‘That’s what comes of living with good company,’ said Mary.
The brother and sister used sometimes to drive to Broadstone to fetch their letters by the second post.
‘Charlotte, of course,’ said Charles, as he opened one. ‘My Lady Morville, what’s yours?’
‘Only Mr. Markham,’ said Amabel, ‘about the winding up of our business together, I suppose. What does Charlotte say?’
‘Charlotte is in a fit of impudence, for which she deserves chastisement,’ said Charles, unable to help laughing, as he read,—
‘Our last event was a call from the fidus Achates, who, it seems, can no longer wander up and down the Mediterranean without his pius Aeneas, and so has left the army, and got a diplomatic appointment somewhere in Germany. Lord Kilcoran has asked him to come and stay here, and Mabel and I are quite sure he comes for a purpose. Of course he has chosen this time, in order that he may be able to have his companion before his eyes, as a model for courtship, and I wish I had you to help me look on whenever Philip comes, as that laugh I must enjoy alone with Bustle. However, when Philip will come we cannot think, for we have heard nothing of him this age, not even Laura, and she is beginning to look very anxious about him. Do tell us if you know anything about him. The last letter was when parliament was prorogued, and he was going to Redclyffe, at least three weeks ago.’
‘I wonder if Mr. Markham mentions him,’ said Amabel, hastily unfolding her letter, which was, as she expected, about the executors’ business, but glancing on to the end, she exclaimed,—
‘Ah! here it is. Listen, Charlie. “Mr. Morville has been here for the last few weeks, and is, I fear, very unwell. He has been entirely confined to the house, almost ever since his arrival, by violent headache, which has completely disabled him from attending to business; but he will not call in any advice. I make a point of going to see him every day, though I believe my presence is anything but acceptable, as in his present state of health and spirits, I cannot think it right that he should be left to servants.” Poor fellow! Redclyffe has been too much for him.’
‘Over-worked, I suppose,’ said Charles. ‘I thought he was coming it pretty strong these last few weeks.’
‘Not even writing to Laura! How very bad he must be! I will write at once to ask Mr. Markham for more particulars.’