I told her how it had been in the house since long before I was born, and that I had brought it to compare with some of the swords in the armoury.
‘Very well,’ she answered. ‘I dare say we can manage it; but when Mr Close is at home it is not very easy to get into the armoury. He’s so jealous of any one touching his swords and guns!’
‘Who is Mr Close, then?’
‘Mr Close is the house-steward.’
‘But they’re not his, then, are they?’
‘It’s quite enough that he thinks so. He has a fancy for that sort of thing. I’m sure I don’t see anything so precious in the rusty old rubbish.’
I suspected that, as the saying is, there was no love lost between Mrs Wilson and Mr Close. I learned afterwards that he had been chaplain to a regiment of foot, which, according to rumour, he had had to leave for some misconduct. This was in the time of the previous owner of Moldwarp Hall, and nobody now knew the circumstances under which he had become house-steward—a position in which Sir Giles, when he came to the property, had retained his services.
‘We are going to have company, and a dance, this evening,’ continued Mrs Wilson. ‘I hardly know what to do with you, my hands are so full.’
This was not very consistent with her inviting me to stay all night, and confirms my suspicion that she had made a request to that purport of Mr. Elder, for otherwise, surely, she would have sent me home.
‘Oh! never mind me, Mrs Wilson,’ I said. ‘If you will let me wander about the place, I shall be perfectly comfortable.’