Turning to go back, Mrs. Bowmore saw her own bewilderment reflected in the faces of the two female servants, who had followed her out.
"Who can the footman be after, ma'am?" asked the cook. "Do you think it's a thief?"
The housemaid pointed to the post-chaise, barely visible in the distance.
"Simpleton!" she said. "Do thieves travel in that way? I wish my master had come back," she proceeded, speaking to herself: "I'm afraid there's something wrong."
Mrs. Bowmore, returning through the garden-gate, instantly stopped and looked at the woman.
"What makes you mention your master's name, Amelia, when you fear that something is wrong?" she asked.
Amelia changed color, and looked confused.
"I am loth to alarm you, ma'am," she said; "and I can't rightly see what it is my duty to do."
Mrs. Bowmore's heart sank within her under the cruelest of all terrors, the terror of something unknown. "Don't keep me in suspense," she said faintly. "Whatever it is, let me know it."
She led the way back to the parlor. The housemaid followed her. The cook (declining to be left alone) followed the housemaid.
"It was something I heard early this afternoon, ma'am," Amelia began. "Cook happened to be busy--"
The cook interposed: she had not forgiven the housemaid for calling her a simpleton. "No, Amelia, if you must bring me into it--not busy. Uneasy in my mind on the subject of the soup."
"I don't know that your mind makes much difference," Amelia resumed. "What it comes to is this--it was I, and not you, who went into the kitchen-garden for the vegetables."
"Not by my wish, Heaven knows!" persisted the cook.
"Leave the room!" said Mrs. Bowmore. Even her patience had given way at last.
The cook looked as if she declined to believe her own ears. Mrs. Bowmore pointed to the door. The cook said "Oh?"--accenting it as a question. Mrs. Bowmore's finger still pointed. The cook, in solemn silence, yielded to circumstances, and banged the door.
"I was getting the vegetables, ma'am," Amelia proceeded, "when I heard voices on the other side of the paling. The wood is so old that one can see through the cracks easy enough. I saw my master, and Mr. Linwood, and Captain Bervie. The Captain seemed to have stopped the other two on the pathway that leads to the field; he stood, as it might be, between them and the back way to the house--and he spoke severely, that he did!"
"What did Captain Bervie say?"
"He said these words, ma'am: 'For the last time, Mr. Bowmore,' says he, 'will you understand that you are in danger, and that Mr. Linwood is in danger, unless you both leave this neighborhood to-night?' My master made light of it. 'For the last time,' says he, 'will you refer us to a proof of what you say, and allow us to judge for ourselves?' 'I have told you already,' says the Captain, 'I am bound by my duty toward another person to keep what I know a secret.' 'Very well,' says my master, 'I am bound by my duty to my country. And I tell you this,' says he, in his high and mighty way, 'neither Government, nor the spies of Government, dare touch a hair of my head: they know it, sir, for the head of the people's friend!' "
"That's quite true," said Mrs. Bowmore, still believing in her husband as firmly as ever.
Amelia went on:
"Captain Bervie didn't seem to think so," she said. "He lost his temper. 'What stuff!' says he; 'there's a Government spy in your house at this moment, disguised as your footman.' My master looked at Mr. Linwood, and burst out laughing. 'You won't beat that, Captain,' says he, 'if you talk till doomsday.' He turned about without a word more, and went home. The Captain caught Mr. Linwood by the arm, as soon as they were alone. 'For God's sake,' says he, 'don't follow that madman's example!' "
Mrs. Bowmore was shocked. "Did he really call my husband a madman?" she asked.
"He did, indeed, ma'am--and he was in earnest about it, too. 'If you value your liberty,' he says to Mr. Linwood; 'if you hope to become Charlotte's husband, consult your own safety. I can give you a passport. Escape to France and wait till this trouble is over.' Mr. Linwood was not in the best of tempers--Mr. Linwood shook him off. 'Charlotte's father will soon be my father,' says he, 'do you think I will desert him? My friends at the Club have taken up my claim; do you think I will forsake them at the meeting to-morrow? You ask me to be unworthy of Charlotte, and unworthy of my friends--you insult me, if you say more.' He whipped round on his heel, and followed my master."
"And what did the Captain do?"
"Lifted up his hands, ma'am, to the heavens, and looked--I declare it turned my blood to see him. If there's truth in mortal man, it's my firm belief--"
What the housemaid's belief was, remained unexpressed. Before she could get to her next word, a shriek of horror from the hall announced that the cook's powers of interruption were not exhausted yet.
Mistress and servant both hurried out in terror of they knew not what. There stood the cook, alone in the hall, confronting the stand on which the overcoats and hats of the men of the family were placed.
"Where's the master's traveling coat?" cried the cook, staring wildly at an unoccupied peg. "And where's his cap to match! Oh Lord, he's off in the post-chaise! and the footman's after him!"
Simpleton as she was, the woman had blundered on a very serious discovery.
Coat and cap--both made after a foreign pattern, and both strikingly remarkable in form and color to English eyes--had unquestionably disappeared. It was equally certain that they were well known to the foot man, whom the Captain had declared to be a spy, as the coat and cap which his master used in traveling. Had Mr. Bowmore discovered (since the afternoon) that he was really in danger? Had the necessities of instant flight only allowed him time enough to snatch his coat and cap out of the hall? And had the treacherous manservant seen him as he was making his escape to the post-chaise? The cook's conclusions answered all these questions in the affirmative--and, if Captain Bervie's words of warning had been correctly reported, the cook's conclusion for once was not to be despised.