"That's all right, then," agreed Mostyn, "I shall manage quite well
for myself after you have gone." He turned and settled with the
driver of his cab, paying him liberally out of the fulness of his
heart, and then requested Samuel Willis to lead the way into the
house. His luggage--such as it was, for he had not thought well to
bring much with him, being uncertain as to the length of his
stay--had already been carried into the hall.
"You know all about my having become the owner of the Grange?" Mostyn
said, as he followed the gardener. "I suppose Messrs. Chester and
Smithers gave you the full particulars."
"Yes, sir," returned the man civilly, "but we did not expect that you
would be coming down so soon, or I should have been on the look out
for a letter."
Mostyn made some complimentary remark about the garden, and then
added with a laugh, "I understood that the house was in a dilapidated
condition, a sort of ruin, in fact. I am pleasantly surprised to
find it so well kept."
"It's better from the outside than within," returned Willis, "as you
will see for yourself, sir. My wife does her best, but there's more
work than one woman can manage. There are only some four or five
rooms furnished, and the others--well, they would need a lot of doin'
up before they could be occupied. As for the garden--well, I can
manage that, and I love my flowers."
Mostyn was staring round the hall in which he stood. It was square
of shape, panelled in oak, and a gallery ran round two sides of it--a
gallery which was approached by an uncarpeted flight of stairs at the
far end. There was but little furniture, though everything that
Mostyn's eyes rested upon was quaint and old-fashioned. There were
high-backed chairs, elaborately carved, a great oaken coffer, and a
fine old grandfather's clock, the loud ticking of which sounded
pleasantly to the ear. The fireplace was large in proportion to the
size of the hall, and the hearth was broad; there were delightful
ingle nooks to either side of it. Against the opposite wall there
was an organ, a small affair, and evidently of modern make: its
pipes, which had been gilded and painted, were now discoloured, and
harmonised quaintly with the more antique decorations of the hall.
The floor was uncarpeted, but a few fine rugs, bear and tiger skins,
lay about. A large lamp was suspended in the centre, and Samuel
Willis now occupied himself with the lighting of this, for the dusk
was closing in.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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