Colonel Eldridge had not expected anything of this sort. But he was sitting in the seat of justice now, and the bearing of such a statement on himself must wait for consideration until later.

"Who was that said to? Tell me the exact words that were said."

Old Jackson found his tongue again. "That's how it was, sir," he said.

"There was me and Pegg heard it, and Dell, and another who ain't here. I up and said myself that he'd no call to talk like that of you, and whatever Mr. William done with his land you'd stand by."

"You were quite right there, of course. Was there anything more said, or only just that speech?"

"He told me to go on with my work and not sauce him back, or I could lay down my tools and take myself off. I ain't used to being talked to in that way, sir; and Coombe don't belong to these parts."

"He told Warner, one of the other men took on, sir, that you didn't like Sir William having more money nor what you've got--begging your pardon for reporting his true words--and that if you could stop the work what we was engaged on, you'd do it."

This was from Chambers, the other ex-soldier, and Dell added: "That's right, sir. And he said we could see for ourselves that you were looking ugly about it, and meant mischief."

"That's enough. I don't want to hear any more insolent speeches. If you've just come to repeat that sort of thing to me, I'd rather you had let it alone. Jackson and Pegg are my tenants, though neither of them work for me. I dare say they wouldn't like to stand by and let that go on without speaking up. But it would have been better to report it to Sir William, instead of to me. I don't see what it has to do with you two at all."

They showed some surprise at that, for his anger was plain to see, and his gaze was directed straight at them. "I've told you," he said to Jackson, "that I was on the point of wiring to Sir William to ask him to give instructions to Coombe to proceed with the work. That would have meant taking you all on again. If you don't want to be taken on, I can't do anything more for you."

Old Jackson seemed to have nothing further to say, and the two ex-soldiers were still under the influence of the rebuke administered to them. It was Pegg who spoke, with a preparatory clearing of the throat.

"Jackson said you was thinking of mending the road through the park, sir."

"Mending the road!"

"It wants doing," said Jackson, speaking now in quite a different tone, as an expert, whose word carries weight. "It wants doing bad. Put it off any longer and 'twill mean laying a new foundation here and there, and steam-rolling and all, when take it in time and a bit of metal will serve. There's a hole by the three oaks that never ought to been allowed to get so. You can maybe patch it up to-day, but I wouldn't answer for what you could do with it to-morrow. Nothing's been done to the road for a matter of five years or more."

"You may call it six," said Colonel Eldridge. "It was mended last in the winter before the war, and it was mostly your doing, Jackson."

"Yes, sir. And there was a tidy bit of metal got out of the lower quarry what we didn't use all of. You'd only have to break it up and lead it; and lead some gravel to put on it. 'Tis true that I did say to Pegg and these two that us four 'ud make a good job of it in four weeks, maybe five--I wouldn't undertake not to make a tidy job of it in less. Put it off and it'll take longer."

Colonel Eldridge sat considering, his eyes on the papers in front of him. "What about the other two who were taken on at the Grange?" he asked.

"They've gone off, sir," said Dell. "They didn't like the job, and wouldn't have stayed anyhow."

"They _have_ gone off? They're not hanging about the village?"

"No, sir. They took their money, and went off by train to Southampton where they belong to the docks."

"Where are you two lodging?"

They told him, and he made no comment, except to say: "If I take you on, you'll have to work under Jackson, and you'll have to keep quiet in the village. A gla.s.s or two at the inn I don't mind, but we never have any trouble with drink at Hayslope, and I wouldn't put up with it."

Chambers looked scandalized, and a.s.serted himself to be a teetotaller.

Dell said: "I'm a respectable man, Colonel, and if anybody's been putting it about that I'm otherwise that man's a liar, begging your pardon for the language."

"Very well. I accept what you say. I'll take the four of you on from to-morrow, by the week. What wages were you getting at the Grange?"

They told him, and he said they were too high. "You know that, Jackson.

Wages have gone up enormously. I don't grudge them to men like you, who do your work as it ought to be done. But I'm not going to pay more than the current rate. If Coombe took you on at the Grange at the rate you say, he ought not to have done it."

They expressed themselves in their various ways as satisfied with what he offered them, and old Jackson said: "Who am I to take my orders from, sir, now Bridger has gone?"

"You'll take them from me. I'm my own bailiff now. Meet me in half an hour at the three oaks, and I'll settle with you what's to be done."

He wanted a little time for consideration, and when the men had filed out of the room and left him alone, he rose and walked up and down, as his habit was when he had to think anything out.

He wanted to be quite sure that he had done right. The cost of these repairs would be heavy, but the state of the drive would not admit of much further delay, as old Jackson had said, unless it were to become almost impa.s.sable here and there, and involve a larger expenditure later on. He had been ashamed of it only half an hour before, when Lord Crowborough had turned off on to the gra.s.s of the park to escape the worst place, and shown, by making no comment on it, that he knew why it had been left as it was. He was rather relieved at having had his hand forced about it, for it didn't do to shirk making necessary repairs out of unwillingness to spend money on them at the right time. Only bad landlords did that, and they suffered for it in the long run. The cost would be inconvenient at this moment, but it could be met. Jackson would do the work thoroughly, and he was glad to have the old fellow back in his employ. It might even be worth while to keep him on, for now that he had got rid of his bailiff there was n.o.body to whom he could delegate any overseeing, and he was more tied than he wanted to be. Pegg was a bit of a rolling stone, but would keep up to the mark as long as the job lasted. The other two seemed good sort of men, and would probably do as well as any.

All that was satisfactory enough; but it wanted thinking about as it affected his relations with William.

The idea of wiring to him in the terms he had intended must be given up.

That had settled itself, for the extra labour he had employed was no longer available. Two of the men had gone off, and the other four had refused to continue with it. That was Coombe's fault, without any question. He had always suspected that fellow of being a mischief-maker, and now he stood revealed. The report with which he had come to him had been immediately proved to be absolutely groundless. Of the men of whom he had professed to be so suspicious that it was necessary to come and give a warning--for the good name of the village--two belonged to it--which he didn't--and were well known, two had already left it, and from the other two there was nothing to fear. The impudent readiness with which he had turned the few questions of the other morning into a mischievous attack showed him for what he was. Colonel Eldridge hardly felt indignation on account of it. The man had given himself away, and was as good as done with. Whatever their differences, William would never keep in his employ a man who had misbehaved in that way.

Coombe was so patently the fount and origin of the break-up that had come upon William's plans that it was a little difficult to go back to what had given him his handle. When he turned his mind to it, he experienced a droop of spirit. It was his protest that had started the trouble, and he had no inclination to shirk that fact, though it was also true that if William had not received it in the spirit he had, no harm would have been done. He had some effort to put himself in William's place, and did arrive at the conclusion that he had probably not received his letter until his return from his visit that morning, and that he _had_ probably written in answer to it, which answer he would receive the next morning. That softened the effect of his peremptory order, but by no means justified it; for unless he had intended to show his annoyance by it, he would surely have sent him a wire at the same time.

The result of his cogitations was that nothing could be done then to mend the matter. He must wait to see if there was a letter from William, and, whether there was or not, it would be better to write no more letters, but to wait further until William came down on Friday evening, which he usually did. The garden should be made somehow, with another than Coombe to direct it. He wanted to see the garden made now, almost as much as William did.

He went out and made the arrangements with old Jackson, and then again returned to the house, slowly, and with very different thoughts from those which had borne him company on the same road an hour before. He did not want to think any more about the unpleasantness that had come upon him. No doubt it would work itself out, but he did not feel that he was free of it yet. And the vision of the larger freedom that had come to him had faded. He was in no mind now to go to William and ask him for the money that would settle all his difficulties.

After supper, which had taken the place of dinner at Hayslope Hall on these long summer evenings, he walked with his wife in the garden, and told her of what had happened.

She was more disturbed than he had been over William's telegram to Coombe, and his failure to communicate at the same time with him.

"You're _sure_ you didn't actually forbid him to go on?" she asked.

Yes, he was quite sure; but in answer to a further question he could not declare with such certainty that he had not written in a way that could arouse annoyance. "I'm afraid I did express myself rather strongly," he admitted. "But I always have said straight out what I meant to William, and he has never taken it like this. Besides, my impression is that I showed him, in what I wrote afterwards, that I didn't mean it seriously--or not so seriously as all that. I intended to, anyhow."

"Ah!" she sighed. "You ought to have shown me the letter before you sent it. I could have told you whether it was right or not. I wonder if Eleanor saw this telegram before William sent it! I'm sure to hear from her to-morrow, and I think you are sure to hear from William."

"William ought not to have done it," he said, in a tone of finality. "I can't think that he would have behaved like this a few years ago."

"Oh, my dear, of course he wouldn't."

"Why do you say that?" he asked in some surprise.

"It's quite plain, isn't it? William was n.o.body much then, compared to you. Now he is a notable, and expects to be treated as such."

"He has never shown that he expected us to treat him any differently."

"Oh, as long as we keep our places, and don't presume."

He did not smile at this. "I didn't know you felt like that about him,"

he said. "You don't about Eleanor, do you?"

"No. Eleanor has a more level head. I haven't really much fault to find with William either. I was only laughing at him. One does laugh at people who go up in the world, and show themselves so delighted with it, doesn't one? It's the best way to take them, especially if you're not going up in the world yourself. Or perhaps it isn't the best way. I'm not sure. Perhaps it shows you're a little jealous of them. But I'm certainly not jealous of Eleanor, and I'm sure you're not jealous of William. Poor William! I'm a little sorry for him."

"Sorry for him!"

"Ye--es. His success hasn't improved him. I don't like him as well as I did, and of course I'm sorry for the people I don't like, just as I'm rather inclined to envy the people I do like. I'll tell you what I think about all this bother. I don't believe William has the slightest intention of giving up his garden. He'll expect you to be overcome with remorse at having rebuked him, and beg him to go on. What does it matter to him, paying six men a week's wages, with no work done for it? Add there's no hurry, you know. They weren't going to plant in any case until October. There will be plenty of time to get new men to work at it, and get it finished in time."