Antony Gray-Gardener Part 44

Memory surged over Antony in a flood. Alteration there unquestionably was in the crippled form before him, but the black piercing eyes were unchanged. The suddenness of his surprise made his brain reel. He put out his hand towards the back of a chair to steady himself.

"So you know me, Antony Gray," came the mocking old voice.

"Nicholas Danver," Antony heard himself saying, though he hardly realized he was speaking the words.

"Exactly," smiled Nicholas, "not dead, but very much alive, though not--"

he glanced down at his helpless legs,--"precisely what you might term kicking."

Antony drew a deep breath. What in the name of wonder did this astounding drama portend?

"Sit down," said Nicholas shortly, pointing to a chair. "I have a good deal to say to you. You would be tired of standing before I have done."

Antony sat down. The Arabian Nights entertainment sensation he had formerly experienced in the offices of Messrs. Parsons and Glieve, rushed upon him with an even fuller force; yet here the lighter and almost humorous note was lacking. Something tinged with resentment had taken its place. He felt himself to have been trapped, befooled, though he had not yet fully grasped the manner of the befooling.

"I was a friend of your father," said Nicholas abruptly.

The story would not be told exactly as he had told it to Trix, though the difference in the telling would be largely unconscious. It would deal more with the surface of things, and less with the inner trend of thought, the telling of which had been drawn from him by her unspoken sympathy.

"I know," said Antony quietly, in answer to the remark.

"Also I met you once," said Nicholas, a little reminiscent smile dawning in his eyes. It had an oddly softening effect upon his rather carven face. For the moment he looked almost youthful.

"I remember," replied Antony gravely.

"Do you?" said Nicholas, the smile finding its way to his lips. "What a determined youngster you were! 'I've got to. I've begun!'" Nicholas threw back his head with a laugh. "It appealed to me, did that sentiment. I saw the bulldog grip in it. But there was no viciousness in the statement.

Jove! you weren't even angry. You were as cool as a cuc.u.mber in your mind, though your cheeks were crimson with the effort. You succeeded, too. I had forgotten the whole business till last March. Then it came back to me. I've got to tell you the story to explain matters. It is only fair that you should know the ins and outs of this business. I have no doubt it seems pretty queer to you?" Nicholas paused.

"I confess I am somewhat at a loss regarding it," returned Antony dryly.

"Not over-pleased," muttered Nicholas inwardly. Aloud he said, "I've no doubt you will think it all a sort of fool show, and I am by no means sure that I don't regard it in something that fashion myself now.

However--" Nicholas cleared his throat. "Since my accident on the hunting field I have seen no one. I had no desire to have a lot of gossipping women and old fool men around. I hate their cackle. I left the management of the estate to Standing, my agent. When he left--he got the offer of a post on Lord Sinclair's estate--Spencer Curtis took his place. He had to report to me, and I saw that he kept things going all right. He was not an easy man to the tenants, but I did not particularly want a softling, you understand. Last March one of the tenants--Job Grantley, you know him--sneaked up here. It had been a vile day. He was in difficulties as to his rent, and Curtis was putting the pressure on. He had a fancy for squeezing those who couldn't retaliate, I suppose. Dirty hound!"

Antony made a little sound indicative of entire a.s.sent. He was becoming interested in the recital.

"I learnt a little more about him," went on Nicholas smiling thoughtfully, "though he never guessed I made any enquiries. That was later. At the moment Job Grantley's tale was enough for me,--that, and something else he chanced to say. After he had gone I sat thinking, first of past days, then of the future. A distant cousin was heir to the property, a fellow to whom Curtis would have been a man after his own heart. I'd never had what you might precisely term a feeling of bosom friendship towards William Gateley. Oddly enough, you came into my mind at the moment. I remembered the whole scene on the moorland. I could not get away from the memory. Then the thought flashed into my mind to make you my heir. It seemed absurd, but it remained a fixture, nevertheless.

The main thoroughly reasonable objection was that I knew exceedingly little about you. The child is not always father to the man. Fate takes a hand in the after moulding at times. Yet if it were not you it would be Gateley. That, at all events, was my decision. Then I conceived the notion of making you live as one of the labourers on the estate, in short of giving you some first-hand knowledge of a labourer's method of living, and incidentally of the tenderness of Curtis. Do you follow me?"

Antony nodded, an odd smile on his lips. He remembered his own conjecture, suggested by Mr. Albert George's discourse. The education was absolutely unnecessary.

"I fancied," went on Nicholas, "that it might teach you to be more considerate if you had any tendencies in an opposite direction. But--" he paused a moment, then smiled grimly,--"well, you may as well have the truth even if it is slightly unpalatable, and you can remember that I did not know you as a man. I was not sure of you. If you had known I was up here, and you had got an inkling of the game I was playing, what was to prevent you from playing your own game for the year, I argued, in fact pretending to a sympathy with the tenants which you did not feel. I have never had the highest opinion of human nature. On that account I conceived the idea of dying. It was easily carried out. The folk around were amazingly gullible; the report spread like wild-fire,--through the village, that is to say. I don't for a moment suppose it went much beyond it. The solicitors were in our confidence, and no obituary notice appeared in the papers. The villagers were not likely to notice the omission. Gateley is in Australia. Yes; it was easy enough to manage. But I see the weakness in the business now. You might quite well have imagined Hilary to be the watch-dog, and have played your game to him, and if I'd died suddenly before the year was up, and you had disclosed your true hand, matters would not have been as I had intended them to be.

It was a mad idea, I have no doubt, though on the whole I am not sure that it wasn't its very madness that most appealed to me." He stopped.

"And what," said Antony, "is to be the outcome of this confidence now?"

There was a certain stiffness in the question. The odd feeling of resentment was returning. He suddenly saw the whole business as a stupid child's game, a game in which he had given his word of honour with no smallest advantage to any single human being, and with quite enormous disadvantages to himself.

"The main outcome," said Nicholas, "is that I wish to offer you--Antony Gray--the post of agent on my estate for the remainder of my lifetime. At my death the will I have already drawn up holds good. The year's probation for you therein mentioned is not likely to be long exceeded, even if it is exceeded at all. At least such is Doctor Hilary's opinion."

There was a silence. Nicholas was watching Antony from under his s.h.a.ggy eyebrows. The man was actually hesitating, debating! What in the name of wonder did the hesitation mean? Surely the offer of the post of agent was infinitely preferable to that of under-gardener? If the latter had been accepted, why on earth should there be hesitation regarding the former?

So marvelled Nicholas, having, of course, no clue to the inner workings of Antony's mind. And even if he had had, the workings would have appeared to him illogical and unreasonable. It is truly not fully certain whether Antony understood them himself. He only knew that whereas it would be possible, though difficult, for him to remain in the neighbourhood of the d.u.c.h.essa as Michael Field, gardener, to remain as Antony Gray, gentleman, appeared to him to be impossible; though precisely why it should be, he could not well have explained to himself.

"I should prefer to decline the offer," replied Antony quietly.

Nicholas's face fell. He was blankly disappointed, as blankly disappointed as a child at the sudden frustration of some cherished scheme. In twenty minutes Spencer Curtis, agent, would be blandly entering the library, and there would be no _coup de theatre_, such as Nicholas had pictured, to confront him.

"May I ask the reason for your refusal?" questioned Nicholas, his utter disappointment lending a flat hardness to his voice.

Antony shrugged his shoulders.

"Merely that I prefer to refuse," he answered.

Nicholas's mouth set in grim lines. His temper, never a very equable commodity, got the better of his diplomacy.

"It is always possible for me to alter my will," he remarked suavely.

Antony flashed round on him.

"For G.o.d's sake alter it, then," he cried. "The most fool thing I ever did in my life was to fall in with your mad scheme. Write to your solicitors at once." He made for the door.

"Stop," said Nicholas.

Antony halted on the threshold. He was furious at the situation.

"I have no intention of altering my will," said Nicholas, "I should like you clearly to understand that. I intend to abide by my part of the contract whether you do or do not now see fit to abide by your own."

Antony hesitated. The statement had taken him somewhat by surprise.

"What do you mean?" he demanded.

"Precisely what I say," retorted Nicholas. "I have made you my heir, and I have no intention of revoking that decision. You agreed to work for me for a year. You can break your contract if you choose. I shall not break mine."

"I can refuse the inheritance," said Antony.

Nicholas laughed. "If you choose to shirk responsibility and see the tenants remain the victims of Curtis's tenderness, you can do so. You have had experience of his ideas of fair play, and let me tell you that your experience has been of a remarkably mild order."

"You can choose another agent," said Antony shortly.

"I can," said Nicholas, with emphasis on the first word. "But I fancy William Gateley will find a twin to Curtis on my demise if you refuse the inheritance."

Once more Antony hesitated.

"Find another heir, then," he announced after a moment.

Nicholas shook his head. "You hardly encourage me to do so. My present failure appears so palpable, I am not very likely to make a second attempt in that direction."

Again there was a silence. Antony moved further back into the room.

"You rather force my hand," he said coldly.