The Hall and the Grange: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

They told him, and he said they were too high. "You know that, Jackson. Wages have gone up enormously. I don't grudge them to men like you, who do your work as it ought to be done. But I'm not going to pay more than the current rate. If Coombe took you on at the Grange at the rate you say, he ought not to have done it."

They expressed themselves in their various ways as satisfied with what he offered them, and old Jackson said: "Who am I to take my orders from, sir, now Bridger has gone?"

"You'll take them from me. I'm my own bailiff now. Meet me in half an hour at the three oaks, and I'll settle with you what's to be done."

He wanted a little time for consideration, and when the men had filed out of the room and left him alone, he rose and walked up and down, as his habit was when he had to think anything out.

He wanted to be quite sure that he had done right. The cost of these repairs would be heavy, but the state of the drive would not admit of much further delay, as old Jackson had said, unless it were to become almost impassable here and there, and involve a larger expenditure later on. He had been ashamed of it only half an hour before, when Lord Crowborough had turned off on to the grass of the park to escape the worst place, and shown, by making no comment on it, that he knew why it had been left as it was. He was rather relieved at having had his hand forced about it, for it didn't do to shirk making necessary repairs out of unwillingness to spend money on them at the right time. Only bad landlords did that, and they suffered for it in the long run. The cost would be inconvenient at this moment, but it could be met. Jackson would do the work thoroughly, and he was glad to have the old fellow back in his employ. It might even be worth while to keep him on, for now that he had got rid of his bailiff there was nobody to whom he could delegate any overseeing, and he was more tied than he wanted to be. Pegg was a bit of a rolling stone, but would keep up to the mark as long as the job lasted. The other two seemed good sort of men, and would probably do as well as any.

All that was satisfactory enough; but it wanted thinking about as it affected his relations with William.

The idea of wiring to him in the terms he had intended must be given up. That had settled itself, for the extra labour he had employed was no longer available. Two of the men had gone off, and the other four had refused to continue with it. That was Coombe's fault, without any question. He had always suspected that fellow of being a mischief-maker, and now he stood revealed. The report with which he had come to him had been immediately proved to be absolutely groundless. Of the men of whom he had professed to be so suspicious that it was necessary to come and give a warning—for the good name of the village—two belonged to it—which he didn't—and were well known, two had already left it, and from the other two there was nothing to fear. The impudent readiness with which he had turned the few questions of the other morning into a mischievous attack showed him for what he was. Colonel Eldridge hardly felt indignation on account of it. The man had given himself away, and was as good as done with. Whatever their differences, William would never keep in his employ a man who had misbehaved in that way.

Coombe was so patently the fount and origin of the break-up that had come upon William's plans that it was a little difficult to go back to what had given him his handle. When he turned his mind to it, he experienced a droop of spirit. It was his protest that had started the trouble, and he had no inclination to shirk that fact, though it was also true that if William had not received it in the spirit he had, no harm would have been done. He had some effort to put himself in William's place, and did arrive at the conclusion that he had probably not received his letter until his return from his visit that morning, and that he had probably written in answer to it, which answer he would receive the next morning. That softened the effect of his peremptory order, but by no means justified it; for unless he had intended to show his annoyance by it, he would surely have sent him a wire at the same time.

The result of his cogitations was that nothing could be done then to mend the matter. He must wait to see if there was a letter from William, and, whether there was or not, it would be better to write no more letters, but to wait further until William came down on Friday evening, which he usually did. The garden should be made somehow, with another than Coombe to direct it. He wanted to see the garden made now, almost as much as William did.

He went out and made the arrangements with old Jackson, and then again returned to the house, slowly, and with very different thoughts from those which had borne him company on the same road an hour before. He did not want to think any more about the unpleasantness that had come upon him. No doubt it would work itself out, but he did not feel that he was free of it yet. And the vision of the larger freedom that had come to him had faded. He was in no mind now to go to William and ask him for the money that would settle all his difficulties.