‘Orders! All right. One moment--’ ‘Yes, sir; that’s all I know about it,’ went on young Farrington, in continuation evidently of a previous talk. His interlocutor was Major Cavendish-Diggle.
‘You don’t know what became of Lady Farrington? Where is she?’
‘At a private asylum--Dr. Plum’s, at Greystone, the other end of the county, you know.’
‘To be sure. It must have given Sir Rupert great annoyance. But now it’s all happily settled, of course?’
Diggle was just then making the running for Miss Farrington, and wished to be quite certain that there was no fear of future disinheritance.
‘Absolutely,’ said Ernest. ‘The crazy old creature won’t be heard of again, probably.’
‘Shall I leave the order book, sir?’ Herbert then asked, and they remembered they were not alone. They little guessed who their listener was, and how much they had inadvertently revealed to him.
He had long wished to ascertain the whereabouts of his kind patroness, and now he knew. What use he might make of the information did not occur to him. After all, what could a poor soldier do against such a powerful enemy as Sir Rupert Farrington? Still the mouse helped the lion. And it was something to know exactly what had become of poor Lady Farrington. If he could but come across the Larkins, there might be some hope of his re-establishing himself, perhaps of again putting forward his claims. But the only reply he received from the War Office, to which he had written, was that Sergeant Larkins was employed as a barrack-sergeant abroad, and could not at the moment be traced. He must wait, that was clear. But everything comes to him who can wait, and Herbert was still young enough to be sanguine and full of hope.
The first of September was a great day always at Farrington Hall. Sir Rupert preserved very strictly; he was fond of shooting, and his coverts were always well stocked. They had a large party in the house; men chiefly, good guns who could be relied upon to do their share in swelling the Farrington ‘bag.’
This year several of Ernest’s brother officers were to have been invited, but Major Diggle manœuvred so cleverly that none of them were asked but himself. He had his own reasons for keeping men away from the Hall. He was not afraid of rivals, of course--who among the Duke’s Own was there to compete with him? Still they might inadvertently interfere with his little game; and he preferred, at least for the present, to have the field all to himself.