Her eyes narrowed at this. But after a moment’s pondering, she seemed to understand doubly. “Ah. She and her guardian have been moved to other quarters.”
“What other quarters?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”
“What do you know!” he cried angrily.
“Only it was the Lieutenant as took ‘em, and that he was none too gentle.” And she turned away, concealing her purpose, as ever.
Stephen stormed out of the room, blind with rage. Those who passed him in the hallway drew back as from a fire. Even those servants of long standing. . .none had seen him in a state like this.
He entered the banquet hall just as the Earl and his entourage were leaving. The withered Arthur nodded stiffly in greeting, but Stephen never saw him. His eyes knew the presence of one man only, and that man stood at the head of an emptying table.
His father eyed him darkly as he approached, and with a stern gesture, ordered him to keep silent until they were alone. Then giving final instructions to his steward about the service and lodging of his guests, he turned and walked sharply to an auxiliary den, with his son a brooding tempest behind. No sooner had the doors closed behind them than the deluge broke. At first the father tried to weather his son’s wrath, hoping that it would soon spend itself, like all his passions.
But Stephen was not merely upset. He was outraged. For perhaps the first time in his life, he knew the intoxicating power of righteous anger. His sister, whom he loved and had sworn to protect, had been locked away like the coarsest and commonest of criminals. And he knew Ballard well enough to imagine the state in which he must have left her, and what she must be feeling now. The thought of his thick, gnarled hands upon her, dragging her away, was the final straw.
“You bastard.”