CHAPTER IIITROUBLE
Herode over to Ladyford the following afternoon.
Helwise came agitating on to the doorstep, just as his foot was in the stirrup, to tell him that his lordship had returned unexpectedly.
“He telephoned from the House in the middle of the morning,” she went on, with the high-pitched, running ease which always seemed to make every difficult situation doubly trying. “He said he would like to see you at your earliest convenience, but of course I told him you were engaged both this morning and afternoon, and to-night you were going to take me to that lecture on ‘The Home Beautiful.’ (Itwasto-night, wasn’t it?) I forgot to tell you at lunch. I think it just as well, Lancelot, to let his lordship know how extremely busy you are, and not always able to run at his beck and call. I am sure it is quite time you applied for a rise, with all these horrid insurances to add up. We could do quite easily with a small brougham.”
Lanty loosed the stirrup.
“I’m quite satisfied with my screw, thank you,” he answered shortly. “You know Bluecaster’s generosity as well as I do. And I do wish, Helwise,” (their old Lancaster names formed the one love they had in common), “that you wouldn’t arrange my business for me. I could have gone to Ladyford to-morrow, and this morning I was no further than the show-field, having a look round. You might have sent Armer with a message. He was only helping you to thread that bead-curtain. I’ll go in and ring his lordship up at once.”
He turned towards the door, but she stopped him.
“It’s no good; he won’t be at home. He said he was going out to lunch—I forget where—but he assured me it would be quite all right if you went up in the morning. So you see there’s nothing to prevent you riding over to Ladyford, and as you’re passing through Sandwath I do wish you would call at Brunskill’s for my watch. The man in Bluecaster is no more good than my shoe. And—oh, Lancelot!—I do believe it’s the Annual Meeting of the Nursing Association to-day, and it had gone clean out of my mind! I’m something important, I’m sure—let me see, what was it?—oh, yes, of course, Honorary Secretary—and they’ll certainly expect me to be there, but it’s absolutely out of the question. I’ve promised to drive to a bazaar in Witham with Harriet Knewstubb—I believe we’re judging something—I’ve forgotten what—but I can’t possibly leave her in the lurch. The report is ready—you went through it for me last week, if you remember—but I simply can’t be there to present it. Couldn’t you do it for me?”
“No, I couldn’t!” Lanty returned firmly. “I do some queer jobs both for you and for Bluecaster, but I haven’t yet got as far as presenting reports at a nursing meeting. Throw over Harriet and get along to your post. If you don’t want to walk, you can order a trap from the ‘Feathers.’”
“I dare say, but I shan’t try. You know what Harriet is if you go back on her—her language, I mean. The whole nursing committeeandthe patients wouldn’t be in it. I do think you might help me, Lancelot! It isn’t often I turn to you for assistance.”
The last phrase had been part of his life so long that it did not draw even a mental shrug. In a way he had grown almost to welcome it, since it marked the full stop to some tangled rigmarole. As a rule, he awaited it patiently with shut ears, and answered—something.
“I’ll help you by leaving the report as I pass, ifyou like,” he said, at last, “but you can’t expect me to do more. What time is the meeting? Three? Then I shall only just do it. Fetch the papers along, please, and don’t invent any fresh messages for his lordship while I’m away.”
“And while you’re getting them,” he threw after her, “just think up some really plausible lie. Even a committee of women won’t swallow that bazaar.”
He stood waiting with a hand on the saddle, too trained to patience even to flick his worn cords with a restless whip. Blacker, the horse, had the same air of long-suffering towards feminine caprice. The black spaniel sank her nose between her paws. Black was the Bluecaster colour, from the flag on the roof to the household liveries and the pigs at the Home Farm. There had been a Bluecaster, fleeing from the Plague, who had put all posterity into mourning for his particular sins.
The odd-job man, who did a little of everything, including stable-work and summer-house texts, leaned somnolently against the horse’s shoulder. Lanty exchanged a word with him, and then left him in peace. Armer had had a hard morning. Helwise was entered for a bumble-puppy competition, in aid of a Dogs’ Home, and when he had finished the bead-curtain he had been called out to give her practice.
Through a window above she could be heard engaged in a scatter-brained search, and Lanty wondered vaguely why she kept nursing reports in the bathroom, but to follow the workings of Miss Lancaster’s mind was to return Ophelia-like, weaving wreaths for one’s distracted head. She appeared at last with a bundle of papers through which he looked carefully, having once been basely misled over Boarding-Out Agenda produced by him on her behalf at a golf-meeting; receiving a volley of instructions as he climbed finally into the saddle.
“If you don’t like to mention the bazaar, you must think of something for yourself,” she told him, following him down the drive. “There are plenty of usefulthings to say on these occasions, and nobody believes them. And you can just tell them I think nothing of the new district nurse—nothing at all! I’ve met her at least three times this week, and she never even dreams of bowing to me. Of course, I wasn’t able to attend the meeting at which she was interviewed, but that’s no excuse, as she must know as well as I do that I’m the Treas—no, what was it?—Honorary Secretary. She cycles with her saddle far too low, too—wait a minute, though; that was the last but one—and she spends too much of her time making herself pleasant to people of no importance whatever—the sort who are never ill and don’t subscribe a penny. Don’t forget the watch, will you, and the slippers—did I mention the slippers? Bedroom-blue-quilted-one-and-elevenpence-ha’penny—size 6—Wilson’s—no, I can’t get them in Bluecaster, you might have known that—and be sure you say something useful!”
She turned to seize on the factotum, who had adroitly vanished to finish his nap in the harness-cupboard, and Lanty succeeded in leaving her behind. Once safe in the road, however, he checked his horse a moment for a survey of the house. It was a square, gray-stone building, comfortable and compact, old enough to have acquired atmosphere, yet not too old for convenience. The garden, thanks to Armer, and in spite of Helwise, was looking well. There were roses everywhere, creepers and climbers as well as bushes, and here and there the dark velvet of violas foiled the pallor of the pinks. At the back of Crabtree Bluecaster stood in its park, with its shoulder to the hill, and behind and behind again, as far as he could see, the fells rose in long ranks until the Whygills towered above them all.
It was a strange day, very sultry and sunless, and the hills had an edge to their ominous dark blue. The stillness had a menace in it, too. Only in the garden, as he looked at it, where the colours showed vividly, as always before thunder, there seemed a protected peace. The house slept and the garden held itsbreath, and, caught in the spell, he could almost have believed the place a home indeed. Then his aunt’s voice came running (it seemed) from all directions at once, her feet scurrying in search of the slumbering one; and with a sigh he touched up the chafing horse, and made west to the marsh.
He met the district nurse almost immediately, a bright little woman of 100 h.p. energy, and found no difficulty in getting himself recognised; and a mile further on he turned up a drive, drawing rein before a porch arched with sweetbriar, where he pulled the bell without dismounting. Mrs. Yare herself came out to him, and to her he handed the papers. Through the near window he had a glimpse of a selection of hats, framing various degrees of interest and annoyance. His regrets were received with gracefully concealed unbelief.
“We were all wondering what had happened!” she told him. “We always have the meeting here—I’m a Chief Lady Superintendent or something Mikado-ish of that kind, you know—so I hardly thought Miss Lancaster could have forgotten, especially as she calls the meeting herself! I’m very disappointed she wasn’t able to come, but no doubt we shall manage all right. She is well, I hope?” she added courteously.
“She is only—mixed,” Lanty answered curtly, gathering up his reins. “I’m extremely sorry if you have been put out. Please accept my assurance that it shall not happen again. I was told to say something useful,” he finished grimly, “so perhaps you will be kind enough to convey a message to the committee? My aunt, with much regret, resigns her position on the Association!”
Bluecaster, House and village, lay some three miles from the narrow bay where it ran in to take the rivers Bytha, Wythe, and Ulva. Lanty could see the winding estuaries as he topped Hullet, with Wythebarrow standing out to the marsh on the north-west, and the grand barrier of Lake hills behind. Both north and east lay the marsh-farms, part of the rich propertywhich ran from the sea (for the foreshore rights were Bluecaster’s) to the Yorkshire and Lancashire borders. But there were only two farms on the north, below Wythebarrow and across the strait—Ladyford and Ninekyrkes, standing alone on the lip of the tide. He lost them again as he dropped into Sandwath, where he executed his orders, turning into the marsh-road towards four o’clock.
The same brooding stillness held the bay in thrall; the same line of warning edged the hills. The tide was dead out, and the sands lay desolate under the heavy sky. Now he had the twin farms again, ahead and across where the bay narrowed in and stopped, unnaturally white on the gloom of their background, and flanked by slender stems of larch and fir. The marsh-road was deep-dyked on either hand, and here and there in the watery bottom he caught the sunny gleam of late goldilocks. On his left was the long sea-wall known as the Let, guarding the eastern marsh; on his right the land rose gently until it hid the village. Here were Moss End and Meadow’s Ing, with Lockholme beyond, and others; and, still beyond, close to the brown waste, Pippin Hall, where he left his horse.
He skirted the grassy bank for some ten minutes, and then struck across the sands to his destination. Walking thus, a lonely speck on the dreary flat, the isolation of the dwellings in front came to him sharply, so that their air of prosperous serenity, of tranquil sureness, seemed almost dangerously provocative. Far away and out, where the bay, between two headlands, ran into open water, a slant of light from the sullen sky laid a shining strip from point to point which he knew to be the sea. It was there and it was coming, quietly, perhaps, and inoffensively, but there would be many a night when it would come like a beast of prey, ravening its path between narrow shores, devouring the waiting desert. And yet the farms were not afraid.
The sea-wall had been carried in front of them also, reaching out to the last inch of broken land, and fromthence merging into the huge, defiant bank which had once been famous throughout the kingdom. It ran along the coast for a couple of miles, joining the hill on which the town of Cunswick climbed, and behind it the reclaimed land lay safe.
Lancaster’s father had built both walls, the success of the lesser firing him, years later, to throw the larger gauntlet over the sands. They had christened the low wall “Lancaster’s Let,” which means merely a hindrance, but the big bank they had named “Lancaster’s Lugg,” from the Scandinavian “lugg,” a forelock, and “lugga,” which means “to pull by the hair,” for Lancaster had knotted the manes of the white sea-horses together, and dragged them out of their ancient stable.
It was built with a high daring across the one lung of the limited passage, and at its back the grassy waste harboured sheep and waited for man’s hand; for though it had long since been mapped out for building, only one house had risen as yet on the stolen ground. Lanty had often looked at his father’s plans, and locked them away again. Something held him back from putting them into shape, and, moreover, decreasing values and increasing Government drains had left the income tight at times. Yet he meant some day to materialise his father’s dreams, and had good hopes of them, for Cunswick was a growing seaside resort, and would eventually take up the land quickly enough. Meanwhile the big wall held its own, caring nothing for the onslaughts of the crouching foe behind that shining line. Whether the full moon brought the fierce thrust of a heavy swell, or the west wind, riding a wracked sky, hurried the shock of racing billows, the bank held off the one and flung back the other, steadily throwing the trend of the tide to the further and higher side of the bay. To-day, with never a trickle of water at its base, it looked like a mighty serpent on the uncovered sand, winding its slow and writhing length lazily to the sea, purposeless, abnormal, monstrous in the unnatural fight and leashed quiet.The sands themselves were dangerous—dangerous to walk and sail, with their deep, shifting banks, unknown quicksands and tidal bore. The whole place had the terrible fascination of lurking ill, and yet on all hands the farms lay peaceful and content, like trustful women sleeping in a tiger’s cage.
Lanty looked at the Lugg, that tremendous thwarter of the tides, and thought of his father. The project had aroused a storm of controversy at the time, out of which the thing itself had emerged triumphant. Men had pronounced it a risk to the whole coast, and time had proved them wrong. Lancaster had vindicated himself, leaving the bank as his monument, for, in looking out to it each day, the marsh saw also the dead who had planned it. They were not afraid of it there. Because a Lancaster had built it they trusted it, resting tranquilly on his word. It was in their simple confidence that his real monument was raised.
The son came at last to the channel of the Wythe, hurrying to sea past the foot of Ladyford, and from there he hailed the farm, shattering the stillness and causing even himself to start. Somebody answered from behind the buildings, and presently a tall boy appeared on the bank, and scrambled down to the boat below. This was Dockeray’s youngest son, the only one at home, and Lanty wondered, watching him pull across, what he and his parents thought of the Whinnerah complication. He had come with no definite plan, after all—simply to see how the land lay, and whether a timely word might in any way be possible. Certainly he doubted both the opportunity and his own wisdom. If the girl were as good-looking as her brother, he thought idly, she might be forgiven a little petulant coquetting with destiny.
Rowly greeted him with a smile as he grounded the boat, and made conversation readily enough as they went over. His parents were well, and the married brothers away. His sister? Yes, she was at home, now—had been for some time. Oh, yes, he was glad to have her. It was a bit lonely at Ladyford of awinter’s night, and Francey was champion at the piano and singing. He liked a song himself, and so did the old folks. They were well, too, at Ninekyrkes, barring old Wolf. He feared he looked like breaking up fast; but anyhow it was time he had a rest, and let Lup take hold. Ever since the pneumonia he’d been a different man. But that was all; no sign or hint of how matters stood, or on which side his sympathies lay. Lanty knew only too well the deeps covered by the apparent guilelessness of the breed, and asked no leading questions. It was early work for that, in any case. Better bide his time until he had seen the girl herself.
Michael Dockeray was waiting on the bank when they pulled in, spare and upright, with wise, quiet eyes and little to say. A totally different type from old Wolf—this; refined and tactful where the other was blunt and unafraid; strong enough, too, but with none of Wolf’s added violence. Yet the two had always been friends, often disagreeing, but turning to each other for help as naturally as to one of their own.
He met Lanty’s grasp warmly, and they moved on up to the house, leaving Rowly to get the boat ashore, for the tide would be on the turn before long. The agent came but seldom to the far marsh, and he caught a wave of welcoming excitement as he approached—figures passing from kitchen to dairy in a cheerful flurry that yet allowed time for a peep through the nearest window at the coming guest. Mrs. Dockeray’s voice could be heard running the full gamut of agitated instruction, dropping to a last whisper behind the pantry door concerning the new strawberry jam. Then she appeared, all pleasant smiles and hearty kindness, and Lanty’s homelessness was taken up into her motherly arms and smothered out of existence. Through the half-open door he had a glimpse of a smooth, dark head and a trim figure, and a desire for flight came upon him, in spite of the new strawberry jam. His task, vaguely irritating before, became suddenly impossible and grotesque.He consented to sit in the parlour, making polite conversation with his host while the ordered ceremonies went forward beyond, but he refused to be given tea there, and was glad when the summons came at last from the atmosphere of wool mats and honesty to the artistic rightness of the kitchen. Across the cool picture of yellowed walls, white-stoned flags, shining linen and china, Francey Dockeray’s face stood out cooler still, and as he shook her by the hand he felt painfully clumsy and inadequate before her pleasant self-possession. She knew why he had come—he guessed it from the faint satirical twist in her otherwise charming smile, from the swift summing-up of her gray eyes. The business-matter which he had put forward to her father would not pass muster with her, he felt certain of that. He could have dealt with the ordinary farmer’s daughter; he knew to a turn the phrase and manner to adopt with success, but they would not apply here. Wolf had been right when he used the word “quality” of Francey Dockeray. Her ease of manner had the simplicity of true good breeding, and it was to this that he had unwillingly paid tribute. But she was aloof, as he had said. Affectionate towards her parents, thoughtful for the guest, interested and attentive, she was yet, in some inexplicable fashion, outside and away from them all. Lancaster liked his errand less with every minute that passed.
It was inevitable, of course, that the conversation, veering from land-politics to wrestling and singing-practice for the benefit of the young folks, and back again to the farm, should turn at last to their neighbours. As soon as Whinnerah’s name was mentioned, Lanty took his first tentative step.
“You’ll know, I suppose, that Wolf’s talking of leaving?” he asked casually. “Lup’s off to Canada, he tells me, and that means the old folks clearing out of the farm. I’m sorry for both pieces of news. Whinnerahs are old friends. We can always do with the right sort, and Lup’s one of the best.”
He sent a straying glance round the group, onlyto meet the same blank impassiveness that had resisted his efforts crossing channel. It seemed as if, in the eyes of her family at least, Francey could do no wrong.
“Ay, the pneumonia did for Wolf!” Dockeray admitted sadly. “I’ll be loth to see the Whinnerahs go. We’ve known each other a sight o’ years, now, and when it comes to old company taking its hand off the plough, I’m like to think my own time won’t be so long, neither.”
“Nay, now, master!” Mrs. Dockeray put in quickly. “What, you’re a deal younger than Wolf, and as lish as a whip! You’ve no call to talk of giving up yet awhile. Not but what you’ll be missing them all sadly, I doubt, as I will myself. I’m not one for taking up with new stuff, an’ I’ve sort of grown with Whinnerahs. I’m not saying, though, but what it’ll do young Lup a deal o’ good to see a bit of the world. He sticks away in the old groove till he gets that tied with his tongue you’d think he hadn’t two brains to rub one at back o’ t’other!”
“Lup’s right enough, mother!” young Rowly put in indignantly. “Lup’s head’s as full o’ meat as most. You’ve no need to call him out of his name!”
“Nay, why I’ve nowt against the lad, not I! But he’d do with a shake an’ a slake an’ a shine with a polisher, after a manner of speaking. Look at Brack Holliday, now!Yon’sa lad worth running to see of a Saturday night! Canada done that; happen it’ll do something for the other an’ all. He hadn’t much in the way of schoolin’, hadn’t Lup—he was that stuck on the farm—and it doesn’t do not to keep a few manners put by when there’s call for ’em. Why, there’s whiles I’ve heard him talking with our Francey there, he so rough and she that nice-spoken—though I say it as shouldn’t, she being my own lass—there’s times I’ve felt right-down sorry Lup shouldn’t have no more chance of bettering himself than his own hired man.”
Lanty’s circular glance caught the faintest flushon Francey’s cheek, and passed to meet Mrs. Dockeray’s glance seeking his own; and it came to him, in a flash of inspiration, that she was on Lup’s side and her men-folk with her, that the wise mother-mind had its own method of pulling the strings, while the others stood apart, committing themselves to nothing. The matter struck him suddenly as a charming, homely comedy of courtship—no more; and he planted a further step with a firmer tread.
“I was doubly surprised to hear of his departure, because it was quite other news I’d looked for. Folk had it he was getting ready to marry and settle down, and I thought the lady in luck, whoever she might be. I was misinformed, I suppose? Strange how these tales get round!”
A certain uneasiness became apparent in both Michael and Rowly at this, but Mrs. Dockeray never turned a hair.
“Ay, well, courtin’ he might be, like enough, but it isn’t every lass would look at Lup, as I mentioned a minute ago, for all he’s a good enough lad and steady as yon shuppon. He’s not everybody’s choice in these days o’ lettering and figuring. There’s a many as’ll seek to look higher than just poor Lup Whinnerah!”
She fixed him again, and he nodded assent, seeing that it was expected of him; and then, from her post at the window, where she had moved at the end of the meal, he met Francey’s clear gaze. She stood half-turned to the casement and the stretch of sand beyond, her pale cheek to the brilliant geraniums on the wide ledge, and in her eyes, as they rested on his, something of scorn and yet of wounded appeal. He felt the blood rise to his face as he looked, conscious of having outraged both her feelings and his own good taste. The type he understood would have taken him in jest, or retreated from the room in dudgeon; not have remained without retort, gently contemptuous and quietly hurt. He changed the subject abruptly, wishing the Whinnerahs and their affairs at Jericho.
Lup’s name dropped like a stone, but the questionof matrimony still hung in the air, for Michael himself came back to it after a lengthy discussion upon the late danger of plague from Irish cattle.
“Ay, there’s many a knock-down blow lying in wait for the poor farmer!” he observed, shaking his head over a new and harrowing tale. “But it’s a decent enough life for them as is framed for it and knows how to take it standing. It’s done well enough by me. I’ve a fairish farm and a just landlord, and the sort of missis a man’ll be put about to part with when the time comes for his last ride to church!” He looked across at his wife with a mild twinkle. “Not but what she’s a rough side to her tongue, and a mighty short stock o’ patience for them as doesn’t see same ways as herself;—but there’s only two sorts o’ wives, Mr. Lancaster—them as a man’s fain to be shot of, an’ them as he’d be right fain to be shotfor—an’ yon last’s my missis, sir, and a good bit over!”
Francey left the window, and laid her hands on his shoulders for a moment, her face lightly smiling and tender. Then she was gone from the room, while Mrs. Dockeray, with the suspicion of a shake in her voice, defended her character for patience.
“Eh, well, I reckon we’re as easy as most!” she admitted at last with her cheerful laugh. “You’d do no harm to take copy from us, Mr. Lancaster. We’ve been looking for you to get wed, any time these last ten years!”
Lanty was used to the suggestion, and repudiated it without embarrassment.
“I’m not a marrying man, I doubt!” he answered; and, even as he spoke, felt a surge of envy sweep over him at the picture of mutual need before him. “Any more than Lup!” he added, with meaning, and there came another pause, during which Rowly slipped out after his sister.
“You know what’s to do, sir, I reckon?” the mother asked presently, as Lancaster waited for his challenge to be accepted; and at his brief—“Wolf told me something”—she unburdened herself of the situation, whileMichael stared straight before him with his wise eyes, rocking gently from time to time in his cushioned chair.
“Whinnerah he come across rampin’ fit to kill himself, saying as how our lass had been playing fast an’ loose with his lad, and there was talk o’ Canada and quitting the farm an’ such-like! He was set on our putting our foot down, Michael an’ me, and giving Francey a piece of our minds, but we told him that hadn’t never been our way with her, and it wasn’t likely we’d begin now; so he took off again in a rare tantrum, an’ that’s all there is to it. It’s true, as he says, as we’ve always made sure she and Lup was courtin’, but we didn’t ask questions, taking it that she’d speak when she’d a mind. I’d be glad to see her wed the lad, ay, an’ so would Michael here, though I’m not saying she mightn’t do better. But if she’s not set on having him, she shan’t be driven to it, as long as there’s folks at Ladyford to her back. I’m real sorry for Wolf and Lup—ay, an’ poor Martha!—and I’d give a deal to see the lad stop, but our own barn comes first, and she shall suit herself, Mr. Lancaster.”
And Michael said: “Ay. Yon’s the way of it. Yon’s right!” rocking gently from time to time in his cushioned chair.
“Well, it seems a pity,” Lanty said at last, reluctantly making ready to go, “but I’m still hoping things will right themselves. It’s natural a girl should like to be consulted, though I shouldn’t have thought it was just a touch of pride with your daughter. She looks too fine a character for anything as small-minded as that.”
“’Tisn’t only pride, Mr. Lancaster! It’s something a deal stronger,—it’s love upside down. We’ve nobody but ourselves to thank, as I tell Michael. It’s the schoolin’ as done it. We’d a bit of money saved, and we took a fancy to have her finished like a lady, but I’m not so sure, nowadays, as we did the right thing by her. It’s hard, Mr. Lancaster, when you think adeal o’ your own, not to want to give them something better than you’ve had yourself, but I’ll not say as I think it’s always wise or kind, leastways, for a woman. A man, happen, can go an’ fight his own way in the world, but if a woman’s got to bide at home, the schoolin’s likely learned her nowt but hankering for what’s out of her reach. Not but what Francey’s been biddable enough, but I’ve kept my eye on her. I’ve been biding my time for this, an’ now it’s come. We’ve made her different of our own will, and we’ve no right to expect her to do as we’d have done. It’s us that’s to blame—an’ the learning. It makes a woman look at a man like a new sort o’ lesson-book. It starts her wondering what she feels instead o’ just feeling. It sets her seeing with her eyes an’ not with her heart. It’s not just brains you want for dealing wi’ men-folk, sir. It’s something as feels in the dark with blind eyes, something as sharp to hark as yon collie-pup, as soft to touch as a mother’s hands! Francey’s looking an’ not letting herself feel, and till she’s learned that looking doesn’t count in love, there’s nobody can help her. Nobody but Lup—and, happen, life—can set her right.”
“You’ll likely be giving them a look-in at Ninekyrkes, sir, as you’re here?” she added, following him to the door. “They’re terrible down, an’ it would cheer them up a bit. Wolf’s that set on your family, you’d happen think it was Royalty, to hark to him! He saw a deal o’ your father, yon time as the Lugg was so long building—Mr. Lancaster used to stop many a night along with him—an’ he’ll crack for a week about it if happen he gets the chance. He’d swear with his eyes shut to everything your father ever did—says there’ll never be his like again. Not but what he thinks a sight o’youan’ all, sir! You’ll look in?”
“Yes, I’ll step over, now I’m here, but of course I’ll say nothing of what you’ve told me. If they really mean leaving, we must get things fixed up. Wolf said his wife had taken to looking ahead for trouble. Is that so, do you know?”
He saw a half-embarrassed glance pass between the two.
“She was always a bit of a worrit,” Michael said at last, rather hurriedly, “an’ this’ll have likely got on her nerves. I’ll set you a piece of the way, sir.”
Wondering, Lancaster followed him out into the heavy evening.