“I cannot understand how Mr Raymond could have anything to do with it!” cried I.
“Nor I, precisely. I believe there are wheels within wheels. Is he not a friend of your uncle, Mr Drummond?—an old friend, I mean, when they were young men.”
“Possibly,” said I; “I do not know.”
Somebody came up now, and drew Ephraim away. I had no more private talk with him. But how could he come to know anything about Annas? And where is she going to be?
The next morning Caesar brought me a little three-cornered note. I guessed at once from whom it came, and eagerly tore it open.
“We arrived in London last night, my dear Caroline, and are very desirous of seeing you. Could you meet me at Mr Raymond’s house this afternoon? Mr Hebblethwaite will be so good as to call for you, if you can come. Love from both to you and Hester. Your affectionate friend, A. K.”
Come! I should think I would come! I only hoped Annas already knew of my share in the plot to rescue Angus. If not, what would she say to me?
I read the note again. “We”—who were “we”?—and “love from both.” Surely Flora must be with her! I kept wishing—and I could not tell myself why—that Ephraim had less to do with it. I did not like his seeming to be thus at the beck and call of Annas; and I did not know why it vexed me. I must be growing selfish. That would never do! Why should Ephraim not do things for Annas? I was an older friend, it is true, but that was all. I had no more claim on him than any one else. I recognised that clearly enough: yet I could not banish the feeling that I was sorry for it.
When Ephraim came, I thought he looked exceeding grave. I had told Grandmamma beforehand that Annas (and I thought Flora also) had returned to London, and asked me to go and see them, which I begged her leave to do. Grandmamma took a pinch of snuff over it, and then said that Caesar might call me a chair.