The Hall and the Grange: A Novel

by Archibald Marshall

Norman's ears were disagreeably affected by that phrase "the present owner." The dispute, which he had forgotten until that moment, was serious, then.

Lady Eldridge spoke, in her quiet firm voice. "I think you ought to know, Norman," she said, "that Uncle Edmund is showing himself hostile to your father. Father went to the Hall to tell him, first of all, about what has been happening, but there was a disagreement that had to be cleared out of the way first, and he found it impossible to do it."

Sir William shifted his position. "I've done all I can," he said. "The dispute was about a twopenny halfpenny affair which I've been trying to put right ever since. I've given way upon all points—more than I ought to have done; but it's of no use. Nothing's of any use. He's determined on quarrelling. I can't do any more."

"I suppose it's about that garden," said Norman. "What does Uncle Edmund want done about it?"

"What does he want done about it? I wish to God you could find out. First of all he makes himself offensive because I began it. Very well! I overlook the offence and I stop it. But that doesn't do. I'm told I shall be damaging his position in the place if I don't begin all over again. Very well; I say I will, when he has finished with the men I took on for the work, and he took from me for his work. Then I'm told that before I do anything else I've got to get rid of the man who has been doing it all. Something has come to his ears that Coombe is supposed to have said about him. A wise man would have shut his ears to that sort of gossip; but because of it, I'm to dismiss a man who has served me well, out of hand, and without giving him a chance of defending himself. I said I'd look into it; but he wouldn't have that. To ask questions of anybody would be to doubt his word, though all he has to go on is what somebody told somebody else who told him. It's perfectly childish; but I'm not going to bother about it any more. I've got far too much to do. If he wants to break with me, he must. I don't want it, and I've gone all lengths to pacify him. But the fact is that he isn't a big enough man to be able to see me going ahead in the world while he's standing still. All his life he has considered himself my superior. He's my elder brother, and I've given in to him. I've given in to him over this, up to the limit. But now he asks too much. I shall just have to go on, and leave him out of account."

"If we weren't all living at Hayslope," Lady Eldridge said, "it would be easy to keep apart for a time, and the friction would die down. What we must do is to make the best of it until Uncle Edmund becomes more reasonable. Neither you nor I, Norman, need take notice of it unless we are forced to. Father wants us to treat it in that way."

"Oh, yes," said Sir William. "He can't visit my sins upon you; and I certainly don't want to visit his upon Cynthia and the girls. You must go on as much as possible as before. He won't come here, and I shan't go to the Hall. That's all the difference it need make, and when we have gone on for some time like that, I dare say he will come round—see he's been making a fool of himself." He paused for a moment. "I know you're not used to hearing me talk of him like that, but I really can't help myself. I've been sorry for him lately, and have done my best to help him over the troubles and difficulties he has had. But none of that seems to count for anything. He was so—so coldly and obstinately determined to have his own way this evening that it thoroughly upset me. He seems to have nothing in him to respond to the feeling I have always had for him—no kindness, no generosity. I'm not used to losing my temper, but I'm afraid I did lose it with him this evening—his arrogance worked me up to such an extent. No doubt that will all be brought up against me. Actually, I came away without telling him what I had gone there to tell him. That will be brought up against me too. I really can't cope with it any longer. It's an infernal nuisance that this place, which would be more than ever a recreation to me now, should only be turned into a worry. But I won't have it so. I'm not coming down here to be plunged into little local bothers, which take more settling than any of the big things I have to deal with. For the present he and I had better keep apart."

"I'm afraid it's the only way—for the present," said Lady Eldridge. "But it is a very unhappy state of things."

Norman had listened to his father's speech not without discomfort, which was increased by his mother's acceptance of it. "You and Uncle Edmund have always been good pals," he said. "I should have thought mother and Aunt Cynthia might do something together to put him right. I expect he would want to behave decently, if he saw the way."

"I'm quite ready to leave it to them," said Sir William. "If they can bring him to reason I'll put it all aside—any time. It's all I want to do. But there's one thing I won't do, and that's to dismiss Coombe off-hand on his orders. I shall have him up to-morrow, and hear his story. And I shall ask that old Jackson what happened. I'm kindly permitted to do that. If I find Coombe has gone altogether too far, I shall consider what to do next. But I'm not going to be hectored and pressed to act hastily on a one-sided second or third hand statement. I've a pretty good idea of what did happen. Edmund goes down to find the men working at the garden; he examines Coombe about it in an arrogant sort of way, and shows him plainly that he's annoyed with me—he wouldn't mind that, though it's lése majesté to breathe a word of criticism against him. Then when he's gone, Coombe, who after all owes loyalty to me and not to him, lets something drop before men who take it up and make mischief of it to score off him—perhaps because he was getting rid of them, though he was acting under orders there. Oh, it isn't worth while going into it all. I'm sick to death of the whole business. Here we are now, going over and over it, when there's something of real interest to ourselves to talk over. We'd better go to bed, I think. I'm afraid I've worked myself up again. To-morrow I dare say I shall be able to see it all more calmly. I can't to-night."