Part 5 (1/2)
”Yes; know all the rooms?” laughed d.i.c.k nervously.
”Why, certainly, sir. I know every room from the garret to the cellar,” replied Mrs. Winkley wonderingly.
”And there are no ghosts, are there?”
”Ghosts, sir? Not that I ever heard of.”
”I was only wondering. It's an old house, and I was thinking that there might be a family ghost.”
Mrs. Winkley shook her head. ”Nothing of the sort, sir, to my knowledge. Wait a minute, though; I did hear when I was a girl that the elm grove was haunted. There's a lake down there, and there was a story years ago that a servant who had drowned herself there used to wander up and down the grove wringing her hands on Michaelmas Eve.”
”And where is the elm grove?”
”It's away towards the North Lodge. You wouldn't see it the way you came, and it's hidden from here.”
”But the house? There's no legend that that has ever been haunted?”
”No, sir. I suppose some of the Wendovers were very wild generations ago, but I never heard that any of their spirits ever came back again.”
Mrs. Winkley was pleased that her new master kept talking so long, although she came to the conclusion that he was somewhat eccentric.
”Of course, it was foolish of me to ask,” d.i.c.k said somewhat awkwardly; ”but the thought struck me. By the way, how long did you say it was to lunch-time?”
”Not quite half an hour, sir,” replied Mrs. Winkley, looking at an old eight-day clock. ”I'll speak to the cook and get it pushed forward as fast as possible. Perhaps you'd like a wash, sir? I'll show you to your room, if you would.”
”Thank you. After that I--I think, Mr. Bidlake, I'd like to go into the gardens.”
He was afraid he was making a bad impression upon his housekeeper, and he was angry with himself for not acting in a more natural manner. But he seemed to be under a strange influence. Although the thought of the supernatural had left him, his experience of a few minutes before doubtless coloured his mind.
A few minutes later they were out in the sunlight again, and they had scarcely reached the gardens when a man of about fifty years of age made his way towards them.
”Good morning, sir,” he said, with a strong Scotch accent. ”Have I the honour to speak to the new master?”
”Yes; my name is Faversham.”
”I'm M'Neal, your second gardener, sir. I thought when I saw you I'd make bold to speak, sir. I've been here for thirty years, sir, and have always borne a good character.”
”I've no doubt you have,” laughed d.i.c.k. ”You look it.”
”Thank you, sir. I gave satisfaction to the late Mr. Faversham, and to Sir Guy Wendover before him, and I hope----”
”That we shall get on well together. Of course we shall. I like the look of you.”
He felt better now. The sight of the broad expanse of the park and the smell of the sweet, pure air made him light-hearted again.
”Indeed,” he continued, ”I may as well tell you right away that I intend to keep everybody that was here in my uncle's days. You can tell the others that.”
”Thank you, sir. But I'd like to remark that this war has made food dear.”
”I'll bear that in mind; you'll not find me unjust. All who serve me shall be well paid.”
”We've all done our best, sir,” persisted M'Neal, who was somewhat of a character, ”but I'll not deny that we shall all be the better for a master. Personally I'm not satisfied with the way things are looking.”
”No? I thought they looked beautiful.”
”Ah, but nothing to what they can look. We are, as you may say, in a kind of between time now. We've not planted out the beds, although we've prepared them. If you'll----”
”Of course I will,” d.i.c.k interrupted him, with a laugh, ”but you must give me time before making definite promises.”
”If I might show you around,” suggested M'Neal, ”I think I could explain----”
”Later, later,” laughed d.i.c.k, moving away. ”Mr. Bidlake, will you come over here with me? I want to speak to you privately.”
”Do you know,” Mr. Bidlake told him, ”that your uncle discharged M'Neal several times during the time he lived here?”
”Why?”
”Because he followed him like a dog whenever he came into the grounds, and insisted on talking to him. He said the fellow gave him no rest.”
”But why did he take him on again?”
”He didn't. But M'Neal took no notice of the discharges. He always turned up on the following morning, and went on with his work as though nothing had happened.”
”And my uncle paid him his wages?”
”Yes. You see, the fellow is as faithful as a dog, although he's a nuisance. My word, what a view!”
The lawyer made this exclamation as a turn in the path revealed a landscape they had not hitherto seen. It was one of those stretches of country peculiar to that part of Surrey, and as d.i.c.k looked he did not wonder at the lawyer's enthusiasm. Beyond the park, which was studded with giant oaks, he saw a rich, undulating country. Here and there were farmsteads nestling among the trees; again he saw stretches of woodland, while in the distance rose fine commanding hills. The foliage had far from reached its glory, but the tinge of green which was creeping over every hedgerow and tree contained a promise, and a charm that no poet could describe. And the whole scene was all bathed in spring sunlight, which the birds, delighting in, made into a vast concert hall.
”My word, it is ripping!” cried d.i.c.k.
”It's glorious! it's sublime!” cried the lawyer. ”You are a fortunate man, Mr. Richard Faversham. Do you know, sir, that all you can see is yours?”
”All mine?” d.i.c.k almost gasped.
”Yes, all this and much more.”
For the first time d.i.c.k had a real feeling of possession, and something to which he had hitherto been a stranger entered his life. Up to now he had been poor. His life, ever since his father died, had been a struggle. He had dreamed dreams and seen visions, only to be disappointed. In spite of ambition, endeavour, determination, everything to which he had set his hand had failed him. But now, as if some fabled genii had come to his aid, fortune had suddenly poured her favours into his lap.
And here was the earnest of it!
This glorious countryside, containing farms, houses, villages, and wide-spreading lands, was his. All his! Gratified desire made his heart beat wildly. At last life was smiling and joyous. What a future he would have! With wealth like his, nothing would be impossible!
”Yes, and much more,” repeated the lawyer. ”On what chances a man's fortunes turn.”
”What do you mean?” asked d.i.c.k, who scarce knew what he was saying.