"Yes," I said, "terrible."
"It was all so sudden. Only a week before I was riding round the place with him and Mr. Malcolm and then ... he's gone."
I shook my head.
"Forgive my speaking of it. We've got to go on from there, haven't we, Miss Susannah, and I'm just wondering if you have any ideas about the estate."
"Well, I'd just like to look at things. ..." I wasn't sure whether to call him Jeff, Carleton or Mr. Carleton—so I called him nothing.
"You'll be wanting to take a hand, I reckon," he said with a laugh.
"Oh yes, I suppose so."
We came to the stables. The groom stepped forward and said: "Good day to you, Miss Susannah. I've got Blackfriar ready."
"Thank you." I wished I knew the names of these people. It was a great handicap to be in the dark.
I identified the horse. His name was useful. He was beautiful with his black coat in which were a few white flecks about the neck. His name suited him.
"There's one who will be glad to have you back, Miss Susannah. He was always your horse, Blackfriar was. I'll swear he pined when you went away. Of course he got used to your being away when you were in France."
"That's right," I said.
I was thankful that I had always had a rapport with horses and was able to approach Blackfriar confidently. I patted him cautiously. His ears went back. He was alert.
"Blackfriar," I whispered, "it's Susannah ... come back for you."
There was a tense moment while I was not sure whether he was going to reject me. I patted him and said: "You haven't forgotten. You know me." My voice was soothing. I brought a lump of sugar from my pocket. Susannah had always done that with our horses. They were creatures she was really gentle with.
"That's done it," said the groom. "He remembers that all right."
I leaped into the saddle and, patting him again, murmured: "Good old Blackfriar."
I wasn't sure whether he knew I was not Susannah, but I did know that he liked me; and I felt a sense of triumph as we rode out of the stables.
"Where would you like to go first?" asked Jeff Carleton.
"I'll leave that to you."
"I thought we'd look in at Cringles'."
"Yes," I replied, "if you think that a good idea."
I deliberately allowed him to go ahead. We came into the road which led past the woods and walked our horses side by side.
"You'll find a few changes, Miss Susannah."
"I expect to."
"It's been quite a long time since you were here."
"Quite a long time. Of course there was that short time when I was home after France."
"Yes, and then away again. There'll be certain things you'll be wanting to change possibly."
"I'll have to see."
"You always had ideas about the estate, I know."
I nodded, wondering what ideas Susannah had had.
"Of course we never thought ..."
"Of course not. But these things happen."
"Mr. Malcolm was very interested. He was here about a month ago, I think it was."
"Oh, was he?"
"I think he had ideas ... he being a man of course. When Mr. Esmond died ... he probably thought you wouldn't want to concern yourself with the running of things. I thought to myself, You don't know Miss Susannah!"
I gave a short laugh.
"Of course," went on Jeff Carleton, "with an estate like this people might think if there's a man in the family he should be the one to concern himself with it."
"And you think Malcolm had that notion."
"Sure of it. He thought he might be the next when Esmond died on account of your being a lady, even though he knew, like the rest of us, that your grandfather would hesitate to name him because of that long-ago quarrel."
"Yes," I said.
"Your grandfather's younger brother could, you might say, have a claim on the estate and that claim might go down through his son and grandson. There's some sense in it. Some families don't let the ladies inherit. It's different with Matelands."
"Yes, different with Matelands."
I had at least established Malcolm's claim. He was the grandson of Grandfather Egmont's younger brother. A definite claim. He was the one I was cheating out of his inheritance.
A tremor of alarm ran through me. But it was such a lovely day. The fields were gay with buttercups and daisies; and the birds were going wild with joy because the sun was up there in the sky and spring was advancing into summer.
I couldn't help feeling exhilarated.
"The farms are showing a good profit," went on Jeff Carleton. "All except Cringles'. I don't know what you feel about them and if you could suggest anything."
"Cringles'," I said, as though I were pondering the matter.
"They went to pieces after the tragedy."
"Oh ... yes."
What tragedy was this? I must feel my way with caution.
"The old man has never been the same since. It seems to have hit Jacob more than any of them. Of course Saul was his brother. They were twins, I think ... always closer. Jacob always used to depend on Saul. It was a great blow to him."
"It must have been."
"And the farm has consequently suffered. I suggested taking it away from them. They're not getting the best out of the land. Esmond wouldn't hear of it. He had a kind heart, Mr. Esmond. They all knew they could take their troubles to him. I know you used to get a bit impatient with him at times."
"Yes," I murmured.
"So ... I think they may be expecting changes. There's Granny Bell in the cottages who wants her roof done. It should be attended to. She'll have the rain in if we get any heavy stuff. She was going to ask Esmond to do it, but he was taken ill on the very day I was going to put it before him. So nothing's been done. Would you like to look at the roof?"
"No," I said. "Go ahead and do it."
"It would be wise really. But to get back to Cringles' ..." I looked about me. I could see fields of wheat and in the distance sheep grazing. The farmhouse lay in a valley. "They don't really take care of the property. Saul was the one. He was a good worker, Saul—one of our best. It was a great pity. No one ever seemed to get to the bottom of it."
"No," I said.
"Well, it's past history now. A year or more ... It's time it was forgotten. People do away with themselves at times ... they have their private reasons, and I always say, live your own life and it's not for any of us to judge others. Would you like to see the Cringles?"
I hesitated. Then I said: "Yes, I think so."
We changed direction and rode down between the fields of rye and wheat to the farmhouse.
We dismounted and Jeff Carleton tethered our horses. We walked across a yard where fowls were pecking at worms and whatever they could find.
Jeff Carleton pushed open a door which was slightly ajar.
"Anyone at home?" he called.
"Oh, it's you," said a gruff voice. "You can come in."
We stepped into a stone-floored kitchen. It was hot and baking was in progress at the range. A woman at the table had her hands in a basin. She was kneading dough. Seated in the chimney nook was an old man.
"Hello, Moses," said Jeff Carleton. "Hello, Mrs. Cringle. Here's Miss Susannah to see you."
The woman dropped a grudging curtsy. The old man grunted.
"How are you?" I asked warmly.
"Much as we always are," said Moses. "This is a household of mourning."
"I know," I replied. "I'm sorry. But how is everything going on the farm?"
"Jacob slaves away," said the old man. "Morning, noon and night he slaves away."
"And the children give a helping hand," added the woman.
"Still things aren't what they could be," suggested Jeff Carleton.
"We miss Saul," muttered the old man sourly.
"I know," I said.
"The children will be growing up soon," soothed Jeff. "I was wondering whether it would be a good idea to let Gravel Three Acres lie fallow next year. It's not giving a good yield and hasn't for the last year or two."