The night, however, did not bring him, and Mrs. Cadurcis began to
recur to her alarm. Much as she now disliked Lady Annabel, she
could not resist the conviction that her ladyship would not permit
Plantagenet to remain at Cherbury. Nevertheless, jealous, passionate,
and obstinate, she stifled her fears, vented her spleen on her unhappy
domestics, and, finally, exhausting herself by a storm of passion
about some very unimportant subject, again sought refuge in sleep.
She awoke early in a fright, and inquired immediately for her son.
He had not been seen. She ordered the abbey bell to be sounded, sent
messengers throughout the demesne, and directed all the offices to
be searched. At first she thought he must have returned, and slept,
perhaps in a barn; then she adopted the more probable conclusion, that
he had drowned himself in the lake. Then she went into hysterics;
called Plantagenet her lost darling; declared he was the best and most
dutiful of sons, and the image of his poor father, then abused all the
servants, and then abused herself.
About noon she grew quite distracted, and rushed about the house
with her hair dishevelled, and in a dressing-gown, looked in all the
closets, behind the screens, under the chairs, into her work-box, but,
strange to say, with no success.
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