Читать книгу Accident by Design - Edith Caroline Rivett - Страница 18

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Sudden death, inquest and rumour may have occupied the minds of the country folk, but they had no effect on farm work. Hay time started in blazing weather and the shining swathes of flowering grasses scented the air as they dried swiftly and sweetly under a true June sun. Hay time brings joy and satisfaction, but it means gruelling hard work: the tractors were out soon after five in the morning, and loads of hay were being led until the long twilight faded, close on midnight. Gilbert Barton, face and neck and arms scorched strawberry red under his fair thatch of hair, worked among his men with a will. He was a skilful loader and threw up the great swathes of hay with an apparent ease which many a younger man might have envied. Taking a moment’s easy, as the laden waggon moved off, Gilbert looked across the meadowland of the park and saw that a small car had pulled up on the road to the house, and that someone was alighting. Recognising Judith Vanstead, Barton mopped his face and walked across to meet her. She looked cool and pleasant in a light tussore silk suit, and she moved across the cut grass with a deliberate graceful swing.

“I’m so glad you’ve got fine weather for hay time, Mr. Barton. It’s a wonderful crop this year, isn’t it? Everybody is saying that your hay is the finest for miles, but I know it means very long hours and heavy work.”

“I don’t think anyone is grousing about that, Miss Vanstead. They’re a fine lot of men—especially the old ones—and they’re as proud of it as I am. Even the cows know the hay’s especially good this year: they leave their pasture to steal the hay as the waggons pass, and that speaks volumes.” He paused, and then said diffidently: “I haven’t had a chance to tell you how sorry I was for all the distress you have suffered: I did feel for you, and for your father, very deeply.”

“Thank you very much. I can’t tell you how kind everyone has been, but—it was just awful.” She bent her head, and Barton could see the tears on her dark lashes. “Poor Gerald—he’d had such a horrible time, and I do grieve so much because we didn’t make up for it more. It was all so difficult, and somehow I couldn’t get onto real terms with him.” She hesitated, and then added: “I can say this to you, because I believe you liked him: you did manage to make friends with him and I wanted to tell you how glad I was. I know a lot of people didn’t like him and his wife, but you got to know them somehow. I suppose it’s because your job is so—real, it makes you real too.”

“An honest feeling for the land and the beasts is a never-failing source of understanding between people who share it,” he said simply. “I think Mrs. Vanstead was a good farmer, and I liked her for it.”

“I shall always remember that with gratitude,” she answered. “You did something I failed to do. I was often horrid to her, and I’m ashamed when I think of it. But I know it’s no use getting morbid over it. The only thing I can do to make up is to see that Alan has the best chance possible to grow up sturdy and strong, and to do all the things he’s got the ability to do—poor little boy!”

“Indeed, poor little chap!” replied Barton. “How is he, Miss Vanstead?”

“Better, I think. I got Ardenly, the psychiatrist, to see him. He advised sending Alan away for a bit, to a woman who is trained to deal with cases of shock and maladjustment. Later on, he’s going to a school Mr. Ardenly recommended. It seemed the kindest and wisest thing to do. Alan will get over it more easily when he’s away from everything which reminded him of it. At the moment, he’s haymaking too—I hope.”

“Good! I think you were very wise over that, and I’m sure it’s better for him.”

“Perhaps when he does come back here, you will be able to help—keep him out of doors, and let him learn to ride and drive. Mr. Barton, I’ve only recently heard that you’re engaged and going to get married. I’m so very glad. I’ve often thought you needed a wife to look after you in that great old farmhouse. I do hope you’ll both be very happy. I want to meet your fiancée and go over the farmhouse with her; I’m certain an awful lot needs doing inside to make it more comfortable and easier to run.”

Gilbert Barton’s face lit up. “But that’s awfully good of you, Miss Vanstead.”

“It isn’t good at all. I hope you realise that my father knows just how much you’ve improved the land and the stock. Last time he was talking about the estate he said to me, ‘Barton’s a good farmer and a good manager. We ought to get him settled on a permanent basis, for our interest as well as his.’ As things turned out, I couldn’t go into it as Father wished, but I can now. You must see the estate lawyer sometime and talk it over, but may I just say that I want you to regard yourself as a ‘freeholder,’ if you know what I mean. We want you to settle here, and of course the house must be brought up to date and made charming for your bride.”

“I don’t ask anything better than to stay here,” said Gilbert Barton. “It’s good land and you’ve been generous over equipping and stocking it, and in giving me a free hand in working it. If I’d had to leave here, I should have felt that I’d left part of myself behind——” He broke off, and Judith said quickly:

“The thought of leaving it needn’t arise, need it, then? It’s to our interest that you should stay, and we hope it’s to yours as well. I mustn’t keep you now, but do remember what I said about the house. It would be sensible if I went over it with your fiancée, and she can tell me exactly what she would like to have done. After all, if you agree to become a fixture, so to speak, you’ve got to remember that your wife has a right to a say in the matter.”

She smiled at him, her dark eyes serious for all her smiling lips, and Barton replied: “Of course she has, but I know what she will feel about it. She loves this place already—even the old farmhouse, with the bath in the wash house and oil stoves and lamps.”

Judith laughed. “Is it as bad as that? I didn’t know. Tell her—I don’t even know her name.”

“Elizabeth—Elizabeth Coombe.”

“Then tell your Elizabeth we’ll have electricity and proper plumbing put in, and she can have it painted from top to bottom. Oh, here’s Mr. Standish, come to lend you a hand. I must get out of your way. Good-bye for now, and good luck.”

She turned away quickly, as though to evade Barton’s thanks, and an empty waggon pulled up beside him as Standish said: “Got a spare fork? I might as well sweat some weight off. Tick me off if I make a nuisance of myself.”