“Oh, he is gone back to the Hall! He and Finsbury took all Eustace’s papers away with them and wasted I do not know how much time trying to discover what his keys might fit. I dare say the most of them belong to things in Cork Street—he had rooms there, you know. Oh, and Ned told me to say that he begged pardon, but had forgot to inform you that he took the liberty of paying off Eustace’s valet when he went to Cork Street yesterday because you will scarcely need him, and he is a mean sort of a fellow, up to every trick. By Jove, Cousin Elinor, if that gown is not the most bang-up thing I ever saw! You look all the crack!”
“Nicky, pray come downstairs with me!” she begged. “I am quite at a loss to know what I shall say to Lord Bedlington!”
“Well, I don’t mind owning I would give a monkey only to see his face,” said Nicky frankly. “But Ned said, if he should chance to arrive here I was not to show myself on account of the awkwardness of its being my fault that Eustace is dead.”
“Good God, yes, indeed! I had quite forgotten that circumstance! My dependence must be all on Becky. Is my cap quite straight?”
He assured her that it was and she went down the stairs, taking some comfort in the imposing rustle of her silk skirts, but pale enough from fright to pass for an inconsolable widow.
Barrow had ushered the visitor into the front parlor, where Miss Beccles was engaged in disposing the chairs more comfortably round the newly kindled fire. Mrs. Cheviot, softly entering the room, was in time to hear her assuring his lordship with unshaken placidity that Mrs. Cheviot would be downstairs directly.
“Here she is, indeed!” she said, catching sight of Elinor. “My dear Mrs. Cheviot, here is my Lord Bedlington come to pay you a visit of condolence!”
Elinor curtsied, wondering at her meek little chaperon’s effrontery.
“Mrs. Cheviot!” ejaculated Bedlington. “Upon my word, I do not know what to say! I am quite at a loss!”
He passed his handkerchief across his face as he spoke, and she was able to steal a look at him. He was a portly gentleman of some fifty years, of medium stature and a round face in which small blue eyes were habitually open to their widest. He wore very tight inexpressibles and very high and rigidly starched shirt points which made it hard for him to turn his head, and when he bowed, a slight creaking betrayed that a swelling paunch was confined by stays. The yellow lining to his coat and the prince’s buttons which embellished it proclaimed his office.