Chapter Seven
The said Theodore Werth, Lord Bedgberry, finding himself alone over Christmas, could hardly believe his luck. He might, for a period of a few blissful weeks, keep his own hours; wander the park from midnight until six, if he chose; sprawl at his leisure in the library otherwise, and help himself to the contents of his father’s book-room at will. Nothing could better please him.
Only, with one thing or another, he spent a deal of his time in the cellars.
It began on the day following the departure of the rest of the family, when Theo, reclining at his ease before the library hearth, with a large folio open on his lap and a beverage at his elbow, had got in the way of thinking that he was in for a period of complete enjoyment.
Then came there a whispering, somewhere beyond
