Witness those rings and roundelayes
Of theirs, which yet remaine;
Were footed in queene Maries dayes
On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth . . .
“Do you go as far back as Elizabeth, here at Ravensthorpe, by any chance, Cecil?”
“So far as the grounds go, yes. The house was partly destroyed in Cromwell’s time; and some new bits were built on in place of the old stuff. But there’s a lot of the old part left yet, in quite good repair.”
Sir Clinton still seemed interested in the compact with the Fairies.
“Was there any penalty clause in the contract about these Houses? There’s usually some drawback to these affairs—like the Luck of Edenhall, for instance.”
“There used to be some legend or other that unless the Fairies found their houses always in good order, the Family Curse would come home to roost, one-time. No one believes in that sort of stuff nowadays; but it’s kept alive by this clause that’s put into every will—a kind of a family custom, you know, that no one cares to be the first to break. If you call it a damned old wives’ tale, I shan’t blame you.”
Sir Clinton could not be sure whether Cecil’s indifference in the matter was natural or assumed; but in any case he thought it tactful to pursue the subject no further. Closing the door of the Fairy House again, he made his way back to the path where his companion was waiting for him.
As the Chief Constable rejoined him, Cecil looked round the horizon with feeble interest.
“Not much else to show you, I’m afraid,” he said. Then, with an after-thought: “Care to see rather a good view? The best one hereabouts is just up above us—through the wood here—if you think it worth the trouble of the climb. It’s not very far. We’ve plenty of time before lunch.”
Sir Clinton acquiesced, and they began to mount a further slope in the path which now led them up through a sparse pine-wood.