Audley looked at the card longer than was necessary and under cover of the pause regained control of himself. “Who brought this?” he asked.
“A messenger from the Swan, my lord.”
“Tell him——” He broke off. Holding out the card for Stubbs to take, “Do you know anything about this?” he asked.
Stubbs returned the card. “No, my lord,” he said coldly. “I know nothing.”
“Business of great importance to me? D—n his impudence, what business important to me can he have?” Audley muttered. Then, “My compliments to Mr. Basset and I am leaving in the morning, but I shall be at home this evening at nine.”
The servant retired. Audley looked askance at his agent. “You’d better be here,” he muttered ungraciously. “We can settle what we were talking about later.”
“Very good, my lord,” Stubbs answered. And nothing more being said, he took himself off.
He was not sorry that they had been interrupted. Much of his income and more of his importance sprang from the Audley agency, but rather than be treated as if he were a servant, he would surrender both—in his way he was a proud man. Still he did not want to give up either; and if time were given he thought that his lordship would think better of the matter.
As he returned to his office, choosing the quiet streets by which he had come, he had a glimpse, through an opening, of the distant Market-place. A sound of cheering, a glare of smoky light, a medley of leaping, running forms, a something uplifted above the crowd, moved across his line of vision. Almost as quickly it vanished, leaving only the reflection of retreating torches. “Hurrah! Hurrah for Mottisfont! Hurrah!” Still the cheering came faintly to his ears.
He sighed. Riddsley had remained faithful-by nine! But he did not deceive himself. It was the writing on the wall. The Corn Laws were doomed, and with them much that he had loved, much that he cherished, much in which he believed.