'But you love yourself better than either your sister or her boy,' Lady Pembroke said. 'Now, cut the string of that letter and let me know its contents.'
Lucy did as she was bid. Something in Lady Pembroke's grave manner made her feel that she was not pleased with her, and, of all things, she longed to win favour with her—Mr Sidney's sister!
There were only a few words on the piece of folded parchment.
'Mistress Lucy, you must crave leave of my lady, the Countess of Pembroke, to return to Ford Manor. Your sister is in sore distress—her boy lost, and she is lying sick and sad. Hasten to get leave to return on the morrow with the gentlewomen and esquires, who are to reach Penshurst with my Lady Sidney and Master Thomas. I am now, by leave of Mr Sidney, starting on the quest for your nephew Ambrose Gifford. Pray God I may find him.
'Yours to command, and in haste.
'Humphrey Ratcliffe.'
'This letter from so wise a gentleman leaves no alternative,' Lady Pembroke said, as she scanned its contents, and then handed it back to Lucy.
'Orders shall be given for your joining the retinue which sets off for Penshurst the morrow. Meantime, Lucy, return to your duties, and crave pardon of Mistress Crawley for your insubordination.'
'And I may return? Oh! Madam, I pray you, say I may return to you. Do not cast me off.'