“Nonsense!” Carlyon said.
In the morning, Lord Bedlington made his appearance dressed for his journey. A somewhat malicious suggestion, put forward by John, that he must surely wish to attend the inquest which was to be held in the coffee room of the inn at Wisborough Green, he greeted with a strong shudder. His mind seemed to be divided between horror at an inquest’s having to be held over any member of his family, and a shocked realization that he had come into Sussex quite improperly clad. His anxiety to put himself into mourning at once, coupled with a fear that Schultz, his tailor, might not be able to supply his needs in due time, formed the subjects of his breakfast table conversation and certainly hastened his departure. By ten o’clock his chaise was bowling away down the avenue and Carlyon was giving orders for his own carriage to be brought up to the house.
He and John drove to Highnoons to take up Nicky, and discovered this young gentleman to be almost completely restored to health, his spirits only damped by the thought of what lay before him. He smiled gratefully at John and said it was devilish good of him to have come down from London.
“Well, of course I have come!” John said severely. “If that is a sling you have hanging round your neck, put your arm in it and see you keep it there!”
“Oh, the wound scarcely troubles me at all! I don’t need the sling and only wear it to please Becky!” said Nicky, who had lost no time in getting upon terms with Miss Beccles.
“Very likely, but it will present a good appearance. I know these Sussex juries!”
“Yes, but I did not get hurt in that fight with Eustace!” objected Nicky.
“No need to say so unless you are asked, and then you will say you were wounded in repelling housebreakers,” said his cynical brother. “Either way will serve as well.”
He turned to shake Elinor warmly by the hand and to make his bow to Miss Beccles. Carlyon addressed some observation to Elinor. She replied to it and then, waiting in vain for any comment on her gray gown with its black ribbons and lace, rallied him with: “Well! You perceive, I trust, that I am gone into half-mourning at least! I expect to be heartily commended!”
“You look charmingly, ma’am,” he replied.