My friend then said that they had been
brought from England some months before by a lawyer named Vetch,
who was armed with a power of attorney.
"Cyrus Vetch?" I cried, not doubting it, but overcome with sheer
amazement.
"His name is Cyrus, I believe," replied my friend. "He stayed here
a few days, and made himself very pleasant, though I can't say I
took to him myself."
"He is a thorough-paced villain," I said. "Is he still in the
town?"
"No, he is at Penolver." (This was the name of the Cludde estate.)
"He is a masterful fellow, too; he dismissed old McTavish, who has
stewarded the estate since Mr. Cludde's death; the poor old fellow
feels it very sorely, for though he is a pretty warm man, like most
of his countrymen here, he won't take no other stewardship, though
he could have one for the asking, but moons about here in
idleness."
"Does Mistress Lucy write to her friends here?" I asked.
"No, and they are displeased at her silence; but I suppose she
thinks it scarce worth while to write when she will soon be here in
person. She will, of course, return to England when the estate is
sold, and is to make a match with her guardian's son, so they say.
My word! he'll be a lucky fellow."
This news of Vetch's presence was staggering. As Sir Richard's
attorney he had, I supposed, full power to administer the estate,
or to sell it if he pleased; but I thought it a monstrous
proceeding if he did this without Mistress Lucy's consent.
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