Cursed by a Fortune

“No, no; impossible; and mind what you are about; be civil to him.”

“Well, I am. Can’t help it; he’s so jolly smooth with a fellow, and has such good cigars – I say, guv’nor, rather different to your seventeen-and-six-penny boxes of weeds. I wouldn’t mind, only he’s in the way so. Puts a stop to, you know what. I never get a chance with her alone; here are you two shut up all the morning over the parchments, and she don’t come down; and when she does he carries me off with him. Then at night you’re all there.”

“Never mind! he will soon go now; we have nearly done.”

“I’m jolly glad of it. I’ve been thinking that if it’s going on much longer I’d better do without the four greys.”

“Eh?”

“Oh, you know, guv’nor; toddle off to Gretna Green, or wherever they do the business, and get it over.”

“No, no, no, no. There must be no nonsense, my boy,” said Wilton, uneasily. “Don’t do anything rash.”

“Oh, no, I won’t do anything rash,” said Claud, with an unpleasant grin; “only one must make one’s hay when the sun shines, guv’nor.”

“There’s one thing about his visit,” said Wilton hurriedly; “it has done her a great deal of good; she isn’t like the same girl.”

“No; she has come out jolly. Makes it a little more bearable.”

“Eh, what, sir? – bearable?”

“Yes. Fellow wants the prospect of some sugar or jam afterwards, to take such a sickly dose as she promised to be.”

“Oh, nonsense, nonsense. But – er – mind what you’re about; nothing rash.”

“I’ve got my head screwed on right, guv’nor. I can manage a girl. I say, though, she has quite taken to old Garstang; he has got such a way with him. He can be wonderfully jolly when he likes.”

“Yes, wonderfully,” said Wilton, with a groan.

“You’ve no idea how he can go when we’re out. He’s full of capital stories, and as larky when we’re fishing or shooting as if he were only as old as I am. Ever seen him jump?”

“What, run and jump?”

“Yah! When he is mounted. He rides splendidly. Took Brown Charley over hedge after hedge yesterday like a bird. Understands a horse as well as I do. I like him, and we get on swimming together; but we don’t want him here now.”

“Well, well, it won’t be long before he has gone,” said Wilton, hurrying some papers away over which he and Garstang had been busy all the morning. “Where are you going this afternoon?”

“Ride. He wants to see the Cross Green farm.”

“Eh?” said Wilton, looking up sharply, and with an anxious gleam in his eyes. “Did he say that?”

“Yes; and we’re off directly after lunch. I say, though, what was that letter about?”

“What letter?” said Wilton, starting nervously.

“Oh, I say; don’t jump as if you thought the bailiffs were coming in. I meant the one brought over from the station half-an-hour ago.”

“I had no letter.”

“Sam said one came. It must have been for old Garstang then.”

“Am I intruding? Business?” said Garstang, suddenly appearing at the door.

“Eh? No; come in. We were only talking about ordinary things. Sit down. Lunch must be nearly due. Want to speak to me?”

All this in a nervous, hurried way.

“Never mind lunch,” said Garstang quietly; “I want you to oblige me, my dear James, by ordering that brown horse round.”

Wilton uttered a sigh of relief, and his face, which had been turning ghastly, slowly resumed its natural tint.

“But I understood from Claud here that you were both going out after lunch.”

“I’ve had a particular letter sent down in a packet, and I must ride over and telegraph back at some length.”

“We’ll send Tom over for you,” said Claud; and then he felt as if he would have given anything to withdraw the words.

“It’s very good of you,” said Garstang, smiling pleasantly, “but the business is important. Oblige me by ordering the horse at once.”

“Oh, I’ll run round. Have Brown Charley here in five minutes.”

“Thank you, Claud; and perhaps you’ll give me a glass of sherry and a biscuit, James?”

“Yes, yes, of course; but you’ll be back to dinner?”

“Of course. We must finish what we are about.”

“Yes, we must finish what we are about,” said Wilton, with a dismal look; and he rang the bell, just as Claud passed the window on the way to the stables.

A quarter of an hour later Garstang was cantering down the avenue, just as the lunch-bell was ringing; and Claud winked at his father as they crossed to the drawing-room, where his mother and Kate were seated, and chuckled to himself as he thought of the long afternoon he meant to have.

“Oh, I say, guv’nor, it’s my turn now,” he cried, as Wilton crossed smiling to his niece, and offered her his arm.

“All in good time, my boy; all in good time. You bring in your mother. I don’t see why I’m always to be left in the background. Come along, Kate, my dear; you must have me to-day.”

“Why, where is John Garstang?” cried Mrs Wilton.

“Off on the horse, mother,” said Claud, with a grin. “Gone over to the station to wire.”

“Gone without saying good-bye?”

“Oh, he’s coming back again, mother; but we can do without him for once in the way. I say, Kate, I want you to give me this afternoon for that lesson in riding.”

“Riding, my dear?”

“Yes, mother, riding. I’m going to give Kitty some lessons on the little mare.”

“No, no; not this afternoon,” said the girl nervously, as they entered the dining-room.