Читать книгу The Window - Alice Grant Rosman - Страница 7

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He did not after all go to Somerset next day, but to his tailor, so that when the time came for the visit of ejection, as he called it to himself, he was at least impeccably clad. Adelaide, advised of his coming, sent a car to meet him, a shining monster, far too opulent, in his opinion.

"You are new to me," he said with a pleasant nod to the young chauffeur.

"Yes, sir. I've been at the House come a twelve-month. Pollock's my name."

Christopher, smiling at the old village designation of his home, exclaimed:

"Not one of the Pollocks of the farm, surely?"

"Oh, no, sir. No relation. Pollocks from the farm, they've emigrated, two year back, I believe."

"Good God!"

"Yes, sir. The late master had a bit of trouble getting them out, I'm told. Rare obstinate that old Pollock was. There's a gentleman farming Windy now, a friend of Mr. Woollf's."

Pollocks gone from Windy ... Pollocks who from generation to generation had loved and tended it. It would break the old man's heart. He must be brought back at any cost. It was unthinkable. It was ghastly.

Innately gentle where women were concerned, he had dreaded the coming interview with Adelaide, but this was the last straw.

Pollocks gone from Windy? His mouth shut in a grim line. Christopher Royle rode forth to battle.