“Oh, that’s all right; we’ll take that as read,” interrupted Mrs. Stamford with a short laugh so exactly like that of William the parrot that Andy could not help having a bewildered feeling that she would next begin to draw corks as well. However, she looked towards the door behind her guest instead, and remarked in a voice which she kept for that one topic —
“Here is my son, Dick.”
A tall young fellow, very like his mother, but somehow indefinably weaker, came forward and shook hands without effusion.
“Got settled down yet?”
“Quite, thank you.”
“You’ll find it dullish, I expect.”
“No – rather exciting, so far.”
The young men took each other’s measure, and then Dick Stamford said in a different tone —
“Well, come in and have a game of billiards with me when you’ve nothing better to do.”
“Thanks, I shall be very pleased,” said Andy.
It was queer how anxiously Mrs. Stamford had looked from one to the other during the little conversation, and more odd still that this tough, unemotional woman should be unable to keep back a long sigh of relief when it was over.
“Have a turn in the garden until the others turn up?” said Dick, after a pause.
So the two young men went out, and a moment later Mr. Stamford came into the room, limping slightly, and walking with a stick. As he closed the door he looked across anxiously at his wife.
“Well?”
“I think it will be a success. He has taken Mr. Deane round the garden.”
“I wonder, Ellen, if we ought not to have let him remain in the Guards. He showed no tendency to drink when he was with his regiment, so far as I know.”
Mrs. Stamford’s mouth set into those firm lines her husband knew so well.
“It was his duty to come home and look after things when your accident made you unable to do so. He will be master here. He must learn how to manage the estate.”
Mr. Stamford smiled at his wife, and it could be seen then whence Dick’s weakness came.
“You wanted him home, Ellen, and so did I.”
“I should never have suggested it if I had not thought it the right thing,” said Mrs. Stamford, flushing a little.
“Of course not – of course not,” agreed her husband. “Young companionship is all he needs, and I think Mr. Deane will supply that deficiency. It was his open look and pleasant, manly tone that struck me when I first heard him preach. ‘Just the sort of young fellow to make a nice companion for Dick,’ I said to myself.” He rubbed his hands together as he repeated this little story for the hundredth time, after the manner of people who live deep in the country and have little to talk about. “I went straight to my cousin after the service and asked if the lad wouldn’t do for us.”
“Your cousin thought it an unsuitable appointment. He wanted you to take the senior curate,” said Mrs. Stamford, “and in some ways he was quite right. Of course this boy can’t preach.”
“No.” Mr. Stamford chuckled. “I believe, though, he thinks he got the living on account of that sermon about Saul.”
“Oh, well, so long as he doesn’t preach more than half an hour I don’t care what he says.”
They were both smiling as the two young men came in through the glass door, and then luncheon was announced.
“Mrs. Atterton and Elizabeth can’t be coming,” said Mrs. Stamford, glancing at the clock. “Anyhow, we won’t wait any longer.”
So they went across the spacious old hall into a dining-room where everything was so harmonious and so mellowed by long companionship, that you noticed the various objects in it at first no more than you do, at first sight, the details of any beautiful thing which has grown and not been made. Mr. Stamford himself was no more conscious of his treasure-house than he was of the nose upon his face. He was, of course, in some hidden place, proud of both. The nose was the best kind of nose, and the house was the best kind of house, and it would have been incongruous if a Stamford of Gaythorpe Manor had been provided with a nose or a house that was less than the best; but he felt no more inclination to draw his visitor’s attention to his surroundings than to his nose.
“Cold beef, please,” said Andy, in answer to the butler’s discreet inquiries; and when the man returned with quite a mountain of thins slices on the plate he felt too much of a stranger to offer any remonstrance.
Mrs. Stamford gave the man an imperceptible nod of approval, for it had already penetrated to her ears – as such things do penetrate in country places – that the new Vicar had an enormous appetite.
But Andy wrestled with the cold beef, all unheeding, for it takes a lifetime to learn – and some happy ones never learn – how different are people’s thoughts of us from what we imagine they must be – not worse, necessarily, or better, but so extraordinarily different.
Then a cart went past the window to the front door and they all looked up.
“Elizabeth at last. Dick!” said his mother.
The young man left his luncheon and went, with more alertness than Andy had supposed him capable of, to welcome the belated guest. A minute later he returned with her, and Mr. and Mrs. Stamford both glanced with pleased eyes at the tall, gallant-looking couple who came down the long room together. Evidently, felt Andy, there was something in the air, though he saw, when Elizabeth sat down, that she had no engagement ring on her finger.
“I’m so sorry to be late,” she said, “but at the last moment mamma’s back gave way.”
“Oh, how unfortunate; but I quite understand,” responded Mrs. Stamford, more nearly gushing than Andy could have believed possible.
“I hoped Mrs. Atterton’s back had been better of late,” said Mr. Stamford.
Then Mrs. Stamford added, to draw the stranger into the conversation, “Poor Mrs. Atterton is troubled with a weak back, Mr. Deane.”
Thus was Andy introduced to that feature of Gaythorpe society – Mrs. Atterton’s back. He looked across at Elizabeth and remembered vividly his first sight of her, shining out, as it were, between the drab, middle-aged crowd, and his secret resentment against her was increased. She obviously had everything; it must have been simply a childish desire to ‘best’ him which had led her to bid against him until he was obliged to pay some pounds more than he need have done.
“And how,” said Elizabeth, leaning towards him, “do you like Gaythorpe?”
The question did not surprise him, because it would have been much more unusual at this period if any one had failed to ask it; but what did astonish him was the change in Elizabeth’s manner from the extreme stiffness of their last parting to an eager kindness that made Andy say to himself, with some pleasant feeling of man-of-the-worldness, that she was evidently the sort who would flirt with a broomstick if nothing else were available. He had known that kind in London town. And he winked to himself astutely over the fruit-tart as he responded to her overtures with some reserve.
After luncheon they all went into the garden, and just for a moment, while Dick fetched the key of one of the fruit-houses, and Mrs. Stamford was settling her husband in his long chair, Andy and the young lady were alone together on a broad grass walk beside a hedge of lilacs. There was a border of flowering plants on the other side just coming into bloom, and at the end you could see a little figure of Love without an arm under a copper beech. Somewhere in the distance a pigeon was cooing. The full sun lay very calm and bright and even over the old stable tower and the long house, and the grass path before them. The stable clock chimed a quarter to three. It all seemed the very embodiment of age-long prosperity and pleasant ease.
Andy