I remembered sailing from England on the Carron Star. How different I was from that girl! Since then I had known Lynx. The inexperienced young girl had become a rich widow—outwardly poised, a woman of the world.
Stirling stood beside me as he had on that other occasion; and I felt comforted.
Turning, I smiled at him and I knew he felt the same.
We went first to the Falcon Inn. How strange it was to sit in that lounge where I had first met Stirling and pour the tea, which had been brought to us, and hand him the plate of scones. He was aware of it too. I knew by the way he smiled at me.
“It seems years ago,” he said; and indeed it did. So much had happened. We ourselves had changed.
We had talked a great deal in the ship coming over. He was going to buy Whiteladies because, he said, the owners would be willing to sell.
They would, in fact, have no alternative. He would offer a big price for it—a price such as they could not possibly get elsewhere. What did it matter? He was the golden millionaire.
“You can’t be certain they’ll sell,” I insisted.
“They’ve got to sell, Nora,” was his answer.
“They’re bankrupt.”
I knew who had helped to make them so and I was ashamed. The triumvirate, he had called us when I had discovered the mine. I wished I were not part of this.
There were things they could do, I pointed out. They could take paying guests, for instance.
“They wouldn’t know how!” Stirling laughed and in that moment he was amazingly like Lynx.
My feelings were in a turmoil. I set myself against them. I felt there was something in what Jessica had said. Lynx was still with us. And I didn’t want those people to sell the house. I was on their side.
Stirling’s eyes looked like pieces of green glass glinting through his sun-made wrinkles. He was so like Lynx that my spirits rose and I was almost happy. Whatever I said, he would acquire Whiteladies. It would be as Lynx wanted it. The Herrick children would play on the lawns and in time be the proud owners; and those children would be mine and Stirling’s. I could almost hear Lynx’s voice: “That’s my girl Nora.”
And I thought of the lawn on which I had once sat uneasily and the house with its grey towers—ancient and imposing—and understood the desire to possess it.
“The first thing to do is to let it be known that we are looking for a house,” said Stirling.
“We have taken a fancy to the district and want to settle here for a while. We are particularly interested in antiquity and have a great fancy for a house such as Whiteladies. I have already mentioned this to the innkeeper.”
“You lose no time,” I said.
“Did you expect me to? I had quite a conversation with the fellow. He remembered our staying here before, or so he said. He tells me that Lady Cardew died and that Sir Hilary married the companion or whatever she was.” - “Her name was Lucie, I believe.”
He nodded at me, smiling.
“I thought she was very humble,” I went on.
“Not quite one of the family. That will be changed now, I daresay.”
“You’re very interested in them, Nora.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Considering we have come across the world to buy their house, I certainly am.”
“You arc too sure,” I told him.
“How can you know what price will be asked? “
He looked at me in astonishment. What does it matter? He was the golden millionaire. But sometimes a price is not asked in gold.
That very day we paid a visit to the local house agent, and learned that a temporary refuge could be found which seemed the ideal place while we were looking round. By a stroke of great good luck the Wakefields were letting the Mercer’s House—a pleasant place and ideal for our purpose while we searched. Only, he warned us, there was no house in the neighbourhood to be compared with Whiteladies except perhaps Wakefield Park itself—and even that was no Whiteladies. We said we were very interested in renting the Mercer’s House and made an appointment to see it the next day.
The house agent drove us over in his brougham where Mr. Franklyn Wakefield was waiting to receive us. I remembered him at once and a glance at Stirling showed that he did too.
He bowed to me first, then to Stirling. His manners seemed very formal but his smile was friendly.
“I hope you will like the Mercer’s House,” he said, ‘though you may find it a little old-fashioned. I have heard it called inconvenient.”
“I’m sure it won’t be,” I told him, secretly amused because the agent’s reports had been so glowing while it seemed that its owner was doing his best to denigrate it.
“In fact we are enchanted by it … from the outside, aren’t we, Stirling?”
Stirling said characteristically that it was in fact the inside of the house with which we must concern ourselves if we were going to live in it.
“Therefore,” said Mr. Wakefield, “I am sure you will wish to inspect it thoroughly.”
“We shall,” said Stirling, rather grimly, I thought; and I remembered that he had taken a dislike to Franklyn Wakefield from the first moment he had seen him.
I said quickly: “You understand we should only be taking the house temporarily?”
“I was cognizant of the fact,” said Mr. Wakefield with a smile.
“But I daresay that however short the time you will wish for the maximum of comfort.”
I looked at the house with its elegant architecture—Queen Anne, I guessed. Over the walls hung festoons of Virginia creeper and I imagined what a glorious sight it would be in the autumn. There were two lawns in front of the house one on either side of the path—trim and well kept. I felt the need to make up for Stirling’s boorishness by being as charming as possible to Mr. Wakefield.
“If the inside is half as delightful as the outside. I shall be enchanted,” I said. He looked pleased and I went on.
“Am I right in thinking it is Queen Anne or early Georgian?”
“It was built in 1717 by an ancestor of mine and has been in the family ever since. We’ve used it as a sort of Dower House for members of the family. At this time there is no one who could occupy it. That is why we thought it advisable to seek a tenant.”
“Houses need to be lived in,” I said.
“They’re a little sad when empty.”
Stirling gave an explosive laugh.
“Really, Nora! You’re giving bricks and mortars credit for feelings they don’t possess.”
“I think Mrs….”
“Herrick,” I supplied.
“I think Mrs. Herrick has a good point,” said Mr. Wakefield.
“Houses soon become unfit for human habitation if they remain unoccupied too long.”
“Well, we’d better look round,” said Stirling.
The house was elegantly furnished. I exclaimed with pleasure at the carved ceiling in the hall. -“That,” explained Mr. Wakefield, ‘is the Mercer’s coat of arms you see engraved on the ceiling. You will see it in many of the rooms. “
“Of course, it’s the Mercer’s House, isn’t it?”
We went into the drawing-room with its french windows opening on to a lawn.
“We should need at least two gardeners,” said Stirling as though determined to find fault with the place.
“Would they be easy to get?”
“There is no problem about that,” Mr. Wakefield assured him.
“The gardens are taken care of by our own gardeners at the Park. The cost of this has been included in the details the agent will have given you.”