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

stare at Chatfield much as he might have, stared at the Sphinx if she had been present⁠—and in the end he could only think of one word. “Well?” he asked lamely. “Well?”

“As to what, now?” inquired Chatfield with a sly smile.

“About what you said,” replied Vickers. “Miss Greyle, you know. I’m about thoroughly tied up with all this. You evidently know a lot. Of course you won’t tell! You’re devilish deep, Chatfield. But, between you and me⁠—what do you mean when you say that you don’t see why you and Miss Greyle shouldn’t come to terms?”

“Didn’t I say that during this last week or two I’d had my suspicions about the Squire?” answered Chatfield. “I did. I have had them suspicions⁠—got ’em stronger than ever since last night. So⁠—what I say is this. If things should turn out that Miss Greyle’s the rightful owner of Scarhaven, and if I help her to establish her claim, and if I help, too, to recover them valuables that are on the Pike⁠—there’s a good sixty to eighty thousand pounds worth of stuff, silver, china, paintings, books, tapestry, on that there craft, Mr. Vickers!⁠—if, I say, I do all that, what will Miss Greyle give me? That’s it⁠—in a plain way of speaking.”

“I thought it was,” said Vickers dryly. “Of course! Very well⁠—you’d better come and talk to Miss Greyle. Come on⁠—now!”

Copplestone and Audrey, having made a breakfast from the box of provisions which Andrius had been good enough to send ashore with them, had climbed to the head of the cliff after Vickers, and they were presently astonished beyond measure to see him returning with Chatfield under outward signs which suggested amity if not friendship. They paused by a convenient nook in the rocks and silently awaited the approach of these two strangely assorted companions. Vickers, coming near, gave them a queer and a knowing look.

“Mr. Chatfield,” he said gravely, “has had the night in which to reflect. Mr. Chatfield desires peaceable relations. Mr. Chatfield doesn’t see⁠—now, having reflected⁠—why he and Miss Greyle shouldn’t be on good terms. Mr. Chatfield desires to discuss these terms. Is that right, Chatfield?”

“Quite right, sir,” assented the agent. He had been regarding the couple who faced him benevolently and indulgently, and he now raised his hat to them. “Servant, ma’am,” he said with a bow to Audrey. “Servant, sir,” he continued, with another bow to Copplestone. “Ah⁠—it’s far better to be at peace one with another than to let misunderstandings exist forever. Mr. Copplestone, sir, you and me’s had words in times past⁠—I brush ’em away, sir, like that there⁠—the memory’s departed! I desire naught but better feelings. Happen Mr. Vickers’ll repeat what’s passed between him and me.”

Copplestone stood rooted to the spot with amazement while Vickers hastily epitomized the recent conversation; his mouth opened and his speech failed him. But Audrey laughed and looked at Vickers as if Chatfield were a new sort of entertainment.

“What do you say to this, Mr. Vickers?” she asked.

“Well, if you want to know,” replied Vickers, “I believe Chatfield when he says that he does not know that the Squire is not the Squire. May seem strange, but I do! As a solicitor, I do.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed Copplestone, finding his tongue. “You⁠—believe that!”

“I’ve said so,” retorted Vickers.

“Thank you, sir,” said Chatfield. “I’m obliged to you. Mr. Copplestone, sir, doesn’t yet understand that there’s a deal of conundrum in life. He’ll know better⁠—some day. He’ll know, too, that the poet spoke truthful when he said that things isn’t what they seem.”

Copplestone turned angrily on Vickers.

“Is this a farce?” he demanded. “Good heavens, man! You know what I told you!”

“Mr. Chatfield has a version,” answered Vickers. “Why not hear it?”

“On terms, Mr. Vickers,” remarked Chatfield. “On terms, sir.”

“What terms?” asked Audrey. “To Mr. Chatfield’s personal advantage, of course.”

Chatfield, who was still the most unconcerned of the group, seated himself on the rocks and looked at his audience.

“I’ve said to Mr. Vickers here that if I help Miss Greyle to the estate, I ought to be rewarded⁠—handsome,” he said. “Mind you, I don’t know that I can, for as I say, I do not know, as a matter of strict fact, that this man as we’ve called the Squire, isn’t the Squire. But recent events⁠—very recent events!⁠—has made me suspicious that he isn’t, and happen I can do a good bit⁠—a very good bit⁠—to turning him out. Now, if I help in that there work, will Miss Greyle continue me in my post of estate agent at Scarhaven?”

“Not for any longer than it will take to turn you out of it, Mr. Chatfield,” replied Audrey with an energy and promptitude which surprised her companions. “So we need not discuss that. You will never be my agent!”

“Very good, ma’am⁠—that’s quite according to my expectations,” said Chatfield, meekly. “I was always a misunderstood man. However, this here proposition will perhaps be more welcome. It’s always been understood that I was to have a retiring pension of five hundred pounds per annum. The family has always promised it⁠—I’ve letters to prove it. Will Miss Greyle stand to that if she comes in? I’ve been a faithful servant for nigh on to fifty years, Mr. Vickers, as all the neighbourhood is aware.”

“If I come in, as you call it, you shall have your pension,” said Audrey. Chatfield slowly felt in a capacious inner pocket and produced a large notebook and a fountain pen. He passed them to Vickers.

“We’ll have that there in writing, signed and witnessed,” he said. “Put, if you please, Mr. Vickers, ‘I agree that if I come into the Scarhaven estate, Peter Chatfield shall at once be pensioned off with five hundred pounds a year, to be paid quarterly. Same to be properly assured to him for his life.’ And then if Miss Greyle’ll sign that document, and you gentlemen’ll witness it, I shall consider that henceforth I’m in Miss Greyle’s service. And,” he added, with a significant glance all round, “I shall be a deal more use as a friend nor what I should be as what you might