WILLETS
Had Eloquent ever taken the smallest interest in country pursuits he
must have come across Willets, for in that part of the Cotswolds
Willets was as well known as the Marle itself.
A small thick-set man with a hooky nose, and with bright, long-sighted
brown eyes and strong, sensitive hands, wrists tempered and supple as a
rapier, and a tongue that talked unceasingly and well.
Sporting people wondered why Willets, with his multifarious knowledge
of wood and river craft, should stay at Redmarley: a comparatively
small estate, whose owner was known to preserve only because it was a
tradition to do so, and not because he cared in the least about the
sport provided. Willets was wasted, they said, and it is possible that
at one time Willets, himself, agreed with them.
He came originally of Redmarley folk, and his wife from a neighbouring
village. He "got on" and became one of the favourite keepers on a
ducal estate in the North, much liked both by the noble owner and his
sporting friends; a steady, intelligent man with a real genius for the
gentle craft. He could charm trout from water where, apparently, no
trout existed; he could throw a fly with a skill and precision
beautiful to behold, and he was well read in the literature of his
pursuits. Much converse with gentlemen had softened the asperities of
his Cotswold speech, he expressed himself well, wrote both a good hand
and a good letter, and was very popular with those he served. Life
looked exceedingly rosy for Willets--for he was happy in his marriage
and a devoted father to his three little girls--when the hand of fate
fell heavily upon him. There came a terribly severe winter in that
part of Scotland, and one after another the little girls got bronchitis
and died; the three in five months.
He and his wife could bear the place no longer, and came South. The
Duke was really sorry to lose him, and took considerable trouble to
find him something to do in the Cotswold country whence he came.
It happened that just then old Mr Ffolliot was looking for a keeper who
would see after things in general at the Manor, and the fishing in
particular; so Willets accepted the situation merely as a make-shift
for a short time, till something worthier of his powers should turn up.
It was pleasant to be in the old county once more. There was help and
healing in the kind grey houses and the smiling pastoral country. His
wife was pleased to be near her people, and his work was of the
lightest. But Willets was not yet forty, he had ambitions, and the
wages were much smaller than what he had been getting. It would do,
perhaps, for a year or two, and he knew that whenever he liked, his
late master would be glad to have him back and would give him a post in
the Yorkshire dales.
Old Mr Ffolliot died, and his nephew, Hilary, reigned in his stead.
Willets announced to his wife that their time in Redmarley would be
short.
The young Squire married and in the bride's train came General Grantly
with all the patience and enthusiasm and friendly anecdotal powers of
your true angler; and in his train came like-minded brother officers to
whom, it must be conceded, Hilary Ffolliot was always ready to offer
hospitality.
Things livened up a bit at Redmarley, and Willets decided to stay a
little longer.
Margery Ffolliot liked the Willets and was passionately sorry for them
about the little girls; but it was the Ffolliot children who wove about
Willets an unbreakable charm, binding him to his native village.
One by one, with toddling steps and high, clear voices, they stormed
the little house by the bridge and took its owners captive.
Saving only their mother, Willets had a good deal more to do with the
upbringing of the young Ffolliots in their earliest years than anybody
else. Singly and collectively, they adored him, tyrannised over him,
copied him, learnt from him, and wasted his time with a prodigality a
more sporting master than the Squire might have resented seriously.
Thus it fell out that offers came to Willets, good offers from places
far more important than Redmarley, where there were possibilities both
in the way of sport and of tips--there was a sad scarcity of tips at
Redmarley--and yet he passed them by.
Sometimes his wife would be a little reproachful, pointing out that
they were saving nothing and he was throwing away good money.
Willets had always some excellent reason for not leaving just then.
Redmarley had possibilities; it would be a nice place by the time
Master Grantly was grown up and brought his friends. No one else would
take quite the same interest in it that he did; he was proud of the
children, and money wasn't everything, and so Willets stayed on.
With the arrival of the Kitten his subjugation was completed, and a
seal was set upon the permanence of his relations with the Manor House.
From the days when the Kitten in a white bonnet and woolly gaiters
would struggle out of her nurse's arms to be taken by Willets, sitting
on his knee and gazing at him with wine-coloured bright eyes not unlike
his own, occasionally putting up a small hand encased in an absurd
fingerless glove to turn his face that she might see it better, Willets
was her infatuated and abject slave. When on these occasions he
attempted to restore her to her nurse she would clutch him fiercely and
scream, so that it ended in his carrying her up to the house and up the
backstairs to the nursery, whence he only escaped by strategy.
No day passed without a visit from the Kitten and although he was not
wholly blind to the defects in her character, he was sure she was the
"peartest, sauciest, cleverest little baggage in the British Isles."
Of course the fact that Eloquent had been asked to dine at the Manor
House was much canvassed in the village. Miss Gallup trumpeted the
matter abroad, and naturally it was discussed exhaustively by what Mr
Ffolliot would have called his "retainers."
Willets was not sure that he approved. "I've no doubt," he said
leniently to Mrs Willets as they were sitting at tea, "that he's a
smart young chap and he's got on wonderfully, but I don't altogether
trust that pushing kind myself, and he's that sort. Why, I saw him,
with my own eyes, walk past this house with our Miss Mary as bold as
brass. I'll warrant if Squire had seen him he'd have been put out."
"He was her partner at dinner last night," Fusby was saying, "and
what's more," here Mrs Willets lowered her voice mysteriously, "he says
as he looked at her that loving, he's sure he's after her."
"After your grandmother!" Willets said rudely, his hawk's eyes bright
with anger. "As if Miss Mary would so much as look at him! Let him
seek a mate in his own class."
"That's just what he won't do; Miss Gallup--she's that set-up and silly
about him--says he must marry a lady, one who'll be able to help him
now he's got so high up. I'm surprised, I own it, at Squire--but
probably it was the Mistress, she's all for friendliness always. But
I'll warrant they'd both be in a pretty takin' if they thought he was
after Miss Mary."
"I tell you he's nothing of the kind," Willets shouted, thumping the
table so violently that he hurt his hand. "It's scandalous to say such
things, and so I'll tell Fusby the first time I see him--gossiping old
silly."
"Now, William, it's no good going on against Fusby. He was as upset as
you could be yourself, an' he only told me when he looked in this
afternoon because he felt worried like. He wouldn't care a bit if it
wasn't that she seems taken with 'im. He says he saw them whisperin'
at dinner, and young Gallup he give something to Miss Mary under the
table. Fusby _saw_ them."
"I don't believe it," Willets said stoutly. "It's all some foolishness
Fusby's gone and made up. I don't hold with such cackle, and I'm
surprised at you, my dear, allowing him to say such things."
"How could I stop him? He was worried, I tell you. You talk to him
about it yourself and see what he says."
"I'm not going to talk about Miss Mary to anyone, let alone Fusby.
There's nothing but mischief happens when people begins talking about a
young lady. I've seen it over and over again. If, which I can't
believe, young Gallup's got the cheek to be after our Miss Mary, he'll
be choked off, and pretty quick too."
"Who's going to do the chokin'? He's in parlyment, he's got plenty
money, there's nothing against him as I know of, and they've asked him
to their house. Who's going to do the chokin?"
Mrs Willets paused, breathless and triumphant. She seemed to take a
malicious delight in considering the possibility of such a courtship.
Willets looked at her steadily. "We shan't have far to seek," he said,
"and that old fool Fusby's got a maggot in his head. Why, the fellow's
gone to London; Parliament meets to-morrow, I saw it in the paper."
Mrs Willets nodded, as who should say "I could an' I would"--aloud she
remarked, "And Miss Mary's going to London to her granpa for a long
visit, beautiful new clothes she's gettin', and going to see the King
and Queen and all, so they're certain to meet. It's quite like a story
book."
Willets frowned. He had once spent two days in London. He realised
what a big place it was, but he also remembered that during those two
days he had met seven people he knew in other parts of the country.