“Lady D. quite out of danger, and going on very well. Is anxious that you should not come back on her account. T. in London.”
With this to cheer him a little, back he went to join Trafford.
“The duke has been in, my lord,” said a footman. “Did you wish to see him?”
“Did I! Good heavens, didn’t you know? Didn’t the porter tell you? Where is the porter?”
“He has gone out, my lord. I’m afraid the duke is not coming here again this evening. I heard him tell the cabman to drive to Waterloo.”
Norman looked at his watch and groaned.
“Ask the duke, if he comes in again, to please come to the London Docks, ‘E’ side, as fast as he can,” he said. He drove to the docks. Outside the gates was a shabby coffee stall. It was not the first time Norman had roughed it, and he ate his rasher of bacon and drank the “coffee” without outward grumbling. If Trafford would only arrive!
He crossed over to the agent’s office.
“Has any one inquired for me?” he asked.