Perhaps it was indiscreet of Maude Hesketh to relate the wrongs of her friend with such passionate eloquence, for she fired the young man’s blood, and he returned to the Rectory carrying with him a smouldering heart. Why should not he pick up this pearl that was trampled on by a swine?
Just at the time, that he returned, Hugo Blagdon made one of his rare appearances. He entered the drawing-room to discover Lumley and his wife at tea. Lumley had come to tell her about his visit, and bring messages and all the latest news from Thornby. Amazing to relate Blagdon’s manner to the silent young man, was cordial, and even effusive!—he talked about mutual friends, sport, and the service—undaunted by his guest’s frigidity—and said:
“I am not much here myself—the place doesn’t agree with me.” (This was a new excuse invented on the spot.) “But if you like to come up at any time and shoot, I shall be glad. The rabbits want thinning, and by and by there will be the partridges.”
He also invited Lumley to dine, but this he curtly declined. Nothing would induce him to eat Blagdon’s salt! The way in which he spoke to, and looked at his wife, made him feel beside himself.
For two or three days Captain Lumley failed to appear; then Mr. Blagdon’s head keeper went down to the Rectory to see him, and announced his master had gone away, and left orders that he was to have as much shooting as he liked, and to make use of the guns in the gun-room; and, in fact, that it would be a favour more than otherwise to keep the game down. All this was also mentioned in a civil note.
But Lancelot Lumley did not wish to shoot; he wanted to see Blagdon’s wife, and walked up to Sharsley that same afternoon. Mrs. Blagdon was in her room, and sent a message to say that she had a headache and was sorry she could not receive anyone. He felt unreasonably disappointed, and wandered about the place for hours—making use of his liberty to explore the woods; and there, to his astonishment and hers—for she supposed he had gone home—Letty met him face to face in a walk in one of the plantations. She started and exclaimed, as they came upon one another; and now he understood why she had denied herself! Mrs. Blagdon had a black eye, and her lip was cut and swollen.
“I did not want you to see me,” she began nervously. “I fell over a chair last night in the dark, and I’m rather an object.”
“What is the use of telling me that?” he answered roughly; pity, deep concern for her, and blind fury against Blagdon getting the better of him—“when I know as well as you do, that your husband struck you? Does he often do it?”
“Oh, don’t, don’t ask me,” she faltered; “let us talk of other things—please never allude to this again. Hugo has a temper—and I—I—irritate him.”
“He is a brute!” declared Lumley, whose face had grown white and stern. “The way he treats you is notorious. Why do you stay with him?”