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Updated: May 1, 2025
She had been one of the first to offer her felicitations, and had paid a special call at the Cottage this time accompanied by the modest Muriel to offer them in person. "It will be so delightful to have a chatelaine at Heronsmere at last," she had gushed.
"Why, that old chap who lives at the lodge at Heronsmere, old chap with a face like a gargoyle Brady, what's his name?" "Bradley," supplied Cara. "Yes, that's it. Bradley. A cunning old rascal, if ever there was one he'd sell his immortal soul for the price of a drink.
She appeared absorbed in her own thoughts, and from the expression of her face one might have hazarded a guess that she was inwardly debating some moot point. All at once she seemed to come to a decision. "I think," she said in a quiet, clear voice, "that I must have met this Mr. Coventry who lives at Heronsmere. I knew an Eliot Coventry once."
"And now to give you all details. My future employer is one, Eliot Coventry. We've had several interviews and I liked him very much, although he struck me as rather a queer sort of chap. I should put him down as dead straight and thoroughly dissatisfied with life! Heronsmere, the Coventry place, is a fine old house one of those old Elizabethan houses you're so cracked on.
"I'm afraid I don't even know where Heronsmere is," submitted Mrs. Hilyard deprecatingly. "I'm quite ignorant about my neighbours, so far." "Silverquay is part of the Heronsmere property," responded Miss Caroline. "But the house itself is not far from the Priory. The Coventrys have lived there for generations," she added proudly. "They're immensely wealthy."
Coventry?" "No, I've never met him. I knew Rackham Coventry, from whom your man inherited, and I've heard him speak of his cousin Eliot. They were on very bad terms with each other, so that Eliot never came near the place in poor old Rack's time, and, as your brother tells you, he was abroad when the property fell in to him. Heronsmere is a lovely old house, by the way." "I wonder Mr.
But Dick Turpin was spared the necessity of making the whirlwind rush to Heronsmere which loomed ahead of him, by the opportune appearance of Eliot himself at the Cottage gate. Ann drew him quickly into the house. "I was just coming over to see you," she told him swiftly. "It's it's about last night." His face darkened. "About last night?" he repeated. "What about it?"
The Heronsmere rent-roll is enormous." "It rather serves her right, doesn't it?" commented Ann, with a feeling that for once poetic justice had been meted out. Lady Susan smiled. "Yes. Though I always feel a bit sorry for people who get their deserts. You never realise how heavy the bill is going to be when you're running it up."
Meanwhile, during the progress of Brett Forrester's visit to Heronsmere in search of the puppy his aunt so ardently desired, a prying servant had chanced to pause outside Eliot's study door, inspired by a fleeting inquisitiveness to learn with whom her master was closeted. A single sentence she overheard sufficed to convert that idle curiosity into a burning thirst for knowledge.
And I don't think you would describe him as 'nice' if you'd met him. He's very brusque in his manner at times, and I don't fancy women figure much in his scheme of existence." "Oh, well, he's of no importance beyond being the source of a perfectly topping billet for you." Ann brushed the owner of Heronsmere off the map with an airy wave of her hand.
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