“I’ve had a letter,” he broke out at last, with a rush. “Yesterday—no, the day before. It’s from a tenant, of course; though when I say of course, of course I don’t mean of course, because they never do write to me, at least, scarcely ever. They don’t need to, when they’ve you.”
Lancaster wondered a little. A sense of coming ill was in the air.
“They’ve a right to go straight to you, if they choose,” he said, “though, as you say, they don’t seem to find it necessary, as a rule.”
“Or much use, either!” Bluecaster smiled shamefacedly. “You’re not so much older than I am, but they wouldn’t give a brass farthing for my opinion against yours. Neither would I, for the matter of that! I don’t believe they ever remember that you’re really a young man, yet. They come to you with all their worries and woes, don’t they?—even the women! You’re the real king of this little, ring-fenced pheasant-run. I’m only a sort of Privy Seal that you carry about on your watch-chain. The tenants know that as well as I do. Half the time they forget my existence, but they believe in you like their prayers—all except this blithering nuisance with his letter.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” Lancaster was longing for the point.
“Well—that’s just it. I don’t know. But you’ll know, of course. That’s why I say it seems a bit low-down writing me behind your back, so to speak. Still, perhaps he thought it the right thing to do. You see, it’s almost personal.”
“Personal?” Lanty smiled. “You needn’t be worrying about my private character, if that’s the trouble.”
“Good Lord, no!” Bluecaster almost blushed. “Afraid I’m getting mixed and making an ass of myself. But I think you’ll take this rather worse than libel, if I’m not mistaken. Your father did so much for the place. It’s seems such ghastly cheek, calling any of his work in question.”
“Who’s the man, my lord? New, I suppose?”
“Yes, of course. At least, a new freak of an old breed. The others would string themselves up before they’d throw mud at a Lancaster. It’s Bracken Holliday over at Thweng—little tin god in a Trilby and a Studebaker-Flanders. Claimed me as a sort of long-lost brother at Cunswick Races, and seemed to think I was by way of being blessed of the gods in having him on the estate. What made you let him Thweng?”