“Pratt shall deliver the papers to you at once,” he said. “That is, as soon as he’s back from Normandale this afternoon. I sent him there again to make himself useful.”
“I saw him this morning,” remarked Collingwood. “He appears to be a very useful person.”
“Clever chap,” asserted Eldrick, carelessly. “I don’t know what’ll be done about that stewardship that he was going to apply for. Everything will be altered now that young Mallathorpe’s dead. Of course, I, personally, shouldn’t have thought that Pratt would have done for a job like that, but Pratt has enough self-assurance and self-confidence for a dozen men, and he thought he would do, and I couldn’t refuse him a testimonial. And as he’s made himself very useful out there, it may be that if this steward business goes forward, Pratt will get the appointment. As I say, he’s a smart chap.”
Collingwood offered no comment. But he was conscious that it would not be at all pleasing to him to know that Linford Pratt held any official position at Normandale. Foolish as it might be, mere inspiration though it probably was, he could not get over his impression that Eldrick’s clerk was not precisely trustworthy. And yet, he reflected, he himself could do nothing—it would be utter presumption on his part to offer any gratuitous advice to Nesta Mallathorpe in business matters. He was very certain of what he eventually meant to say to her about his own personal hopes, some time hence, when all the present trouble was over, but in the meantime, as regarded anything else, he could only wait and watch, and be of service to her if she asked him to render any.
Some time went by before Collingwood was asked to render service of any sort. At Normandale Grange, events progressed in apparently ordinary and normal fashion. Harper Mallathorpe was buried; his mother began to make some recovery from the shock of his death; the legal folk were busied in putting Nesta in possession of the estate, and herself and her mother in proprietorship of the mill and the personal property. In Barford, things went on as usual, too. Pratt continued his round of duties at Eldrick & Pascoe’s; no more was heard—by outsiders, at any rate—of the stewardship at Normandale. As for Collingwood, he settled down in chambers and lodgings and, as Eldrick had predicted, found plenty of work. And he constantly went out to Normandale Grange, and often met Nesta elsewhere, and their knowledge of each other increased, and as the winter passed away and spring began to show on the Normandale woods and moors, Collingwood felt that the time was coming when he might speak. He was professionally engaged in London for nearly three weeks in the early part of that spring—when he returned, he had made up his mind to tell Nesta the truth, at once. He had faced it for himself—he was by that time so much in love with her that he was not going to let monetary considerations prevent him from telling her so.
But Collingwood found something else than love to talk about when he presented himself at Normandale Grange on the morning after his arrival from his three weeks’ absence in town. As soon as he met her, he saw that Nesta was not only upset and troubled, but angry.
“I am glad you have come,” she said, when they were alone. “I want some advice. Something has happened—something that bothers—and puzzles—me very, very much! I’m dreadfully bothered.”
“Tell me,” suggested Collingwood.
Nesta frowned—at some recollection or thought.
“Yesterday afternoon,” she answered, “I was obliged to go into Barford, on business. I left my mother fairly well—she has been recovering fast lately, and she only has one nurse now. Unfortunately, she, too, was out for the afternoon. I came back to find my mother ill and much upset—and there’s no use denying it—she’d all the symptoms of having been—well, frightened. I can’t think of any other term than that—frightened. And then I learned that, in my absence, Mr. Eldrick’s clerk, Mr. Pratt—you know him—had been here, and had been with her for quite an hour. I am furiously angry!”
Collingwood had expected this announcement as soon as she began to explain. So—the trouble was beginning!
“How came Pratt to be admitted to your mother?” he asked.
“That makes me angry, too,” answered Nesta. “Though I confess I ought to be angry with myself for not giving stricter orders. I left the house about two—he came about three, and asked to see my mother’s maid, Esther Mawson. He told her that it was absolutely necessary for him to see my mother on business, and she told my mother he was there. My mother consented to see him—and he was taken up. And as I say, I found her ill—and frightened—and that’s not the worst of it!”
“What is the worst of it?” asked Collingwood, anxiously. “Better tell me!—I may be able to do something.”
“The worst of it,” she said, “is just this—my mother won’t tell me what that man came about! She flatly refuses to tell me anything! She will only say that it was business of her own. She won’t trust me with it, you see!—her own daughter! What business can that man have with her?—or she with him? Eldrick & Pascoe are not our solicitors! There’s some secret and—”
“Will you answer one or two questions?” said Collingwood quietly. He had never seen Nesta angry before, and he now realized that she had certain possibilities of temper and determination which would be formidable when roused. “First of all, is that maid you speak of, Esther Mawson, reliable?”
“I don’t know!” answered Nesta. “My mother has had her two years—she’s a Barford woman. Sometimes I think she’s sly and cunning. But I’ve given her such strict orders now that she’ll never dare to let anyone see my mother again without my consent.”
“The other question’s this,” said Collingwood. “Have you any idea, any suspicion of why Pratt
