There were no guests then staying at Portray; but that very distinguished lady, Mrs. Carbuncle, with her niece, Miss Roanoke, had been there; as had also that very well-known nobleman, Lord George de Bruce Carruthers. Lord George and Mrs. Carbuncle were in the habit of seeing a good deal of each other, though, as all the world knew, there was nothing between them but the simplest friendship. And Sir Griffin Tewett had also been there, a young baronet who was supposed to be enamoured of that most gorgeous of beauties, Lucinda Roanoke. Of all these grand friends—friends with whom Lizzie had become acquainted in London—nothing further need be said here, as they were not at the castle when Frank arrived. When he came, whether by premeditated plan or by the chance of circumstances, Lizzie had no one with her at Portray—except the faithful Macnulty.
“I thought to have found you with all the world here,” said Frank—the faithful Macnulty being then present.
“Well—we have had people, but only for a couple of days. They are all coming again, but not till November. You hunt;—don’t you, Frank?”
“I have no time for hunting. Why do you ask?”
“I’m going to hunt. It’s a long way to go—ten or twelve miles generally; but almost everybody hunts here. Mrs. Carbuncle is coming again, and she is about the best lady in England after hounds;—so they tell me. And Lord George is coming again.”
“Who is Lord George?”
“You remember Lord George Carruthers, whom we all knew in London?”
“What—the tall man with the hollow eyes and the big whiskers, whose life is a mystery to everyone? Is he coming?”
“I like him, just because he isn’t a ditto to every man one meets. And Sir Griffin Tewett is coming.”
“Who is a ditto to everybody.”
“Well;—yes; poor Sir Griffin! The truth is, he is awfully smitten with Mrs. Carbuncle’s niece.”
“Don’t you go matchmaking, Lizzie,” said Frank. “That Sir Griffin is a fool, we will all allow; but it’s my belief he has wit enough to make himself pass off as a man of fortune, with very little to back it. He’s at law with his mother, at law with his sisters, and at law with his younger brother.”
“If he were at law with his great-grandmother, it would be nothing to me, Frank. She has her aunt to take care of her, and Sir Griffin is coming with Lord George.”
“You don’t mean to put up all their horses, Lizzie?”
“Well, not all. Lord George and Sir Griffin are to keep theirs at Troon, or Kilmarnock, or somewhere. The ladies will bring two apiece, and I shall have two of my own.”
“And carriage-horses and hacks?”
“The carriage-horses are here—of course.”
“It will cost you a great deal of money, Lizzie.”
“That’s just what I tell her,” said Miss Macnulty.
“I’ve been living here, not spending one shilling, for the last two months,” said Lizzie, “and all for the sake of economy; yet people think that no woman was ever left so rich. Surely I can afford to see a few friends for one month in the year. If I find I can’t afford so much as that, I shall let the place, and go and live abroad somewhere. It’s too much to suppose that a woman should shut herself up here for six or eight months and see nobody all the time.”
On that, the day of Frank’s arrival, not a word was said about the necklace, nor of Lord Fawn, nor of that mutual pledge which had been taken and given down among the rocks. Frank, before dinner, went out about the place, that he might see how things were going on, and observe whether the widow was being ill-treated and unfairly eaten up by her dependants. He was, too, a little curious as to a matter as to which his curiosity was soon relieved. He had hardly reached the outbuildings which lay behind the kitchen-gardens on his way to the Portray woods, before he encountered Andy Gowran. That faithful adherent of the family raised his hand to his cap and bobbed his head, and then silently, and with renewed diligence, applied himself to the job which he had in hand. The gate of the little yard in which the cowshed stood was off its hinges, and Andy was resetting the post and making the fence tight and tidy. Frank stood a moment watching him, and then asked after his health. “ ’Deed am I nae that to boost about in the way of bodily heelth, Muster Greystock. I’ve just o’er mony things to tent to, to tent to my ain sell as a prudent mon ought. It’s airly an’ late wi’ me, Muster Greystock; and the lumbagy just a’ o’er a mon isn’t the pleasantest freend in the warld.” Frank said that he was sorry to hear so bad an account of Mr. Gowran’s health, and passed on. It was not for him to refer to the little scene in which Mr. Gowran had behaved so badly and had shaken his head. If the misbehaviour had been condoned by Lady Eustace, the less that he said about it the better. Then he went on through the woods, and was well aware that Mr. Gowran’s fostering care had not been abated by his disapproval of his mistress. The fences had been repaired since Frank was there, and stones had been laid on the road or track over which was to be carried away the underwood which it would be Lady Eustace’s privilege to cut during the coming winter.
Frank was not alone for one moment with his cousin during that evening, but in the presence of Miss Macnulty all the circumstances of the necklace were discussed. “Of course
