Any one who had cared to study Mr. Milsom's face and manners during his residence at Raynham, would have speedily perceived that the life did not suit him. He lounged at the door of the low-gabled cottage, looking out into the village street with a moody and sullen countenance.
He drank a great deal, and swore not a little, and led altogether as dissolute a life as it was possible to lead in that peaceful village.
No sooner had Mr. Milsom established himself at Raynham, than he made it his business to find out the exact state of affairs at the castle. He contrived to entice one of the under-servants into his bar-parlour, and entertained the man so liberally, with a smoking jorum of strong rum-punch, that a friendly acquaintance was established between the two on the spot.
"There's nothing in my place you ain't welcome to, James Harwood," he said. "You're uncommonly like a favourite brother of mine that died young of the measles; and I've taken a fancy to you on account of that likeness. Come when you like, and as often as you like, and call for what you like; and there shan't be no talk of scores between you and me. I'm a bitter foe, and a firm friend. When I like a man there's nothing I couldn't do to prove my liking; when I hate him—"
Here Mr. Milsom's speech died away into an ominous growl; and James Harwood, who was rather a timid young man, felt as if drops of cold water had been running down his back. But the rum-punch was very nice; and he saw no reason why he should refuse Mr. Milsom's offer of friendship.
He did drop in very often, having plenty of leisure evenings in which to amuse himself; and through him Thomas Milsom was enabled to become familiar with every detail of the household at Raynham Castle.
"No news of your lady, I suppose, Mr. Harwood?" Milsom said to him one
Sunday evening in January. "Not coming home yet, I suppose?"
"No, Mr. Maunders," answered the groom; "not to my knowledge. And as to news, there ain't anymore news of her than if she and Miss Payland had gone off to the very wildest part of Africa, where, if you feel lonesome, and want company, your only choice lies between tigers and rattlesnakes."
"Never mind Africa! What was it that you were going to say about your lady?"
"Well, I was about to inform you," replied the groom, with offended dignity, "when you took me up so uncommon short as to prevent me—I was about to observe that, although we haven't received no news whatsoever from my lady direct, we have received a little bit of news promiscuous that is rather puzzling, in a manner of speaking."