But all the time the brave old lady talked so calmly and held her head so high she was saying in her own heart—“I know she has run away, I know she has run away. Oh, if we can only get her back without a fuss!”
Mrs. Rosneath looked very grave.
“I fear you are taking matters too lightly, Miss Tremarten,” she said. “You ought to take someone into your counsel. You must at least allow me to tell my husband.”
And Mr. Rosneath, when he was told, looked graver still, and suggested that Lord Lochiel should be consulted on the matter. This, however, Aunt Rosamond positively forbade.
“I want two or three things done, Mr. Rosneath, but if you are going to make a fuss and tell everyone in this way, I must get someone else to do them for me,” said the old lady irritably.
“You may command me to any extent, Miss Tremarten,” said Mr. Rosneath, somewhat coldly it must be owned.
“Very well, then, my own belief is that the McCormacks know something about this” (this was the utmost she could bring herself to admit), “and I think someone should go there at once and question that man (Captain McCormack’s groom, I believe) who gave a message to my maid, and get out of him exactly what he knows on the matter.”
“That shall be done, Miss Tremarten—I will go myself. Your next wish?”
“I next want a telegram sent to Lettice’s father to come here at once. Can that be managed tonight?”
“I fear not,” replied Mr. Rosneath, “for every station far and near has been closed more than an hour ago, and not even a luggage-train will pass through till five in the morning, or we might have signalled that to stop and carry a message. What else is it you wish done?”
“Why, I want everyone in the house to be told that Lettice sprained her ankle severely after the archery this morning, and consequently cannot move off her bed, and I don’t want anybody to be coming up and down fussing after us. I’ve locked Judith and old Matthews up together in the next room, and there they’ll stay till the morning. It’s the only way to keep them quiet.”
“I will leave this last matter in Mrs. Rosneath’s hands. I’ve no doubt she’ll do her best to prevent inquiries, but I’ll go at once to Ingleside and see the man you refer to.” And without further delay he set off.
Two more hours of painful suspense passed. How Aunt Rosamond lived through them she scarcely knew, for in spite of the brave face she put upon it her heart inwardly misgave her. She had not dined, and for a woman at her time of life this is a serious matter, and she dared not release her maid to send her even for a cup of tea for fear of any indiscretion on her part.
Ever and anon there would come a louder moan from Miss Judith in the adjoining room, and Matthews would tap at the intermediate door and “beg Miss Tremarten to come in to her.”
“No,” Aunt Rosamond replied, “I shan’t go in and you shan’t come out, either of you. Give her some vinegar.”
So the time wore away. Once Lady Elizabeth Mackreth sent up to inquire for the ladies, and Aunt Rosamond answered in person that they were all quite well and had all gone to bed, or “at least going,” she added in answer to the servant’s look of amazement.
At a little before midnight Mr. Rosneath returned, tired with his long ride and with a very grave look on his face.
“I’ve come at once to you, Miss Tremarten,” he said, glancing down at his dusty boots and coat, “but I have no good news to bring; indeed, I fear matters have taken a very serious turn.”
“You’ve seen that man?” asked Aunt Rosamond, palpitating all over.
“Yes, I’ve seen him, and forced him to confess a great deal. At first he was very loath to speak, and repeated over and over again that Captain McCormack had sent him with the message that Miss Lettice had driven with him to Ingleside, and he had nothing more to tell; however, I threatened him, and I believe succeeded in frightening him, for it ended with his admitting that he knew that Captain McCormack and Miss Tremarten started for Perth at four this afternoon, and that most probably by this time they are on their road to London.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Aunt Rosamond in low unsteady tones, turning very white as she spoke.
Mr. Rosneath made no reply. They were standing in front of a gilt-framed mirror, and, glancing into it, he was struck by the sudden look of age which had passed over the lady’s face.
“Mr. Rosneath,” said she, speaking in the same low, unsteady tones, “what can be done?”
“I fear, nothing until the morning. It is useless to attempt to organise a party in pursuit at this time of night, with the moon setting and no telegraph-wires to be got at. If you will allow me to consult Lord Lochiel and—”
“But that I will not allow,” said Aunt Rosamond with emphasis. “We must wait now until we see what the morning will bring.”
And while Aunt Rosamond and Mr. Rosneath were consulting together, with grave faces and foreboding hearts, Lettice’s weary little feet were stumbling along the hard white road which led she knew not whither. Oh! if there were but a living soul anywhere to be found—tramp, gipsy, what
