Scarhaven Keep by J. S. Fletcher (best value ebook reader TXT) 📕

“He knows more⁠—in a sort of antiquarian and historian fashion⁠—than you’d suppose a young man of his age would,” said Mrs. Greyle. “He gives you the impression of having read it up⁠—studied it deeply. And⁠—his usual tastes don’t lie in that direction.”

“Ah!” observed Mr. Dennie, musingly. “Bad sign, ma’am⁠—bad sign! Looks as if he had been⁠—shall we say put up to overstudying his part. That’s possible! I have known men who were so anxious to be what one calls letter-perfect, Mr. Copplestone, that though they knew their parts, they didn’t know how to play them. Fact, sir!”

While the old actor was chuckling over this reminiscence, Gilling turned quietly to Mrs. Greyle.

“I think you suspect this man?” he said.

“Frankly⁠—yes,” replied Mrs. Greyle. “I always have done, though I have said so little⁠—”

“Mother!” interrupted Audrey. “Is it really worth while saying so much now! After all, we know nothing, and if this is all mere supposition⁠—however,” she broke off, rising and going away from the group, “perhaps I had better say nothing.”

Copplestone too rose and followed her into the window recess.

“I say!” he said entreatingly. “I hope you don’t think me interfering? I assure you⁠—”

“You!” she exclaimed. “Oh, no!⁠—of course. I think you’re anxious to clear things up about Mr. Oliver. But I don’t want my mother dragged into it⁠—for a simple reason. We’ve got to live here⁠—and Chatfield is a vindictive man.”

“You’re frightened of him?” said Copplestone incredulously. “You!”

“Not for myself,” she answered, giving him a warning look and glancing apprehensively at Mrs. Greyle, who was talking eagerly to Mr. Dennie and Gilling. “But my mother is not as strong as she looks and it would be a blow to her to leave this place and we are the Squire’s tenants, and therefore at Chatfield’s mercy. And you know that Chatfield does as he likes! Now do you understand?”

“It maddens me to think that you should be at Chatfield’s mercy!” muttered Copplestone. “But do you really mean to say that if⁠—if Chatfield thought you⁠—that is, your mother⁠—were mixed up in anything relating to the clearing up of this affair he would⁠—”

“Drive us out without mercy,” replied Audrey. “That’s dead certain.”

“And that your cousin would let him?” exclaimed Copplestone. “Surely not!”

“I don’t think the Squire has any control over Chatfield,” she answered. “You have seen them together.”

“If that’s so,” said Copplestone, “I shall begin to think there is something queer about the Squire in the way your mother suggests. It looks as if Chatfield had a hold on him. And in that case⁠—”

He suddenly broke off as a smart automobile drove up to the cottage door and set down a tall, distinguished-looking man who after a glance at the little house walked quickly up the garden. Audrey’s face showed surprise.

“Mother!” she said, turning to Mrs. Greyle. “There’s Lord Altmore here! He must want you. Or shall I go?”

Mrs. Greyle quitted the room hastily. The others heard her welcome the visitor, lead him up the tiny hall; they heard a door shut. Audrey looked at Copplestone.

“You’ve heard of Lord Altmore, haven’t you?” she said. “He’s our biggest man in these parts⁠—he owns all the country at the back, mountains, valleys, everything. The Greyle land shuts him off from the sea. In the old days, Greyles and Altmores used to fight over their boundaries, and⁠—”

Mrs. Greyle suddenly showed herself again and looked at her daughter.

“Will you come here, Audrey?” she said. “You gentlemen will excuse both of us for a few minutes?”

Mother and daughter went away, and the two young men drew up their chairs to the table at which Mr. Dennie sat and exchanged views with him on the curious situation. Half an hour went by; then steps and voices were heard in the hall and the garden; Mrs. Greyle and Audrey were seeing their visitor out to his car. In a few minutes the car sped away, and they came back to the parlour. One glance at their faces showed Gilling that some new development had cropped up and he nudged Copplestone.

“Here is remarkable news!” said Mrs. Greyle as she went back to her chair. “Lord Altmore called to tell me of something that he thought I ought to know. It is almost unbelievable, yet it is a fact. Marston Greyle⁠—if he is Marston Greyle!⁠—has offered to sell Lord Altmore the entire Scarhaven estate, by private treaty. Imagine it!⁠—the estate which has belonged to the Greyles for five hundred years!”

The two younger men received this announcement with no more than looks of astonished inquiry, but the elder one coughed significantly, had further recourse to his snuffbox and turned to Mrs. Greyle with a knowing glance.

“My dear lady!” he said impressively. “Now this is a matter in which I believe I can be of service⁠—real service! You may have forgotten the fact⁠—it is all so long ago⁠—and perhaps I never mentioned it in the old days⁠—but the truth is that before I went on the stage, I was in the law. The fact is, I am a duly and fully qualified solicitor⁠—though,” he added, with a dry chuckle, “it is a good five and twenty years since I paid the six pounds for the necessary annual certificate. But I have not forgotten my law⁠—or some of it⁠—and no doubt I can furbish up a little more, if necessary. You say that Mr. Marston Greyle, the present owner of Scarhaven, has offered to sell his estate to Lord Altmore? But⁠—is not the estate entailed?”

“No!” replied Mrs. Greyle. “It is not.”

Mr. Dennie’s face fell⁠—unmistakably. He took another pinch of snuff and shook his head.

“Then in that case,” he said dryly, “all the lawyers in the world can’t help. It’s his⁠—absolutely⁠—and he can do what he pleases with it. Five hundred years, you say? Remarkable!⁠—that a man should want to sell land his forefathers have walked over for half a thousand years! Extraordinary!”

“Did Lord Altmore say if any reason had been given him as to why Mr. Greyle wished to sell?” asked Gilling.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Greyle, who was obviously greatly upset by the recent news.