CHAPTER XVII
“The aristocracy,” Dauncey remarked the next morning, as he brought Jacob his private letters, “is sitting up and taking notice of us. Two coronets!”
“Anything in the rest of the correspondence?” Jacob enquired, as he opened his desk and made himself comfortable.
“Nothing worth your troubling about. Five or six addle-headed schemes for getting rid of your money, and about as many bucket shop prospectuses.”
Jacob opened the first of his two letters. It was dated from Belgrave Square and was simply a cordial reminder from the Marchioness of his promise to dine at Delchester House on the following Thursday. The second was dated from the same address, and Jacob read it over twice before he came to a decision.
Dear Mr. Pratt,
I know you will think me very foolish, but I am feeling most unhappy about the money which I thoughtlessly accepted this afternoon. It was really only a sovereign I asked you to put on Gerrard’s Cross for me, and the remainder of the money, except nine pounds, surely belongs to you.
Are you, by any chance, ever near Kensington Gardens about twelve o’clock? I walk there most mornings, and I should feel so much happier if I could have just a word with you about this.
Please don’t think I am quite mad.
Sincerely yours,
Mary Felixstowe.