Unfortunately for his scheme of meeting with his brother again, poor
Edgar awoke the next morning to one of the blinding and overpowering
headaches to which over-fatigue and excitement always rendered him
liable. There was no chance of getting that day to the trysting-place,
no possibility of anything but lying still. He could not write a note
to be given to Alwyn, he could hardly even think of a safe message for
him.
"Tell Wyn--I cannot go out--tell him to--get what I told him--in the
wood--he will understand," he said, with a great effort at something
that would be comprehensible.
"Yes, sir; don't trouble yourself, sir," said Robertson; "it shall be
attended to."
"And tell him to come for orders to-morrow; I shall be able to go
to-morrow."
"Very well, sir," said Robertson, privately thinking that his master
would be quite unequal to such fatigue to-morrow, or probably for two or
three days to come.
Edgar chafed and fretted at his incapacity in a way that of course
aggravated the headache. It was such a disappointment, besides the
anxiety and suspense, not to see Alwyn again. He had not known how much
he should care about it. Robertson thought that he had never known his
master so restless and impatient.
The message to Wyn did not strike anyone as of paramount importance, and
was sent down by the footman.
"Tell little Warren the pony won't be wanted. Mr Edgar is ill. Warren
is to get something, I believe, in the wood--flowers, I suppose--but
they won't be wanted to-day."
This information was finally shouted out to Wyn by the stable-boy as he
fed the peacocks before coming up for orders:
"Mr Edgar's ill and can't go out, but he says you're to pick him some
flowers instead."
"Is that all?" said Wyn, horrified.
"That's all, as I knows on."
"But I say, what's the matter with Mr Edgar?"
"Didn't hear--that was my message."
Wyn was a very sharp boy. He had been told by Edgar as little as
possible, except as to the identity of the two strangers whom he had
seen in the wood, as to which he was sworn to secrecy; but after
puzzling a little over the message about the flowers he came to the
conclusion that the best thing he could do was to keep Mr Edgar's
appointment for him. He was detained all the morning by Mrs Elton,
under whose superintendence he attended to the fancy poultry, to give
them an extra cleaning, as Mr Edgar did not want him; and when he went
home to dinner he found his own family in a state of excitement and
hurry.
Lady Carleton, at Ravenshurst, wanted a girl to help her nurse for a few
weeks, and by favour of the wife of the Ravenshurst keeper had sent to
see if Mrs Warren's niece could come over.
Mrs Warren thought it a wonderful chance for Florence to try her hand
at service in a good family, without being bound to a regular place, and
Florence was just tired enough of the keeper's lodge to think that she
should like the change.
"I must take you over myself," Mrs Warren said, "and explain to her
ladyship that you haven't things suitable at present for her household,
but they shall be soon provided. She'll excuse it, as they want you to
come this afternoon. You can put on your grey dress, and turn your hair
up and brush back your fringe."
"My fringe! Why, even the _generals_ at Rapley are allowed their
fringes!" said Florence indignantly.
"Very likely. But it's not the custom in good families," said Mrs
Warren dryly. "I look to you, Florence, to do me credit where you go."
Florence pouted a little, but just then Warren, who had come in to his
dinner, said rather meaningly to his wife:
"Mother, have you forgotten as Lady Carleton is Miss Lilian Fletcher
that used to be? Maybe that will make an objection; it'd be best to
name Florence, and make sure as she understands about her."
Florence caught the words, and the confidence she had received about her
brother from Wyn came, into her mind. So this was one of the owners of
the jewels which Harry had been accused of stealing. Intense curiosity,
and a sort of impulse for which she could not account, determined her on
going to Ravenshurst at all costs. She went upstairs after dinner,
screwed her hair up into a neat knot behind, brushed it back from her
brows, and generally stroked herself down into a much tidier-looking
young person than she had ever before appeared.
Wyn had also heard the hint, and sat listening, open-eared, to the
strange coincidence.
"Wyn," said his mother, "it's a good thing Mr Edgar doesn't want you
to-day. You get out the trap and bring it round by four o'clock so as
to drive Florrie and me over to Ravenshurst, and then you can take it on
to the junction and pick up Bessie and her things; I'll walk back
through the wood."
"But--but Mr Edgar sent word I was to get flowers."
"Mr Edgar can't want the flowers to-day. It can't matter when you get
them--if you have them ready for him to-morrow morning. Now don't make
difficulties, Wyn, you get idle with going after flowers and dawdling
about."
Wyn rushed out of doors in despair. There was nothing for it but to go
at once to the ash-tree in the hope that Mr Alwyn might be there before
his time, and if he did not appear to write a message on a bit of paper
and leave it where he could find it. Alwyn, however, impatient for the
meeting, was already sitting under the ash-tree on the look-out for his
brother, and started up in dismay as Wyn appeared alone.
"Please, sir, Mr Edgar's ill to-day. He can't come. I think he meant
me to come and tell you so."
"Ill? What is the matter with him? What did he say?"
"Please, sir, I expect it's only one of his headaches, and I only got a
message, but I thought I'd better come and tell you."
"Is he likely to be able to come to-morrow?"
"No, sir, I don't expect so. He often doesn't come out for a long time
when he takes to having his headaches, except just to lie on the
terrace."
"But you can see him?"
"Yes, sir, when he's a bit better. He likes to have me come and tell
him about the ducks and the peacocks and all the creatures, and
sometimes I take him the dogs to look at."
"My poor boy! Is that all he has to amuse him?" murmured Alwyn, half to
himself.
"No, sir, there's the garden, and the wild flowers I get him. But,
sir--please, sir, I've got to go. Is there anything for me to take him,
sir? Most likely I shall see him to-morrow."
Alwyn hesitated; but the fear of disappointing Edgar prevailed, and he
gave Wyn the thick packet, to be kept with the greatest care, and to be
delivered to his master in private. Mr Alwyn looked so miserable as he
delivered it up that Wyn tried to say something consolatory.
"Please, sir, Mr Edgar ain't no worse than usual. Often and often he
has his headaches and a pain in his back. I don't think he minds it
much, sir. He'll talk quite cheerful most times." Alwyn did not look
much consoled by this information.
"Tell him not to think of me," he said; "not to make any exertion to see
me. Come here again to-morrow, and bring me news of him."
Wyn hurried off without more words to get the trap up for his mother,
and it was not till he had deposited her safely with Florence at
Ravenshurst, and was waiting for his sister's train at the distant
junction, that it suddenly flashed into his mind how much he and
Florence had done to set the keepers on the track of the strangers whom
they had met in the wood. What had he done? It was worse than losing
the letter. Suppose they caught Mr Alwyn or Harry, whom he had himself
taken for a suspicious character, and took them up to the squire or to
his father, saying that they had been warned by Wyn Warren. What would
Mr Alwyn and Mr Edgar think of him? He must go and put them off it
somehow. Would the train never come? What possessed it to be so late?
And when it did come groaning into the station what a time Bessie was
before she appeared with her box behind her, well-dressed, smiling, and
dignified, the sister Bessie that he was ordinarily so glad to see.
Now he could think of nothing but getting home quick, and started off at
a rattling pace before Bessie had had time to remark on his growth or
inquire for mother.
"You ought not to drive that young horse so fast downhill, Wyn," said
Bessie presently; "the road's so bad, you'll have him down. Isn't it
the one father says isn't sure-footed?"
"All right, I understand him," said Wyn; but as he spoke there was a
stumble and a lurch, the horse fell, the trap tilted over, and Bessie
Warren, frightened, shaken, but otherwise unhurt, rolled out on to the
high bank beside the road.
She knew quite well enough what she was about to slip down the bank to
the horse's head and seize the rein as the beast righted himself with a
great struggle; then floundered, and stood up with broken knees,
dragging the trap, which had been turned right over, and scattering on
the bank all its contents, Wyn included.
"Wyn, Wynny darling, are you hurt?" cried Bessie, seeing little at the
first moment but her brother's heels.
It was a lonely road, and great was her relief when a gentleman on
horseback trotted up, and exclaiming, "Hullo! what's the matter?"
dismounted hastily, and displayed the features of Mr Cunningham
himself.
"Oh, sir," said Bessie as he took the reins from her hand, "there's been
an accident."
"So I perceive," said Mr Cunningham. "What, Wyn, my lad, let the young
horse down, have you? Are you damaged too?" as Wyn struggled up on to
his feet, looked at the horse's knees, and burst into a roar of crying,
while his nose began to bleed violently from the shake and the blow, and
he would have fallen back again if Bessie had not caught him, and,
sitting on the bank, laid him down with his head on her lap, and tried
to stop the bleeding.
"Is he hurt?" said the squire.
"Not much, sir, I think; he'll come round directly. Keep quiet, Wyn.
Where's your pocket-handkerchief? On the bank? Oh, sir, thank you," as
Mr Cunningham handed it to her, and saw the letter beside it with his
son's name on it.
"A letter for Mr Edgar," he said, picking it up. He gave a second
glance, and put it in his pocket. "I'll give it to him," he said.
Wyn was giddy and a little faint, and did not see what was passing; but
presently he sat up, and Mr Cunningham said:
"Well, my boy, you'd better keep to Mr Edgar's pony for the future."
"Mr Stapleton won't never forgive me," said Wyn, feeling the horse's
knees of far more importance than his own nose, and referring to the
stud-groom.
"Well, I hope there's nothing worse than Rex's knees on your
conscience," said the squire in the peculiar dry tone which made his
displeasure so appalling. "You had better wait here, Elizabeth Warren.
I'll ride back and send someone to help you."
"Thank you, sir;" then, as he rode on, "Surely nothing could be worse
than breaking the horse's knees! What will father say? What's the
matter, Wyn? here's your handkerchief."
"But--but--where's--where's--"
"Mr Edgar's letter? Mr Cunningham took it, so that's all right."
Wyn jumped up with a positive howl.
"Oh! oh! oh! Whatever have I done! Oh, I am the unluckiest boy in the
world! Oh, whatever will he say to me? But there--"
Wyn suddenly stifled his lamentations and sat perfectly still, only
sobbing at intervals.
"Why," said Bessie, "if anyone lets a horse down they must expect to
catch it. But there, Wyn, it's a mercy, to be very thankful for, that
we're neither of us killed. I feel all of a tremble still. There,
isn't that one of the stablemen coming? The master must have met him.
Wipe your face, Wyn, dear, and don't cry; we'll go home to mother, and
she'll see to you."
"Oh," sobbed Wyn, burying his face in the bank as his sister went
forward to meet the stableman, "I'd rather have let down all the hunters
and broken all my bones than have let master have the letter. And I
lost the other, and I've set on the keepers! I'm--I'm a regular
traitor, and Mr Edgar'll never trust me no more--never!"