“We shall manage very well,” Uncle Alfred said. “The dinner will be as good as usual, so we will not be dissatisfied, I assure you, my good man, especially if you bring us a bottle of your best claret and another of brandy. And tea for the lady.”
“At once, sir,” he said, bowing himself out.
“Well, it is only for one night,” Uncle Alfred said. “I must go and see about securing horses for tomorrow. Stay here, Winnie, and do not wander about, not with this rabble here. Walter, take care of Winnie. I shall be as quick as I can.”
Winnie had providentially brought a shawl down from her room, for even in summer there was rarely a day when such precautions could be abandoned. Now she was glad of it for the room felt damp.
“You look chilled,” Walter said. “Shall I get someone to light the fire?”
“No, it is just the change from the stuffy coach to this place.”
“A cup of tea will warm you up.”
“A glass of wine would warm me better.”
A couple of servants came in just then with tea, wine and brandy, and a plate of bread, ham and cheese. “To put you on till dinner,” one of them said. “Kitchen’s busy just now, so it’ll be a while.”
Walter poured wine for them both, and set about the bread and ham, but Winnie sat dispiritedly by the window, huddled in her shawl. It was just starting to rain, a few drops streaking the dusty panes.
“Will you not eat?” Walter said. “The ham is very good.”
“I am not hungry.”
“You have eaten nothing since breakfast.”
“I am still not hungry.”
“You are very out of sorts, Mouse. Your little journal has hardly put in an appearance today, nor the guide books.”
“We have already seen everything of note on the way south,” she said tiredly.
“Then why so glum? One more day of this, and we shall be home.”
She spun round, then impulsively picked up her glass and sat down opposite him at the scratched oak table. “I keep wondering why Mr Lomax would just vanish like that, without a word. It seems so unlike him. Do you think something has happened — something dreadful? An accident?”
“You would certainly have heard about that. It would have been in the newspapers.”
“So it would. Then it must have been something I did — something that gave him a disgust of me and drove him away.”
“Really, Mouse, he is not worth all this worry. Put him out of your mind.”
She huffed impatiently. “I cannot do so. It is the not knowing that keeps me awake at night, Walter. Every day he came to see me, every single day, and then one day — he is justgone.Why? Why would a man do that? Itmusthave been something I did!”
“It was nothing you did.Iwas the one who got rid of him for you.”
All the air whooshed out of Winnie’s lungs, as if the very floor beneath her feet had melted away and she was hurtling into the void. “What… what do you mean?” she whispered.
“The fellow was nothing but an annoyance, so I sent him packing.”
“But how? What did you do?” So hard to believe that Walter — herfriend— could say such things and seem so pleased with himself, as if he had done her a favour. And what on earth could he have done to make Mr Lomax turn away from the brink of a proposal and leave without a word? “Walter,what did you do?”
He sighed. “I met him in White’s, the morning after we had dinner with him. He wanted to talk about you, naturally, and it became clear that he was planning a proposal.”
“I know. Uncle Alfred told me.”
“Yes, your uncle… who seems to have told him a pack of lies.”
“What! No, that I cannot believe!”
