DEAD MAN'S MANOR

Auckland Star, Volume LXVI, Issue 244, 15 October 1935, Page 19

DEAD MAN'S MANOR

READ THIS MOVING STORY OF A SURPRISING INHERITANCE.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. A last will and testament has often been an elderly man's instrument for expressing bis disfavour. It was so with the will of old , RICHARD STOKES, of Leybourne Manor, in Yorkshire. Deliberately, ho ignored the expectations of his only surviving relatives, CAROL STOKES and RODERICK MASTERS, nephews of different branches ot the family, and unknown to each other, instead, ho leaves his property to a woman of twenty-eight years, MERRILL GREXEIELD, who for some time has been the old man's housekeeper and companion. No question of atlection underlies this considerable legacy, it is the expression of Richard Stokes disapproval of his nephews. _ Men ills earliest embarrassments come of her own relatives. An uncle and aunt nameu JENNINGS and their weedy son, ERNEST, settle themselves at Leybourne. The uncle has made up his mind to remain there as Merrill's estate manager and general adviser. CHAPTER 111. i The Importance of Ernest. A' week went by—a week in which Merrill, despite the amusement the visit of Uncle Bert and Aunt Susan had occasioned her, realised that these people might easily become dangerous limpets. In a way the girl was rather sorry for them. For years they had been leadin" humdrum lives —for years there had always been the sceptre of uncertain employment. Uncle Bert was a crood sort really, and Aunt Susan, it one discounted her somewhat flamboyant ways, was probably good-hearted enough, but what rankled in the girls mind. 0 was that in her less opulent days neither of them had, so far as she remembered, ever given her a thought. Now they were fussing around her with a fervour that was, at times, distinctly disturbing. As for cousin Ernest, Merrill could not in the least understand the young man. Unlike his parents, he appeared utterly out of his depth at Leybom ne Manor. He mooned around with an air of complete detachment. On occasions she had overheard his mother exhorting him to "pull himself together" and to "realise his future." This latter phrase was inexplicable to Merrill, for Ernest Jennings did not impress her as being a young man foi whom the future held out any particularly high hopes. She had tried vainly to discover his interests, but it became patently apparent that the young man's main interest was confined to the realm of prophecy as regards the performances of certain racehorses at certain welldefined and generously-advertised times of the day.

Uncle Bert was a quite different proposition. His mind had been made up some time before his arrival at Leybourne. A niece with a manor house and a comfortable fortune too large for her own personal demands was much too attractive r. proposition to be allowed to slip through his fingers. Blood, Mr. Jennings declared time and again, was a whole lot thicker than jvater,..and it was inconceivable to him that Merrill Grenfield had a perfect right to manage her own affairs. Though had received one small rebuff when lie had mentioned that he was going to London to look after things for her, he was determined he was not, in future, going to take "No" for an answer.

To this end he decided to call a con fcrence—a family conference.

The conference chamber was the large bedroom occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Jennings overlooking the park at Leybourne Manor. The furnishings were good; genuine antique, as Mr. Jennings' expert eye hac. already decided. Susan Jennings, who had lately taken to wearing a Chinese-affeetcd kimono whenever she retired to the privacy of the bedroom, was reclining with an Oriental insouciance on a low-sprung divan beneath the windows, and, as if to add just the right touch to her newly-acquircd status, she smoked a cigarette.

Mr. Jennings made no comment on his wife's posture.

"Where's Ernest?" he asked. Mrs. Jennings exhaled a mouthful of smoke lazily.

"I've not sot eyes on him since lunch. Can't make Ernie out at all," she proceeded, in a puzzled tone. "You'd have thought he'd beei glad to eoine down here, but somehow he doesn't seem keen about it."

"He's missing his friends," was Mr. Jennings' considered opinion. "But he'll have to get used to that," ho went on with decision. "He'll have to realise that he's got to change his ways and prepare himself to take over the manor and to settle down as a corntry gentleman. I suppose he's not mentioned it to Merrill > r et, has he ?"

Susan Jennings shook her faded head.

"I advised him not to be hasty," she told h>>r husband. "Girls nowadays are different, i.nd Merrill's different" from most, I'm thinking." "You're right there," decided Mr. Jennings. "We've got to sow before we reap, and the better we prepare the ground the better the crop."

"What's the next move, father?" Mrs. Jennings struggled into a sitting position on the divan and pressed the stub of her cigarette into an ash-tray.

Mr. Jennings did not reply immediately. He continued to pace the room plucking at his chin with finger and thumb. "It's just the least bit difficult," he confessed with an ail* of reluctance. "Merrill doesn't seem to take any too kindly to any offers of help I've made to her. Only this morning I suggested to her that we ought to get a valuation made of the whole of the property. She frowned at that and looked surprised. Wanted to know why she should do that and when I said she might as well know what it was worth she said she didn't want to know. I can't understand the girl at all." "You'd better let me talk to her," suggested his wife, confidently. "She'd probably open up more to a woipan. You know, Bert, you always were a bit headstrong." Mr. Jennings looked at his wife with an expression of pain, but eventually decided that perhaps if Susan were coached she might succeed where he had, so far, failed.

"Maybe you're right," he agreed, "but, mind you, you've got to make it quite clear to her that we're only offering our assistance because we want to help her. You must stress the point that we've had a great deal more experience of these sort of things than she has and that since ehe's one of the family we don't want to see her imposed upon. Point out to her that all sorts of people will be coming around saying nice things to her just for the sake of what they can get. And warn her about young men.

By Graham Yorke,

Author of " The Deputy Avenger," "The Jade Token," etc.

Tell her about Ernie. . . . you know how lie's fair gone on her . . . always has been, in fact, and that ,it's only Ernie's shyness that's prevented him telling her so a long time before anything like this happened. If I know anything of human nature, that girl's sensitive; she's -got to be tackled in the right way." Susan Jennings found Merrill in the library. She was seated at a desk littered with documents. "My dear child, wliatever's all this?" demanded Aunt Susan, amazed. "Hollo, Auntie," smiled Merrill, "I'm just looking through the household accounts. Bills have been neglected for a little time and some of the tradesmen are growing restive. I shan't be long." "But, my dear," protested Mrs. Jennings, "you've 110 right to be doing this sort of work. You're a lady now, remember ... 110 need to work for your living like you used to. Now you just leave them there bills and things to your uncle. He's real good at figures. Why, he's one of' the honorary auditors of his Tontine Society. Let your uncle deal with that butler, too, because, my dear," Mrs. Jennings lowered her voice, significantly, "I wouldn't trust that fellow much farther than I could see him. I've an idea he's not straight. How do you know the accounts haven't been paid? No, you must leave things to Uncle Bert. I'm beginning to think, my dear, it's a jolly good thing we came when we did."

Merrill regardad her aunt with quiet eyes. She was annoyed at the suggestion that she could rot manage her own affairs. And the suggestion against Smithers was preposterous. Slie knew tlio man better tlian any of them did.

"You seem to be forgetting, Aunt Susan," said Merrill, "that I have been doing the household accounts almost from the first day I came to Leybourne. And as a matter of fact it's quite true that with Jilr. S toko's illness and the funeral, things have been getting into a muddle. You see," she went on quietly, "until the will was proved it Was almost impossible to get hold of any money, and what money was allowed had to como through the lawyers. It wasn't just a ease of sending a cheque to the bank. Of course, it's awfully nice of you and Uncle Bert wanting to help. I appreciate that, but it's really not necessary. By the way, I'm expecting Mr. Carol to-morrow. lie's coming down for a few days. I'havcn't seen him since the funeral." Leave This To Me. Mrs. Jennings' face betrayed her astonishment. "And who might Mr. Carol be, if you please?" she requested with a feeling that Merrill had deliberately been keeping something back from them. "Didn't I tell you that Mr. Stokes had two nephews—Carol Stokes and Roderick Masters. I've always thought it was mean of Mr. Stokes to cut his nephews out the way he did, and I feel rather sorry for Carol." A look of alarm leaped to Mrs. Jennings' face. "But surely you're not thinking of making this Carol an allowance, are you? Jive, nftyer heard of such a thing. What will people say if they get to know? And what about tlio other one? Is he coming, too?"

"Mr. Masters is not in England," Merrill told her. "I'm not interested in him. I think it was wretched of him not even to write to his uncle. If ever I do meet him I'm going to tell him exactly what I think about him." "Just as you please, of course," murmured Mrs. Jennings, weakly, "but I think you're making a big mistake, and now, if I can't help you, I'll run along and see what your uncle's doing."

Meanwhile Cousin Ernest had returned to the manor. He had spent th<* morning down in the village where he had been cultivating the acquaintance of the "locals," particularly the landlord of the "Dog and Weasel" and that worthy's daughter Tilly.

Joe Porterus was an ambitious little man, and when he discovered that Ernest was cousin to Miss Grenfiekl "up at the manor" he realised the wisdom of the old saying that opportunity should always bo heeded when it knocks at your door.

He had a whispered conversation with Tilly, with the result that Ernest discovered that the girl was well worth a second glance. She had copper-col-oured hair and pink cheeks which dimpled when she smiled, and since she smiled most of the time she was in conversation with Ernest that young man's initial impression developed, considerably.

He told himself that he liked Tilly and he was sure in his own mind that he would not find her difficult when it came to liking him. Atidcd to which Joe Porterus had insisted that Ernest should order just what his fancy indicated and that, in other words, the "drinks were on the house."

Such an agreeable situation was well to Ernest's liking. It was something that had never happened to him before, and for the first time he appreciated his father's point of view that there was something in being related to a young woman who had been bequeathed a fortune and a manor house.

As he had sipped his beer with accustomed nonchalance he visualised "making a hit' with Tilly and later settling down as the landlord of the "Dog and Weasel," an infinitely more satisfying prospect than the one his parents had so ingeniously planned for him, making up to Merrill and endeavouring to persuade her to marry him. Now °had it been Tilly the prospect would have been charged with greater and more pleasant purpose. Ernest went up to his room at the Manor and surveyed the situation. He had promised Tilly to go down that evening to the "Dog and Weasel" in order that the acquaintance might be continued.

He had not long been seated in his comfortable chair beside the window when he heard his mother's voice in the corridor outside calling to him.

"What's wrong now?" Ernest de manded as he opened the door.

"Your father wants to talk to you," she told him, and from her face Ernest knew that trouble had been brewing during the past few minutes. "You'd better come along—it's important."

Ernest grumbled. Nevertheless, he obeyed the paternal summons. "Where've you been?" asked Mr. Jennings, as Ernest entered the room. "We've been looking for you everywhere."

Ernest told him, but he refrained from any pention of Tilly Porterus.

it*. .Jennings glared at his offspring disapprovingly. "D'you think we've come down here just so that you can fritter your time away in village pubs?" he demanded. "I'll have you know, my lad, that we're depending on you to do the right thing, and to come to the point, the sooner you tackle the g'rl about it the better."

Ernest pulled a packet of cheap cigarettes from his pocket and stuck one in his mouth.

"I suppose by 'depending on me' you mean that you've not been able to handle her yourself?" he questioned, sneeringly. "Well, you can count me out on this. I'm through. I don't like the girl—never did —and never shall. So that's that!" Ernest was about to depart, but Mrs. Jennings caught his arm.

"Leave this to me!" stormed Mr. Jennings, as he confronted his son. "So you're through, are you? Well, I'm not so sure. I'd have you know that for three years you've lived rent and board free. I suppose that's how you spell gratitude? Now, listen to me, son! You can choose between two things—either you persuade Merrill to marry you or you get out. Understand? You go out! I mean that. You're a fool, Ernest Jennings, and you've got to realise it. I tell you, Ernie, you've got to do it — and you've got to be quick about :t. There's someone else coming down here to-morrow —someone who won't beat around the bush. Now, what do you say?"

Mrs. Jennings had brushed away the tears that had sprung to her eyes at her son's refusal. She looked across at him imploringly.

Ernest said nothing for a moment. He was thinking. And. he was telling himself that there was 110 sense "in his being precipitate. For one thing, he felt that his father really meant what lie had said—that he would be kicked out if he didn't do what he was told; and that was far from being a, pleasant prospect.

"All right!" he agreed, sullenly. "If you put it that way, I've no option; but you mustn't blame me if she won't so much as look at me."

"That's fair enough, Bert," put in Mrs, Jennings.

And Mr. Jennings knew that for once his wifo was right.

(To be continued daily.)