“Yes—Lord Warrington,” said Thomson, removing his overcoat and hanging it in a cupboard.
“Really, sir? I didn’t know, of course. I gather that he came unexpected. But Sir Robert’s expecting another gentleman directly. I was going to have my supper sent up here as you were out, but now——”
“That’s all right, Perkins, you go and have it downstairs, it’s livelier for you,” said Thomson, kindly enough. “And don’t hurry yourself. I shall be at hand now if anything’s wanted. Tell them to send mine up as usual about half-past nine.”
Seating himself, he picked up the paper, and Perkins promptly retreated. The servants’ quarters were indeed by far the most cheerful in that grim house!
Thomson waited for two or three minutes, then rose, and with his usual noiseless tread passed through into Sir Robert’s bedroom, illuminated only by a cheerful fire, and stood, listening intently.
No sound could be heard from the further room—the “Chinese Drawing-room,” which did not communicate directly with this—where Sir Robert and his visitor were; and Thomson moved to the door, opened it very slightly and stood, again listening.
Soon he heard far off the tinkle of an electric bell, and rightly guessed it a summons to Jenkins, the butler, whose soft footsteps and pursy breathing thereupon sounded ascending the staircase. Then a murmur of voices from the Chinese Room: Lord Warrington’s cheery tones, “Well, good-bye, old man! I’m glad indeed to see you so well on the way to recovery. I’ll look in again soon if I may”; and retreating footsteps on the thick carpet.
Swiftly, Thomson emerged from his retreat, crossed the spacious landing, and entered a door to the left, closing it silently behind him. This room was in darkness, except for the faint greenish, ghostly light from a street lamp that penetrated the jade-green silk curtains, and the air was oppressive with the fragrance of flowers, roses, violets, narcissi.
It was Lady Rawson’s boudoir, kept, by Sir Robert’s orders, exactly as it had been in her lifetime, the flowers frequently renewed, books and magazines placed there daily, as if ready for their mistress. A strange, uncanny atmosphere pervaded the luxurious room. The servants dreaded it, the housemaids whose duty it was to tend it worked in pairs, and scurried away the moment their task was finished. The only exception was Thomson himself, who usually arranged the flowers and periodicals before wheeling his master in for his daily visit, remaining beside him in imperturbable, unobtrusive attendance.