‘Mr Hart, please stop. I am sorry,’ I said, feeling awful that I had triggered some kind of nervous complaint in him.
‘Verybad egg!’ he shouted and then, without warning, threw the egg violently at the stone wall in front of him, where it exploded into a mess of white, yellow, and pieces of shell. I stood there, gaping.
Shocked and frightened by his behaviour, I ran out of the room, along the corridor and down the stairwell—my feet having no trouble moving quickly now!
Arriving back in the kitchen, confused and shaken, I did not know what had just happened. Was it Mr Hart that his father was referring to as ‘bad’? Or was it indeed the boiled egg? Whichever it was, there was no doubt that he was suffering from some kind of mental condition.
I had no time to ask Maurice about it as I needed to go to the parlour forthwith and act calmly as if I had been writing a letter to Max. I did so and pulled it off admirably as no one suspected a thing.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly with reading and light conversation. But the encounter with Mr Hart Sr stayed uppermost in my mind, and I mulled over it constantly, wondering if I should attempt to talk to Maurice again to discover more.
After supper, a game of cards was suggested. But Lucinda said she was tired and wished to go to bed, and that immediately set Jane and me off with yawning. We bid good night to the gentlemen, who were staying up to have a glass of port.
But at the bottom of the stairs, I hesitated, looking towards the kitchen.
‘Are you not coming up, Aunty Fliss?’ asked Lucinda.
‘In a moment ... I might fetch a cup of milk to help me sleep. My head is a bit frazzled. But do you need me to come with you to your room first?’
She put her shoulders back and lifted her chin. ‘No, I will be perfectly fine.’
‘All right, brave girl. Pleasant dreams, and see you in the morning.’
She blew me a kiss and ran up the stairs after Jane, who called out, ‘Good night, Flissy!’ from the landing.
Excellent, I thought.Now I can talk to Maurice.
But when I reached the kitchen, it was cold and empty, and Maurice was not there. Sighing, I poured myself a cup of milk anyway from the earthenware jug in the larder and stood by the window, sipping it while looking out at the vegetable garden. The moon was rising, lighting up the cucumbers growing there, which made me think of cheese sandwiches, Mr Hart, his father, and exploding boiled eggs.Hopefully, I would be able to sleep with all that whirling around in my head!
Placing my empty cup in the sink, I turned and saw the outline of a wooden door—it was the one that led to the parlour, the one I had gone through with Maurice on the first night. One thought joined to another in rapid succession and led me to an obvious conclusion: Mr Hart and Mr Smith-Withers were conversing in the parlour ... And if I listened in, I might discover some truths!
The candles in there were still burning, but barely, and it was nerve-racking to walk down the ill-lit passage alone. But I steeled myself to do so, keeping one hand on the rough stone for guidance and feeling the way in front with one outstretched foot after another.
Eventually, I reached the parlour door, which had a strip of glowing light underneath, and heard the low rumble of male voices. I placed my ear against the wood, but it was solid and too thick to hear properly.
With a thudding heart, I inched the door open a crack, and their muffled conversation came through loud and clear.
‘And sheisuncommonly pretty,’ said Mr Smith-Withers. ‘Plus her dowry makes it an advantageous match. Well done, you. All those mornings you dragged me around the pump room were worth it.’
Mr Hart chuckled, and I heard the sound of glasses clinking.
‘Now if Father would only sign his updated will ... It is taking forever.’ He let out a frustrated sigh. ‘How was he this morning?’
‘His confusion is growing, especially with my encouragement. This morning, he firmly believed that you are the eldest and Harry the younger. But then he slipped back into lucidity and yelled at me to leave.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I will keep working on him,’ said Mr Smith-Withers.
‘Good, good, and I too with Lucy. She is enamoured enough by now, I think, to accept a proposal soon.’
‘You should watch out for the aunt. She could be a hindrance to it.’
‘Leave her to me,’ Mr Hart said.
‘Oho, what are you going to do with her?’
‘I’m not sure. But she is not unaffected by me, I think. Perhaps I can charm her into submission.’
