He never went to church in London, and seldom in the country, and had not thought of becoming a regular churchgoer if he should buy Abington. But the girls and Miss Waterhouse would go on Sunday mornings and he would occupy the chancel pew with them occasionally. He meant no more than that, but the Vicar put him down gratefully as probably 'a keen churchman,' and his heart warmed to him still further. An incumbent's path was made so much easier if his Squire backed him up, and it made such a tie between them. It would be a most pleasant state of things if there was real sympathy and community of interest between the Vicarage and the great house. He knew of Rectories and Vicarages in which the Squire of the parish was never seen, with the converse disadvantage that the rector or vicar was never seen in the Squire's house. Evidently nothing of the sort was to be feared here. He would do all he could to create a good understanding at the outset. As for leaving these nice people to make their way about the Abbey with only the lodge-keeper's wife, now arrived breathless and apologetic on the scene, it was not to be thought of. He would rather lose his lunch than forsake them at this stage.
It was in fact nearly lunch time. Grafton, hitherto so amenable to suggestion, exercised decision. "We have brought a luncheon-basket with us," he said, standing before the door of the house, which the lodge-keeper was unlocking. "We shall picnic somewhere here before we look over the house. So I'll say good-bye, and thank you very much indeed for all the trouble you've taken."
He held out his hand, but the Vicar was not ready to take it yet, though dismissal, for the present, he would take, under the circumstances. "Oh, but I can't say good-bye like this," he said. "I feel I haven't done half enough for you. There's such a lot you may want to know about things in general, your new neighbours and so on. Couldn't you both come to tea at the Vicarage? I'm sure my wife would be very pleased to make your acquaintance, and that of this young lady."
"It's very kind of you," said Grafton. "But it will take us some hours to get back to London, and we don't want to get there much after dark. We shall have to start fairly early."
But the Vicar would take no denial. Tea could be as early as they liked—three o'clock, if that would suit them. Really, he must insist upon their coming. So they had to promise, and at last he took himself off.
The house was a joy to them both. They got rid of the lodge-keeper, who was anxious to go home and prepare her husband's dinner. She was apologetic at having been away from her lodge, but explained that she had only been down to the Estate office to draw her money.
"Is there a regular Agent?" asked Grafton. "If so, I should like to see him before I go."
She explained that Mr. Worthing was agent both for Abington and Wilborough, Sir Alexander Mansergh's place, which adjoined it. He lived at High Wood Farm about a mile away. He wasn't so often at Abington as at Wilborough, but could be summoned by telephone if he was wanted. Grafton asked her to get a message to him, and she left them alone.
Then they started their investigations, while the chauffeur laid out lunch for them on a table in the hall.
The hall was large and stone-floored, and took up the middle part of the later regular building. The sun streamed into it obliquely through tall small-paned windows at this hour of the day; otherwise it had the air of being rather sombre, with its cumbrous dark-coloured furniture. There was a great fire-place at one end of it, with a dark almost indecipherable canvas over it. It was not a hall to sit about in, except perhaps in the height of summer, for the front door opened straight into it, and the inner hall and staircase opened out of it without doors or curtains. A massive oak table took up a lot of room in the middle, and there were ancient oak chairs and presses and benches disposed stiffly against the walls.