In my quiet room at the Hall I sat with a pile of the Earl’s correspondence before me. The letter-bag always contained a strange assortment of communications; some pathetic, many amusing, and at rare intervals notes on coloured paper in a feminine hand which, not being for my eyes, I re-enclosed in a plain envelope without reading.
Sibberton had had before his marriage what is known in club parlance as “a good time.” His name had been coupled with more than one lady; he had driven a coach, given wonderful luncheons at the Bachelors’, kept a house-boat up at Bray, was a well-known man about town, and an equally well-known figure at the tables at Monte Carlo. He had shot big game on the Zambesi, caught tarpon in Florida, potted tiger in the Himalayas, and had otherwise run the whole gamut of the pleasures of life as are opened to the wealthy young Englishman. On the day of his marriage with Marigold, he became a changed man, and now having assumed the responsibilities of an enormous estate, he declared himself to be gradually developing into an old fogey.
I had at last managed to stifle down my conflicting thoughts, and was busy replying to the pile of letters before me, when the Earl, in riding breeches, strode in from “cubbing.” He had been out at five, and now, at eleven, had finished the day’s sport and returned to his guests.
“Want to see me, Willoughby?” he asked, for it was usual for him to look in each morning to see whether I wished for any directions upon matters which I could not decide myself.
“Nothing of urgent importance,” was my reply. “Benwell, the agent at Brockhurst, suggests buying about a thousand acres that adjoin the estate and are in the market.”
“He means Haughmond Manor, I suppose?”
I replied in the affirmative.
“Tell him to buy if he can at a reasonable price. I fancy the Manor House isn’t let just now. Tell him to get a good tenant for it.”
I knew the place, a fine old sixteenth-century house, with beautiful terraces and gardens, one of the prettiest places in all Shropshire.
“What about visitors? Who’s coming?” he asked. “Has Marigold given you another list?”