"They'll be hotter still by the time the match is over," I said, looking out contentedly into the blazing sunshine. "It's no day for violent exercise. I'm going to sit in the shade and criticise."
"You'll get on very nicely, I'm sure, Captain York," put in Aunt Mary consolingly. "You always make such a lot of runs yourself."
"Besides," suggested Lady Baradell, with a characteristic smile, "think of the honour of winning against odds. If Mr. Northcote played, it would be a foregone conclusion."
"Well, it's just my luck," grumbled York dejectedly. "If I'd known Furnivall was going off to London like this, I'd never have got the match up. We shall have no one to bowl now, and we shall probably be fielding all day."
"A most healthy form of exercise," I observed. "Think of the appetite you'd have for dinner."
York, however, declined to be comforted, and it was in a very dispirited frame of mind that after breakfast he marshalled his team in the well-kept cricket field at the bottom of the garden. They consisted chiefly of local talent from Woodford, assisted by York himself and a sporting young doctor in the neighbourhood, who arrived on a motor bicycle. The Orbridge team drove over in a brake, reaching the ground about a quarter to eleven.
While the preparations were on foot, I strolled about with Miss York, keeping a watchful eye for Billy. I don't think I showed any outward symptoms of disturbance, but my interview with Mercia on the previous day had left me very uneasy in my mind, and I was naturally anxious to hear if Billy had made any further discoveries. Besides, I felt sure that in some way or other Maurice's hurried departure for London was connected with my humble affairs—a fact which by no means relieved my perplexity. Whom he could have heard from, unless it was the missing "Da Costa" (whom I imagined to be none other than my old friend "Francis"), I was quite unable to conceive.
Lady Baradell, Aunt Mary, and Sir George came out just before the match started. Baradell himself had been persuaded by the energetic York to don flannels, though as he pathetically observed, he had not touched a cricket bat for a dozen years. The rest of us established ourselves in chairs under the shade of a couple of large elm trees, and resolutely prepared to take an interest in the proceedings.
Lady Baradell glanced across at her husband with an expression of amusement. "Charles looks charming," she observed to Miss York. "Your brother's clothes fit him to perfection. I hope he won't get too excited."
"You're not to laugh at him, my dear," said Aunt Mary. "I think it's simply splendid of him to play. I am sure he is setting an example to all of us—especially to you, Stuart."