at all but Zorndorff’s. I can’t even legally buy it for another five years.’
Rudd looked surprised. ‘You mean your money is tied up until then?’
‘That’s so but it needn’t necessarily stop a purchase. Mr Zorndorff seems anxious that I should take the plunge, although administration of an estate this size was only a vague notion at the back of my mind, something I used to think about when I knew I would be invalided out. I’ve had no previous experience and wanted a single farm. The only qualifications I have are that I should be interested and I can ride. I’m not a crock either. When this stiffness eases I’ll be as fit as the next man. I wanted an open-air life and Mr Zorndorff seemed to think this was as good an opportunity as any.’
Rudd was smiling again. The man had almost as wide a range of expression as Zorndorff. No trace remained of his previous sullenness and he looked, Craddock now felt, like a man one could trust.
‘Well, I suppose you might do worse, things being what they are and I mean your circumstances, not those of the estate. It’s badly run down and peopled with backward, lazy rascals but they ought to welcome you; if they have any sense that is! The Lovells took their rents every quarter day for a century or more and cursed them if they asked for a new tile on the roof. You’ll need to put money into it for a spell but the land on this side is as good as any in Devon and there’s good timber behind the house. The Home Farm is in shape, for I’ve seen to that, and Honeyman is a good farmer. It’s in the Coombe area that you’ve got layabouts and they’re mostly confined to one family, the Potters, of Low Coombe. However, there’s no point at all in my influencing you one way or the other at this stage, you’ll have to make up your own mind after you’ve gone the rounds.’ He chuckled and glanced sidelong at Craddock through half-closed eyes. ‘Well, this is a rum do I must say! I expected all kind of developments when I got the enquiry but nothing quite like this, I can assure you.’ And then he seemed to brace himself in the saddle, assuming a paternal, businesslike air. ‘We’re about half-way down,’ he said, ‘so I’ll do what I should have done at first instead of crying on your shoulder, Mr Craddock!’ He pointed left towards the steep wood that bounded the moor. ‘That’s Hermitage Wood, close-set oak and beech mostly but with a big fir plantation higher up. This moor is called Blackberry Down and it’s common land, used by us and also by the Gilroy Estate, our nearest neighbour across the Teazel. That’s the smaller of the two streams, this one on your right is the Sorrel that flows through our land as far as the sea at Coombe Bay, four miles from here. Coombe Bay isn’t much more than a small village but we own some property there, held on long leases. The roads runs beside the river here for a mile or more and the park wall is over there on your left, beyond Hermitage Farm. Martin Codsall’s Farm, Four Winds, is down there across the river, the biggest we’ve got, and fairly well run. Above you, hidden by that clump, is Hermitage, farmed by Pitts and his son, sound enough chaps but very unenterprising. Beyond the park wall …’
He broke off as Paul, lifting his head, trotted forward and reined in on the very brow of the hill where he could look across the long, rolling slope to the sea.
‘One minute, Mr Rudd,’ he called. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like this before!’ and he swept the prospect from west to east, from the thin sliver of the Teazel marking Gilroy’s boundary on the right, to the high, wooded bluff above the outfall of the River Sorrel, that ran below in a wide curve to the left. He could sniff the sea breasting the scent of heather and gorse, a smell of summer released from the bracken by the grey’s hooves, and hear the light breeze shaking Martin Codsall’s corn on the slope where Four Winds’ meadows met the
Rudd looked surprised. ‘You mean your money is tied up until then?’
‘That’s so but it needn’t necessarily stop a purchase. Mr Zorndorff seems anxious that I should take the plunge, although administration of an estate this size was only a vague notion at the back of my mind, something I used to think about when I knew I would be invalided out. I’ve had no previous experience and wanted a single farm. The only qualifications I have are that I should be interested and I can ride. I’m not a crock either. When this stiffness eases I’ll be as fit as the next man. I wanted an open-air life and Mr Zorndorff seemed to think this was as good an opportunity as any.’
Rudd was smiling again. The man had almost as wide a range of expression as Zorndorff. No trace remained of his previous sullenness and he looked, Craddock now felt, like a man one could trust.
‘Well, I suppose you might do worse, things being what they are and I mean your circumstances, not those of the estate. It’s badly run down and peopled with backward, lazy rascals but they ought to welcome you; if they have any sense that is! The Lovells took their rents every quarter day for a century or more and cursed them if they asked for a new tile on the roof. You’ll need to put money into it for a spell but the land on this side is as good as any in Devon and there’s good timber behind the house. The Home Farm is in shape, for I’ve seen to that, and Honeyman is a good farmer. It’s in the Coombe area that you’ve got layabouts and they’re mostly confined to one family, the Potters, of Low Coombe. However, there’s no point at all in my influencing you one way or the other at this stage, you’ll have to make up your own mind after you’ve gone the rounds.’ He chuckled and glanced sidelong at Craddock through half-closed eyes. ‘Well, this is a rum do I must say! I expected all kind of developments when I got the enquiry but nothing quite like this, I can assure you.’ And then he seemed to brace himself in the saddle, assuming a paternal, businesslike air. ‘We’re about half-way down,’ he said, ‘so I’ll do what I should have done at first instead of crying on your shoulder, Mr Craddock!’ He pointed left towards the steep wood that bounded the moor. ‘That’s Hermitage Wood, close-set oak and beech mostly but with a big fir plantation higher up. This moor is called Blackberry Down and it’s common land, used by us and also by the Gilroy Estate, our nearest neighbour across the Teazel. That’s the smaller of the two streams, this one on your right is the Sorrel that flows through our land as far as the sea at Coombe Bay, four miles from here. Coombe Bay isn’t much more than a small village but we own some property there, held on long leases. The roads runs beside the river here for a mile or more and the park wall is over there on your left, beyond Hermitage Farm. Martin Codsall’s Farm, Four Winds, is down there across the river, the biggest we’ve got, and fairly well run. Above you, hidden by that clump, is Hermitage, farmed by Pitts and his son, sound enough chaps but very unenterprising. Beyond the park wall …’
He broke off as Paul, lifting his head, trotted forward and reined in on the very brow of the hill where he could look across the long, rolling slope to the sea.
‘One minute, Mr Rudd,’ he called. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like this before!’ and he swept the prospect from west to east, from the thin sliver of the Teazel marking Gilroy’s boundary on the right, to the high, wooded bluff above the outfall of the River Sorrel, that ran below in a wide curve to the left. He could sniff the sea breasting the scent of heather and gorse, a smell of summer released from the bracken by the grey’s hooves, and hear the light breeze shaking Martin Codsall’s corn on the slope where Four Winds’ meadows met the
Similar Books
