CHAPTER XXXIV
SIR RICHARD AS CHAPERON
Sir Richard Wynyard was passing through Edinburgh on his way to London; he had been shooting up in Perthshire, and found, as he drove up to Waverley Station, that he had missed his train by two minutes—this, and the fact that he felt some acute twinges of gout, combined to make him a little short in his manner. As he had an hour’s wait, he pushed up to the book-stall, gruffly demanded an English paper, and tossed a copper in payment. The copper missed its goal, fell with a clang on the flags, and a young man, who was also buying papers—a chauffeur chap,—turned about, and Sir Richard found that he was face to face with his nephew—also that he was extremely glad of the meeting. The baronet was beginning to feel a bit lonely in life; now that old age was reaching for him, he experienced the lack of some personal belongings, of comfort and hope in the future, and a sense of exclusion and loneliness invaded him, especially in those hours when he lay awake ’twixt dark and dawn. His nearest of kin, Leila and Owen, had been out of touch with him for many months—Leila away in the United States, and Owen working his life or death sentence.
He had been terribly frightened at the time of Mr. Masham’s accident, had sorely repented of his bargain with his heir, and repeatedly said to himself, “There was no doubt that motoring was an infernally risky business.”
“Hullo, Owen!” he exclaimed, “what are you doing here?”
“I’m driving a car. My people have just gone off by the express.”
“Um—quite fit now?” looking him over from head to foot.
“Yes, thanks; I’m all right.”
“And what’s your job?”
“I’m chauffeur to Mrs. Buckingham Brune, of Ashbourne Court. She’s up here on a moor just now.”
“Buckingham Brune—yes—yes—I know—enormously rich; daughter, a great heiress—let’s see—a quarter of a million—Miss Weedon?”