier than he had seen her since his return. The reason
was easy to guess. The post had brought her a letter from her father.
"I thought you would like to see it," said she. "He has got leave at
last, and expects to be home at the end of September. Will you read the
letter?" added she, colouring; "there's something else in it I should
like you to see."
The letter was chiefly about the prospects of coming home. Towards the
close Lieutenant-Colonel Atherton (for he had got promotion) wrote:
"You ask me to tell you about poor Forrester and his family."
"He had no wife alive, and when he died did not know what had become of
his only son. The boy was at school in England--Bolsover School--and
met with an accident, caused, it is said, by the spite of a
schoolfellow, which nearly killed him, and wholly crippled him. He was
taken home to his grandmother's, but after she died he disappeared, and
poor Forrester had been unable to hear anything about him. It is a sad
story. I promised Forrester when I got home I would do what I could to
find the boy and take care of him. You will help, won't you?"