As he waited down below, Flintworth heard Bylious moving about upstairs. The most he could tell was that his master was pacing back and forth. He seemed to be reciting something, not that Flintworth could hear very clearly. Whatever he was reciting must have been important, for it was a full three quarters of an hour before he returned. He pushed open the kitchen door.
"Are you coming or not?" He demanded.
"Of course." Flintworth said hastily, drying his hands on the dishcloth. "I'm ready when you are, sir."
"I've been ready." Bylious grumbled and made for the door. Flintworth glanced at the clock on the mantle as they passed. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was almost ten o'clock, and it would be a half an hour's walk to Trellis Manor. Their early arrival would not inconvenience the household.
I hope, Flintworth thought.
They traveled at a quick pace. No words were exchanged for the pair rarely spoke on these excursions. The morning air hung quietly, and a thin fog was spread over the horizon. This did not impede the two men for both knew the way so well a thick fog would not have deterred them.
Flintworth was still trying to think of a way that he could be alone so as to observe the "lovers" and ascertain what Dr. Newson had been alluding to. His thoughts slowed his walk and he did not notice that the distance between Bylious and him was widening.
At last the idea struck him! Perhaps Bylious would enjoy a quiet walk around in the garden—then again, perhaps he wouldn't, but it was the best Flintworth could think of. With a sigh he looked up and was then made aware that Bylious was significantly ahead of him. He was knocking on the front door of Trellis Manor, in point of fact.
Leeds opened the door. He masked his surprise on beholding the visitor.
"Is Miss Eloise in?" Bylious asked.
"She is, sir." Leeds replied.
He looked past Bylious and saw Flintworth running down the path towards the house.
Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Leeds turned again to Bylious. "Come in."
With a smile, Bylious nodded and stepped past. Leeds did not close the door, but waited for Flintworth to catch up. Flintworth caught hold of the railings to the steps, panting heavily. He then pulled himself forward and reached the door.
"Caught up to the devil yet?" Leeds asked impassively.
"Oh, please," Flintworth sighed. "If you want the devil, Faulke would be—" He stopped. "Yes, well, erm, good morning, Leeds."
"Same to you." Leeds replied, stepping aside for him.
Flintworth made his way to the parlor. Upon entering, he stopped short and groaned inwardly. Bylious was sitting in the velvet chair, while Jeremy and Eloise were seated side by side upon the long sofa.
"Ha! See, I told you he'd be along," Bylious said as Flintworth entered. He waited until Eloise and Jeremy had turned before giving Flintworth a look which showed his displeasure. Jeremy had reached the manor before Bylious had.
Keeping out of the way, Flintworth settled himself in a carved wooden seat by the door. After a silence, Bylious grinned.
"Miss Eloise," he said, "you'll play for me, will you? You didn't last time."
Eloise blushed. "Oh...I suppose I could, Mr. Bylious," she began to rise and squeezed Jeremy's hand before letting go.
"Oh, take him along if you must," Bylious said, catching the gesture. "I hear he can play something of a tune."
"He taught me." Eloise nodded, smiling at Jeremy.
"Besides, he can't bear to leave you for long, anyway." Bylious casually added.
Flintworth's shoulders drooped as he sighed softly. Jeremy looked at Bylious. "I enjoy her presence, but I don't keep it from others." He explained.
"So you won't play with her, then?" Bylious asked.
"...I think the choice should be hers." He answered quietly.
"I agree." Bylious replied archly.
Eloise sensed the awkward tension and sought a way to make peace. "Let us have Jeremy play first." She decided. "When his fingers grow tired, I will replace them." While she said this, she gently led Jeremy to the piano, thereby eliminating any opportunity Bylious had to object. As Jeremy seated himself, Bylious' only comment was, "See that you don't play too loudly. My head aches when I hear loud noises."
"I can understand that, sir." Jeremy smiled.
Flintworth was not so amused. Leeds ushered a few elder couples into the room soon after and Eloise and Jeremy extended their warm greetings to guests. They apologized that Sir Carroll was not present, but he was invited to breakfast by one of the neighbors and would return with them to Trellis Manor for the luncheon.
With the flux of people, Flinworth slipped out of the parlor and made straight for the garden. He could feel the frustration inside of him. It did not happen often but every now and then, even he would feel his patience stretched thin by Bylious' antics.
"So Master Delend came earlier than you did, sir," Flintworth muttered aloud as he paced the garden walk. "Of course he did, he's in love with Miss Eloise, for heaven's sakes. Do you really think the world stops at your whim—?"
He sighed.
What was the point of growing angry? Nothing could be done. Peter Bylious came from an upper class family. His uncle was in the House of Lords, and laws in England did not do much to punish the wealthier folk for their inconsiderate actions toward their fellow men. Though Sir Carroll had hired Flintworth to calm Bylious' foul moods, Flintworth himself had no authority over the short-tempered man.
"But I have to admit, he is trying," Flintworth told himself. "After all, he could have said much worse and he didn't—and that after the disappointment of being too late when he was making efforts to be early!"
He paced along the garden path, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Oh, Austin, what have you gotten yourself into?" he asked himself aloud. "Not that it was your choice, really. I'm sure Sir Carroll had the best of intentions, but I think his hopes are misplaced. I've hardly done anything to help Mr. Bylious...oh, perhaps I have, but my, I feel so worthless. And something just—it just doesn't feel right. I don't know, am I wrong?"
"You could be," a voice behind him answered. Flintworth turned and saw Faulke standing near the garden wall. "Then again, I expect shadowing a man like that must leave you on pins and needles day and night."
Flintworth drew in his breath. "Good morning, Mr. Faulke."
"Is it one?" Faulke asked with a disbelieving smile. "You don't seem to think so."
"I don't trust my thoughts at the moment, Mr. Faulke."
"Indeed." Faulke nodded. "You give vent to them, though."
Flintworth's jaw tightened. "I tend to when I'm alone. I have little recourse otherwise."
"My, my, affairs have grown worse," Faulke said with mocking seriousness.
"Maybe," Flintworth replied firmly, holding his ground. "Not that I expect it's your business to know."
At this, Faulke laughed openly. "Dear me, what a lark!...oh, come now, dear fellow, don't look at me in such a hurt way. My intention is not to mock you."
Flintworth looked at him disparagingly. "Keep your intentions."
Faulke shook his head, still smiling. "Truly, I simply pity you that events have taken such a turn."
"Oh, this isn't the first time, Mr. Faulke," Flintworth said in a quieter tone. "It won't be the last."
"Indeed," Faulke nodded.
An awkward pause followed. Flintworth expected Faulke to walk on, but as Faulke remained standing where he was, Flintworth decided to break the silence.
"Are you joining us, Mr. Faulke?" he asked.
"Oh no, I'm merely passing by," Faulke shrugged. "I have a letter for Sir Carroll."
"He's not here," Flintworth answered. He explained why Sir Carroll was absent. "I can give it to him for you if you are not staying."
"A kind offer, but I was to deliver it personally to him," Faulke replied. "However, I think he'd rather receive it out here."
"I understand," Flintworth nodded. He looked toward the house. "Perhaps he's returned. I'll tell him you're here when he comes."
"Would you?" Faulke smiled.
With a bow, Flintworth retraced his steps and re-entered the house. He was surprised that he felt calmer, considering Faulke had not been an exceptional source of comfort, but Flintworth was still grateful his peace had returned.
Opening the door to the parlor, he could see that most of the guests had arrived, but Sir Carroll had not returned. Bylious seemed to be quietly observing his surroundings, and Flintworth did not want to unnecessarily provoke him by entering the room. With the door slightly ajar, he managed to see that Eloise was seated at the piano and Jeremy was standing beside her, pointing out various techniques.
Flintworth was able to watch them for a minute before he was aware of a presence near him. He looked up into Libby's judging face. Embarrassed, he backed away from the door.
"I—was feeling too shy to join them," he explained, rather awkwardly.
The raised eyebrow on Libby's face went even higher. "Not enough to keep you from watching them, however."
"Shall I open the door for you, Ms. Li—Ms. Williams?" he offered, for she was holding a tray or refreshments.
"No, the food is for the dining hall," she explained. A silence followed. "But you can move out of my way."
Flintworth quickly did so. Libby was not a woman to trifle with. He breathed a sigh of relief when she disappeared down the hall. Just then, the door to the parlor opened and Eloise led the guests towards the dining hall to partake of the meal.
Flintworth flattened himself against the wall to avoid being pancaked by the door. The last guest to leave the room was Bylious and he slammed the door behind him.
"It's more than I can bear." He said with smothered rage. Seeing Flintworth, he snapped. "Where have you been? I've been tortured by their senseless cacophony for an hour at least!"
"Shouldn't you join them now, sir?"
Bylious would not hear of it. "I'm vexed by them, Flintworth. Those old prigs with their saucy looks and judging eyes. If even you couldn't be bothered to stay among them, how could I?"
"Then perhaps a walk along the garden path might do you a bit of good, sir. You don't have to be around their talking but won't seem so unsociable either."
Bylious could not refute the logic in that, and Flintworth was glad he could not. Now was his chance to observe the couple without raising suspicion. Together they entered the dining hall, and Bylious explained to Miss Eloise that he really could do with a draught of air. She understood at once, and Bylious left for the garden through the glass door in the dining hall.
Flintworth stood near the bay window. He was a mere servant and so was not given a place at the table. Eloise noticed him standing alone.
"Mr. Flintworth, aren't you hungry?" she asked him, drawing near. "I'm sure Margaret would be glad to find you something--"
"Oh, no, thank you, Miss Trellis," Flintworth replied. He wasn't about to be talked down from his perfect opportunity to observe the lovers. Not that he didn't feel a little guilty for doing so.
"Are you quite sure?" Eloise worried.
"Quite, Miss Trellis, I had breakfast before coming." Flintworth assured her, his cheeks growing a touch warm. "But never mind me, Miss Trellis. Your guests are waiting for you."
"But I had something to tell you," she said. She leaned a little closer, so that her hand barely nearly touched his, "Thank you for finding my glove."
His cheeks felt very warm now.
"It's what any gentleman would do for a lady," he stammered bashfully.
Eloise smiled, "You are a very good man, Mr. Flintworth."
Flintworth looked up, moved and unable to reply. To be praised in a such a way by Miss Trellis was to be praised indeed. Words adequate to thank her simply would not come. He was obliged to nod his head in grateful recognition of her kind words.
"Eloise, my love..." Jeremy called to her at this moment. With a smile to Flintworth, Eloise returned to the table where the guests had taken their seats. Throughout the meal, Flintworth discretely would look from Jeremy to Eloise. The longer he watched, the more confused he was as to why Dr. Newson was concerned at all.
Flintworth had never seen Eloise so happy, and Jeremy's smiles were filled with the contentment to be expected from a man in love. Yet, sometimes it seemed that his smiles would grow sad. The tenderness behind them would not fade, but somehow the happiness would seem to be tainted with a measure of sorrow.
Flintworth could not be sure, however, and he did not feel himself qualified to make judgments. After all, Newson was the one who requested the information; he was the one who should analyze the data, being a doctor, of course. Flintworth was looking forward to the next time he would see Newson, while hoping that the little information he had would not amount to anything serious. One could never tell with love...