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Updated: June 22, 2025
Flowery End was the poetic name of the mean little row of red-brick houses inhabited exclusively by Mrs. Tufton and her colleagues at the mills. To get to it you turn off the High Street by the Post Office, turn to the right down Avonmore Avenue, and then to the left. There you find Flowery End, and, fifty yards further on, the main road to Godbury crosses it at right angles.
And there will I abide till I receive your message; after which I will fly back to the forest. Captain Jack, I have that within me which tells me that I shall come back that my adventures are not ended yet. But let me once more go home to those I love, and I ask nothing more." "You shall go, Tom Tufton, you shall go. A mother's happiness and her blessing are not things to be lightly thrown away.
Tufton said, wearily, "you are the Marquis of Langdale that is to say, if your father is deceased. "May I ask, to begin with, how it is that the advertisement has, for so many years, remained unanswered?" "That is easily accounted for, sir. My father, being unable to obtain a situation in England, accepted a very minor appointment in the house of Messieurs Partridge and Company, at Alexandria.
Tufton would fain have learned something of the nature of the errand upon which her son was to start upon the morrow; but Lord Claud fenced cleverly with her questions, and, whilst seeming to reply to them, left her little the wiser. They were going to take ship for Holland, and thence make their way with despatches to one of the allies of the Duke; so much he let them freely know.
Tufton, squaring her elbows and barring his way, "nobody's coming into my house to touch any of my husband's property...." Really what she said I cannot record. The British Tommy I know upside-down, inside-out. I could talk to you about him for the week together.
First, then, by Gad! it was at White's you'll understand, and the card-room was full crammed, sir, curse me if it wasn't, and there's Carnaby and Tufton Green, and myself and three or four others, playing hazard, d'ye see, when up strolls Jerningham here.
"I like to see young men with a sedate bearing. "And you left my niece and grandnieces well, I hope?" "Quite well, thank you, sir," Charlie said; "but, of course, a good deal upset with parting from me." "Yes," Mr. Tufton said; "I suppose so. Women are so emotional. Now there's nothing I object to more than emotion."
"But," she cried and this bit I didn't tell Betty "the next time you may come home dead!" "Then," replied Tufton, "let me see what a nice respectable coffin, with brass handles and lots of slap-up brass nails and a brass plate, you can get ready for me." Since the first interview, I informed Betty, there had been others daily most decorous. They were excellent friends.
These two episodes, the death of poor Reggie Dacre and the Tufton catastrophe, are the only incidents in my diary that are worth recording here. Christmas came and went and we entered on the new year of 1916. It was only at a date in the middle of February, a year since I had driven to Wellings Park to hear the tragic news of Oswald Fenimore's death, that I find an important entry in my diary.
For the first time since the black day there came a gleam of fun into Betty's eyes and a touch of colour into her cheeks. "It would indeed," said I. "The only question is whether Tufton would really like this Red Cross Saint you'll have provided for him." "In case he does not," said Betty, "you can provide him with a refuge as you are doing now."
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