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Updated: May 12, 2025
Without exchanging a word, they gained the spot where one or two cabs still waited, and were soon speeding along the Rickstead Road. "She may be at the cottage," was all Denzil said on the way. But no; Lilian was not at the cottage. Quarrier stood in the porch, looking about him as if he imagined that the lost one might be hiding somewhere near. "I shall go over there," he said.
"And I know very well what sort of water one generally gets at cottages about here. I remember the family at Rickstead that died one after another of their temperance beverage." "Forgive me! That is not at all to the point. Granting that the quality of the water is suspicious, are there not pleasant little shops where lemonade can be obtained?
Rickstead consisted of twenty or thirty scattered houses; an ancient, slumberous place, remarkable chiefly for its time-honoured inn, which stood at the crossing of two high roads. The landlord had received notice that two gentlemen would dine under his roof, and the unwonted event was making quite a stir in the hostelry.
Such youthful zeal proved his thorough harmony with the English spirit; it promised far more for his success as a politician than if he had spent the morning over blue-books and statistical treatises. If only the snow were cleared away, the best skating near at hand was on a piece of water near the road to Rickstead.
A walk along the Rickstead Bead was a familiar form of exercise with the less-favoured people who had their homes in narrow streets; for on either side of the highway lay an expanse of meadows, crossed here and there by pleasant paths which led to the surrounding hamlets. In this direction no factories had as yet risen to deform the scene.
Women must be taught to keep their eyes on that, as the irreducible minimum of their demands." "We mustn't argue. You know that I think they must be taught to look at quite different things." "Yes; but what those things are you have left me in doubt. We will talk it over when you have more time to spare. Do you know my address? Pear-tree Cottage, Rickstead Road.
"Willingly." "I have an idea. You remember the Coach and Horses over at Rickstead?" It was a fine old country inn, associated in their memories of boyhood with hare-and-hounds and other sportive excursions. Glazzard nodded. "Let us have a quiet dinner there; six-thirty can drive us back." Glazzard rejoined his relatives. Denzil, turning came face to face with Mr. Samuel Quarrier.
Only one vehicle passed her before she came within sight of the streets; it was a carriage and pair, and she recognised the coachman of a family who lived towards Rickstead. Quarrier was doubtless still in the town, but to find him might be difficult. Perhaps she had better go to his house and despatch a servant in search of him.
As he passed out of the iron gates he made up his mind that the house, with necessary repairs, would do very well; and straightway he turned his steps to the office of the agent. The village of Rickstead lay at some five miles' distance from that suburb of Polterham where dwelt Mr. Toby Liversedge, Mr. Samuel Quarrier, and sundry other distinguished townsfolk.
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