Lady Hazel was about to suggest that Tom run upstairs to rouse her, when Gwen’s abigail came timidly into the breakfast room. “Yes, Tilda, what is it?” Hazel asked. “Excuse me, my lady,” the girl said with a quick curtsey, “but there’s somethin’ troublesome ’ere. Lady Rowle’s not anywheres, and this ’ere note was on ’er dressin’ table. For you, ma’am.” “You mean she’s gone out so early?” Tom asked the girl. “Yes, sir. And she’s took some of ’er clothes with ’er.” “Her clothes!” Tom looked at Hazel with a troubled frown. Hazel was reading the note, her face growing pale. “What is it, Aunt Hazel? What’s wrong?” Hazel glanced at him briefly, then turned to the abigail. “Thank you, Tilda, you may go.” The girl dropped a curtsey and left the room. Hazel put a distressed hand to her forehead while she wordlessly handed the note to Tom. Dearest Hazel, Gwen had written, it pains me to have to embark on my present course without your presence or even your blessing, but George and I are agreed that secrecy is necessary.
