CROMARTY MANOR
Life at Cromarty Manor was very pleasant indeed.
Although Patty had not definitely realised it, she was thoroughly tired
out by her London gaieties, and the peaceful quiet of the country brought
her a rest that she truly needed.
Also, the Hartleys were a delightful family to visit. There is quite as
much hospitality in knowing when to leave guests to themselves as there
is in continually entertaining them.
And while the Hartleys planned many pleasures for Patty, yet there were
also hours in the morning or early afternoon, when she was free to follow
her own sweet will.
Sometimes she would roam around the historic old house, pausing here and
there in some of the silent, unused rooms, to imagine romances of days
gone by.
Sometimes she would stroll out-of-doors, through the orchards and woods,
by ravines and brooks, always discovering some new and beautiful vista or
bit of scenery.
And often she would spend a morning, lying in a hammock beneath the old
trees, reading a book, or merely day-dreaming, as she watched the
sunlight play hide-and-seek among the leaves above her head.
One morning, after she had been at Cromarty Manor for about a week, Patty
betook herself to her favourite hammock, carrying with her a book of
Fairy Tales, for which she had never outgrown her childish fondness.
But the book remained unopened, for Patty's mind was full of busy
thoughts.
She looked around at the beautiful landscape which, as far as the eye
could reach included only the land belonging to the Cromarty estate.
There were more than a thousand acres in all, much of which was
cultivated ground, and the rest woodland or rolling meadows. Patty looked
at the dark woods in the distance; the orchards nearer by; and, in her
immediate vicinity, the beautiful gardens and terraces.
The latter, of which there were two, known as the Upper and Lower
Terrace, were two hundred feet long and were separated by a sloping bank
of green lawn, dotted with round flower beds.
[Illustration: "Often she would spend a morning lying in a hammock
beneath the old trees"]
Above the terraces rose the old house itself. The Manor was built of a
grayish stone, and was of Elizabethan architecture.
More than two hundred years old, it had been remodelled and added to by
its various successive owners, but much of its fine old, original plan
was left.
Ivy clung to its walls, and birds fluttered in and out continually.
There was a tower on either side the great entrance, and Patty loved to
fancy that awful and mysterious deeds had been committed within those
frowning walls.
But there was no legend or tradition attached to the mansion, and all its
history seemed to be peaceful and pleasant.
Even the quaint old yew-tree walk, with its strangely misshapen
shrubbery, was bright and cheerful in the morning sunlight, and the lake
rippled like silver, and gave no hint of dark or gloomy depths.
And yet, Patty couldn't help feeling that there was some shadow hanging
over the Hartley family. They were never sad or low-spirited, but
sometimes Mrs. Hartley would sigh, or Grandma Cromarty would look
anxious, as if at some unrelievable sorrow.
The boys were always light-hearted and gay, but Mabel often had moods of
despondency, which, while they never made her cross or irritable, were so
pathetic that it worried Patty's loving heart.
And so she lay in her hammock, gazing at the beauty all about her, and
wondering what was the secret grief that harassed her dear friends. It
never occurred to her that it was none of her affair, for Patty was
possessed of a healthy curiosity, and moreover she was innately of a
helpful nature, and longed to know what the trouble was, in a vague hope
that she might be of some assistance.
"I know they're not rich," she said to herself, "for the whole place
shows neglect and shabbiness; but there's something besides lack of money
that makes Madam Cromarty sad."
The place was indeed in a state of unrepair. Though there were many
servants, there were not enough to do all that should have been done. The
two gardeners did their best to keep the flowers in order, but the
elaborate conventional gardens, laid out in geometric designs, and
intricate paths, called for a complete staff of trained workers, and in
the absence of these, became overgrown at their borders and untidy in
appearance.
It was the same indoors. The handsome old furniture, covered with silk
brocades and tapestries, was worn and sometimes ragged in appearance.
Some of the decorations showed need of regilding, and though the
magnificent old carved woodwork, and tessellated floors could not be
marred by time, yet many of the lesser appointments called for renovation
or renewal. The Great Hall, as it was called, had best withstood the
ravages of time, as it was wainscoted and ceiled in massive old oak.
It was a noble apartment, with recessed windows and panelled walls, and
across one end was a raised platform from the back of which rose a
wonderfully carved chimney-piece.
This apartment, in the palmier days of the Manor House, had been the
Banqueting Hall, but as there was a smaller and more appropriate
dining-room, the Hartleys used the Great Hall as a living room, and had
gathered in it their dearest treasures and belongings. Grandma Cromarty
had her own corner, with her knitting basket. In another corner was a
grand piano, and many other musical instruments. In one north bay window
was Mabel's painting outfit, and so large was the recess that it formed a
good-sized studio. On the walls, hobnobbing with the ancient antlers and
deers' heads, trophies of the chase, were the boys' tennis rackets, and
in the outstretched arm of a tall figure in armour, a lot of golfsticks
rested against the quartered shield.
"I suppose," Mabel had said, when they first showed this room to Patty,
"a great many people would consider it desecration to fill up this fine
old place with all our modern stuff. But we're modern, and so we make the
carving and tapestries give way to us."
"They like it," Patty had replied. "They feel sorry for other houses
where the carvings and tapestries have to stay back in their own old
times. Now hear these old rafters ring to modern music," and seating
herself at the piano, Patty began some rollicking songs that were of
decidedly later date than the old rafters.
Opening from the old Banqueting Hall was the library. This had been left
just as it was, and the shelves full of old books were a never-failing
delight to Patty's browsing nature. A gallery ran round all four sides,
which was reached by spiral iron staircases, and the deep-seated windows,
with their old leather cushions, made delightful nooks in which to pore
over the old volumes. There were many unused rooms in the Manor House.
Many unexpected alcoves and corridors, and in these the old furniture was
worn and decayed. The rooms that were lived in were kept in comfortable
order, but Patty knew, had there been more house-servants, these other
apartments would have been thrown open to light and air.
Surely, Patty decided, the Hartleys were pinched for money, but just as
surely, she thought, that could not have the effect of casting that
indefinite gloom over them which was now and then observable. And as she
idly swung in her hammock, she made up her mind to ask about it.
"If they don't want to tell me, they needn't," she said to herself, "but
they surely know me well enough now to know that I'm honestly interested
in their life, and not merely trying to pry into their secrets."
But she could not quite decide which one of the family to ask about it.
She would have preferred to ask Grandma Cromarty, but the old lady had a
certain reserve, which, at times, was forbidding, and Patty stood a
little in awe of her.
Mrs. Hartley was kindly and responsive, but Patty rarely saw her except
when the whole family was present. In the morning Mrs. Hartley was busy
with household duties, and afternoons Patty and Mabel were usually
together. Patty felt sure she could never ask Mabel, for though the two
girls were confidential friends, there was a sensitiveness in Mabel's
disposition that made Patty shrink from touching on what she felt might
be a painful subject. Then there were the boys. Bob, at home on his
vacation from college was Patty's chum and merry comrade, but she
imagined he would cleverly evade a serious question. He was always
chaffing, and while Patty was always glad to meet him on this ground, she
almost knew he wouldn't talk seriously on family subjects. This left only
Sinclair. Patty really liked Sinclair Hartley. A young man of about
twenty, he was studying law in a nearby town, where he went every
morning, returning in mid-afternoon.
He was kindly and courteous, and though often grave, was always
appreciative of a joke, and quite ready to join in any fun. But he had a
serious side, and Patty had enjoyed many long talks with him on subjects
that never would interest Mabel or Bob.
And so she concluded that at the first opportunity, she would ask
Sinclair what was the nature of the mystery that seemed to hang over the
House of Hartley.
"Ah, there, Pitty-Pat!" called a gay voice, and looking around, Patty saw
Bob strolling toward her across the lawn. "Want to go out on the lake and
fish for pond-lilies?"
"Yes, indeed," said Patty, twisting herself out of the hammock. "What are
you going to do with them?"
"Oh, just for the lunch table. Mabel's so everlastingly fond of them, you
know."
Patty thought it was nice of Bob to remember his sister's tastes, and she
willingly went with him toward the lake.
"How beautiful it all is!" she said as they went down the terrace steps
and along the lake path which led through a pergola and around a curved
corner called "The Alcove."
This delightful nook was a small open court of marble, adorned with
pillars and statues, and partly surrounding a fountain.
"Yes, isn't it?" exclaimed Bob, enthusiastically. "You know, Patty, this
old place is my joy and my despair. I love every stick and stone of it,
but I wish we could keep it up in decent order. Heigh-ho! Just wait until
I'm out of college. I'll do something then to turn an honest shilling,
and every penny of it shall go to fix up the dear old place."
"What are you going to be, Bob?"
"An engineer. There's more chance for a fellow in that than in any other
profession. Old Sinclair's for being a lawyer, and he'll be a good one,
too, but it's slow work."
"You ought to go to America, Bob, if you want to get rich."
"I would, like a shot, if I could take the old house with me. But I'm
afraid it's too big to uproot."
"I'm afraid it is. I suppose you wouldn't like to live in a brown-stone
front on Fifth Avenue?"
"Never having seen your brown-stone Avenue, ma'am, I can't say; but I
suppose a deer park and lake and several thousand acres of meadow land
are not included with each house."
"No; not unless you take the whole of Manhattan Island."
"Even that wouldn't do; unless I had taken it a few hundred years ago,
and started the trees growing then."
"No, America wouldn't suit you," said Patty, thoughtfully, "any more than
English country life would suit most of our American boys."
"But you like this life of ours?"
"I love it; for a time. And just now I am enjoying it immensely. Oh, what
gorgeous lilies!"
They had reached the lake, and the quiet, well-behaved water was placidly
rippling against the stone coping.
Bob untied the boat.
"It's an old thing," he said, regretfully; "but it's water-tight, so
don't be afraid."
Patty went down the broad marble steps, and seated herself in the stern
of the boat, while Bob took the rowing seat.
A few of his strong pulls, and they were out among the lily pads.
"Row around a bit before we gather them," suggested Patty, and Bob with
long, slow strokes sent the boat softly and steadily along.
"Isn't it perfect?" said Patty, dreamily. "It seems as if nothing could
stir me up on a day like this."
"Is that so?" said Bob, and with mischief in his eyes, he began to rock
the boat from side to side.
"You villain!" cried Patty, rudely stirred from her calm enjoyment; "take
that!"
She dashed light sprays of water at him from over the side of the boat,
and he returned by cleverly sprinkling a few drops on her from the blade
of his oar.
"Why did you want to kick up a bobbery, when everything was so nice and
peaceful?" she said, reproachfully.
"I shall always kick up a bobbery," he returned, calmly, "when you put on
that romantic, sentimental air."
"I didn't put on any sentimental air! I was just enjoying the dreamy
spirit of the lake."
"Thank you! That's the same as saying my society makes you sleepy."
"Nothing of the sort. And anyway, the dreamy mood has passed."
"Yes, I intended it should. Now, let's sing."
"All right; what?"
"The 'Little Kibosh,' I think. That's a good song to row by."
The young people at Cromarty Manor had already composed several songs
which seemed to them choicest gems of musical composition.
As a rule Patty and Bob made up the words, while Mabel and Sinclair
arranged the tunes.
Sometimes the airs were adapted from well-known songs, and sometimes they
were entirely original.
"The Little Kibosh" was one of their favourite nonsense songs, and now
Patty and Bob sang it in unison as they rowed slowly about on the lake.
"It was ever so many years ago,
On a prairie by the sea;
A little Kibosh I used to know
By the name of Hoppity Lee.
His hair was as green as the driven snow,
And his cheeks were as blue as tea.
"'Twas just about night, or nearly noon
When Hoppity Lee and I
Decided to go for a sail to the moon,
At least, as far as the sky.
But instead of taking the Big Balloon,
sailed in a pumpkin pie.
"Dear little Hoppity Lee and I
Were happy and glad and gay;
But the Dog Star came out as we passed by,
And began to bark and bay.
And the little Kibosh fell out of the pie,
And into the Milky Way!
"I fished and fished for a year and a week
For dear little Hoppity Lee;
And at last I heard a small faint squeak
From the place where he used to be;
And he said, 'Go home, and never more seek,
Oh, never more seek for me!'"