“But listen, darling uncle. Lady Lushington wants me to meet her at the Grand Hotel in Paris on Tuesday night. You cannot hear in time from Mrs Lyttelton. I shall lose my chance of joining Lady Lushington and Mabel. Oh, do—do be reasonable!”
“Annie, I have made up my mind. I will not give you one farthing to join this woman until I know something about her from one who is at least acquainted with her. My child, don’t be angry; I am absolutely determined.”
“Then you are unkind. It is dreadful of you,” said Annie.
She burst into petulant tears and ran out of the room. Here was a checkmate. What was to be done? She was trembling from head to foot. Her heart was full of anger—such anger as she had not known for years. Mrs Shelf was hovering about outside.
“Oh, what is it?” said Annie. “Why do you follow me?”
“I want you to go at once to fetch the doctor. I have ordered Dobbin to be saddled, and Billy will bring him round to the front door for you. Do rush upstairs and put on your riding-habit. Be quick, child; be quick.”
Annie flew upstairs. The village of Rashleigh was between three and four miles away, for the old parish was a very extensive one, and the Rectory happened to be situated a long way from the village.
Annie had just sprung into the saddle, and was arranging her habit preparatory to riding to Rashleigh, when Mrs Shelf came out.
“Take this to the butcher’s, Annie,” she said, handing the girl a letter, “and be sure you get a receipt from him. Ask him to give you what I have ordered on this piece of paper, and bring it back with you.”
“All right,” said Annie carelessly. She started on her ride. When she had gone a very short way she dropped the reins on the old pony’s neck and began to think. She had never for a single moment expected the obstacle which now stood between her and her desires. She had thought that she could easily get round Uncle Maurice, but she had not really analysed his character. He was unselfish of the unselfish—that she knew; but she had failed to remember that he was a man who was always actuated by the very highest religious principles. He was, in short, unworldly. To do right meant far more with him than to be great and grand and rich and powerful. All those things which to Annie meant life and happiness were less than nothing to Uncle Maurice. Lady Lushington might be the richest and the grandest woman on earth, but if she was not also a good woman nothing would induce him to entrust one so precious as Annie to her care. The rector would make his inquiries; nothing that Annie could do would stop him. Even supposing the result were favourable—which Annie rather doubted, for she knew quite well that Lady Lushington was a most worldly woman—the plans made for her by the great lady in Paris could not be carried out. It was already too late to post a letter to Mrs Lyttelton that day; even if she were still at Lyttelton School, she could not get it before Sunday morning, and her reply, under the most favourable circumstances, could not reach the little old Welsh Rectory until Tuesday morning. But in all probability Mr Brooke’s letter would have to follow Mrs Lyttelton, who had doubtless long before now left Hendon. Mrs Lyttelton’s answer would, therefore, be late, and when it came it would most likely not be what Annie desired. Whatever happened, Mrs Lyttelton would tell the truth; she was the sort of woman who never shirked her duties.