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Eleanor. Sylvia Andrew
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‘They…they are included in the sale. I expect the new owner will keep them where they are.’ Her mother sounded apprehensive, but Eleanor could see the force of this. Her father, and his father and grandfather before him, had all been keen book collectors and one of Stanyard’s largest rooms had been made into a handsome library some sixty years before.
‘Shall I tell you about Stanyards’ new owner?’
‘No!’ said Eleanor violently. In reply to her mother’s look of astonishment, she went on, ‘Thank you, but I do not wish to know anything about the man, not even his name. I cannot at the moment tolerate the thought of strangers in what was my home, Mama.’
‘But, Nell, you will have to know more! Or are you going to refuse to meet him? That would be extremely difficult—the two houses are within a stone’s throw of each other. I assure you he is a man of honour and integrity—he will do well by Stanyards—’
‘No, Mama!’
‘I cannot allow you to bury your head like this…’
‘I know,’ said Eleanor nervously, but with determination. ‘Please be patient with me. I will come round, you’ll see, but I need time. Give me a day or two, then you may tell me all you wish about the usurper!’ Eleanor gave a slightly tremulous smile as she said this. Only she knew how much the effort she was making was costing her. Only for her mother would Eleanor have made this attempt to reconcile herself to losing Stanyards.
The Dower House lay a short distance from Stan-yards itself, at the end of a branch from the main drive. It had been built about a hundred years before for the widow of an earlier and more prosperous Southeran. It was on a small scale but very pretty, built of brick, which was a rare luxury in this stone-based countryside, with a miniature pediment and sash windows. Behind was a small stable block and a path, decorated with ornamental urns and benches, which connected it with the main house. Here Eleanor and her mother were to live.
Having promised to do all she could, Eleanor threw herself into preparations for the move. She would normally have been out and about the estate, catching up with all the tasks which had fallen to her since the two men in the family had died. But now she stayed at home and directed the servants, supervised the packing of china and linen, consulted her mother on what should go and what should stay, all without once displaying the slightest interest in Stanyards’ new owner.
Apart from her mother, no one seemed to know very much about him anyway. The negotiations had been concluded surprisingly swiftly—few had even caught a glimpse of the mysterious stranger who had apparently won Mrs Southeran’s trust so easily.
One thing Eleanor could not help noticing. The Dower House was being given a thorough renovation, and its garden, which had become a wilderness, was being restored to flowerbeds and lawns. Even the small stable block, which had been out of use for years, was being made ready for occupation. She could not help knowing that a vast amount of money was being spent on all this refurbishment, and asked her mother about it.
‘I cannot tell you!’ said her mother with a small twinkle in her eye. ‘The new owner is doing it all, and you do not wish to know about him!’
Eleanor was obstinate enough not to ask further. Later, of course, she wished she had.
A day or two before the Southeran’s move to the Dower House, Eleanor, who had been inspecting yet more cupboards there, was making her way towards the path back to Stanyards. A large black dog, hardly more than a puppy, bounded round the corner from the stables and greeted her with all the warmth of an old friend. The dog was a complete stranger.
‘Down, Becky! Down, I say! You must forgive her, Miss Southeran. She has yet to learn her proper place in life, I’m afraid. Did she frighten you?’
Eleanor had recognised the voice at once, of course. Who could mistake those deep, resonant tones? But she still stared at Mr Guthrie as if he had been conjured up by the devil himself.
‘Miss Southeran? Are you all right? Becky hasn’t an ounce of harm in her, I assure you.’ He sounded concerned, and Eleanor made an effort to find her voice.
‘It’s not the dog! Why are you here?’ she croaked.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Why are you here?’ she repeated in a stronger voice.
‘No, no, Miss Southeran! Even in the Colonies we know better than that. You must bid me “Good morning”, say that it is pleasant to see me and then ask if I had a comfortable journey from London. Only then do you work round, by devious methods, to finding out why I am here. However, I should have thought you would know that.’
Eleanor still had no idea. The thought that Mr Guthrie had sought her out here in Somerset seemed ridiculous—but what else could it be? She must make the position quite clear. Curiously enough, it was his incivility at their last meeting, not his perfidy, which came first to mind.
‘Your final words to me when we last met were un-pardonably rude. I believe I have already told you once—I have no wish to continue our acquaintance, Mr Guthrie. If you are here to see me, you have wasted your journey.’ She started off towards the main house, her dignity somewhat hampered by the dog, who danced around her feet as she went.
He strode after her and caught her arm. ‘I suppose you think your lack of civility to me is allowable. That I don’t merit any consideration? But that’s neither here nor there—what I’d like to know is what the devil you’re talking about—coming to see you indeed! As you very well know, I’ve come down here to take over the estate!’
‘Take…?’ Eleanor sat down rather suddenly on an ornamental bench. ‘Take over the estate?’ she said slowly. ‘Oh, God! You’re the one who has bought Stanyards?’
He looked at her white face. ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ He sat down beside her and would have taken her hand, but she snatched it away. He sat for a moment watching her as she struggled with this new blow. ‘I’m sorry if I gave you a shock,’ he said, more gently. ‘The negotiations for the house were conducted discreetly—for reasons of my own, I didn’t wish the world to know where I was about to live—but why on earth hasn’t your mother told you since you came back from London?’
‘I wouldn’t let her,’ said Eleanor, her mind still reeling at the identity of the new owner. ‘I didn’t wish to know anything about the man who was taking Stan-yards away from us.’
Mr Guthrie sighed and stood up again. ‘Purchasing it, Miss Southeran. For a fair price. A more than fair price, considering the state it is in.’
Eleanor fired up at this criticism. ‘Stanyards is a jewel! More than you could ever have hoped to aspire to!’
‘Too good for me, eh?’ This time his voice was full of mockery. ‘Well, we shall see. Now, since I cannot see this conversation serving any useful purpose, and as I have a thousand other things to do, I hope you will excuse me. Or—would you like me to escort you to the house? I thought not. Your servant, Miss Southeran.’ He turned to go.
‘Wait!’ cried Eleanor. ‘These negotiations—did my mother take any advice before selling Stanyards to you?’
‘Now what are you suggesting? That I cheated her?’
‘She is under one misapprehension at least, Mr Guthrie. She assured me that the new owner of Stan-yards was a man of integrity and honour!’
Mr Guthrie stood quite still for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and said softly, ‘And you think you can prove differently? Prove, mind you! I warn you, Miss Southeran, if I find you are repeating here in the country the kind of scurrilous gossip which made London happy, I shall take steps to silence you. Good