replaced?” the Marquis asked.
“No, my Lord. They went first, then James, then Nicholson – not that he was ever much good. Had a head like a sieve, he had. I’d tried to carry on, my Lord, but ’twere too much for me.”
“You told Mr. Markham so?”
“Told him? Over and over again I tells him, but he didn’t want to listen.”
There was a pause before Bateman went on,
“He had reasons for not listenin’. I knows that but ’twere not fair on me, my Lord.”
“What reasons did he have?” the Marquis questioned.
He spoke sharply and then realised that it had been a mistake.
Bateman stiffened and his confidential air vanished. There was a look in his eyes as if he remembered something and became wary.
He pushed himself back against the pillows.
“My nieces say I were talkin’ too much, my Lord,” he said in a different tone. “I gets muddled in me head at times. I’ve nothin’ to say against Mr. Markham. Very generous he is to me – very!”
This was a complete change of front and the Marquis thought it best not to comment on it.
He decided he could get no more out of Bateman and it would be unhelpful to press him.
Instead he rose to his feet.
“I am glad to have seen you, Bateman,” he said. “You must hurry and get well. I would like to see you back at Heathcliffe.”
“’Tis too late, my Lord. Too late now!”
The Marquis followed by Anthony went from the room into the kitchen where Bateman’s niece was busy at the stove.
“I am sorry to see your uncle in such a state,” the Marquis remarked.
She did not reply and he added,
“Surely it is a mistake for him to have so much to drink?”
The woman made a restless movement and averted her eyes.
“There’s nothin’ I can do about it, my Lord.”
“Except prevent him from having it,” the Marquis remarked. “How does he get hold of it and how can you afford what it costs?”
There was an expression on her face that he knew was one of obstinacy and at the same time of fear.
She remained silent and after a moment the Marquis said,
“I gather you do not intend to confide in me?”
“No, my Lord. It’s impossible!”
The Marquis drew two guineas from his vest pocket and put them on the table.
“Spend it on luxuries for your uncle,” he said, “but not on drink of any sort. Is that understood?”
“Aye, my Lord, and thank you.”
She curtseyed again as the Marquis and Anthony left.
They rewarded the small boys who had held their horses and rode away in silence.
Only when they were clear of the village did Anthony say,
“What do you think all that meant?”
“I am not certain,” the Marquis replied, “but it has certainly given me much to think about.”
They rode back into the Park and Anthony instinctively turned his horse in the direction of Flagstaff Manor, but the Marquis held up his hand,
“I don’t wish to see Ivana today. I want to sort out my ideas and try to find out more about Bateman.”
“All right,” Anthony conceded with an ill grace. “Where next?”
“I think Grimshaw, my Head Gardener,” the Marquis replied. “At least he has not been deposed or retired.”
“I cannot imagine he is short-handed,” Anthony said, “I have never seen a garden kept better except perhaps that of Flagstaff Manor.”
“I hope Grimshaw can enlighten us on that,” the Marquis reflected.
They rode back towards the house and the Marquis led the way through the fields behind the stables to where a quarter of a mile from Heathcliffe, hidden behind the high walls of the kitchen garden, was a red brick house which had always belonged to the Head Gardener.
Once again they dismounted and now they saw a man wheeling a barrow loaded with rubbish out towards a dump outside the walls and called him to attend to their horses.
One look at him told the Marquis that he was a Naval type and it was also obvious that he walked with a limp.
He did not intend, however, to question any of the under-gardeners until
“No, my Lord. They went first, then James, then Nicholson – not that he was ever much good. Had a head like a sieve, he had. I’d tried to carry on, my Lord, but ’twere too much for me.”
“You told Mr. Markham so?”
“Told him? Over and over again I tells him, but he didn’t want to listen.”
There was a pause before Bateman went on,
“He had reasons for not listenin’. I knows that but ’twere not fair on me, my Lord.”
“What reasons did he have?” the Marquis questioned.
He spoke sharply and then realised that it had been a mistake.
Bateman stiffened and his confidential air vanished. There was a look in his eyes as if he remembered something and became wary.
He pushed himself back against the pillows.
“My nieces say I were talkin’ too much, my Lord,” he said in a different tone. “I gets muddled in me head at times. I’ve nothin’ to say against Mr. Markham. Very generous he is to me – very!”
This was a complete change of front and the Marquis thought it best not to comment on it.
He decided he could get no more out of Bateman and it would be unhelpful to press him.
Instead he rose to his feet.
“I am glad to have seen you, Bateman,” he said. “You must hurry and get well. I would like to see you back at Heathcliffe.”
“’Tis too late, my Lord. Too late now!”
The Marquis followed by Anthony went from the room into the kitchen where Bateman’s niece was busy at the stove.
“I am sorry to see your uncle in such a state,” the Marquis remarked.
She did not reply and he added,
“Surely it is a mistake for him to have so much to drink?”
The woman made a restless movement and averted her eyes.
“There’s nothin’ I can do about it, my Lord.”
“Except prevent him from having it,” the Marquis remarked. “How does he get hold of it and how can you afford what it costs?”
There was an expression on her face that he knew was one of obstinacy and at the same time of fear.
She remained silent and after a moment the Marquis said,
“I gather you do not intend to confide in me?”
“No, my Lord. It’s impossible!”
The Marquis drew two guineas from his vest pocket and put them on the table.
“Spend it on luxuries for your uncle,” he said, “but not on drink of any sort. Is that understood?”
“Aye, my Lord, and thank you.”
She curtseyed again as the Marquis and Anthony left.
They rewarded the small boys who had held their horses and rode away in silence.
Only when they were clear of the village did Anthony say,
“What do you think all that meant?”
“I am not certain,” the Marquis replied, “but it has certainly given me much to think about.”
They rode back into the Park and Anthony instinctively turned his horse in the direction of Flagstaff Manor, but the Marquis held up his hand,
“I don’t wish to see Ivana today. I want to sort out my ideas and try to find out more about Bateman.”
“All right,” Anthony conceded with an ill grace. “Where next?”
“I think Grimshaw, my Head Gardener,” the Marquis replied. “At least he has not been deposed or retired.”
“I cannot imagine he is short-handed,” Anthony said, “I have never seen a garden kept better except perhaps that of Flagstaff Manor.”
“I hope Grimshaw can enlighten us on that,” the Marquis reflected.
They rode back towards the house and the Marquis led the way through the fields behind the stables to where a quarter of a mile from Heathcliffe, hidden behind the high walls of the kitchen garden, was a red brick house which had always belonged to the Head Gardener.
Once again they dismounted and now they saw a man wheeling a barrow loaded with rubbish out towards a dump outside the walls and called him to attend to their horses.
One look at him told the Marquis that he was a Naval type and it was also obvious that he walked with a limp.
He did not intend, however, to question any of the under-gardeners until
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