“What?” exclaimed his lordship, completely thrown off his equanimity, for he had judged the visitor to be one of the tradesmen of the little town—one of the unfortunates whom he had favoured with his orders. “You don’t mean to say—”
“Come down to Marshton last night, m’ lord, and driven over this morning.”
“Has—has any one—has Sir Murray seen him, do you think?”
“Can’t say, m’ lord, but he drove up to the grand entrance quite cheeky, in as wretched an old gig as ever your lordship see—saw,” added the valet, correcting himself.
“You’d better show him up,” said his lordship, with a blank look of misery in his face, as he first threw off, and then replaced, his silken night-cap. “Say I’m ill, Willis.”
“Yes, m’ lord,” said the valet, and he went out with his tongue in his cheek. “I heered him say as he’d hold the string, that day he went away from us in town, and it strikes me as he’s come to pull it now. Step this way, sir, if you please,” he continued, entering the breakfast-room, where he found Mr Braham making himself perfectly at home with some coffee and “devilled” chicken, breakfast being a meal that strangers at the Castle took at their pleasure. The meal was prepared, and allowed to remain in the breakfast-room for a couple of hours, ready for those who liked to partake thereof. Hence, Mr Braham, being hungry from his early ride, judged himself to be one who would like to partake, and acted accordingly.
“I’ll have another cup of coffee first, my man,” he said, coolly. “Lordship quite well?”
“Well, no, sir,” said the valet; “but if you’ll step up, he’ll see you in his bed-room.”
And, for his own sake, having his lord’s future somewhat at heart, the servant could not refrain from displaying his eagerness to get the inopportune visitor away from the breakfast-room, lest Sir Murray or some guest should encounter him.
“It’s all right, my man—never mind me. I’m hungry, and if Sir Murray Gernon does come, I’m only his lordship’s confidential man of business, d’yer see?”