Monday, if you will give me the title. There is confidence.”
“Assurance, you mean,” said Hawkesley, laughing. “But I’ll think of you. I am going to call in Gurdon Terrace, on some little people.”
“Will you like to give them a box?” said the good-natured Aventayle. “I dare say I have got one.”
“Sorry you have any to give away; but I will take it notwithstanding, as they are too young to be hurt by your bright poker. Thanks.”
They parted, and Charles Hawkesley went on to Lygon’s house.
“Uncle Charles!” cried Fred with a great shout, as his friend entered. “Walter,” he bawled at the top of his lungs, “Here’s Uncle Charles!”
Walter was immediately heard jumping down stairs half-a-dozen at a time, with intermediate lumps at the landings.
“Easy to see that mamma and papa are away, Master Walter, by the way you come down. How are you, my boy?”
“Oh, all right,” said Walter. “How’s Aunty?”
“Very well. Will you come to us to-morrow, and spend the day?”
“I will,” said Fred, promptly.
“Who asked you,” said his uncle, laughing.
“I had rather not come, uncle,” said Walter. “Papa and mamma might come home while I was away.”
“And don’t you think they could bear to wait for you till night?”
“Yes,” said Walter, his eyes filling with tears, “but I couldn’t bear to wait for them.”
“My boy, I dare say it is lonely for you,” said Charles Hawkesley, taking his hand, “but of course they will soon be back.”
“Have you heard from them yet, uncle?” said Walter, anxiously.
“Well, no; but the reason for that of course is, that as they must be coming home so soon they don’t think it worth while to write. Don’t you think so, Price,” he said to the domestic, a very respectable and kindly-looking woman—just the person to be left in charge of children, and extremely unlikely to invoke any form of Bogey to aid her.
“That would be a very good reason, sir,” she said. “Could I speak to you for a moment?” she added.
“Certainly, Price. I’ll come to you boys directly; stop here in the dining-room,” said Hawkesley, and he went into the little room with the servant.
“I beg your pardon for taking the liberty, sir”
“No liberty, Price. What can I do?”
“You said you had not heard from master or mistress, sir.”
“I have not, nor has Mrs. Hawkesley, and I thought that Mr. and Mrs. Lygon might have returned, and I walked over to see. Anything wanted that we can do?”
“I hope you will not think me overbold, sir,” said Price, closing the door, “but there are some very strange things going about, and I would not for the world they should come to the ears of the dear children; and if you did not think that my mistress would be back soon, and it would not be putting you out of your way, it might be best for them to stop at your house with their cousins.”
“That was what I came to tell them, but certainly not for any reason like yours. What do you mean, Price?”
“You have heard nothing, sir, about my mistress?”
“Nothing, except that her father accidentally mentions in a letter that he has not heard of her, or from Walter, lately.”
“That’s Mr. Vernon, sir?”
“To be sure—who else?”
“And it was he,” said Price, “who came here late last night. I judged as much from the description.”
“Came to see the children?”
“No, sir, they were in bed, and I had gone out to get some things in. Mr. Vernon came in a way very unlike a gentleman—I mean he rang the servants’ bell, and when Eliza answered it, he only said he wished to know if all was right. She did not know him, and thought there was some trick of a thief, so she very properly put the chain up, and let him speak across it. He asked some curious questions which she did not quite understand, and said we were to write to Canonbury, which gave me the clue.”
“But there is nothing to be uneasy about in that. He evidently did not wish to alarm anybody, but wanted to satisfy himself. He is an odd man, but very kind-hearted.”
“I cannot see why he should ring the servants’ bell,” persisted Price.
“Perhaps he took it for the visitors’ bell.”
“Maybe, sir, but I cannot say I like appearances,” replied the domestic. “However, that would not be much, one way or the other, and I should not have felt it my duty to speak about it, if it had not happened to tally, as I may say, with what you said.”
“But you spoke of strange things, Price. There’s nothing very strange in a grandfather coming to inquire after his grandchildren, ringing the wrong bell by mistake, and frightening a girl who did not know him.”
“No, sir, there is not. But I wish that was all. The tradespeople in the neighbourhood have heard something else, and it has been brought to me. I only wish it could have been kept to me, and I know I used that language to Eliza, for repeating some of it, that a woman should not use to a young girl unless she richly deserves it.”
“I know well, Price, that you would be as much vexed at any false rumours that affected the house of your master as he himself could be.”
“I hope so, sir, for he and my mistress have been as kind as kind could be to me, and mine I may say, for Mr. Lygon got my half-brother Henry a place on the railway, and as for my mistress, when I was ill, no sister of her own could have been better nursed. And there ought to be a law for making people hold their tongues, unless they can prove it,” said Price, getting a little confused in her usually excellent English.
“Prove what, Price?”
“Sir,” said she, in a lower tone. “I don’t
