Lady Pomfret met the Squire before he reached his desk and laid her hand upon his arm. That familiar touch was the one needful to reassure him. My lady had made Ben see himself as he was. He smiled at her complacently:
“Well, Mary?”
“Ben wishes to speak to you alone.”
This information disconcerted the Squire, but only for a moment. Ben, of course, had his pride. Naturally he would hate “to climb down” in the presence of his beloved mistress. But that must be considered part of the penalty imposed by Authority. Without discipline, in a big establishment—where on earth were you? Nevertheless, he answered very pleasantly:
“Alone, Mary? There is nothing that Ben can say to me which cannot be said in your presence. And I hope,” he inflated a little, “that what he will say will be said handsomely and before you, my dear.”
Lady Pomfret glanced at Fishpingle. He made no sign. With a little shrug of her shoulders and a tiny lift of the eyebrows, she returned to her sofa. The Squire stared fixedly at the books brought in by Charles.
“What are these?”
Fishpingle moved nearer to the desk.
“My private books, Sir Geoffrey. The files of accounts and the ledger you have seen already. These are supplementary, memoranda connected with stockbreeding, copies of letters, information that will be of service to Mr. Bonsor. The cellar and plate books are with them, carefully checked. This is my book.” He indicated a thin red account-book.
Sir Geoffrey sat down, saying curtly: