CHAPTER 13 A STRANGE WILL

Miss Nugent was bitterly mortified by the action of Colonel Greyson. He had promised to call upon her mother, and instead had taken himself off, no one knew whither, and with him the secret of Sir Harold’s movements. He had not even troubled himself to write one word of explanation.

She had waited for whole days in miserable expectation, and then suddenly announced her determination of calling upon the colonel.

“You will come with me, mamma, dear. I believe that Colonel Greyson has news of Harold. He hinted as much to me at Lady Gaynor’s ball, and I am so anxious. It is not more than an hour’s drive to the colonel’s place.”

Mrs. Nugent rarely attempted to combat the wishes of her handsome daughter. She was one of those invalids who find pleasure in nursing their own ailments, and though it was a positive martyrdom to leave her lounge for several hours, to be jolted over miles of stony ground, she assented to the proposal with a long-drawn sigh of resignation.

The carriage was ordered, and immediately after lunch Mrs. Nugent and her daughter were driven to the colonel’s cottage at Crayford.

To Margaret’s dismay there was an air of desertion about the place, and she was informed by his house keeper that her master was going abroad for the autumn and winter.

“Then he has not yet gone?” asked Miss Nugent, with a gasp of relief.

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“No, ladies; but his man is upstairs packing, and he knows more about it than I do.”

With a nod the woman ran into the house, and in a few minutes the colonel’s military manservant appeared, as straight and stiff as a ramrod.

“What is this I hear about the colonel, Simmons?” asked Miss Nugent.

“My master is going away, madam,” replied Simmons, saluting solemnly.

“Yes—yes! I have heard all about that. But where is he now?”

Simmons looked surprised.

“In London by this time, Miss Nugent. He spent the whole of yesterday at Annesley Park, and last evening left for London, where I am to join him to-night.”

Miss Nugent bit her lips with vexation.

“It is extraordinary,” she said. “I really do not understand Colonel Greyson, after his promise to me and knowing how anxious I am concerning my luckless cousin.”

The concluding part of her speech was uttered aside.

“My dear!” Mrs. Nugent mildly remonstrated, “I do not see anything so extraordinary in it. You know what the papers have said about Sir Harold, and it is quite possible that the colonel intends joining him somewhere. I am sure that I shall take a chill if we remain here much longer.”

“You are sure that there is no message for us—for me, Simmons?” continued Margaret.

“Quite sure, madam.”

“Well, it is possible that your master will write to me from London, but I wish you to impress upon him some sense of my great disappointment. He will understand[Pg 95] why, and I shall expect a lengthy letter of explanation and particulars. You will not forget, Simmons?”

“No, madam.”

Simmons’ right hand flew up automatically in answer to Miss Nugent’s farewell nod, and the carriage rolled away.

“I cannot expect everything to fall into my lap,” she thought, “and in one sense it is perhaps lucky that the colonel has taken himself off, though his unlooked-for movements have left me completely in the dark.”

As the carriage swept round a bend in the road, Annesley Park was revealed with startling distinctness some two miles distant. The towers and minarets stood sharply against the purple sky, while a golden fire seemed to flash from every window in the light of the sun.

“If we only had a fourth of Sir Harold’s money, how happy we might be!” sighed Mrs. Nugent. “I really think that he is most unkind in not giving the Park to us while he is chasing wild beasts in Africa. I believe that such an exhilarating prospect would almost give me health again; or, at least, as much as I can ever expect to enjoy.”

Margaret laughed musically.

“Mamma,” she said, “the Park may be our home yet!”

It was a prize worth scheming for, but, to do her justice, Miss Nugent loved Sir Harold for himself alone. How impatiently she awaited the letter-bag next morning, only to be filled with a disappointment that almost amounted to dismay. There was no letter from Colonel Greyson, and she blamed herself for not insisting upon his London address. Still, it was not too late to give up hoping, and she denied herself several pleasures by remaining at home throughout the day, so that she should immediately receive any news that came.