“But he can’t have his mother,” said Helen.  “She’s at Nottingham.  He told me so himself.  He must be delirious.”  And she laughed.

“No, her isn’t,” James put in.  “Her’s at wum” (home).

“How do you know, uncle?”

“I know,” said James.  “Her’d better be sent for.”

And she was sent for.

CHAPTER XXVII

UNKNOTTING AND KNOTTING

When Mrs. Prockter arrived it was obvious to Helen, in spite of her wonderful calm upon discovering James Ollerenshaw’s butler and page, that the lady was extremely ill-at-ease.  And Helen, though preoccupied herself by matters of the highest personal importance, did what she could to remedy a state of affairs so unusual.  Probably nobody, within the memory of that generation, had ever seen Mrs. Prockter ill-at-ease.  Helen inquired as to the health of the sick relative at Nottingham, and received a reply in which vagueness was mingled with hesitancy and a blush.  It then became further obvious to the perspicuous Helen that Mrs. Prockter must have heard of her stepson’s singular adventure, and either resented Helen’s share in it, or was ashamed of Emanuel’s share in it.

“You know that Emanuel is here?” said Helen, with her most diplomatic and captivating smile.

But Mrs. Prockter did not know.  “I thought Mr. Ollerenshaw wanted me,” Mrs. Prockter explained, “so I came as quickly as I could.”

“It was I who wanted to speak to you,” said Helen.  “The truth is that Emanuel is lying on uncle’s bed, unwell or something, and he expressed a wish to see you.  He was singing at the concert——­”

“So sorry I wasn’t able to be here,” Mrs. Prockter inserted, with effusive anxiety.

“We missed you awfully,” Helen properly responded.  “The rector was inconsolable.  So was everybody,” she added, feeling that as a compliment the rector’s grief might be deemed insufficient.  “And he had a breakdown.”

“Who?  Emanuel?”

“Yes.  I was accompanying him, and I am afraid it was my fault.  Anyhow, he didn’t finish his song.  And then we missed him.  He had asked the butler to let him lie down somewhere, and uncle found him in his bedroom.  I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Oh, my dear girl,” said Mrs. Prockter, regaining somewhat her natural demeanour in a laugh, “if it’s only one of Emanuel’s singing breakdowns, we needn’t worry.  Can I go up and talk sense to him?  He’s just like a child, you know.”

“Let me take you up,” cried Helen.

And the two women ascended the grand staircase.  It was the first time the grand staircase had been used with becoming dignity since Mrs. Prockter had used it on her visit of inspection.  That staircase and Mrs. Prockter were made for each other.

No sooner had they disappeared than James popped out of his lair, where he had been hiding, and gazed up the staircase like a hunter stalking his prey.  The arrival of the page in sixpences put him out of countenance for a moment, especially when the page began to feed the hall-fire in a manner contrary to all James’s lifelong notions of feeding fires.  However, he passed the time by giving the page a lesson.