Part 17 (1/2)
George bent his steps to the drawing-room. Mrs. Ryle was seated before her desk, writing a note. The expression of her face as she looked up at George between the white lappets of her widow's cap was resolutely severe. It changed to astonishment.
Strange to say, she was writing to Mr. Wall to stop the signing of the indentures, or to desire that they might be cancelled if signed. She could not do without George at home, she said; and she told him why she could not.
”Mamma,” said George, ”will you be angry if I tell you something that has struck me in all this?”
”Tell it,” said Mrs. Ryle.
”I feel quite certain Chattaway has been acting with a motive; he has some private reason for wis.h.i.+ng to get me away from home. That's what he has been working for; otherwise he would never have troubled himself about me. It is not in his nature.”
Mrs. Ryle gazed at George steadfastly, as if weighing his words, and presently knit her brow. George could read her countenance tolerably well. He felt sure she had arrived at a similar conclusion, and that it irritated her. He resumed.
”It looks bad for you, mother; but you must not think I say this selfishly. Twenty minutes I have asked myself the question, Why does he wish me away? And I can only think that he would like the farm to go to rack and ruin, so that you may be driven from it.”
”Nonsense, George.”
”Well, what else can it be?”
”If so, he is defeated,” said Mrs. Ryle. ”You will take your place as master of the farm from to-day, George, under me. Deferring to me in all things, you understand; giving no orders on your own responsibility, taking my pleasure upon the merest trifle.”
”I should not think of doing otherwise,” replied George. ”I will do my best for you in all ways, mother. You will soon see how useful I can be.”
”Very well. But I may as well mention one thing to you. When Treve shall be old enough, it is he who will be master here, and you must resign the place to him. It is not that I wish to set the younger of your father's sons unjustly above the head of the elder. This farm will be a living but for one of you; barely that; and I prefer that Treve should have it; he is my own son. We will endeavour to find a better farm for you before that time shall come.”
”Just as you please,” said George, cheerfully. ”Now that I am emanc.i.p.ated from that dreadful nightmare, my prospects look very bright to me. I'll do the best I can on the farm, remembering that I do it for Treve's future benefit; not for mine. Something else will turn up for me, no doubt, before I'm ready for it.”
”Which will not be for some years to come,” said Mrs. Ryle, feeling pleased with the boy's acquiescent spirit. ”Treve will not be old enough for----”
Mrs. Ryle was interrupted. The door had opened, and there appeared Mr.
Chattaway, showing himself in. Nora never affected to be too courteous to that gentleman; and on his coming to the house to ask for Mrs. Ryle a second time, she had curtly answered that Mrs. Ryle was in the best parlour (the more familiar name for the drawing-room in the farmhouse), and allowed him to find his own way to it.
Mr. Chattaway looked surprised at seeing George; he had not bargained for his arriving home so soon. Extending his hand towards him, he turned to Mrs. Ryle.
”There's a dutiful son for you! You hear what he has done?--returned on your hands as a bale of worthless goods.”
”Yes, I hear that Mr. Wall has declined to take him,” was her composed answer. ”It has happened for the best. When he arrived just now, I was writing to Mr. Wall requesting that he might _not_ be bound.”
”And why?” asked Mr. Chattaway in considerable amazement.
”I find I am unable to do without him,” said Mrs. Ryle, her tone harder and firmer than ever; her eyes, stern and steady, thrown full on Chattaway. ”I have tried the experiment, and it has failed. I cannot do without one by my side devoted to my interests; and John Pinder cannot get on without a master.”
”And do you think you'll find what you want in him!--in that inexperienced schoolboy?” burst forth Mr. Chattaway.
”I do,” replied Mrs. Ryle, her tone so significantly decided, as to be almost offensive. ”He takes his standing from this day as master of Trevlyn Farm; subject only to me.”
”I wish you joy of him!” angrily returned Chattaway. ”But you must understand, Mrs. Ryle, that your having a boy at the head of affairs will oblige me to look more keenly after my interests.”
”My arrangements with you are settled,” she said. ”So long as I fulfil my part, that is all that concerns you, James Chattaway.”
”You'll not fulfil it, if you put him at the head of things.”