“It is not an ideal situation, but I think in the circumstances the arrangements couldn’t be improved on. The accounts are more or less what they have always been. I have no reason to believe that the housekeeper is not running the-house in just the same manner as when Lord Eversleigh was … er … compos mentis, in a manner of speaking.”
“I see.”
“I am relieved that you have come to see Lord Eversleigh. There is no secret of the fact that you are his heiress and I am delighted to have your assurance that you are satisfied with the manner in which the affairs of Eversleigh are being conducted.”
“It is a little bewildering. I have not been able to exchange a word with Lord Eversleigh.”
“The seizure, I gather, has taken the form of paralysis and partially robbed him of speech. That’s not uncommon.”
“I wanted to assure myself that you were satisfied with the manner in which Lord Eversleigh’s affairs were conducted at the Court.”
“I should be more satisfied if some member of the family were in control. But this doctor inspired great confidence in my nephew and we feel that as long as he is there he will see that everything is in order. The … er … housekeeper does seem to be a woman of good sense and she appears to honor her obligations. If you could reside at the Court until everything resolves itself that would be ideal, but I understand you have your other family commitments which make that impossible.”
I agreed that this was so and we talked awhile and then I rose to go.
He took my hand and held it firmly.
“Rest assured, my dear lady, that should anything happen you will be notified without delay.”
I thanked him and left feeling considerably relieved.
I was rather late for the midday meal. Jessie sat with us as she sometimes did and there was the doctor, Dickon and myself.
I explained that I had walked a little farther than I had meant to and didn’t realize it until I began to make my return journey.
“It’s such a lovely day.” I finished lamely.
“Roast pork should be eaten hot,” said Jessie, a little severely, I thought. She was so devoted to food that she considered a lack of enthusiasm to get to it a kind of lese majesty.
Dickon was in a talkative mood. He was very affable to everyone and seemed almost in a state of excitement. I wondered whether this had anything to do with his reunion with Evalina, or perhaps he had found a new light o’ love. In any case he seemed to be suppressing excitement.
His eyes sparkled. He was incredibly good-looking—handsome with that hyacinthine type of fair hair which curled about his head and those startling blue eyes which were alert and filled with lurking laughter. A mixture of the handsome dignity of Apollo and the mischief of Pan.
I asked how Lord Eversleigh was and the doctor replied that he had had a little setback last night.
“I am so sorry, Mistress Ransome. It was just at the time when I thought he was really showing some improvement.”
He looked rather angrily at Jessie, who lowered her eyes and gave even more attention to the food on her plate than usual.
“Well,” went on the doctor, “we have these upsets. They pass. He seemed more at rest during the morning.”
Dickon said: “I had a wonderful morning. I rode quite a way … to country I hadn’t seen before. I found the most wonderful old inn. Forgotten the name of it. It was very traditional … just what an old inn should be. I took a snack there.”
“What did they give you?” asked Jessie, always interested in food.
“Ripe stilton with hot bread—rye, I think it was. … dark and crusty.”
“You want plenty of butter on it,” said Jessie. “Let it sink in and then a good hunk of cheese on top.”
She was tasting it, I knew, in spite of the pork on her plate.
“That’s how it was—with the inn’s special brand of cider. Delicious.”
“And you came straight back here to your good dinner. I haven’t noticed any lack of appetite. Master Frenshaw!”
“You know how you admire my strength at the table. You and I are a pair. Mistress Jessie.”
“Go on with you! I never could abide people who pick at their food.”
“It was a typical gathering. The old blacksmith came into the inn parlor. There were several of us there. He was a gloomy man. He’d evidently got a reputation for it. The others teased him a bit, ‘We have a wager every year on Blacksmith Harry,’ they told me. ‘If anyone can get him to smile between Christmas Day and Twelfth Night we give ’un a shilling … and that’s six of us. You can reckin we work hard to make blacksmith smile. No one’s had any luck yet.’ He was obviously a favorite of them all and I discovered why. He’d got a real gift for telling a story.”
“Did he tell you some?” I asked.
“One,” said Dickon.
“Was it interesting?”
“It was the way he told it. Now that’s the test of a storyteller. If an old tale which must have been heard many times suddenly holds your attention then that’s the mark of a good story-teller. Blacksmith Harry had us all ears, I can tell you.”
“Tell us the story as well as he did.”
“Oh, I’d spoil it. I’m a man of action. I’m no story-teller.”
I said: “It’s most extraordinary, Dickon, to hear you admit you can’t do something.”
“You are really whetting our appetites,” added Dr. Cabel.
“Well, I’ll have a try. But you really need the blacksmith. There was a man in the village whose daughter kept house for him. He was an old miser and an objectionable character in many ways and gave the daughter a bad time. He’d sent off the man who wanted to marry her so that she could go on keeping house for him. He’d already worried his poor wife into the grave.”
“In fact,” I said, “a most undesirable character.”
“Exactly,” said Dickon. “Well, one day the man wasn’t there anymore. He had gone off, said his daughter, to see his brother up in Scotland. The daughter changed the house … made it merry … put up fresh curtains. Her lover came back. There was nothing to stop them getting married now. They could do it while the man was away and when he got back it would be too late to stop it. So preparations were made for a wedding feast … and everyone said what a good thing it was that the old man had gone to visit his brother in Scotland.
“It was all very happy and showed what misery some people could make for others … for the daughter was very pleased with herself these days. Then all changed … and in a way you might not believe.”
“The old man came back,” I said.
“Yes … in a way.”
“Oh, come on, Dickon,” I cried. “No need to hold back the suspense.”
“He came back … but not in human form.”
“A ghost,” cried Jessie turning pale.
Dickon lowered his voice: “The old man was seen hovering near the well. Several people thought they saw a man there. But he disappeared before they could make sure. Nobody believed them at first … but then the daughter saw him. She let out a shriek and fainted dead away (the blacksmith’s words). She was in a fine state. They couldn’t calm her. Well, to cut a long story short, since I haven’t the blacksmith’s gift, it seemed that the old man had not gone to Scotland at all. He had fallen down the well, with a little help from his daughter. She told the whole story. He’d slipped when drawing water. That was her story. He’d called out and she did nothing about it. She just left him there screaming.”
Jessie had turned pale and was clasping the cross about her neck.
“Well,” said Dickon, “they found his body in the well. They reckoned his daughter had had great provocation and it was never proved that she’d actually pushed him down. She just hadn’t done anything to save him. They gave him a decent burial and he never appeared at the well again. That was all he was asking for … a proper grave. The blacksmith reckoned he knew he’d made his daughter’s life a hell. He didn’t want revenge on her, all he wanted was a decent burial. So the body was put in a coffin and the burial service was said over it. And from that day to this his ghost has never again been seen.” Dickon leaned back in his seat. “You ought to have heard the blacksmith tell it.”