“Mr. Coventry? No. Is he an important person in the neighbourhood?”
“He’s my chief,” volunteered Robin. “Heronsmere Belongs to him.”
“I’m afraid I don’t even know where Heronsmere is,” submitted Mrs. Hilyard deprecatingly. “I’m quite ignorant about my neighbours, so far.”
“Silverquay is part of the Heronsmere property,” responded Miss Caroline. “But the house itself is not far from the Priory. The Coventrys have lived there for generations,” she added proudly. “They’re immensely wealthy.”
With the last words an expression of something that looked like relief flitted across Mrs. Hilyard’s face.
“How interesting!” she said, infusing just the right amount of cordiality into her voice. “And are there any children? I’m fond of kiddies.”
“Children? Oh, no. Mr. Coventry isn’t married. Nor was the last owner.” Miss Caroline warmed to her subject. “It’s funny there should be two bachelor owners in succession, isn’t it? Rackham Coventry died unmarried, and both his younger brothers were killed—one at sea and the other in a railway accident. That’s how it was the property came to Eliot Coventry, who’s only a cousin.”
Mrs. Hilyard suddenly went very white. Fortunately, Miss Caroline’s attention happened to be concentrated at the moment upon stirring the sugar into her second cup of tea, and by the time this was satisfactorily accomplished, the pretty colour was stealing back into the cheeks that had paled so swiftly.
“I’d really no idea there were any other houses at all near mine,” murmured Mrs. Hilyard, after the briefest of pauses. “I came across an advertisement of the Priory, dashed down to see it one day, and fell in love with it on the spot—partly because it seemed so far from everywhere.”
“We value our privacy in Silverquay,” said the rector, smiling. “Almost all the large houses are tucked snugly away out of sight—hidden by trees or rising ground.”