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FOXGLOVE MANOR

A Novel

By Robert W. Buchanan

In Three Volumes, Vol. I.

London

Chatto And Windos, Piccadilly

1884




FOXGLOVE MANOR.




CHAPTER XIV. BAPTISTO STAYS AT HOME.

|As Haldane sat in his study, the evening previous to the morning
fixed for his journey to London, Baptisto entered quickly and stood
before the desk at which his master was busily writing.

“Can I speak to you, senor?” Haldane looked and nodded.

“What is it, Baptisto?”

“You have arranged that I shall go with you to-morrow, but I have had
during the last few days an attack of my old vertigo. Can you possibly
dispense with my attendance, senor?” Haldane stared in surprise at the
Spaniards face, which was inscrutable as usual.

“Do you mean to say you wish to remain at home?”

“Certainly, senor.”

“Why? because you are ill? On the contrary, you look in excellent
health. No; it is impossible. I cannot get along without you.”

And Haldane returned to his papers as if the matter was ended.

Baptisto, however, did not budge, but remained in the same position,
with his dark eyes fixed upon his master.

“Do me this favour, senor. I am really indisposed, and must beg to
remain.”

Haldane laughed, for an idea suddenly occurred to him which seemed to
explain the mystery of his servant’s request.

“My good Baptisto, I think I understand the cause of your complaint,
and I am sure a little travel will do you good. It is that dark-eyed
widow of the lodge-keeper who attaches you so much to the Manor. The
warm blood of Spain still burns in your veins, and, despite your sad
experience of women, you are still impressionable. Eh? am I right?”

Baptisto quickly shook his head, with the least suspicion of a smile
upon his swarthy face.

“I am not impressionable, senor, and I do not admire your English
women; but I wish to remain all the same.”

“Nonsense!”

“Nonsense! In serious lament, senor, I beseech you to allow me to
remain.”

But Haldane was not to be persuaded at what he conceived to be a mere
whim of his servant. He still believed that Baptisto had fallen a
captive to the charms of Mrs. Feme, a little plump, dark-eyed woman,
with a large family. He had frequently of late seen the Spaniard
hanging about the lodge--on one occasion nursing and dandling the
youngest child--and he had smiled to himself, thinking that the poor
fellow’s misanthropy, or rather his misogynism, was in a fair way of
coming to an end.

Finding his master indisposed to take his request seriously, Baptisto
retired; and presently Haldane strolled into the drawing-room, where
he found his wife.

“Have you heard of the last freak of Baptisto? He actually wants to
remain at ease, instead of accompanying me in my journey.”

Ellen looked up from some embroidery, in which she was busily engaged.

“On no account!” she exclaimed. “If you don’t take him with you, I.
shall not stay in the place.”

“Dear me! said the philosopher. Surely you are not afraid of poor
Baptisto!”

“Not afraid of him exactly, but he makes me shiver. He comes and goes
like a ghost, and when you least expect him, he is at your elbow.
Then, of course, I cannot help remembering he has committed a murder!”

“Nothing of the kind,” said Haldane, laughing and throwing himself
into a chair. “My dear Ellen, you don’t believe the whole truth of
that affair. True, he surprised that Spanish wife of his with her
gallant, whom he stabbed; but I have it