Part 4 (2/2)
There was a long billiard-room, with a ghostly table shrouded in dust-sheets; and upstairs, a range of bedrooms of all shapes and sizes, but all bright and cheerful, and looking out upon different aspects of park and woodland. Nothing was out of order; everything was plain, but care and taste were evident in each detail. Then, down a back staircase, they penetrated to outer regions where the corner of Norah's soul that Brownie had made housewifely rejoiced over a big, bright kitchen with pantries and larders and sculleries of the most modern type. The cook, who looked severe, was reading the _Daily Mail_ in the servants' hall; here and there they had glimpses of smart maids, irreproachably clad, who seemed of a race apart from either the cheery, friendly housemaids of Donegal, or Sarah and Mary of Billabong, who disliked caps, but had not the slightest objection to helping to put out a bush-fire or break in a young colt. Norah tried to picture the Homewood maids at either task, and failed signally.
From the house they wandered out to visit well-appointed stables with room for a dozen horses, and a garage where a big touring car stood--Norah found herself quite unable to realize that it belonged to her! But in the stables were living things that came and nuzzled softly in her hand with inquiring noses that were evidently accustomed to gifts of sugar and apples, and Norah felt suddenly, for the first time, at home. There were two good cobs, and a hunter with a beautiful lean head and splendid shoulders; a Welsh pony designed for a roomy tub-cart in the coach house; and a good old stager able for anything from carrying a nervous rider to drawing a light plough. The cobs, the groom explained, were equally good in saddle or harness; and there was another pony, temporarily on a visit to a vet., which Sir John had liked to ride. ”But of course Killaloe was Sir John's favourite,” he added, stroking the hunter's soft brown muzzle. ”There wasn't no one could show them two the way in a big run.”
They tore themselves with difficulty from the stables, and, still guided by the butler, who seemed to think he must not let them out of his sight, wandered through the grounds. Thatched cottage, orchard, and walled garden, rosery, with a pergola still covered with late blooms, lawns and shrubberies. There was nothing very grand, but all was exquisitely kept; and a kind of still peace brooded over the beauty of the whole, and made War and its shadows seem very far away.
The farms, well-tilled and prosperous-looking, were at the western side of the park: Mr. Linton and Jim talked with the tenant whose lease was expiring while Norah and Wally sat on an old oak log and chatted to the butler, who told them tales of India, and asked questions about Australia, being quite unable to realize any difference between the natives of the two countries. ”All n.i.g.g.e.rs, I calls them,” said the butler loftily.
”That seems a decent fellow,” said Mr. Linton, as they walked back across the park. ”Hawkins, the tenant-farmer, I mean. Has he made a success of his place, do you know?”
”'Awkins 'as an excellent name, sir,” replied the butler. ”A good, steady man, and a rare farmer. The General thinks 'ighly of 'im.
'E's sorry enough that 'is lease is up, 'Awkins is.”
”I think of renewing it, under slightly different conditions,” Mr.
Linton observed. ”I don't wish to turn the man out, if he will grow what I want.”
”Well, that's good news,” said the butler heartily. ”I'm sure 'Awkins'll do anything you may ask 'im to, sir.” A sudden dull flush came into his cheeks, and he looked for a moment half-eagerly at Mr.
Linton, as if about to speak. He checked himself, however, and they returned to the house, where, by the General's orders, coffee and sandwiches awaited the visitors in the morning-room. The butler flitted about them, seeing to their comfort un.o.btrusively.
”If I may make so bold as to ask, sir,” he said presently, ”you'll be coming to live here shortly?”
”As soon as General Somers leaves,” Mr. Linton answered.
The man dropped his voice, standing rigidly to attention.
”I suppose, sir,” he said wistfully, ”you would not be needing a butler?”
”A butler--why. I hadn't thought of such a thing,” said Mr. Linton, laughing. ”There are not very many of you in Australia, you know.”
”But indeed, sir, you'll need one, in a place like this,” said the ex-sergeant, growing bold. ”Every one 'as them--and if you would be so kind as to consider if I'd do, sir? I know the place, and the General 'ud give me a good record. I've been under him these fifteen years, but he doesn't need me after he leaves here.”
”Well----” said Mr. Linton thoughtfully. ”But we shan't be a small family--we mean to fill this place up with officers needing rest.
We're coming here to work, not to play.”
”Officers!” said the ex-sergeant joyfully. ”But where'd you get any one to 'elp you better, sir? Lookin' after officers 'as been my job this many a year. And I'd serve you faithful, sir.”
Norah slipped her hand into her father's arm.
”We really would need him, I believe, Daddy,” she whispered.
”You would, indeed, miss,” said the butler gratefully. ”I could valet the young gentlemen, and if there's any special attention needed, I could give it. I'd do my very utmost, miss. I'm old to go out looking for a new place at my time of life. And if you've once been in the Army, you like to stay as near it as you can.”
”Well, we'll see,” Mr. Linton said guardedly. ”I'll probably write to General Somers about you.” At which the butler, forgetting his butlerhood, came smartly to attention--and then became covered with confusion and concealed himself as well as he could behind a coffee-pot.
”You might do much worse,” Jim remarked, on their way to the station.
”He looks a smart man--and though this place is glorious, it's going to take a bit of running. Keep him for a bit, at any rate, Dad.”
”I think it might be as well,” Mr. Linton answered. He turned at a bend in the drive, to look back at Homewood, standing calm and peaceful in its cl.u.s.tering trees. ”Well, Norah, what do you think of your property?”
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