up rigidly.
“That’s the way to tool ’em along,” he said to himself.
“Is there any fresh news in the village, Mr Trimmer?”
“No, my lady, nothing particular, except – er – a little report about Daniel Smart’s daughter.”
“Maria, Mr Trimmer. She has not returned?”
“No, my lady.”
“Surely she has settled down in her new place?”
The steward coughed, a little hesitating cough.
“Nothing – ”
Lady Lisle stopped and glanced at Sydney, who turned away and became very much interested in one of the pictures, but with his ears twitching the while.
“Oh, no, my lady,” said the steward, quickly; “only I fear that your ladyship has been imposed upon?”
Syd moved to the mantelpiece and began to examine the mechanism of a magnificent skeleton clock.
“Imposed upon? But the girl has gone to the situation in town?”
“Ahem! No, my lady; the report I hear is that she has gone to fulfil an engagement with some dramatic agent who trains young people for – ”
“The theatre?”
“No, my lady, for the music-halls.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Lady Lisle. “Dreadful – dreadful!”
Syd’s face was a study in the mirror behind the clock, as he placed one foot on the polished kerb and screwed up his mouth, listening with all his might.
“Yes, my lady, it is very sad. But I’m afraid that several of the better-looking girls in the neighbourhood have had their heads turned by the great success which has attended a Miss Mary Ann Simpkins in London.”
Crash!
“Good gracious me!” cried Lady Lisle, starting up at the noise.
“It’s nothing, auntie,” cried Syd, excitedly. “Foot slipped on the fender – nothing broken.”
The boy turned, with his face flushed, and his voice sounded husky.
“But that vase you knocked over, my dear?”
“It was trying to save myself, auntie. It isn’t even cracked.”
“But you’ve hurt yourself, my child?”
“Oh, no, auntie, not a bit,” said the boy, with a forced laugh.
“Pray be careful, my dear.”
“All right, auntie,” said the boy, and he stooped down to begin rearranging the poker and shovel, which he had kicked off the fire-dog to clatter on the encaustic tiles.
“Pray go on, Mr Trimmer. How grievous that such a scandal should befall our peaceful village. A Miss – er – Miss – ”
“Mary Ann Simpkins, my lady.”
“Simpkins, Simpkins? Surely I know the name?”
“Yes, my lady, and I daresay you’ve seen her at Tilborough. Very pretty girl – daughter of Sam Simpkins.”
“What, at the hotel?”
“Yes, my lady,” said the agent, with sad deference. “He is the trainer and keeper of racing stables – Tilborough Arms.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Ah! what a home for the poor girl! No wonder. But you said something about turning the girls’ heads.”
“Yes, my lady. She went into training in town.”
“Ran away from home, of course?”
“Oh, no, my lady. Simpkins had her educated in London for that sort of thing – singing and dancing.”
“Shocking! Shocking!”
“Yes, my lady. Her father has shares in one of the great music-halls, the Orphoean. I am told that she is quite the rage. You see, some of the young people here knew her at school. Such things quite spoil them for service.”
“And all originating in this dreadful racing, Mr Trimmer. If it had not been for this, Mr Simpkins – ”
“Exactly, my lady; but I beg your pardon for introducing so unpleasant a subject.”
“Do not apologise, Mr Trimmer; it was quite right. I must see the parents of any of the girls who have tendencies in that direction, and Daniel Smart’s daughter must certainly be brought back.”
“Yes, my lady,” said the agent. “Now let us change the subject. How is Sir Hilton’s canvass progressing?”
“Admirably, my lady. You see, we have all the influence upon our side; but I think it is about time now for Sir Hilton to show a little – just a little – more interest in the matter.”
“Of course, Mr Trimmer; he shall.”
“He need not do much, my lady, beyond a little visiting amongst the voters, and, say, addressing three or four meetings. Our Parliamentary agent has prepared the heads of a very telling speech for him, a summary of which, my lady, you will find in that packet marked ‘b’ and endorsed ‘Address.’”
“Certainly! Will go into the matter with Sir Hilton. His election will follow in due course.”
“Yes, my lady – it is a certainty. Lord Beltower has withdrawn.”
“Very wise of him.”
“There is that Mr Watcombe, the big brewer, still in the field, and he has some influence, especially at Tilborough amongst the racing people; but, of course, he has not a chance.”
“A brewer? Faugh!”
“Yes, my lady; the man’s pretensions are absurd. Will you go through the estate accounts this morning?”
“Impossible now, Mr Trimmer; the news you have given me is too disturbing, and besides, Sir Hilton will be down here to breakfast. That will do now.”
“Thank you, my lady – er – er – ”
“Yes, Mr Trimmer?” said the lady, looking up inquiringly.
“I am very sorry to make a request, my lady, at such a time, especially as there is a good deal requires looking over at the farm just now; but I should be greatly obliged if your ladyship could spare me for the rest of the day.”
“Oh, certainly, Mr Trimmer,” said Lady Lisle, looking at her sedate steward so wonderingly that he felt it necessary to make some explanation.
“I regret to say that I have had a telegram from London, my lady – an aged relative – very ill, and expressing a desire to see me.”
“Hullo!” said Sydney to himself; “the old humbug smells a legacy.”
