TRENT PARK
Trent Park was a wonderful place; the house was modern, the new mansion
having been built by William Chesney, but the park was full of ancient
trees and there were some old buildings. A venerable keep, surrounded
by a moat full of water and only reached by a boat, there being no
bridge, was not far from the stud buildings.
It was a picturesque spot and many visitors came to see it. History
attached to it, romance threw a halo round, there were many stories
associated with it, some true, others doubtful, the more doubtful the
more interesting. Murder had been committed within its walls in the
time of the first Edward; and even down to the Georges; it possessed an
unenviable reputation for dark deeds and mysterious crimes.
It was used as a prison in the Tudor times and tradition said many a
man had been done to death there without just cause.
Men employed at Trent Park in various capacities reported having seen
weird sights: shadowy, wailing figures, mostly women, flitting about,
even rising out of the moat where, it was said, bodies had been found,
or, to be more correct, skeletons.
The villagers of Little Trent shunned it after nightfall; youngsters
were frightened into obedience by threats to bring the moat ghosts
after them.
It was a round keep, built of massive stone, the walls ivy-covered, the
base green with moss, damp and age.
A massive oak door studded with large-headed nails creaked on its rusty
hinges when opened, which was seldom.
A visitor from New York received permission to examine the keep, tower,
and moat in search of historical data and facts. He stayed at the
Sherwood Inn at Little Trent. One evening he returned from his
explorations with a white, frightened face; when questioned he shivered
but gave no answers. He hurriedly took his departure and, from stray
bits of paper in the fire-grate in his room, it was surmised he had
burnt his copious notes about the keep, no doubt being terrified by
some ghostly warning to destroy them.
The ruins of a monastery stood at the other end of the Park. A stately
pile of crumbling mortar, and stones shifting from places they occupied
for centuries. The outer walls stood and inside the square was a
keeper's cottage hidden in a warm snug corner, concealed from prying
eyes, unnoticeable until the ruin was entered.
A curious place to build a cottage, and nobody seemed to know who put
it up or for what purpose the place was selected. It was there when
William Chesney bought the estate and it was a long time before he knew
of its existence.
Tom Thrush, head gamekeeper at Trent Park, occupied it, living there
with his daughter Jane, a pretty girl of twenty, a lonely place for
her; yet she liked it and loved to wander in the woods and roam about
in the great forest bordering on the Park.
Tom Thrush, for many years, was employed at Chesney's Brewery; it was
at his own request he was sent to Trent Park and installed as second
keeper and then raised to head keeper in the course of a few years. He
was a strange man, lonely, taciturn, passionately fond of his daughter,
and spent the bulk of his time in the forest, where he studied
wood-craft and the habits of all wild birds and animals. There was
something almost uncanny in the way he made friends with the wild
things of the woods and forests; no living bird or animal seemed to
fear him, and he taught Jane much wild lore and how to make friends
with the denizens of the woods.
The preserving of game was strictly carried out at Trent Park and
thousands of birds were killed every season; in this Tom Thrush was
most successful, a prince among keepers.
The Park abounded with massive oaks, and no doubt at one time had been
part of Sherwood Forest, and these were ancient trees that had been
spared when others fell. Centuries old some of them, with vast trunks
and huge gnarled, twisted branches which seemed to have suffered from
terrible convulsions of nature, been put on the wrack, as it were, and
come forth mutilated in a hundred deformities.
There were deer in the Park, and white cattle, almost wild, sometimes
dangerous, they were confined in a strong ring fence.
One part of the Park was laid out in paddocks for the blood stock, and
here the young thoroughbreds from the Trent Stud galloped about and
played their games until it was time for them to be broken in and sent
to the trainer.
Well-kept roads ran in various directions through the Park, there was
plenty of water, a minor river running through on its way to join the
Trent. It was indeed a glorious place and Alan Chesney might well be
counted a lucky man to own it.
His two friends had gone, after staying a week, and it was arranged
they should meet at Epsom for the Derby.
It was seldom Alan Chesney was alone in the big house; many times he
wished it smaller, not so roomy, more cosy, in keeping with his
bachelor habits. There were parts of it he had only been in once or
twice. The long picture gallery he shunned, although some exquisite
modern paintings hung there.
When he came into possession he had some of the smaller and brighter
pictures removed into the living rooms and the spaces were still left
vacant. The windows in this gallery overlooked the Park, in the
distance the keep could be seen, and farther away a corner of the
monastery. There were large reception-rooms, and bedrooms the size of
the ground floor of a small house. The dining-room was oak panelled,
the ceiling oak, and it was furnished with massive chairs and a huge
table. There was a great sideboard, carved by Gibbons, which cost an
enormous sum, carvings adorned the wood mantelpiece over the open
fireplace. It was a room in which fifty guests might sit down with
ease.
Alan had his favorite rooms, the smallest in the house; his study was a
model of comfort, and there was another room opening from it which
contained all his sporting paraphernalia. There were guns of various
makes, over a dozen; Harry Morby had tested some of them and expressed
the opinion that a bad shot might kill birds with such weapons.
A case of fishing-rods occupied one side of the room. Half a dozen
saddles, some racing jackets, bridles, dog collars, boxing gloves,
foils, whips, boots, spurs, miscellaneous tools handy for sporting
purposes.
Pictures of racing and hunting scenes hung on the walls; there was a
life-like painting of Fred Archer, the beautiful eyes being perfect,
also another of Tom Cannon, Mornington Cannon, George Fordham,
portraits of Maher, Frank Wotton and several well-known gentleman
riders who were friends of Alan's.
This was the room where guests were wont to congregate and talk over
the day's shooting, or discuss the merits of horses and jockeys.
Alan had breakfast, and came into this room to read the papers before
going for his customary ride; he was always ready and fit to accept a
mount in a welter race, or ride over the sticks in the hurdle and
chasing season.
He looked carelessly at half a dozen papers but his attention wandered,
he could not concentrate his thoughts on anything he saw, he read bits
here and there but they were not fixed in his mind. He tossed the
papers in a heap on the table, filled his pipe and smoked dreamily.
There were a dozen servants in the house but he was the only occupant
of the owner's quarters. He did not feel exactly lonely, but he liked
somebody to talk with, and having been a few days by himself he wished
for company.
Evelyn Berkeley was at The Forest and he thought he would ride over and
see her; she was always good company and he liked her, but she was
dangerously charming and he acknowledged he felt the influence when in
her presence.
Why not marry her? He was sure she would accept him if he proposed,
and there was no woman more fitted to be the mistress of Trent Park.
More than once he had been on the verge of putting the question to her
but something prevented him and he was rather glad he had escaped.
Over and over again he had asked himself if he loved her and found no
satisfactory answer.
He knew many of his male friends accepted it as a foregone conclusion
he would marry Evelyn Berkeley, and he smiled as he thought how they
discussed him and his matrimonial prospects.
It pleased him to think she preferred his society to that of other men,
it flattered him when he recalled she might have been a countess had
she wished. He asked her why she did not accept the titled suitor and
she replied that titles had no attraction for her, that her mind was
made up; there was somebody she liked very much, he might ask her to be
his wife some day and she would wait.
He rode several miles at a fast pace in the Park before turning his
horse's head in the direction of The Forest.
As he was passing the monastery ruins he saw Jane Thrush. She looked
very sweet and winsome in her plain brown frock which matched the color
of her hair; she had no hat, and its luxurious growth added to her
rather refined rustic beauty.
Alan was always courteous to women, and Jane was one of his favorites;
so was her father, he had a sincere regard for the sturdy, silent
gamekeeper.
"Beautiful morning, Jane," he said. "You love to be out in the sun?"
She smiled at him. How handsome he looked on his horse, and how well
he sat the animal!
"I am going to Little Trent to buy a few things for the house. I
generally go through the wood," she said.
"You and your father live quiet lives here. Wouldn't you like to be in
the village?" he asked.
"Oh no. I love the old ruin, and the cottage is so sweet I couldn't
bear to leave it, and I'm sure Father would sooner be here than
anywhere," said Jane eagerly.
Alan laughed as he replied:
"Don't be alarmed, you shall live in the cottage as long as you like.
Do you ever feel afraid when you are alone at night?"
"No; why should I? No one ever comes here, and there's Jack always on
guard."
"Wonderful dog, Jack," said Alan smiling.
"He is. It's three years since you gave him to me. He is my constant
companion."
"He's a well-bred dog anyway; these black retrievers are hard to beat."
"If anything happened to him I don't know what I'd do," she said.
"I do," he answered. "I'd give you another in his place."
"That wouldn't be the same at all," she said.
"You prefer old friends?"
"Yes, indeed."
"Then I hope Jack will live a long time to be your faithful companion,"
said Alan.