On his return from Rivershold to London, Viscount Wilworth left it the same day: business called him to Europe, where he remained until July, and, tired, exhausted by the sea journey to England, he returned to his hometown, to his home. When the Viscount had slept and cleaned himself up, he decided not to waste time and to get on with the business that had accumulated during his absence. The very next morning, on entering his study, the lord saw a stack of letters and telegrams lying on the desk, sent by Mr. Morris. The Viscount had forgotten Walsingham and poor Cassie while travelling in Europe, surrounded by new people, cares, and pretty ladies of the court, but as he looked at Mr. Morris's letters he smiled, and was overcome with a desire to know what had happened at Walsingham during his absence. The Viscount settled himself in his broad armchair and read letter after letter, strictly in chronological order: Mr. Morris had a good, cheerful style, and it was a most entertaining and informative matter to read his description of the events that had taken place in the village. The Viscount was particularly interested in Miss Cassandra's health. Soon, having dealt with the letters, he turned to the telegrams, familiarising himself with them in chronological order.
The first telegram read: "Patient is much better today so I have allowed her to get out of bed and take a little walk in the garden."
Later, "Miss Cassandra is perfectly well and runs about like a naughty child. Her complexion is fine."
Later, "It is raining. The ward is feeling well. The Glowford house flooded, and the family are sleeping in a neighbour's hayloft. I am very sorry for the girls."
Here the viscount sighed regretfully, and a wave of sincere sympathy for the poor Glowfords overwhelmed his heart.
Later, "The rain continues unabated, but none of the Glowfords are ill. The family continues to sleep in the hayloft."
"We must help them at once, we must do something for them! – The Viscount decided, horrified at the conditions in which the parson, Miss Catherine, Miss Christine, and the lovely Cassie found themselves. – And this must be the way it always is when it rains at Walsingham, but the stubborn parson won't accept any help! He would think of his daughters!"
The Viscount was extremely unhappy at this distressing situation of the Glowfords, and felt much distress at the thought of Cassie, who required careful care and warmth, getting cold at night, sleeping on a stiff haystack. But Lord Wilworth found the strength to continue reading the telegrams.
Later: 'Miss Cassandra has had her fill of green apples today and her stomach is cramping. The local boys inform me that she and Cassie raided the baker's apple trees."
Later: "Miss Cassie is full of vigour and health."
Later, "A wedding is being celebrated in the village today. Mr. Pilough and I have been kindly invited to the celebration. I am looking forward to socialising with the lovely pet. I leave for London tomorrow morning."
Satisfied with the news that Cassie was well, Viscount Wilworth decided to visit his friend the Count of Draymore to enquire about the progress of the restoration of the church at Walsingham. He collected a packet of letters from Mr. Morris to show his friend the plight of his peasants (the Viscount suspected that the Count had forgotten all about them), got into a carriage and set off for the west end of London, where the Earl's large mansion was situated. The Viscount found his friend bored and in a bad mood: he had recently lost a decent sum of money at the races.
– It is interesting how you are concerned with the fate of this village," said the Count of Draymore ironically, after the Viscount had informed him of the purpose of his unexpected visit.
– I don't understand your indifference to the fate of these poor people," said the Viscount, and handed him Dr Morris's letters. – Here, read them.
– What are these? – The Count was surprised, taking the papers.
– Mr. Morris's letters. Read them, Colin, it will do you good to know what is going on in your property.
The Count grinned, hurt by his friend's reproach: he had indeed forgotten his promises to the parson and his parishioners, and had confined himself to the rebuilding of the church. The life of the capital quickly removed from his mind thoughts of blessing his peasants and the beautiful Christine: a series of receptions and balls at court decorated his life, and, except for pleasure and entertainment, the Count thought of nothing, so he did not even open the envelopes with letters from Mr. Pilough, who regularly sent him reports on the work done in the church. But, to respect his friend, the Count ran his eyes over Mr. Morris's letters, but he read inattentively, through a line, but when he saw the name of the beautiful Christine Glowford, he began to read that part of the letter thoughtfully.
– "…Miss Christine Glowford suggested that the ground around the church should be beautified by planting a few beds of flowers, but I think this is a bad idea, for if flowers are planted in the midst of the restoration, they will be lost under the layers of dust which will settle on them like icing sugar on cakes. I advised the girl to plant the beds after the restoration, but the work is dragging on and there seems to be no end to it, and I am sorry for the wasted labour of such a nice girl as Miss Glowford…" – Mr. Morris wrote.
"Lovely Christine… I'd forgotten all about her. Yes, by heavens, she is unbelievably good looking! Of course, her half-witted sister is even more lovely, but because of her illness loses her value," the Count thought with a sneer, remembering his first impression of Miss Cassie's appearance. – It is a pity that the beautiful Christine was not born into the high society of England, or I would have courted her."
– You are right, Dominic, the circumstances are very sad," said the earl, with a playful frown, and laid the letters on the table.
– The fate of Walsingham is in your hands, my friend," the viscount reminded him. – These poor people are relying on you.
– I know that. Well, I will help them.
– And when will you finally take decisive action? It's been over a month since we left the village.
– I've been distracted by pressing matters, so the fate of my peasants has paled for a while before what I've had to deal with here," the Count replied, unhappy at his friend's interference.
– Pardon me, but I am well aware of your 'urgent matters'. While you were amusing yourself with the ladies, it rained in Walsingham, and the Glowford house was flooded," said Viscount Wilworth reproachfully, watching the expression on his friend's face.
– That's a pity," he said briefly.
– Colin, be serious: the house flooded, and the family slept in the neighbour's hayloft, next to the pigs. – The Vicomte was displeased with the Count's indifferent and even mocking tone.
– I hope none of them caught a cold. – When the Count heard of the downpour, he thought of Christine: in his imagination he saw her lying in the hayloft, under the roof of the old barn, the rain pounding furiously on her, covered with a tattered blanket, and he felt a chill.
– 'Fortunately, not,' the viscount answered him. – The village has begun work in the fields, so you have a great opportunity to fix up the cottages without disturbing the peasants. However, I'm curious to know how the restoration is going? Any progress?
– I confess I have not yet read Mr. Pilough's reports. – The Count was not the least bit embarrassed. – If you are interested in them, you can read them yourself.
– Gladly," replied the viscount. – But may I ask, what has been distracting you all this month?
– I have been having an affair with an actress," replied the Count briefly. He opened the drawer of his desk, took out a thick stack of unopened letters and gave them to his friend. – I think, Dominic, that you, too, would do well to get a permanent pet," he advised the viscount with a chuckle.
"It would be lovely to have a beauty like the peasant Christine as my pet. Or herself. She would be infinitely grateful to me for my kindness and patronage. But no, it's unacceptable: me and a peasant! What a scandal would break out in society!" – ran through the Count's mind.
– What you need is not a pet, but a wife," Viscount Wilworth again advised him. – Fortunately, England is full of ladies worthy of your title.
– When I consider marrying, I shall choose one of them," said the Count laughingly. – But I am afraid there are no virgins as pure as those in the wilderness of Walsingham.
– Well, give Walsingham a decent life: this patronage will cost you less than what you spend on amusements and lose at the races," said the viscount, seriously, displeased at his friend's frivolous phrases. – I'll see you tomorrow.
The friends graciously bade farewell, and the viscount, full of conflicting feelings, got into his carriage and went to his mansion, taking with him the letters from the architect. When he reached home, he retired to his study, perused Mr. Pilough's reports, and was dissatisfied: the work on the church was progressing slowly, and the architect complained that it was a waste of time, and urged Lord Draymore to send London builders to Walsingham, for "with these village lads he gets nothing but nerve trouble." Mr. Pilough also reported the extreme necessity of stone roads being erected in the village, as during the rains it sinks in mud, and gave a brief description of the means of transporting the peasants on such days, which caused the Viscount's face to show a mocking but full of disapproval of this dreadful situation. Before his acquaintance with Walsingham, Viscount Wilworth had not even a suspicion that such dreadful living conditions could exist on Earth, especially in his beloved England, and not so far from London!
After reading Mr. Pilough's reports, the Viscount decided to insist that the Count of Draymore take notice of the plight of the Walsingham people, and he also had an irresistible urge to write to Pastor Glowford, suggesting that Miss Cassandra be seen by a London psychiatrist. The Viscount knew the parson's categorical attitude to Cassie, but he hoped that on this occasion prudence would suppress the church servant's unnecessary religiosity.