“I will go to see the man. This is really a good story and one worth telling,” thought the widow.
She turned in the direction of the Moat. The Moat was a little way outside Langdale, and you had to go up a somewhat steep hill to reach it. It was an old-fashioned house, surrounded by overshadowing trees. Even in summer it was not very bright, and in winter it was a hopelessly damp, deserted-looking place.
Mrs Fortescue marched up the avenue with a determined stride and rang the bell by the front door. It was opened by a slatternly-looking servant. The Major’s house was not kept well. In all respects, it was a contrast to the Grange, where the Arbuthnots managed to make every penny do its utmost work. Nobody cared what became of things at the old Moat, and there was hardly a more miserable old man than Major Reid, as he sat now at his lunch table, trying to find something tasty and agreeable in his badly-done chop. Mrs Fortescue, who was feeling so fierce that she would dare anything, followed in the steps of Colonel Arbuthnot and said quickly—“I know your master is in: I must see him at once on important business.”
The girl made way for her, and Mrs Fortescue’s instinct drew her to the dining-room. She opened the door and burst in.
“I have news—great news for you, Major Reid.”
“Madam!” said the Major. He started to his feet. His first furious request to ask this interloper to make herself scarce died on his lips. He looked into her face. She came close to him and looked into his.
“Major,” she said; “we have been the victims of a conspiracy—yes, of a base, base conspiracy. It is my opinion that the Arbuthnots were in the secret from the first, and that hat accounts for their sneaking, fawning ways. How I do loathe people of that sort. So different from you and me—so, so different!”
“You astonish me,” began the Major. “The Arbuthnots—pray take a seat—”
He pushed his plate away from him and looked hard at his visitor.
“You were abominably rude to me in the street a couple of hours ago,” said Mrs Fortescue.