There she turned on him. “Shut the door,” she said. “You were listening! Don’t deny it. You have acted disgracefully, and it will be my duty to tell Mr. Audley what has happened.”
The man, sallow with fear, tried to brave it out.
“You will only make mischief, Miss,” he said sullenly. “You’ll come near to killing the master.”
“Very good!” Mary said, quivering with indignation. “Then instead of telling Mr. Audley I shall tell Mr. Basset. It will be for him to decide whether Mr. Audley shall know. Go now.”
But Toft held his ground. “You’ll be doing a bad day’s work, Miss,” he said earnestly. “I want to run straight.” He raised his hand to his forehead, which was wet with perspiration. “I swear I do! I want to run straight.”
“Straight!” Mary cried in scorn. “And you listen at doors!”
The man made a last attempt to soften her. “For God’s sake, be warned, Miss!” he cried. “Don’t drive me. If you knew as much as I do——”
“I should not listen to learn the rest!” replied Mary without pity. “That is enough. Please to see that lunch is ready.” She pointed to the door. She was not an Audley for nothing.
Toft gave way and went, and she remained alone, perplexed as well as angry. Mrs. Toft and Etruria were good simple folk; she liked them. But Toft had puzzled her from the first. He was so silent, so secretive, he was for ever appearing without warning and vanishing without noise. She had often suspected that he spied on his master.
But she had never caught him in the act, and the certainty that he did so, filled her with dismay. It was fortunate, she thought, that Basset was there, and that she could consult him. And the instant that he appeared, forgetting their quarrel and the strained relations between them, she poured out her story. Toft was ungrateful, treacherous, a danger! With Mr. Audley so helpless, the house so lonely, it frightened her.