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Updated: May 23, 2025
There was no discordant note anywhere and Christopher was quite alive to its perfections. But coming straight from Stormly Town the contrast was too glaring and too crude. It was not that Peter Masters was rich and his people were poor.
Eliot rather abruptly and wandered out of the house, but the unknown mistress of the place haunted him, glided before him across the smooth lawns, he could almost hear the rustle of her dress on the gravel, and then recollected with relief it was only the memory of the old game he used to play at Aston House with his dead mother, transferred by some mental suggestion to Stormly Park.
At that the young man suddenly faced him, as if he meant to say something of importance, and stopped. "Yes, I suppose I can afford it," he returned, and added with apparent irrelevance, "Do you happen to know Stormly village, Mr. Saunderson?" "I've driven through it." Christopher nodded. "So have I. I'll not detain you any longer. Will you let Clisson know I shall be there on Thursday?"
Clisson gazed at him with pained amazement. "It is only the leasehold we sell, sir, not the actual land." "I do not sell land," repeated Christopher sharply. "Of course, it shall be as you wish, sir." "Of course. Do you know if Mr. Fegan is still at Stormly Foundry?" "I can ascertain." "Do so. If he is, tell him to come and see me here to-morrow. And who is the best builder you employ?" "Builder?
So they parted: each wondering over the other would have wondered still more if they had known in what relationship they would stand to each other when they next met. Christopher stood for a moment inside the great hall at Stormly Park and looked round. It was quite beautiful. Peter Masters, having chosen the best man in England for his purpose, had had the sense to let him alone.
It was a goodly pile yet left to his decision, but he missed one that Christopher had passed over without comment. "The application for the post of gardener at Stormly Park, sir. Did you wish to attend to that yourself?" "What has happened to Timmins? Wasn't that his name? Is he dead?" "Oh, no." "He wishes to go?" Mr. Clisson shook his head. "It is simply a matter of routine, sir.
He put the letters into two separate piles. Presently there was one concerning the sale of some land in the neighbourhood of the Stormly Foundry. "It is only just started, sir. I think we shall get a good price if we hold out." "I am not going to sell any land at all. You will write and say I have altered my mind." He spoke with the keen decision of his father. Mr.
With a curt nod to the men, with whom he exchanged no word at all, he led the way from the siding across a black, gritty road and unlocking a door in the wall ushered Christopher into Stormly Park. The belt of trees was planted on a ridge of ground that sloped towards the road and formed a second barrier between the world without and the world within.
It was some time before Peter could get her to acknowledge their marriage at all, and she never, I believe, spoke of her people again. But at last he got her to Stormly. I know very little of what happened there. I believe he was willing she should play Lady Bountiful to his people if it pleased her even made her a big allowance for the purpose.
The thought of another grave amongst the family tombs in the trim churchyard at Stormly crossed his mind. It was better here in the little, plain unpretentious cemetery amongst the very poor whose sorrows she had made her own. She would sleep more quietly so. But he found no message from her here, nor had he expected it.
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