CHAPTER XXV

The Marquis, as he sat at his study table after lunch, was not inclined to regard his first day at Mandeleys as a success. The only post of the day had been delivered, and the letter for which he was waiting with an anxiety greater than he even realised himself, was still absent. There was a letter, however, from Mr. Wadham, which afforded him some food for thought. It was a personal letter, written by the head of the firm, and he perused it for the second time with a frown upon his forehead.

My dear Lord Mandeleys:

I have ventured, in your interests, to do what my son tells me you yourself felt some hesitation in doing—namely, I have made enquiry through a firm of stockbrokers who make a speciality of American oil shares, as to the Pluto Oil Company, Limited, of whose shares you have made so large a purchase. I find that no development of this property has taken place, very little, if any, machinery has been erected, no oil has ever been discovered in the locality or upon the estate. May I beg of you that, to avoid disastrous consequences, you at once see your friend from whom you purchased these shares, and endeavour to make some arrangement with him to take them off your hands, as they were doubtless tendered to you by false representations.

I am quite sure that I need not point out to your lordship that I write you this letter entirely without prejudice and in the interests of the Mandeleys name and estates.

There could be no possibility of the drafts executed by your lordship being met, unless the shares themselves provided the funds, which, under the existing conditions, appears impossible.

Respectfully yours,
    STEPHEN WADHAM.

The Marquis looked out upon the lawn. There was in his memory, too, a recent and serious conversation with Mr. Merridrew, concerning the accumulating charges for dilapidations upon the property. He watched David playing croquet with Sylvia Laycey with a deepening frown upon his face, glanced from them to where Letitia sat, apparently absorbed in a book which she was reading, and from her he looked through a side window towards that hated little demesne across the moat, where Richard Vont, in his shabby brown velveteen suit, with his white hair and his motionless figure, seemed to dominate the otherwise peaceful prospect. Somehow or other, both outlooks irritated him almost as much as his own mental condition. The hard pressure of circumstances was asserting itself in his mind. He found himself struggling against an insidious longing to see Letitia in Sylvia's place. In his way he was superstitious. He even began to wonder whether that silent, ceaseless hate, that daily litany of curses, could really in any way be responsible for the increasing embarrassments by which he was surrounded, that great, dumb anxiety which kept him with wide-open eyes at night and sent him about in the daytime with a constant, wearing pain at his heart.

He turned at last wearily away from the window, rose to his feet, opened the French doors which led out into the gardens, and strolled across the lawn to where Letitia was seated. She laid down her book and welcomed him with a smile which had in it just a shade of fatigue.

"Our friend Thain," he observed, "seems to be a success with Miss Sylvia."

Letitia turned her head and watched them.

"Sylvia has already confided to me her ardent admiration."

The Marquis sighed as he sank into a chair. Letitia glanced at him a little anxiously.

"Anything wrong, dad?"

"Nothing that should depress one on such a wonderful day. It is more a state of mind than anything. You and I, I fancy, were both born a few hundred years too late."

"Money again?"

He nodded.

"It is one of the most humiliating features of modern existence," he declared, "to find the course of one's daily life interfered with by the paltry necessities of pounds, shillings and pence. One inherits a great name," he went on ruminatively, "great traditions, an estate brimful of associations with illustrious ancestors. In one's daily life one's sense of dignity, one's whole position, is all the time affected, I may say poisoned, by the lack of that one commodity which is neither a proof of greatness or even deserving. We are very poor indeed, Letitia."

She sighed.

"Is it anything fresh?"

"Mr. Merridrew has been here this morning," her father continued, "and has spoken to me very seriously about the condition of the whole estate. No repairs or rebuilding have been effected for years. The whole of the rents, as they have been received, have been required to pay interests on the mortgages. Mr. Merridrew adds that he scarcely dare show himself before any one of the tenants, to whose just demands he is continually promising attention. He considers that unless the whole of the next quarter's rents are spent in making repairs, we shall lose our tenants and the property itself will be immensely deteriorated."

"There are those shares that Mr. Thain sold you," she reminded him hopefully.

"You must take this for what it is worth," he said. "I have a private letter from Mr. Wadham himself this morning, in which he tells me frankly that he has received reports indicating that those shares are worthless."

"Worthless?" Letitia exclaimed, bewildered.

Her father nodded.

"He begs me earnestly to appeal to Mr. Thain to take them off my hands. Even if I could bring myself to contemplate such a step, we should even then be faced with the fact that, adopting Mr. Merridrew's views, there are no funds to provide the interest on the mortgages next quarter day."

Letitia glanced once more uneasily towards David Thain.

"Worthless!" she repeated. "I don't understand it, father. Do you really believe that Mr. Thain would do you an ill turn like this?"

The Marquis shook his head.

"I can conceive no possible reason for such an action," he declared. "We have not injured him in any way. On the contrary, we have, at your Aunt Caroline's solicitation, offered him a hospitality somewhat rarely accorded by you and me, dear, to persons of his nationality and position."

Letitia made a little grimace.

"Aunt Caroline looks at him from a different point of view, doesn't she!"

"Your aunt is intensely modern," the Marquis agreed. "She is modern, too, without any real necessity. Her outlook upon life is one which, considering her descent, I cannot understand."

"Don't you think, father," Letitia asked him squarely, "that, however, disagreeable it may be, you ought to speak to Mr. Thain about the shares? He could probably tell you something which would relieve your mind, or he might offer to take them back."

The Marquis was silent for a moment. Probably no one in the world except Letitia knew how much it cost him to say the next few words.

"I will do so," he promised. "I will find an early opportunity of doing so. At the same time, in the absence of any more definite information, I prefer to retain my belief in their value."

Sylvia and David came strolling towards them. The former was looking almost distressed.

"Letitia dear, isn't it horrid!" she said. "I must go now! I promised Mrs. Medlingcourt that I'd be back to tea. She has some stupid people coming in. We've had such a wonderful game of croquet. I am quite sure I could make an expert of Mr. Thain in a very short time. Can I have my pony cart, please, Letitia? And what time shall I come on Thursday?"

"We shall be ready for you any time you like," Letitia replied, "so please suit yourself."

They all strolled round to see her start. She looked a little wistfully at the vacant place in the governess' cart, as she took her seat.

"I can't drop you at Broomleys gate, can I, Mr. Thain?" she asked.

He shook his head smilingly.

"I should never dare to face your pony again," he declared. "Bring your father over to see me, and we'll mark out a croquet court at Broomleys."

"We'll come," she promised.

She drove away. David, too, turned to take his leave.

"So nice of you to entertain our little visitor," Letitia said, smiling graciously upon him. "She is charming, isn't she?"

"Quite," he replied.

"I'll show you a way into the park from the flower gardens," she continued. "It saves you a little."

She led the way across the lawn, very erect, very graceful, very indifferent. David walked by her side with his hands behind him.

"You must find these country pursuits a relaxation after your more strenuous life," she observed.

"I find them very pleasant."

"To-morrow," Letitia told him, "my aunt arrives for a day or two. You are almost as popular with her, you know, as you seem to be with Sylvia."

"The Duchess," he repeated. "I did not know that she was coming here. She was kind enough to ask me to go to Scotland later on."

"You will be very foolish if you don't go, then," Letitia advised. "The Rossdale grouse moors are almost the best in Scotland. Aunt Caroline is staying here for two days on her way to Harrogate. You must dine with us on Thursday night. She will be so disappointed if she does not see you at once."

"You are very kind, Lady Letitia," he said. "I fear that I am inclined to encroach upon your hospitality."

She picked a rose and held it to her lips for a moment.

"We must amuse Aunt Caroline," she observed languidly. "It is many years since she imposed herself as a visitor here. We dine at a quarter past eight. This is the gate."

He passed through it and turned to make his farewells. Her left hand was resting upon the iron railing, her right supported her parasol. She nodded to him a little curtly.

"You promised," he reminded her, "that some day you would come over and help me about the garden."

"Did I?" she answered. "Well, remind me sometime, won't you?"

"Why not now?" he persisted.

She shook her head.

"I have to go and consult with Mrs. Foulds as to where to put all our visitors. Charlie Grantham is coming with aunt, I think, and we have so many rooms closed up. Don't fall into the moat. There's a bridge just to the left."

She turned away, and David watched her for several moments before he swung round. He was conscious of a sudden and entirely purposeless feeling of anger, almost of fury. From the higher slopes of the park he turned and looked once more towards Mandeleys. Letitia had evidently forgotten her household duties. She had thrown herself back in her chair and was once more apparently engrossed in her book.