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The groom who took charge of the foam-flecked horse when he reached Heronsmere glanced covertly at his arrogant face and opined to one of his fellows in the stables that "Mr. Forrester had precious little care for his horseflesh. Brought his horse here in a fair lather, he did."
The comings and goings of an important personage like the owner of Heronsmere certainly wouldn't be allowed to pass without comment." Here she quieted the Irishman's misplaced exuberance with a lump of sugar. "Through the comparatively direct channel of my maid, who had it from Mrs.
Had she suspected this, she would most certainly have let things take their course, and the little warning hint which she had half banteringly dropped at breakfast, and which was destined to bear such bitter fruit, would never have been uttered. Forrester covered the few miles that separated White Windows from Heronsmere at the same reckless pace at which he had started.
"You absurd person!" She laughed and kissed him. "Why, living at Heronsmere, I shall be able to look after you both. Little brother shan't be neglected, I promise you!" They sat over the fire talking till the grandfather's clock in the corner struck twelve warning strokes. Robin knocked out the ashes of his pipe. "We'd better be thinking of turning in, old thing," he observed.
She fell silent a moment, then went on: "The pity of it is that I suppose Eliot Coventry will never marry now, and so Heronsmere will ultimately go to a very distant branch of the family. He tried to get himself killed out of the way during the war, I heard. I knew a man in the same regiment, and he told me Eliot didn't seem to know what the word fear meant 'Mad Coventry, they called him.
It was when Miss Caroline, thirsting for information as usual, suddenly pounced on her with a question. "I suppose you haven't met Mr. Coventry yet?" she demanded. For an instant Mrs. Hilyard looked startled. Then she shook her head. "Mr. Coventry? No. Is he an important person in the neighbourhood?" "He's my chief," volunteered Robin. "Heronsmere Belongs to him."
Then, as Cara nodded assent: "I thought so! Well, I'm not going to be kept out of it. I'm going straight across to Heronsmere now, at once to tell Eliot the whole truth." She swept Cara's protest royally aside, and within a few minutes Cara herself was on her way home and Billy Brewster flinging the harness on the pony's back at unprecedented speed.
It reminds me a bit of Lovell Court. There'll be a lot to see to on the estate, as the bailiff in charge has just let things rip, and Coventry himself has been out of England for some years. In fact, he has never lived at Heronsmere. He's a distant cousin of the late owner and only inherited owing to a succession of deaths.
Somehow she felt she could not put any direct questions about this man whose changing, oddly contradictory moods had baffled her so completely and although she would not have acknowledged it had caught and held her imagination with equal completeness. Perhaps she was hardly actually aware how much the queer, abrupt owner of Heronsmere occupied her thoughts. Mrs.
Forrester, who was lifting the covers of the hot dishes on the sideboard, glanced round over his shoulder. "At your service, most revered aunt. What particular job is it? Which will you have? Bacon and eggs, or fish?" "Bacon. I want you to go over to Heronsmere, if you will, and bring back that pedigree pup Mr. Coventry promised me."
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