“What a beautiful courtyard,” she said. “Will you go and unfasten the
door? And I’ll come on.”
* * * * *
A week toiled by, during which the two met hardly at all.
Then one morning a sweet-smelling note arrived at Christopher’s lodging
before he was up. . . .
That evening found them both on the sward before Domesday Mill.
“The Lord of the Manor,” said Audrey, “has a pretty wit.”
“Yes?” said Christopher John.
Audrey produced a letter.
“Read that,” she said.
_DEAR MISS DE LISLE,_
_I know you well by repute, and I am satisfied that, when one so
correct as yourself is impelled to take up the cudgels upon my
tenants’ behalf, only a high sense of duty can have created that
impulse. I therefore accept your letter as that of a cousin, and
as such I answer it._
_You and I are plainly of different schools. You believe in the
snaffle, and I believe in the curb. I do not suggest that you
are wrong or argue that I am right, but what I have I will
hold—in my own way. Call me hard, if you please, and say that I
gather where I have not strawed. My withers are unwrung. I am of
the other school. While I am Lord of the Manor, I will sell none
of my land nor will I alter my ways. Horses are meant to be
ridden, and, while I am in the saddle, I will ride Sundial on
the curb._
_I say ‘while I am in the saddle.’_
_Your letter was unusual enough to interest anyone. Coming from
you, it interested me very much. I therefore sent for Mr. John,
the pupil to my late agent, and, as I expected, he was able to
tell me as much as I wanted to know. I have requested him,
should you desire it, so far as he can, to do you the same
office. Ask him, and he will tell you what manner of man I am._
_You will wonder why I should take pains to put such information
at your disposal. It is because I am willing to strike a bargain
with you._
_If you will become my wife, I will give to you absolutely all
my title-deeds (including, of course, those of the Manor House)
and assign to you every manorial right that I possess. In a
word, I will make you the Lady of the Manor._
_Yours faithfully,_
_CHARLES PENDRAGON._
“Why, the man’s mad,” cried Christopher. “Stark, staring. He’s got his
dates wrong. This is the sort of deal they did in the Stone Age.”
“It sounds,” said Audrey, “as though he meant what he said. I suppose,
in your innocence, you gave me a pretty good chit.”
“He asked what you were like, and I told him the truth. I never
dreamed——”
“Of course you didn’t,” said Audrey. “He took jolly good care of that. I
know just what he’s like. He’s a brilliant, _blasé_ Gallio—with a
pretty wit. He might have done anything: in point of fact, he’s done
nothing. When he plays, he plays high: and whether he wins or loses he
doesn’t care—with the result that he usually wins. He doesn’t care. He
doesn’t care about Sundial: he doesn’t care about me: we’re pawns. He’d
sell his birthright, not for a mess of pottage, but for a cup of spice.
That letter’s typical—because it’s a masterpiece. Think what the man
who wrote that could have done as a diplomat.”
“I don’t see that it’s anything wonderful,” said Christopher John. “It’s
a piece of damned impertinence, but——”
“Think,” said Audrey. “In effect he says, ‘Your interference was bad
form: the only possible excuse for it was a sense of duty too strong to
be withstood. Whether you were really so actuated remains to be seen.’”
Christopher shrugged his shoulders.
“You would write,” he said.
“I _had_ to, Christopher. I couldn’t sit still and have everyone so
sweet and not raise a finger to help.”
The other sighed.
“Well, it’s done now,” he said. “I suppose you won’t let me take it up
with the brute.”
“Take what up?” said Audrey.
“This letter, of course.”
“But it’s unexceptionable,” said Audrey. “That’s what’s so clever. He
stepped out and met me on my own ground. It may be out of bounds, but I
can’t curse him for that. I chose it. . . . Besides, if it comes to
that, he may be bluffing: but if I like to call his bluff, I’ll bet he
pays. And he stands to lose a bit.”
“_‘Lose’?_” screamed Christopher. “Oh, the girl’s mad. ‘Lose’?”
“It’s a sporting offer,” said Audrey. “You can’t get away from that. And
that’s the strongest card in a very strong hand, my friend. If I turn it
down——”
“‘If,’” cried Christopher John. “You don’t mean to say you’re even
contemplating doing anything else?”
“It’s been done before,” said Audrey. “Lady Godiva was a sport.”
“Yes, but hers was a two-hour stunt. This is a lifer. You can’t chuck
away your life so that half a dozen clowns can shove their rotten sheep
on to Mesne Holms.”
“They’re not rotten sheep,” said Audrey. “Besides, I mightn’t be
chucking it away. I might get to like him very much. You never know.
What sort of eyes has he got?”
“Watery ones,” said Christopher. “Looks as if he drank.”
Miss de Lisle frowned.
“How old is he?” she demanded.
“I believe he’s about thirty-five. He’s a proper waster, you know.”
“He would like to hear his mediator, wouldn’t he?”
“I never undertook to plead his cause.”
“You’ve broken his bread,” said Audrey.
“I wish I’d broken his neck,” growled Christopher John.
Audrey threw back her head and fell into silvery laughter. Then she drew
out a letter and put it into his hand.
“I think I’ve teased you enough,” she said.
_DEAR MR. PENDRAGON,_
_It is indeed plain that you and I are of different schools. I
should not, for instance, have ‘pumped’ a gentleman who, had he
dreamed of the use to which his information was to be put, would
have seen you dead before he had opened his mouth._
_I refuse your offer because I do not think there is a poor man
in Sundial who would not rather go hungry, with you for lord,
than that I should pay so dear to become his lady._
_One thing more._
_Unless I hear from you by return of post that you will
immediately—_
_(a) reinstate Mr. Warthog,_
_(b) throw open Mesne Holms,_
_(c) let me the Manor House for a term of seven years at a rent
not exceeding twice that which a reputable firm of house-agents
shall consider just,_
_I shall hand a copy of this correspondence to the local Press._
_Yours faithfully,_
_AUDREY DE LISLE._
“D’you think that’ll fix him?” said Audrey.
“It’ll certainly shake him up,” said Christopher John.
The Lord of the Manor replied with commendable dispatch.
_DEAR MISS DE LISLE,_
_I beg that you will include a copy of this letter in the
dossier which you hand to the Press._
_I shall not reinstate Warthog._
_I dismissed him because upon a belated investigation of his
stewardship many things became apparent. Of these I will mention
three only:—_
_(a) he has for three years robbed me right and left:_
_(b) the better to line his pockets, he has consistently
represented me to be a harsh and unconscionable
landlord, to whom money was a god:_
_(c) the respective epidemics of smallpox and
diphtheria, by reports of which he deterred me from
visiting Sundial, never prevailed._
_I have not the power to throw open Mesne Holms. It is common
land, and if grazing fees have been paid for its use, they have
been appropriated by Warthog._
_I will not let you the Manor House, because I propose quite
shortly to reside there myself._
_Yours faithfully,_
_CHARLES PENDRAGON._
So did Audrey de Lisle.
_DEAR CHRISTOPHER JOHN,_
_Thank you very much for your letter. I’m sorry I called you a
‘sweep’ and I’m sorry that I believed all the gossip I heard.
That comes of going outside my nursery rhyme. I won’t do it
again._
_I never knew you were Pendragon till I saw that the Arms on the
archway were the same as those on your ring. I ought to have
realized then that you knew your job, but the dismissal of
Warthog stuck in my throat. It never occurred to me that he was
a rogue._
_Your self-indignation the other evening was priceless. I loved
it. I had to join in, of course, but I didn’t mean all I said._
_Please may I see the Manor House again? Last time I was rather
preoccupied. Will you take me there this evening, and tell me if
I may tell Sundial the truth and say that the Lord of the Manor
will be in his family pew on Sunday morning?_
_AUDREY._
* * * * *
It was the quiet hour.
The sun had just gone down, and the broad terrace was flushed with a
rosy pride: the aged giants upon the lawn stood up like
gentlemen-at-arms, majestic monuments of silence; the sweet air was
breathless. Somewhere a wood-pigeon was chanting the ritual of Peace.
“May I tell Sundial?” said Audrey.
“Yes.”
“And will you be in your pew on Sunday morning?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” said Audrey.
The Lord of the Manor smiled.
“You made a most excellent Queen. If I had said who I was, it would have
cramped your style.”
“You let me sit in your pew, find favour by calling you names, order you
about your own business. . . . Why did you do that, Christopher?”
The Lord of the Manor stared at the plumes of the cedars against the
blue of the sky.
“You know why,” he said.
There was a silence.