The Happy WarriorHutchinson, A. S. M. (Arthur Stuart-Menteth)
General
The Happy Warrior
Hutchinson, A. S. M. (Arthur Stuart-Menteth)
Fiction
In the morning Lady Burdon came with Rollo to make her request that
Percival might spend much of his time at the Old Manor as Rollo's
playmate. In these seven years since the amazement at Miller's Field,
this was but her third visit to the estate, her first for the purpose
of staying any length of time, and the first that had seen Rollo with
her. Two days had been spent here when Jane Lady Burdon had been
brought to rest in Burdon churchyard; three when Mr. Maxwell, the
agent, had been troublesome and importunate in the matter of expensive
alterations on the property. Lady Burdon had come down then "to have
an understanding with him;" as she expressed it--"to see for herself."
The result had been as unfortunate for Mr. Maxwell (to whom she had
shown some temper) as it had been augmentative of the dislike she had
always felt for the property and its greedy responsibilities. The
result had been to filter over the countryside from Mr. Maxwell that
she was the controlling partner in the new representatives of the
house; that hers was the refusal to take up the urgently needed
irrigation scheme; hers the scandal (as it became) of neglect to carry
out improvements in the cottages over at Abbess Roding; hers the crime
(as it was held) of the selling-up over at Shepwall that entailed
eviction of tenants old on the land as the house of Burdon itself.
On the other hand the result had been to return Lady Burdon to the
Mount Street life with at least a temporary stop put to the Maxwell
whinings and at least a lighter drain from the Mount Street expenses.
Miss Oxford had not seen her on either of these visits. Miss Oxford
had only smiled in an odd way when she heard of the behaviour that had
set the countryside clacking. The better Lady Burdon flourished, the
more Lady Burdon exercised the prerogatives of her usurped position,
the riper she ripened for the blow, when there should be returned to
her the son whose mother she had murdered; that was the entertainment
Miss Oxford nursed through these years, living so gently and so
quietly, "thinking" so much, poor dear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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