Phyl had met Silas on the road beyond the town. They had talked together, then Silas had sent the groom back to Charleston to return to Grangerville by train, and had driven off with Phyl. The groom, a relation of Dinah’s, having some three hours to wait for a train, had dropped into Vernons to pass the time and tell the good news. He was in the kitchen now.
Miss Pinckney could not but believe. She threw the duster on a chair, left the room and went to the kitchen.
Prue was still in her corner by the fireplace, and Colonel Grangerson’s coloured man was seated at the table finishing a meal and talking to Dinah who scuttled away as he rose up before the apparition of Miss Pinckney.
“What’s all this nonsense you have been talking,” said she, “coming here saying Miss Phyl has run away with Mr. Silas? She started out this morning to meet him and drive to Grangersons; I’m going there myself at eleven—and you come here talking of people running away. Do you know you could be put in prison for saying things like that? You dare to say it again to any one and I’ll have you taken off before you’re an hour older, you black imp of mischief.”
There was a rolling pin on the table, and half unconsciously her hand closed on it. Colonel Grangerson’s man, grey and clutching at his hat, did not wait for the sequel, he bolted.
Then the unfortunate woman, nearly fainting, but supported by her grand common sense and her invincible nature, left the kitchen and, followed by Rachel, went to the library. Here she sat down for a moment to collect herself whilst Rachel stood watching her and waiting.
“It is so and it’s not so,” said she at last, talking half to herself half to the woman. “It’s some trick of Silas Grangerson’s. But the main thing is no one must know. We have got to get her back. No one must know—Rachel, go and find Seth and send him off at once to the garage place and tell them to let me have an automobile at once, at once, mind you. Tell them I want the quickest one they’ve got for a long journey.”
Rachel went off and Miss Pinckney left to herself went down on her knees by the big settee adjoining the writing table and began to wrestle with the situation in prayer. Miss Pinckney was not overgiven to prayer. She held that worriting the Almighty eternally about all sorts of nonsense, as some people do who pray for “direction” and weather, etc., was bad form to say the least of it. She even went further than that, and held that praising him inordinately was out of place and out of taste. Saying that, if Seth or Dinah came singing praises at her bedroom door in the morning instead of getting on with their work, she would know exactly what it meant—Laziness or concealed broken china, or both.
But in moments of supreme stress and difficulty, Miss Pinckney was a believer in prayer. Her prayer now was speechless, one might compare it to a mental wrestle with the abominable situation before God.
When she rose from her knees everything was clear to her. Two things were evident. Phyl must be got back at any cost, and scandal must be choked, even if it had to be choked with solid lies.