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Updated: June 8, 2025
She threw off her wrap and looked through the letters which had come by the evening's post. "Did you see this from Richard Fardell?" she asked him. "Parkins is dead at last. Fardell says that he has been quite childish for the last eighteen months! Are you ill?" she broke off, suddenly. Mannering, who was lying back in his easy-chair, white almost to the lips, roused himself with an effort.
It isn't so bad as he makes out, I suppose?" "It is not so bad as that," Mannering answered, "but it is bad enough." "What became of the woman?" Fardell asked. "Parkins's mistress, I mean?" "She is my wife," Mannering answered. Fardell threw out his hands with a little gesture of despair. "We must get him away from here," he said. "If Polden gets hold of him you might as well resign at once.
"He has been dead for many years." "He is living in Leeds to-day," Fardell answered. "A journalist from the Yorkshire Herald was with him for two hours this afternoon." "Blanche I was told that he was dead," Mannering said. "Then the story is true?" Fardell asked. "Not as you have told it," Mannering answered. "There is truth in it?" "Yes." Richard Fardell was silent for several moments.
"I have brought the whiskey and soda, sandwiches and cigarettes, sir," he announced. "I am sorry to say that there is a person outside whom I cannot get rid of. His name is Fardell, and he insists upon it that his business is of importance." Mannering smiled. "You can show him up at once," he ordered; "now, and whenever he calls." Fardell appeared almost directly.
"Then what is your scheme?" Fardell asked. "My scheme!" Mannering repeated. "I don't quite understand you!" "Of course you don't," Fardell answered, vigourously. "You can weave academic arguments, you can make figures and statistics dance to any damned tune you please. If I tried to argue with you, you'd squash me flat. And what's it all come to?
Raleigh of Fardell wanted all his sons brought up as the sons of a gentleman should be, and so, although he was quite poor, he managed to send Walter that autumn to the University of Oxford. Walter was only fifteen, but boys went to college at that age in those days. Oxford in 1567 was something like the Eton of to-day.
I didn't seem to meet with that cheerful holiday-making crew at any of the meetings up in the North, and I got sick of it. You see, I'd made sort of friends with them. They all knew Dicky Fardell, and I knew hundreds of 'em by sight. They'd come and mob me to stand 'em a drink when the wrong horse won, and I can tell you I never refused.
"I should like to know who you are," he said, "and what your name is." "It is a reasonable curiosity," the man answered. "My name is Fardell, Richard Fardell, and I am a retired bookmaker." "A bookmaker!" Mannering repeated, incredulously. "Precisely. I should imagine from what I know of you, Mr.
Hence also arose the system of establishing new churches on the sites previously held as consecrated by heathen worship. Of the five old gravestones in the British Museum, four are from Ireland and one from Fardell in Devonshire.
Elgin, 89. Elizabeth, Queen, 52. Elphin, 102. Epitaphs, 4, 81, 106. Epping Forest, 43, 45. Erith, 12. Essex, 43, 46. Evolution of gravestones, 9. Expense of preserving graveyards, 73. Fardell stone, 103. Farnborough, 18. Fawkham, 22. Finchley, 18. Foot's Cray, 41. Fox, Col., 103. France, 91, 109; graveyards in, 57. Freemasons, 29. Frindsbury, 13, 32. Fuller, Dr., epitaph, 108.
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