The maid retired. Olifant rose and stood before the fire with a puzzled expression on his face. Triona in Medlow at ten o’clock in the morning? Something serious must have brought a man, unannounced, from London to Shropshire. His thoughts flew to Olivia.
A moment afterwards the dishevelled spectre of Triona burst into the room and closed the door behind him. His coat was wet with rain, his boots and trouser hems muddy. His eyes stared out of a drawn, unshaven face.
“Thank God I’ve found you. During the journey I had a sickening dread lest you might be away.”
“But how did you manage to get here at this hour?” asked Olifant, for Medlow is far from London and trains are few. “You must have arrived last night. Why the deuce didn’t you come to me?”
“I got to Worcester by the last train and put up for the night and came on first thing this morning,” replied Triona impatiently.
“And you’ve walked from the station. You’re wet through. Let me get you a jacket.”
Olifant moved to the bell, but Triona arrested him.
“No—no. I’m taking the next train back to London. Don’t talk of jackets and foolery. I’ve left Olivia.”
Olifant made a stride, almost menacing, towards him, the instinctive gesture of his one arm curiously contrasting with the stillness of the pinned sleeve of the other.
“What?”