Sylvester Read online

  ‘Never mind!’ said Phoebe, laughing. ‘You may have an egg tomorrow.’

  ‘I may not be hungry tomorrow,’ said Edmund gloomily. ‘I am hungry now!’

  ‘Oh, dear! Are you?’

  ‘Fair gutfoundered!’ said Edmund.

  Sylvester, who was glancing through a newspaper, lowered it, and said sternly: ‘You never learned that from Keighley!’

  ‘No,’ admitted Edmund. ‘Jem says it.’

  ‘Who the devil is Jem?’

  ‘The one with the spotty face. Don’t you know, Uncle Vester?’ said Edmund, astonished.

  ‘One of the stable-hands?’

  Edmund nodded. ‘He tells me very good words. He is a friend of mine.’

  ‘Oh, is he?’ said Sylvester grimly. ‘Well, unless you want to feel my hand, don’t repeat them!’

  Quelled, Edmund returned to his bread-and-milk. Over his head Sylvester said ruefully: ‘I make his apologies, Miss Marlow. It is the fault of too old a nurse, and by far too old a tutor. I must find a younger man.’

  ‘I don’t think that would answer nearly as well as a sensible female,’ said Phoebe. ‘Someone like my own dear governess, who doesn’t get into a fuss for torn clothes, and likes animals, and collecting butterflies and birds’ eggs, and – oh, you know, Tom!’

  ‘My dear Miss Marlow, only furnish me with her name and her direction!’ begged Sylvester.

  ‘You have met her,’ she reminded him. ‘But I am afraid I cannot spare her to you. She and I mean to set up house together, as soon as I come of age.’

  ‘Set up house together!’ he repeated incredulously.

  ‘Yes. She is going to keep house, and I –’ She stopped suddenly, gave a little gasp, and continued defiantly: ‘And I am going to write novels!’

  ‘I see,’ he said dryly, and retired to the newspaper again.

  Twenty-six

  They went aboard the packet in a light drizzle, and with less opposition from Master Rayne than might have been expected. When it was borne in upon him that his all-powerful uncle was unable to waft him miraculously across the sea he did indeed hover on the brink of a painful scene, saying:

  ‘No, no, no! I won’t go on a ship, I won’t, I won’t!’ on a rising note that threatened a storm of tears. But Sylvester said: ‘I beg your pardon?’ in such blighting accents that he flushed up to the ears, gave a gulp, and said imploringly: ‘If you please, I don’t want to! It will give me that dreadful pain in me pudding-house!’

  ‘In your what?’

  Edmund knuckled his eyes.

  ‘I thought there was more steel in you,’ said Sylvester contemptuously.

  ‘There is steel in me!’ declared Edmund, his eyes flashing.

  ‘Keighley says I have good bottom!’

  ‘Keighley,’ said Sylvester in a casual tone, ‘is waiting for us at Dover. Miss Marlow, I must beg you won’t mention to him that Edmund found he couldn’t throw his heart over. He would be very much shocked.’

  ‘I will go on that ship!’ said Edmund in a gritty voice. ‘We Raynes can throw our hearts over anything!’

  His heart shyed a little at the gangway, but Sylvester said: ‘Show us the way, young Rayne!’ and he stumped resolutely across it.

  ‘Edmund, you’re a great gun!’ Tom told him.

  ‘Game as a pebble!’ asserted Edmund.

  For Phoebe the crossing was one of unalleviated boredom. Sylvester, wrapping his boat-cloak round Edmund, kept him on deck; and since there was clearly nothing for her to do, and it continued to rain, she could only retire to her cabin and meditate on a bleak future. The packet took nine hours to reach Dover, and never had nine hours seemed longer. From time to time she was visited by Tom, bringing her either refreshments, or the latest news of Edmund. He had been a little sick, Tom admitted, but nothing to cause alarm. They had found a sheltered spot on deck, and were taking it in turns to remain there with him. No, there was nothing for her to do: Edmund, having slept for a time, now seemed pretty bobbish.

  Towards the end of the crossing the rain ceased, and Phoebe went on deck. She found Edmund in a boastful mood, and Sylvester civil but curt. It was the first time Sylvester had been called upon to look after his nephew, and he was devoutly hoping it would be the last.

  When the packet entered the Tidal Harbour it was nearly eight o’clock, and all four travellers were tired, chilled, and not in the best of spirits. The sight of Keighley’s face, however, exercised a beneficial effect on two of the party: Edmund fell upon him with a squeal of joy, and Sylvester said, with a perceptible lightening of his frown: ‘Thank God! You may have him, John!’

  ‘That’s all right, your grace,’ said Keighley, grinning at him. ‘Now, give over, do, Master Edmund, till I have his grace’s portmanteau safe!’

  He was surprised to see Phoebe, and still more so when Tom hailed him; but he accepted with apparent stolidity Sylvester’s explanation that he was indebted to Miss Marlow and Mr Orde for the recovery of Edmund’s person. All he said was: ‘Well, to be sure, your grace! And how do you do, sir? I see that leg’s a bit stiff-like still.’

  Keighley had engaged rooms for Sylvester at the King’s Head. He seemed to think there would be no difficulty in securing two more, but Phoebe said that she must lose no time in rejoining Lady Ingham.

  ‘It would be wiser to ascertain first that she is still there,’ Sylvester said, his frown returning. ‘May I suggest that you accompany us first to the King’s Head while Keighley makes enquiries at the Ship?’

  ‘No need to send Keighley,’ Tom interposed. ‘I’ll go there. Take care of Phoebe till I get back, Salford!’

  Phoebe was reluctant to let him go without her, for she felt it to be unfair that he should be obliged to bear the brunt of Lady Ingham’s displeasure; but he only laughed, told her that he could stand a knock far better than she would ever be able to, and went off.

  The King’s Head was less fashionable than the Ship. Keighley thought that there was no one putting up there who was at all likely to recognise his grace. He had engaged a parlour, and was soon able to assure Phoebe that there was a good bedchamber to be had, if she should need it. Phoebe, who was sitting beside Edmund while he ate his supper, said: ‘Thank you, but – oh, surely I shan’t need it?’

  ‘How can I tell?’ Sylvester replied. ‘It occurs to me that you have been absent above a se’enight. I must own I shouldn’t expect Lady Ingham to kick her heels in Dover for so long, but you should know her better than I.’

  ‘I wrote to her,’ she faltered. ‘She must have known I should return. Or, if I could not, that Tom would.’

  ‘Then no doubt she is awaiting his arrival,’ he said.

  It was his indifferent voice again; she said no more, but as Edmund finished his supper she took him away to put him to bed. A plump chambermaid came to offer her services and, as Edmund took an instant liking to her, Phoebe was able to leave him to her supervision. It seemed probable that he would detain her for a considerable period, entertaining her with his saga, for as Phoebe closed the door behind her she heard him say chattily: ‘I am a great traveller, you know.’

  She found on re-entering the parlour, that Tom had returned from his mission. He was talking to Sylvester, and she saw at once that he was looking grave. She paused, an anxious question in her eyes. He smiled at her, but what he said was: ‘She ain’t there, Phoebe. Seems to have gone back to London.’

  Her eyes went from his face to Sylvester’s. Sylvester said; ‘Come and sit down, Miss Marlow! It is disappointing for you not to find her here, but of no great consequence, after all. You will be with her by tomorrow evening.’

  ‘To have gone back to London! She must be very vexed with me!’

  ‘Nothing of that!’ Tom said, in a heartening tone. ‘She never had your letter. Here it is! You’d have thought the gudgeons would have forwarded it to London, but