CHAPTER XIX
David proved himself such a very satisfactory incoming tenant that theColonel insisted upon his staying to lunch and hastened off into thecellar to find a bottle of old Marsala, of which he proposed that theyshould partake with a dry biscuit before Mr. Merridrew's departure.Sylvia sank into a low chair with a little exclamation of despair.
"Now daddy's done it!" she exclaimed. "Are you hungry, Mr. Thain?"
"Not very--yet," David replied, glancing at his watch. "You see, it'sonly half-past eleven."
"Because," she said impressively, "there are exactly three ratherskinny cutlets in the house. All the servants left thismorning--'all', I said. We only have two!--and an old woman from thevillage is coming up at half-past twelve to cook them. One was for meand two were for father. Perhaps you will tell me what I am to do?"
David smiled.
"Well," he observed, "I was distinctly asked to luncheon, and Iaccepted. Haven't you anything--"
"Anything what?" she asked patiently.
"Tinned in the house, or that sort of thing?" he suggested, a littlevaguely.
"Of course we haven't," she replied. "Don't you know that we are allpacked up and leaving to-morrow? It's the biggest wonder in the worldthat we have any biscuits to eat with that precious Marsala."
"Why not," he proposed hopefully, "put on your hat and motor intoFakenham with me? I suppose there is a butcher's shop there. We canbuy something together."
She sprang to her feet.
"And you can choose exactly what you like!" she exclaimed. "Mr. Thain,you are delightful! That is the best of you Americans. You are fullof resource. I shan't be a minute getting a hat and a pair of gloves."
David strolled about the gardens of his new demesne until Sylviareappeared. She had pinned on a blue tam-o'-shanter and was wearing ajersey of the same colour.
"I shall love a spin in your car!" she exclaimed. "And you driveyourself, too. How delightful!"
They swung off through the more thickly wooded part of the park,driving in places between dense clumps of rhododendrons, and comingunexpectedly upon a walled garden, neglected, but brilliant with springand early summer flowers.
"Isn't it queer to have a garden so far away from the house," the girlremarked, "but I dare say you've heard that the late Marquis ofMandeleys was mad about underground passages. There is one existingsomewhere or other to the summer house in that garden from the Abbey,and lots of others. I am not at all sure that there isn't one toBroomleys."
"Haven't you been afraid sometimes lest the ghosts of the dead monksmight pay you an unexpected visit?"
She shook her head.
"They always held the funeral services in the chapel," she explained,"but the burying place is at the side of the hill there. You can seethe Mandeleys vault from here."
"And the cypress trees," David pointed out. "I wonder how old theyare."
"The American of you!" she scoffed. "You ought to love Mandeleys--andBroomleys. Everything about the place is musty and ancient and wornout. You know the Marquis, don't you?"
"Slightly," David assented.
"Is he really human," she asked, "or is he something splendidlypicturesque which has just stepped out of one of the frames in hispicture gallery? I can never make up my mind. He is so beautiful tolook at, but he doesn't look as though he belonged to this generation,and why on earth they ever used to call him 'The Wicked Marquis' Ican't imagine. I've tried him myself," she went on ingenuously, "in noend of ways, but he treats me always as though I were some grandchild,walking on stilts. Of course you're in love with Lady Letitia?"
"Must I be?"
"But isn't it all absolutely preordained?" she insisted, "in fact, it'salmost depressingly obvious. Here are the Mandeleys estates, thefinest in Norfolk, mortgaged up to the hilt, the Abbey shut up, theMarquis and all of them living on credit, the family fortunes at theirlowest ebb. And here come you, an interesting American stranger, withmore millions than the world has ever heard of before. Of course youmarry Lady Letitia and release the estates!"
"Do I!" he murmured. "Well, it seems plausible."
"It has to be done," she decided, with a sigh. "It's a pity."
"Why?"
She shook her head.
"We mustn't flirt. We should be interfering with the decrees ofProvidence.--What an interesting-looking woman! You know her, too."
They passed Marcia and her companion, about half-way to Fakenham.Marcia bowed cheerfully and looked with interest at Sylvia.
"I know her very slightly," David admitted.
"She doesn't belong to these parts," Sylvia said. "We've lived herefor nearly seven years, you know, and I know every one for miles round,by sight."
"She came originally from somewhere in the neighbourhood, I believe,"David observed.
"Tell me everything about her, please?" his companion demanded. "I ama born gossip."
"You finish with the romance of Mandeleys first," he suggestedevasively.
"Well, we've finished that, so far as you are concerned," she said,"but as soon as you have rescued the family and the wedding bells haveceased ringing, you'll find yourself faced with another problem. Didyou notice a queer little cottage, right opposite the Abbey?"
"Of course I did."
"Well, there's an old man sits in the garden there," she went on,"reading the Bible and cursing the Marquis, most of the day. He usedto do it years ago, and then he went to America. Now he's come back,and he's started it again."
"And what does the Marquis do about it?" David enquired.
"He can't do anything. The late Marquis made the old man a present ofthe cottage for saving his life, and they can't take it away from himnow. I suppose he must have been really wicked when he was young--Imean the Marquis," she went on, "because, you see, he ran away withthat old man's daughter. It's the sort of thing," she went on, "thatMarquises are supposed to do in stories, but it doesn't make thempopular in a small neighbourhood. Now tell me about the good-lookingwoman who bowed to you, please?"
"She is the daughter of the man of whom you have been speaking," Davidtold her. "She is the lady with whom the wicked Marquis eloped nearlytwenty years ago."
Sylvia's interest was almost breathless.
"You mean to say that you knew the story--you--an American?"
"Absolutely," he replied. "I came into touch with it in a queer way.The old man Vont came back from America on the same steamer that I did.I'll tell you another thing. The wicked Marquis, as you call him, andthat lady whom we have just passed, dine together now at least onenight a week, and the woman has become quite a famous authoress. Shewrites under the name, I believe, of Marcia Hannaway."
Sylvia threw herself back in her seat.
"Why, it's amazing!" she declared. "It turns a sordid little villagetragedy into a piece of wonderful romance. Perhaps, after all, that iswhat makes the Marquis seem like a piece of wood to every other woman."
"I have heard it said," David continued, "that he has been entirelyfaithful to her all his life. Where do I stop, please?"
"Here," she replied, "at this shop. Please come in and choose your ownmeat. I feel in much too romantic a frame of mind to even know beeffrom mutton."
David followed her a little doubtfully into the shop.
"Perhaps," he ventured to suggest, "as the nucleus of your meal hasalready been decided upon--"
"Of course," she interrupted; "cutlets. We want more cutlets. Youneedn't bother. I'll see about it."
David slipped into the next shop and reappeared with a huge box ofchocolates, which he handed over apologetically.
"I am not sure whether you'll find these up to much."
"For the first time," she exclaimed, as she accepted them, "I realisewhat it must be to be a millionaire! I have never seen such a box ofchocolates in my life. Do you mind going over to the grocer's andletting him see me with you?" she went on. "It will be so good for ourcredit, and his is just one of the account
s we have to leave for alittle time. Were you ever poor, Mr. Thain?"
"Poor, but not, alas! romantically so," he confessed. "To be the realthing, I ought to have earned my first few pounds, oughtn't I? Yousee, I didn't. I was educated by relatives, and when a great chancecame my way I was able to take advantage of it. An uncle advanced me athousand pounds, upon one condition."
"Had you to make him a partner?" she asked, in the intervals of givinga small order at the grocer's.
He shook his head.
"No," he answered gravely, "it wasn't a financial condition. In a wayit was something more difficult."
She looked at him curiously.
"Whatever it was," she said, "if you promised, I am quite sure that youwould keep your word."
They motored homewards and David was for a few minutes unexpectedlythoughtful. He deliberately approached Broomleys from the back, buteven then it was impossible to avoid a distant view of the cottage. Helooked towards it grimly.
"Conditions are stern things," he sighed.
"Haven't you kept that one yet?" she asked.
"The time is only just coming," he told her.
She looked up at him pleadingly.
"Don't bother about it now, please," she begged. "This is such adelightful day. And whatever you do, you mustn't let it interfere withyour eating three cutlets."