Mary. "The apartments beyond the dressing room belong to the Sawles--cousins of Jonathan's--who are very sober and retiring and will not worry you. The chamber to your left is never occupied."
They left me then, and with Matty's aid I undressed and got myself to bed, a good deal exhausted from my journey and glad to be alone.
The first few days passed in becoming accustomed to my new surroundings and settling down, like an old hound to a change of kennel.
My chamber was very pleasant, and I had no wish to leave it; also, I liked the chiming of the clock in the belfry, and once I told myself firmly that the quietude of Lanrest must be forgotten, I came to listen to the comings and goings that were part of this big house, the bustle in the outer court, the footsteps passing under the arch below me, and also--though I would have denied the accusation--taking peep from my curtains at the windows opposite that, like mine, looked down upon the inner court and from which, now and again, people would lean, talking to others within. At intervals during the day the young people would come and converse with me and I would get a picture of the other inmates of the house, the two families of Sawle and Sparke, cousins to the Rashleighs, between whom passed, it seemed, perpetual bickering. When my brother-in-law Jonathan was from home it fell upon his son John to keep the peace, a heavy burden for his none too brawny shoulders, there being nothing so irritating to a young man as scolding spinsters and short-tempered elderly folk, while Mary, in a fever of unending housekeeping, was from dawn to dusk superintending dairy, store, and stillroom to keep her household fed. There were the grandchildren, too, to keep in order--Alice had three small daughters, and Joan a boy and girl, with another baby expected in the autumn--so one way and another Menabilly was a colony to itself, with a different family in every wing.
By the fifth day I was sufficiently at home and mistress of my nerves to leave my chamber and take to my chair, in which, with John propelling it and Joan and Alice on either side and the children running before, I made a tour of the domain. The gardens were extensive, surrounded by high walls and laid out to the eastward on rising ground, which, when the summit was reached, looked down over dense woodland across to farther hills and the highway that ran to Fowey, three miles distant. To the south lay pasture land and farm buildings and another pleasure garden, also walled, which had above it a high causeway leading to a summerhouse, fashioned like a tower with long leaded windows, commanding a fine view of the sea and the Gribbin Head.
"This," said Alice, "is my father's sanctum. Here he does his writing and accounts and, watching from the windows, can observe every ship that passes, bound for Fowey."
She tried the door of the summerhouse, but it was locked.
"We must ask him for the key when he returns," she said. "It would be just the place for Honor and her chair, when the wind is too fresh upon the causeway."
But John did not answer, and it occurred to him, perhaps, as it had to me, that his father might not wish me for companion. We made a circle of the grounds, returning by the steward's house and the bowling green, and so through the warren at the back to the outer court. I looked up at the gatehouse, already grown familiar with the vase of flowers set in my window, and noticed for the first time the barred window of the apartment next to mine and the great buttress that jutted out beside it.
"Why is that apartment never used?" I asked idly, and John waited for a moment or two before replying. "My father goes to it at times," he said. "He has furniture and valuables shut away."
"It was my uncle's room," said Alice, hesitating, with a glance at John. "He died very suddenly, you know, when we were children."
Their manner was diffident, and I did not press the question, remembering all at once Jonathan's elder brother,
They left me then, and with Matty's aid I undressed and got myself to bed, a good deal exhausted from my journey and glad to be alone.
The first few days passed in becoming accustomed to my new surroundings and settling down, like an old hound to a change of kennel.
My chamber was very pleasant, and I had no wish to leave it; also, I liked the chiming of the clock in the belfry, and once I told myself firmly that the quietude of Lanrest must be forgotten, I came to listen to the comings and goings that were part of this big house, the bustle in the outer court, the footsteps passing under the arch below me, and also--though I would have denied the accusation--taking peep from my curtains at the windows opposite that, like mine, looked down upon the inner court and from which, now and again, people would lean, talking to others within. At intervals during the day the young people would come and converse with me and I would get a picture of the other inmates of the house, the two families of Sawle and Sparke, cousins to the Rashleighs, between whom passed, it seemed, perpetual bickering. When my brother-in-law Jonathan was from home it fell upon his son John to keep the peace, a heavy burden for his none too brawny shoulders, there being nothing so irritating to a young man as scolding spinsters and short-tempered elderly folk, while Mary, in a fever of unending housekeeping, was from dawn to dusk superintending dairy, store, and stillroom to keep her household fed. There were the grandchildren, too, to keep in order--Alice had three small daughters, and Joan a boy and girl, with another baby expected in the autumn--so one way and another Menabilly was a colony to itself, with a different family in every wing.
By the fifth day I was sufficiently at home and mistress of my nerves to leave my chamber and take to my chair, in which, with John propelling it and Joan and Alice on either side and the children running before, I made a tour of the domain. The gardens were extensive, surrounded by high walls and laid out to the eastward on rising ground, which, when the summit was reached, looked down over dense woodland across to farther hills and the highway that ran to Fowey, three miles distant. To the south lay pasture land and farm buildings and another pleasure garden, also walled, which had above it a high causeway leading to a summerhouse, fashioned like a tower with long leaded windows, commanding a fine view of the sea and the Gribbin Head.
"This," said Alice, "is my father's sanctum. Here he does his writing and accounts and, watching from the windows, can observe every ship that passes, bound for Fowey."
She tried the door of the summerhouse, but it was locked.
"We must ask him for the key when he returns," she said. "It would be just the place for Honor and her chair, when the wind is too fresh upon the causeway."
But John did not answer, and it occurred to him, perhaps, as it had to me, that his father might not wish me for companion. We made a circle of the grounds, returning by the steward's house and the bowling green, and so through the warren at the back to the outer court. I looked up at the gatehouse, already grown familiar with the vase of flowers set in my window, and noticed for the first time the barred window of the apartment next to mine and the great buttress that jutted out beside it.
"Why is that apartment never used?" I asked idly, and John waited for a moment or two before replying. "My father goes to it at times," he said. "He has furniture and valuables shut away."
"It was my uncle's room," said Alice, hesitating, with a glance at John. "He died very suddenly, you know, when we were children."
Their manner was diffident, and I did not press the question, remembering all at once Jonathan's elder brother,
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