The Governor's Lady Read Online Free PDF

whispering.
    â€˜Not a word about Lady Anne. And don’t be surprised if H.E.’s offhand: it’s only his way. And try and keep the conversation going. He likes that. The claret’ll be Barton, by the way. Don’t let youself be caught out.’
    The A.D.C. had opened the door at the far end and was standing back for Harold to go in ahead of him.
    â€˜Excellency,’ he said, speaking just loud enough to be heard distinctly but not so loud as to be disturbing, ‘Mr. Stebbs has arrived.’
    Harold waited. All that he could see was the high back of a red leather chair. From behind it there was a movement and a rustle of papers, and then Sir Gardnor appeared. A tall man, he gave the impression of still rising even when he was already standing. He pushed the chair back and came round, hand outstretched, and smiling.
    â€˜Mr. Stebbs,’ he said. ‘How kind of you to come like this. Without warning, too. This is a bachelor household at the moment, you understand. You’re not tired, are you—after the journey, I mean? You wouldn’t rather be in bed?’
    By now, Sir Gardnor seemed somehow to be hanging over him. But it was Mr. Frith whom Sir Gardnor was already addressing.
    â€˜Good of you to go out of your way like this to bring Mr. Stebbs here tonight,’ he said. ‘You weren’t thinking of doing anything else, were you?’
    While Sir Gardnor was speaking, Harold was able to observe him more closely. It was a remarkably effective smile that he had; quite enveloping, in fact. Not that Harold was unfamiliar with it: he had seen Sir Gardnor’s photographs often enough in the papers. It was only that, in real life, the face, like the smile, was even more impressive.
    The whole effect was rather formidable: there was the iron grey hair; the wide forehead coming down to the dark jutting eyebrows; the high arch to the nose; the massive deeply divided chin. Like some bloody Roman gladiator, Harold found himself thinking.
    And while he was looking, he noticed the smile again. It bore no relation to what Sir Gardnor was saying; was simply turned on and off at will, like floodlighting.
    There was one other thing that Harold noticed. Sir Gardnor introduced a question into every other sentence, and then turned to another topic before there was time for a reply.
    â€˜Your trip,’ he was now saying to Harold, ‘you read it up, I hope? The birds are particularly interesting. And the geology, didn’t you find? The watershed explains a great deal about the Mimbo. You noticed their stature? Clearly a hill people, but living in the plains. And their language. Are you interested in native tongues? “Mimbo” also means “palm wine” you know. A once great people, divided by a valley and ariver—and a war of conquest, of course. Have you read much African history, Mr. Stebbs? It’s most rewarding. Essential, in fact, if you’re to see exactly where we fit into things.’
    The smile had flitted in and out half-a-dozen times while Sir Gardnor was speaking, and around his feet the little pile of unanswered questions was steadily getting deeper.
    He turned to Harold.
    â€˜You don’t mind dining early, do you?’ he asked. ‘I want to talk to you afterwards. It’s about the book. You’ve heard I shall be away up country? I don’t want to lose any time. While I’m on my tour, I thought you could be getting on with things. It’s really the tables, you know. We can’t afford to have them out of date, can we?’
    Sir Gardnor had been sipping the hock without any apparent interest. Then the Mimbo butler poured the claret. He was a lined, ancient creature, the butler, with no more than isolated tufts of hair left upon his scalp. But the other servants all seemed in awe of him: Harold noticed how they stepped back for him to pass. He noticed also how attentive he was, how watchful. His head held slightly to one