Читать книгу Secret of the River - Fred M. White - Страница 3

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ASHDOWN CROFT was not a great house by comparison with some of our famous show places, but it dated back to Tudor days, and had had its place more than once in history, especially in the darkest hours of the Stuarts and their followers. It stood in its own park on the banks of the River Wern a fine specimen of mediaeval architecture, with its soft, rose-tinted brick and twisted chimneys. Inside were suites of low, panelled rooms, and beyond the bedrooms in the centre, a long picture gallery, terminating in a chamber, above the broad, open fireplace of which was a sort of priest's hiding-hole, and from there, a secret way out into the grounds. Just the sort of glorious old mansion that might form the centre of a romance, as, indeed, it had on more than one occasion in the days gone by. A charming house, with a character all its own, and the cherished possession of Nevil Ashdown; and thereby hangs a tale.

For the park and the house and the long range of training stables on the south side of the park, backing on the river, had nearly been lost to its present owner ten years before. It was at the time when he had just come of age, when the old family solicitor in London told him for the first time the parlous position in which he, Nevil, stood.

Nevil Ashdown crossed the park in the winter sunshine on his way to make a call at the house where he was born. Because, for a long time past, the property had been let, just as it stood, to a wealthy City man whom Nevil had never seen till a month or two before, when he had returned from America to take up his residence in one of his own farm houses a mile or two away.

He was going through that fateful interview in his mind as the front of Ashdown Croft loomed up before him. He was hearing the lawyer telling him that the future of the house trembled in the balance, and that unless something very like a miracle occurred, it would pass out of the possession of the Ashdowns for ever.

"It's like this, my boy," the lawyer had said. "Your father was criminally extravagant. I warned him over and over again, to no effect, so that, as we stand to-day, the property is mortgaged to the extent of over £50,000. Of course, you can go on living at Ashdown if you like, but you will have to close most of the house, and discharge many of the servants. You won't have enough to keep up the gardens as you should, and you will have to sell all the horses your father had in training."

"I shan't worry much about that," Nevil smiled. "Horse racing has no attractions for me, and I never had a bet in my life. Of course, all this comes as a bit of a shock because my father never took me into his confidence. Now, tell me, Mr. Wren, what precisely have I to live on?"

"That is not exactly the point," the old lawyer had said. "But call it £1500 a year, all told."

"And if I live by my own exertions for a few years? What difference will that make?"

"All the difference in the world. If you could support yourself say for ten years and leave the management of the estate to us, we can hand it over to you intact. My idea would be to pull the stables down and sell the horses and build, where the stables are to-day, a series of glass houses. In that sheltered situation, there is quite a thousand a year to be made out of fruit grown under glass. And you have on the property, if you only knew it, one of the best gardeners in England, only he has never had a chance. Then I would put a good man in to manage the home farm, instead of the present steward, who robbed your father right and left, and I would lease your famous stretch of salmon water for a small fortune. It is the best on the river, being just above the tideway and—oh, well, there are a dozen methods of turning a dead loss into a handsome profit. If you are disposed to listen to me——"

"I am infinitely obliged to you," Nevil had said. "It shall be exactly as you say. It's hard lines if I can't get a living without touching my limited income, because I am young and strong and the West appeals to me."

So the old man and the young one had shaken hands together on the bargain and Nevil had made his way to America with just £100 in his pocket. And there he had gone through various experiences before his natural talent for the stage brought him in contact with a syndicate whose business it was to run vaudeville shows all over the West. So that, in the course of time, Nevil was not only making a good living, but actually sending money home to his solicitor in London. And now, on this bright winter morning, he had been back in England for three or four months, living in a farm house hard by and patiently waiting the time when the long tenancy of Everard Murray, the wealthy City man, came to an end. That would be a matter of something less than a year and, meanwhile Nevil was on the best of terms with Murray and his daughter Angela.

Indeed, he was on something more than good terms with Angela. He had been meeting her nearly every day and was on his way to call on her now in connection with some amateur theatrical which were being given in a day or two in the village hall for the benefit of some local charity.

It was just as Nevil had crossed the rustic bridge leading from the park into the grounds themselves that he encountered Murray himself, with two companions.

"Hello. Mr. Murray," he said. "I hardly expected to see you down here at this time of the week."

The genial head of the firm of Everard Murray and Company laughed pleasantly. He was a fine figure of a man, clear-eyed and clean-skinned, and carrying his fifty-odd years with the ease of a man half is age. With his grey moustache, and slight swagger, he might have passed for an ex-cavalry officer. Of the two other men, one was dressed in a slight caricature of fashion, with a little spiked moustache and imperial, all eminently French, which, indeed, Monsieur Jules Blanchin was. A famous chemist, Nevil had heard, and one who was an inventor of distinction, which fact, no doubt, had induced the shrewd Murray to take him into partnership. The third man was a lank and lean individual, sallow of face, and given to long periods of silence. This was Mr. Joseph Sidey, who, so Nevil understood, looked after the financial side of that extremely flourishing City business.

"Well, my boy," Murray smiled, "even business men like ourselves must have a little recreation some times. We have been working exceedingly hard lately, so we ran down last night for a long week-end, which will enable us to have the pleasure of watching those famous theatricals. I don't know whether you are aware of it, Blanchin, but our young friend here is quite a famous histrion. They tell me that if he had cared to stay in the States, he would have gone to the very top of the tree. As it is, he prefers to come back and live in the home of his ancestors and carry on a miserable existence on a few thousands a year. Between ourselves, I am trying to persuade him to put a block of capital into our show. If he did, I think we could guarantee him something like cent per cent. for his money."

Monsieur Blanchin showed his fine teeth in a grin.

"Of that there is no doubt whatever," he said. "Five or ten thousand pounds, as the case may be, and as many golden sovereigns per annum as he cared to risk. Risk! Bah, why do I speak of it? There is no risk at all."

"Oh, well, I dare say he will come to his senses in time," said Murray with his most genial laugh. "But don't worry him now, Blanchin, when he has got his mind on those theatricals. If I were to hazard a guess, I should say that he is here this morning to see Angela and not us, eh, Ashdown?"

"You've guessed it," Nevil said, with a slight change of colour. "That is, with your permission."

"Fancy young people asking the stern parent's permission at this time of the day," Murray said cheerily. "As a matter of fact, you will find Angela behind the conservatories feeding those golden pheasants of hers."

With that, Nevil went on his way, but, before going very far the girl whom he sought came from behind a shelter of laurels and met him face to face. A smile flashed like a gleam of sunshine across the lovely features of Angela Murray and he could see in her eyes a look that set his heart beating a little faster than usual. He had seen that look once or twice before and wondered why it was always so fleeting. She had, for the moment, the appearance of a girl who had come suddenly into the presence of her lover and then, in an instantaneous flash, the air of one who is meeting a stranger for the first time.

"You wanted to see me," she said, almost coldly.

"Of course I wanted to see you," Nevil said, half sadly and half angrily. "You know perfectly well that that is always my condition. Angela, why is it that when we come face to face suddenly, you look—how shall I put it—as if I was the one man in the world, and then, before my heart warms, it is as if you really disliked me?"

"Please don't talk like that," Angela said. "I have asked you not to, before, and you promised. There are reasons which I dare not tell you. If you have any regard for me——"

"I am sorry," Nevil murmured. "Perhaps, some day—but never mind. I wanted to see you about to-morrow night's show. That little bit of business where I come suddenly into the room without expecting to see you. I think we can improve on that."