I thought this over and got a grip on the meaning by degrees.
“You mean,” I said, “that she has appealed to my uncle on some point about the Archdeacon’s qualifications.”
“Exactly.”
“But that wouldn’t upset him so much.”
“It depends on what the point is.”
“She’s extraordinarily ingenious,” I said. “Perhaps I’d better go over to Thormanby Park and see.”
“Finish your breakfast,” said my mother. “I’ll order the trap for you.”
I arrived at Thormanby Park shortly after ten o’clock. The door was opened to me by Miss Battersby. She confessed that she had been watching for me from the window of the morning room which looks out over the drive. She squeezed my hand when greeting me and held it so long that I was sure she was suffering from some acute anxiety. She also spoke breathlessly, in a sort of gasping whisper, as if she had been running hard. She had not, of course, run at all. The gasps were due to excitement and agony.
“I’m so glad you’ve come,” she said. “I knew you would. Lord Thormanby is waiting for you in the library. I do hope you won’t say anything to make it worse. You’ll try not to, won’t you?”
I gathered from this that it, whatever it was, must be very bad already.