Abington Abbey: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

The rain showed signs of decreasing at breakfast-time, and there were some ragged fringes to be seen in the grey curtain of cloud that had overhung the dripping world. Bradby had not put in his appearance. Although he was now made as welcome as anybody when he came to the Abbey, and had proved himself of the utmost assistance in many of the pursuits that were carried on there with such keenness, his diffidence still hung to him. Perhaps the invitation had not been clear enough; he would not come, except at times when it was clearly expected of him, or to meals, without a clearly understood invitation.

Young George clamoured for him during breakfast. His father had announced a morning with letters and papers, too long postponed. Young George wanted somebody to play with, and Bradby, after his father, and now even before Barbara, was his chosen companion.

"He has work to do, you know, Bunting," said Caroline. "He can't always be coming here."

"He may be going about the estate," said Young George. "I shall go down to the office after breakfast."

"Why don't you go over and see Jimmy Beckley?" asked Barbara. "You could ride. I'll come with you, if you like, and the Dragon will let me. I should like to see Vera and the others."

Bunting thought he would. It would be rather fun to see old Jimmy, and it would be certain to clear up by the time they got to Feltham.

"I believe it is going to clear up," said Grafton, looking out of the window. "Shall you and I ride too, Cara? I must write a few letters. They're getting on my mind now; but we could start about eleven."

So it was agreed. They stood at the hall door after breakfast and looked at the rain. Then Grafton went into the library, and was soon immersed in his writing. Even that was rather agreeable, for a change. It was so quiet and secluded in this old book-lined room. And there was the ride to come, pleasant to look forward to even if it continued to rain, trotting along the muddy roads, between the hedges and trees and fields, and coming back with the two girls and the boy to a lunch that would have been earned by exercise. Everything was pleasant in this quiet easy life, of which the present hour's letter-writing and going through of papers was the only thing needed to keep the machinery going, at least by him. It was only a pity that B wasn't there. He missed B, with her loving merry ways, and she did love Abington, and the life there, as much as any of them. He would write a line to his little B, up in Scotland, before he went out, and tell her that he wanted her back, and she'd better come quickly. She couldn't be enjoying herself as much as she would if she came home, to her ever loving old Daddy.

The second post came in just as he had finished. Caroline had already looked in to say that she was going up to change. He took the envelopes and the papers from old Jarvis, and looked at certain financial quotations before going through the letters. There was only one he wanted to open before going upstairs. It was from Beatrix—a large square envelope addressed in an uneven rather sprawling hand, not yet fully formed.

Caroline waited for him in the hall. The horses were being led up and down outside. He was usually a model of punctuality, but she was already considering going up to see what had happened to him when he came down the shallow stairs, in his breeches and gaiters.