TROUBLE
He rode over to Ladyford the following afternoon.
Helwise came agitating on to the doorstep, just as his foot was in the
stirrup, to tell him that his lordship had returned unexpectedly.
“He telephoned from the House in the middle of the morning,” she went
on, with the high-pitched, running ease which always seemed to make
every difficult situation doubly trying. “He said he would like to see
you at your earliest convenience, but of course I told him you were
engaged both this morning and afternoon, and to-night you were going to
take me to that lecture on ‘The Home Beautiful.’ (It _was_ to-night,
wasn’t it?) I forgot to tell you at lunch. I think it just as well,
Lancelot, to let his lordship know how extremely busy you are, and not
always able to run at his beck and call. I am sure it is quite time
you applied for a rise, with all these horrid insurances to add up. We
could do quite easily with a small brougham.”
Lanty loosed the stirrup.
“I’m quite satisfied with my screw, thank you,” he answered shortly.
“You know Bluecaster’s generosity as well as I do. And I do wish,
Helwise,” (their old Lancaster names formed the one love they had in
common), “that you wouldn’t arrange my business for me. I could have
gone to Ladyford to-morrow, and this morning I was no further than
the show-field, having a look round. You might have sent Armer with a
message. He was only helping you to thread that bead-curtain. I’ll go
in and ring his lordship up at once.”
He turned towards the door, but she stopped him.
“It’s no good; he won’t be at home. He said he was going out to
lunch--I forget where--but he assured me it would be quite all right if
you went up in the morning. So you see there’s nothing to prevent you
riding over to Ladyford, and as you’re passing through Sandwath I do
wish you would call at Brunskill’s for my watch. The man in Bluecaster
is no more good than my shoe. And--oh, Lancelot!--I do believe it’s the
Annual Meeting of the Nursing Association to-day, and it had gone clean
out of my mind! I’m something important, I’m sure--let me see, what
was it?--oh, yes, of course, Honorary Secretary--and they’ll certainly
expect me to be there, but it’s absolutely out of the question. I’ve
promised to drive to a bazaar in Witham with Harriet Knewstubb--I
believe we’re judging something--I’ve forgotten what--but I can’t
possibly leave her in the lurch. The report is ready--you went through
it for me last week, if you remember--but I simply can’t be there to
present it. Couldn’t you do it for me?”
“No, I couldn’t!” Lanty returned firmly. “I do some queer jobs both
for you and for Bluecaster, but I haven’t yet got as far as presenting
reports at a nursing meeting. Throw over Harriet and get along to
your post. If you don’t want to walk, you can order a trap from the
‘Feathers.’”
“I dare say, but I shan’t try. You know what Harriet is if you go back
on her--her language, I mean. The whole nursing committee _and_ the
patients wouldn’t be in it. I do think you might help me, Lancelot! It
isn’t often I turn to you for assistance.”
The last phrase had been part of his life so long that it did not
draw even a mental shrug. In a way he had grown almost to welcome it,
since it marked the full stop to some tangled rigmarole. As a rule, he
awaited it patiently with shut ears, and answered--something.
“I’ll help you by leaving the report as I pass, if you like,” he said,
at last, “but you can’t expect me to do more. What time is the meeting?
Three? Then I shall only just do it. Fetch the papers along, please,
and don’t invent any fresh messages for his lordship while I’m away.”
“And while you’re getting them,” he threw after her, “just think up
some really plausible lie. Even a committee of women won’t swallow that
bazaar.”
He stood waiting with a hand on the saddle, too trained to patience
even to flick his worn cords with a restless whip. Blacker, the horse,
had the same air of long-suffering towards feminine caprice. The black
spaniel sank her nose between her paws. Black was the Bluecaster
colour, from the flag on the roof to the household liveries and the
pigs at the Home Farm. There had been a Bluecaster, fleeing from the
Plague, who had put all posterity into mourning for his particular sins.
The odd-job man, who did a little of everything, including stable-work
and summer-house texts, leaned somnolently against the horse’s
shoulder. Lanty exchanged a word with him, and then left him in peace.
Armer had had a hard morning. Helwise was entered for a bumble-puppy
competition, in aid of a Dogs’ Home, and when he had finished the
bead-curtain he had been called out to give her practice.
Through a window above she could be heard engaged in a scatter-brained
search, and Lanty wondered vaguely why she kept nursing reports in
the bathroom, but to follow the workings of Miss Lancaster’s mind was
to return Ophelia-like, weaving wreaths for one’s distracted head.
She appeared at last with a bundle of papers through which he looked
carefully, having once been basely misled over Boarding-Out Agenda
produced by him on her behalf at a golf-meeting; receiving a volley of
instructions as he climbed finally into the saddle.
“If you don’t like to mention the bazaar, you must think of something
for yourself,” she told him, following him down the drive. “There are
plenty of useful things to say on these occasions, and nobody believes
them. And you can just tell them I think nothing of the new district
nurse--nothing at all! I’ve met her at least three times this week,
and she never even dreams of bowing to me. Of course, I wasn’t able
to attend the meeting at which she was interviewed, but that’s no
excuse, as she must know as well as I do that I’m the Treas--no, what
was it?--Honorary Secretary. She cycles with her saddle far too low,
too--wait a minute, though; that was the last but one--and she spends
too much of her time making herself pleasant to people of no importance
whatever--the sort who are never ill and don’t subscribe a penny.
Don’t forget the watch, will you, and the slippers--did I mention the
slippers? Bedroom-blue-quilted-one-and-elevenpence-ha’penny--size
6--Wilson’s--no, I can’t get them in Bluecaster, you might have known
that--and be sure you say something useful!”
She turned to seize on the factotum, who had adroitly vanished to
finish his nap in the harness-cupboard, and Lanty succeeded in leaving
her behind. Once safe in the road, however, he checked his horse a
moment for a survey of the house. It was a square, gray-stone building,
comfortable and compact, old enough to have acquired atmosphere, yet
not too old for convenience. The garden, thanks to Armer, and in spite
of Helwise, was looking well. There were roses everywhere, creepers
and climbers as well as bushes, and here and there the dark velvet
of violas foiled the pallor of the pinks. At the back of Crabtree
Bluecaster stood in its park, with its shoulder to the hill, and behind
and behind again, as far as he could see, the fells rose in long ranks
until the Whygills towered above them all.
It was a strange day, very sultry and sunless, and the hills had an
edge to their ominous dark blue. The stillness had a menace in it,
too. Only in the garden, as he looked at it, where the colours showed
vividly, as always before thunder, there seemed a protected peace. The
house slept and the garden held its breath, and, caught in the spell,
he could almost have believed the place a home indeed. Then his aunt’s
voice came running (it seemed) from all directions at once, her feet
scurrying in search of the slumbering one; and with a sigh he touched
up the chafing horse, and made west to the marsh.
He met the district nurse almost immediately, a bright little woman of
100 h.p. energy, and found no difficulty in getting himself recognised;
and a mile further on he turned up a drive, drawing rein before a porch
arched with sweetbriar, where he pulled the bell without dismounting.
Mrs. Yare herself came out to him, and to her he handed the papers.
Through the near window he had a glimpse of a selection of hats,
framing various degrees of interest and annoyance. His regrets were
received with gracefully concealed unbelief.
“We were all wondering what had happened!” she told him. “We always
have the meeting here--I’m a Chief Lady Superintendent or something
Mikado-ish of that kind, you know--so I hardly thought Miss Lancaster
could have forgotten, especially as she calls the meeting herself! I’m
very disappointed she wasn’t able to come, but no doubt we shall manage
all right. She is well, I hope?” she added courteously.
“She is only--mixed,” Lanty answered curtly, gathering up his reins.
“I’m extremely sorry if you have been put out. Please accept my
assurance that it shall not happen again. I was told to say something
useful,” he finished grimly, “so perhaps you will be kind enough to
convey a message to the committee? My aunt, with much regret, resigns
her position on the Association!”
Bluecaster, House and village, lay some three miles from the narrow
bay where it ran in to take the rivers Bytha, Wythe, and Ulva. Lanty
could see the winding estuaries as he topped Hullet, with Wythebarrow
standing out to the marsh on the north-west, and the grand barrier of
Lake hills behind. Both north and east lay the marsh-farms, part of
the rich property which ran from the sea (for the foreshore rights
were Bluecaster’s) to the Yorkshire and Lancashire borders. But there
were only two farms on the north, below Wythebarrow and across the
strait--Ladyford and Ninekyrkes, standing alone on the lip of the tide.
He lost them again as he dropped into Sandwath, where he executed his
orders, turning into the marsh-road towards four o’clock.
The same brooding stillness held the bay in thrall; the same line
of warning edged the hills. The tide was dead out, and the sands
lay desolate under the heavy sky. Now he had the twin farms again,
ahead and across where the bay narrowed in and stopped, unnaturally
white on the gloom of their background, and flanked by slender stems
of larch and fir. The marsh-road was deep-dyked on either hand, and
here and there in the watery bottom he caught the sunny gleam of
late goldilocks. On his left was the long sea-wall known as the Let,
guarding the eastern marsh; on his right the land rose gently until it
hid the village. Here were Moss End and Meadow’s Ing, with Lockholme
beyond, and others; and, still beyond, close to the brown waste, Pippin
Hall, where he left his horse.
He skirted the grassy bank for some ten minutes, and then struck
across the sands to his destination. Walking thus, a lonely speck
on the dreary flat, the isolation of the dwellings in front came to
him sharply, so that their air of prosperous serenity, of tranquil
sureness, seemed almost dangerously provocative. Far away and out,
where the bay, between two headlands, ran into open water, a slant of
light from the sullen sky laid a shining strip from point to point
which he knew to be the sea. It was there and it was coming, quietly,
perhaps, and inoffensively, but there would be many a night when it
would come like a beast of prey, ravening its path between narrow
shores, devouring the waiting desert. And yet the farms were not afraid.
The sea-wall had been carried in front of them also, reaching out to
the last inch of broken land, and from thence merging into the huge,
defiant bank which had once been famous throughout the kingdom. It ran
along the coast for a couple of miles, joining the hill on which the
town of Cunswick climbed, and behind it the reclaimed land lay safe.
Lancaster’s father had built both walls, the success of the lesser
firing him, years later, to throw the larger gauntlet over the sands.
They had christened the low wall “Lancaster’s Let,” which means merely
a hindrance, but the big bank they had named “Lancaster’s Lugg,” from
the Scandinavian “lugg,” a forelock, and “lugga,” which means “to
pull by the hair,” for Lancaster had knotted the manes of the white
sea-horses together, and dragged them out of their ancient stable.
It was built with a high daring across the one lung of the limited
passage, and at its back the grassy waste harboured sheep and waited
for man’s hand; for though it had long since been mapped out for
building, only one house had risen as yet on the stolen ground.
Lanty had often looked at his father’s plans, and locked them away
again. Something held him back from putting them into shape, and,
moreover, decreasing values and increasing Government drains had left
the income tight at times. Yet he meant some day to materialise his
father’s dreams, and had good hopes of them, for Cunswick was a growing
seaside resort, and would eventually take up the land quickly enough.
Meanwhile the big wall held its own, caring nothing for the onslaughts
of the crouching foe behind that shining line. Whether the full moon
brought the fierce thrust of a heavy swell, or the west wind, riding
a wracked sky, hurried the shock of racing billows, the bank held off
the one and flung back the other, steadily throwing the trend of the
tide to the further and higher side of the bay. To-day, with never a
trickle of water at its base, it looked like a mighty serpent on the
uncovered sand, winding its slow and writhing length lazily to the sea,
purposeless, abnormal, monstrous in the unnatural fight and leashed
quiet. The sands themselves were dangerous--dangerous to walk and
sail, with their deep, shifting banks, unknown quicksands and tidal
bore. The whole place had the terrible fascination of lurking ill, and
yet on all hands the farms lay peaceful and content, like trustful
women sleeping in a tiger’s cage.
Lanty looked at the Lugg, that tremendous thwarter of the tides, and
thought of his father. The project had aroused a storm of controversy
at the time, out of which the thing itself had emerged triumphant.
Men had pronounced it a risk to the whole coast, and time had proved
them wrong. Lancaster had vindicated himself, leaving the bank as his
monument, for, in looking out to it each day, the marsh saw also the
dead who had planned it. They were not afraid of it there. Because a
Lancaster had built it they trusted it, resting tranquilly on his word.
It was in their simple confidence that his real monument was raised.
The son came at last to the channel of the Wythe, hurrying to sea past
the foot of Ladyford, and from there he hailed the farm, shattering the
stillness and causing even himself to start. Somebody answered from
behind the buildings, and presently a tall boy appeared on the bank,
and scrambled down to the boat below. This was Dockeray’s youngest son,
the only one at home, and Lanty wondered, watching him pull across,
what he and his parents thought of the Whinnerah complication. He had
come with no definite plan, after all--simply to see how the land lay,
and whether a timely word might in any way be possible. Certainly he
doubted both the opportunity and his own wisdom. If the girl were as
good-looking as her brother, he thought idly, she might be forgiven a
little petulant coquetting with destiny.
Rowly greeted him with a smile as he grounded the boat, and made
conversation readily enough as they went over. His parents were well,
and the married brothers away. His sister? Yes, she was at home,
now--had been for some time. Oh, yes, he was glad to have her. It was a
bit lonely at Ladyford of a winter’s night, and Francey was champion
at the piano and singing. He liked a song himself, and so did the
old folks. They were well, too, at Ninekyrkes, barring old Wolf. He
feared he looked like breaking up fast; but anyhow it was time he had
a rest, and let Lup take hold. Ever since the pneumonia he’d been a
different man. But that was all; no sign or hint of how matters stood,
or on which side his sympathies lay. Lanty knew only too well the
deeps covered by the apparent guilelessness of the breed, and asked no
leading questions. It was early work for that, in any case. Better bide
his time until he had seen the girl herself.
Michael Dockeray was waiting on the bank when they pulled in, spare and
upright, with wise, quiet eyes and little to say. A totally different
type from old Wolf--this; refined and tactful where the other was
blunt and unafraid; strong enough, too, but with none of Wolf’s added
violence. Yet the two had always been friends, often disagreeing, but
turning to each other for help as naturally as to one of their own.
He met Lanty’s grasp warmly, and they moved on up to the house, leaving
Rowly to get the boat ashore, for the tide would be on the turn before
long. The agent came but seldom to the far marsh, and he caught a wave
of welcoming excitement as he approached--figures passing from kitchen
to dairy in a cheerful flurry that yet allowed time for a peep through
the nearest window at the coming guest. Mrs. Dockeray’s voice could be
heard running the full gamut of agitated instruction, dropping to a
last whisper behind the pantry door concerning the new strawberry jam.
Then she appeared, all pleasant smiles and hearty kindness, and Lanty’s
homelessness was taken up into her motherly arms and smothered out of
existence. Through the half-open door he had a glimpse of a smooth,
dark head and a trim figure, and a desire for flight came upon him, in
spite of the new strawberry jam. His task, vaguely irritating before,
became suddenly impossible and grotesque. He consented to sit in the
parlour, making polite conversation with his host while the ordered
ceremonies went forward beyond, but he refused to be given tea there,
and was glad when the summons came at last from the atmosphere of wool
mats and honesty to the artistic rightness of the kitchen. Across the
cool picture of yellowed walls, white-stoned flags, shining linen and
china, Francey Dockeray’s face stood out cooler still, and as he shook
her by the hand he felt painfully clumsy and inadequate before her
pleasant self-possession. She knew why he had come--he guessed it from
the faint satirical twist in her otherwise charming smile, from the
swift summing-up of her gray eyes. The business-matter which he had put
forward to her father would not pass muster with her, he felt certain
of that. He could have dealt with the ordinary farmer’s daughter;
he knew to a turn the phrase and manner to adopt with success, but
they would not apply here. Wolf had been right when he used the word
“quality” of Francey Dockeray. Her ease of manner had the simplicity
of true good breeding, and it was to this that he had unwillingly paid
tribute. But she was aloof, as he had said. Affectionate towards her
parents, thoughtful for the guest, interested and attentive, she was
yet, in some inexplicable fashion, outside and away from them all.
Lancaster liked his errand less with every minute that passed.
It was inevitable, of course, that the conversation, veering from
land-politics to wrestling and singing-practice for the benefit of the
young folks, and back again to the farm, should turn at last to their
neighbours. As soon as Whinnerah’s name was mentioned, Lanty took his
first tentative step.
“You’ll know, I suppose, that Wolf’s talking of leaving?” he asked
casually. “Lup’s off to Canada, he tells me, and that means the old
folks clearing out of the farm. I’m sorry for both pieces of news.
Whinnerahs are old friends. We can always do with the right sort, and
Lup’s one of the best.”
He sent a straying glance round the group, only to meet the same blank
impassiveness that had resisted his efforts crossing channel. It seemed
as if, in the eyes of her family at least, Francey could do no wrong.
“Ay, the pneumonia did for Wolf!” Dockeray admitted sadly. “I’ll be
loth to see the Whinnerahs go. We’ve known each other a sight o’ years,
now, and when it comes to old company taking its hand off the plough,
I’m like to think my own time won’t be so long, neither.”
“Nay, now, master!” Mrs. Dockeray put in quickly. “What, you’re a deal
younger than Wolf, and as lish as a whip! You’ve no call to talk of
giving up yet awhile. Not but what you’ll be missing them all sadly, I
doubt, as I will myself. I’m not one for taking up with new stuff, an’
I’ve sort of grown with Whinnerahs. I’m not saying, though, but what
it’ll do young Lup a deal o’ good to see a bit of the world. He sticks
away in the old groove till he gets that tied with his tongue you’d
think he hadn’t two brains to rub one at back o’ t’other!”
“Lup’s right enough, mother!” young Rowly put in indignantly. “Lup’s
head’s as full o’ meat as most. You’ve no need to call him out of his
name!”
“Nay, why I’ve nowt against the lad, not I! But he’d do with a shake
an’ a slake an’ a shine with a polisher, after a manner of speaking.
Look at Brack Holliday, now! _Yon’s_ a lad worth running to see of
a Saturday night! Canada done that; happen it’ll do something for
the other an’ all. He hadn’t much in the way of schoolin’, hadn’t
Lup--he was that stuck on the farm--and it doesn’t do not to keep a
few manners put by when there’s call for ’em. Why, there’s whiles
I’ve heard him talking with our Francey there, he so rough and she
that nice-spoken--though I say it as shouldn’t, she being my own
lass--there’s times I’ve felt right-down sorry Lup shouldn’t have no
more chance of bettering himself than his own hired man.”
Lanty’s circular glance caught the faintest flush on Francey’s cheek,
and passed to meet Mrs. Dockeray’s glance seeking his own; and it came
to him, in a flash of inspiration, that she was on Lup’s side and
her men-folk with her, that the wise mother-mind had its own method
of pulling the strings, while the others stood apart, committing
themselves to nothing. The matter struck him suddenly as a charming,
homely comedy of courtship--no more; and he planted a further step with
a firmer tread.
“I was doubly surprised to hear of his departure, because it was quite
other news I’d looked for. Folk had it he was getting ready to marry
and settle down, and I thought the lady in luck, whoever she might be.
I was misinformed, I suppose? Strange how these tales get round!”
A certain uneasiness became apparent in both Michael and Rowly at this,
but Mrs. Dockeray never turned a hair.
“Ay, well, courtin’ he might be, like enough, but it isn’t every lass
would look at Lup, as I mentioned a minute ago, for all he’s a good
enough lad and steady as yon shuppon. He’s not everybody’s choice in
these days o’ lettering and figuring. There’s a many as’ll seek to look
higher than just poor Lup Whinnerah!”
She fixed him again, and he nodded assent, seeing that it was expected
of him; and then, from her post at the window, where she had moved at
the end of the meal, he met Francey’s clear gaze. She stood half-turned
to the casement and the stretch of sand beyond, her pale cheek to
the brilliant geraniums on the wide ledge, and in her eyes, as they
rested on his, something of scorn and yet of wounded appeal. He felt
the blood rise to his face as he looked, conscious of having outraged
both her feelings and his own good taste. The type he understood would
have taken him in jest, or retreated from the room in dudgeon; not
have remained without retort, gently contemptuous and quietly hurt. He
changed the subject abruptly, wishing the Whinnerahs and their affairs
at Jericho.
Lup’s name dropped like a stone, but the question of matrimony still
hung in the air, for Michael himself came back to it after a lengthy
discussion upon the late danger of plague from Irish cattle.
“Ay, there’s many a knock-down blow lying in wait for the poor farmer!”
he observed, shaking his head over a new and harrowing tale. “But
it’s a decent enough life for them as is framed for it and knows how
to take it standing. It’s done well enough by me. I’ve a fairish farm
and a just landlord, and the sort of missis a man’ll be put about to
part with when the time comes for his last ride to church!” He looked
across at his wife with a mild twinkle. “Not but what she’s a rough
side to her tongue, and a mighty short stock o’ patience for them as
doesn’t see same ways as herself;--but there’s only two sorts o’ wives,
Mr. Lancaster--them as a man’s fain to be shot of, an’ them as he’d be
right fain to be shot _for_--an’ yon last’s my missis, sir, and a good
bit over!”
Francey left the window, and laid her hands on his shoulders for a
moment, her face lightly smiling and tender. Then she was gone from the
room, while Mrs. Dockeray, with the suspicion of a shake in her voice,
defended her character for patience.
“Eh, well, I reckon we’re as easy as most!” she admitted at last
with her cheerful laugh. “You’d do no harm to take copy from us, Mr.
Lancaster. We’ve been looking for you to get wed, any time these last
ten years!”
Lanty was used to the suggestion, and repudiated it without
embarrassment.
“I’m not a marrying man, I doubt!” he answered; and, even as he spoke,
felt a surge of envy sweep over him at the picture of mutual need
before him. “Any more than Lup!” he added, with meaning, and there came
another pause, during which Rowly slipped out after his sister.
“You know what’s to do, sir, I reckon?” the mother asked presently,
as Lancaster waited for his challenge to be accepted; and at his
brief--“Wolf told me something”--she unburdened herself of the
situation, while Michael stared straight before him with his wise
eyes, rocking gently from time to time in his cushioned chair.
“Whinnerah he come across rampin’ fit to kill himself, saying as how
our lass had been playing fast an’ loose with his lad, and there was
talk o’ Canada and quitting the farm an’ such-like! He was set on our
putting our foot down, Michael an’ me, and giving Francey a piece of
our minds, but we told him that hadn’t never been our way with her,
and it wasn’t likely we’d begin now; so he took off again in a rare
tantrum, an’ that’s all there is to it. It’s true, as he says, as we’ve
always made sure she and Lup was courtin’, but we didn’t ask questions,
taking it that she’d speak when she’d a mind. I’d be glad to see her
wed the lad, ay, an’ so would Michael here, though I’m not saying she
mightn’t do better. But if she’s not set on having him, she shan’t be
driven to it, as long as there’s folks at Ladyford to her back. I’m
real sorry for Wolf and Lup--ay, an’ poor Martha!--and I’d give a deal
to see the lad stop, but our own barn comes first, and she shall suit
herself, Mr. Lancaster.”
And Michael said: “Ay. Yon’s the way of it. Yon’s right!” rocking
gently from time to time in his cushioned chair.
“Well, it seems a pity,” Lanty said at last, reluctantly making ready
to go, “but I’m still hoping things will right themselves. It’s natural
a girl should like to be consulted, though I shouldn’t have thought
it was just a touch of pride with your daughter. She looks too fine a
character for anything as small-minded as that.”
“’Tisn’t only pride, Mr. Lancaster! It’s something a deal
stronger,--it’s love upside down. We’ve nobody but ourselves to thank,
as I tell Michael. It’s the schoolin’ as done it. We’d a bit of money
saved, and we took a fancy to have her finished like a lady, but I’m
not so sure, nowadays, as we did the right thing by her. It’s hard,
Mr. Lancaster, when you think a deal o’ your own, not to want to give
them something better than you’ve had yourself, but I’ll not say as I
think it’s always wise or kind, leastways, for a woman. A man, happen,
can go an’ fight his own way in the world, but if a woman’s got to
bide at home, the schoolin’s likely learned her nowt but hankering for
what’s out of her reach. Not but what Francey’s been biddable enough,
but I’ve kept my eye on her. I’ve been biding my time for this, an’
now it’s come. We’ve made her different of our own will, and we’ve
no right to expect her to do as we’d have done. It’s us that’s to
blame--an’ the learning. It makes a woman look at a man like a new sort
o’ lesson-book. It starts her wondering what she feels instead o’ just
feeling. It sets her seeing with her eyes an’ not with her heart. It’s
not just brains you want for dealing wi’ men-folk, sir. It’s something
as feels in the dark with blind eyes, something as sharp to hark as yon
collie-pup, as soft to touch as a mother’s hands! Francey’s looking an’
not letting herself feel, and till she’s learned that looking doesn’t
count in love, there’s nobody can help her. Nobody but Lup--and,
happen, life--can set her right.”
“You’ll likely be giving them a look-in at Ninekyrkes, sir, as you’re
here?” she added, following him to the door. “They’re terrible down,
an’ it would cheer them up a bit. Wolf’s that set on your family,
you’d happen think it was Royalty, to hark to him! He saw a deal o’
your father, yon time as the Lugg was so long building--Mr. Lancaster
used to stop many a night along with him--an’ he’ll crack for a week
about it if happen he gets the chance. He’d swear with his eyes shut to
everything your father ever did--says there’ll never be his like again.
Not but what he thinks a sight o’ _you_ an’ all, sir! You’ll look in?”
“Yes, I’ll step over, now I’m here, but of course I’ll say nothing of
what you’ve told me. If they really mean leaving, we must get things
fixed up. Wolf said his wife had taken to looking ahead for trouble. Is
that so, do you know?”
He saw a half-embarrassed glance pass between the two.
“She was always a bit of a worrit,” Michael said at last, rather
hurriedly, “an’ this’ll have likely got on her nerves. I’ll set you a
piece of the way, sir.”
Wondering, Lancaster followed him out into the heavy evening.