Coming and going to the Manor, when off duty, the girls would drop into the cottages and pass the time of day with smiling and obsequious villagers. But their pleasant greetings failed to impress Sir Nathaniel’s daughter. It happened, shortly after Agatha’s arrival, that Cicely paid a visit to Timothy Farleigh, the typist’s uncle. Before she tapped on the door, Cicely spoke a word of warning to Miss Tiddle.
“I want to tell Timothy how well Agatha is doing, but . . .”
“Yes?”
“Well, the old fellow has a grievance. Mrs. Farleigh is a dear. And you will admire the kitchen.”
They tapped and entered. Tiddy was agreeably surprised and delighted. The kitchen was charming; a quaint, old-fashioned room with a deep open hearth and ingle-nook. A broad seat semi-circled a deeply-recessed bay window, and above the seat was a ledge with flower-pots upon it. An oak dresser set forth to advantage some blue-and-white pottery. Hams hung from a big black rafter. Upon the walls gleamed an immense brass warming-pan and a brass preserving-dish which seemed to have survived the use and abuse of centuries. A large table was scrubbed immaculately white. There were plain Windsor chairs and a huge arm-chair facing the hearth. In this arm-chair sat Timothy Farleigh, reading a Sunday paper with horn spectacles upon his bony nose. He rose when the young ladies entered, and greeted them civilly but without the customary servility. In the ingle-nook Nick, the softy, was crouching, crooning to himself.
Timothy thanked Cicely for bringing him information about his niece. Tiddy eyed him critically noting his strong square chin, heavy brow and deep-set eyes. A curious light smouldered in them. He spoke in the West Country dialect still used in remote districts by the elder generation.
“Aggie be a fine young ’ooman, able, thank the Lard! to fend for herself. I be proud o’ she, a gert, understanding lass I calls ’er.”
“I have brought my friend, Miss Tiddle, to see you, Timothy. She comes from the Midlands, where folk are thick as bees in a hive.”
Timothy glanced with interest at Tiddy.
“Do they bide quiet in their hives, miss? I bain’t much of a scollard, but I reads my Sunday paper, I do, and folks in your parts seemin’ly be buzzin’ and swarmin’ like bees ready to leave old hive.”