Summer at Mount Hope Read Online Free Page A

‘Berry good,’ said the Chinese cook, and Hadley walked around to the front of the house and knocked, standing back to admire the stained glass flowers bordering the door and its ornate brass knocker. A maid opened the door, a runt of a girl with a lazy eye. He asked for Mr Overton and she showed him to a low seat in the hall. Hadley could hear Mr Guston Overton’s voice as it filtered down the wide, sweeping stairs, but it was a different man, a broad, suntanned chap wearing jodhpurs who appeared up on the landing, and called, ‘You’re Pearson?’ His accent was English and his coat – very flash – had never rubbed against a sorting table or pressed against a fly-blown ram. He came down the stairs two at a time, dark-haired, with strong, regular features, rugged for a Pom. The hand he offered was not marked by hard work, but his grip was firm: ‘I’m the new manager, Rudolph Steel. Your reputation precedes you, Pearson,’ he said, moving to the front door. ‘I think we can find room for one more good classer.’ He swung the door open and looked back at Hadley, who reached for the clasp on his bag, ‘My certificate—?’
    â€˜I’ll send word with Mr Titterton, but we’ll start next week.’ Rudolph Steel gestured at the wide veranda and the manicured garden beyond. ‘There’ll be a bunk for you in the workers’ cottage.’
    â€˜Right,’ said Hadley and marched through the door. His coat caught on the decorative brass doorknob and pulled him up violently, wrenching him so that his nose hit the edge of the door and his spectacles were dislodged.
    â€˜Looking forward to having you here,’ said Rudolph Steel, and closed the door behind him. Flummoxed, Hadley followed the gravel path back to the kitchen door where the cook handed him his string bag and his account for the month: £2.0.6. Hadley felt rash, generous. He had a job. Henrietta could make a cake to celebrate. He held up six fingers: ‘Six more eggs, please.’
    When the cook returned with the eggs wrapped in newspaper, Hadley asked him to set aside ten chicks for him, next time the hens hatched.
    Riding out through the towering gateposts he felt secure, manly, somehow weightless. He had a job. He would sink a bore, fertilise his land, plant his trees and fix his fences. All he needed now was a wife and the only wife he had ever wanted was Phoeba Crupp. So now they would get married. What a surprise for everyone, and how happy it would make Henrietta! What a way to start the year – he even had a new suit ready for a wedding.
    It was natural that Phoeba would marry him, a matter of course really, and that’s what she’d say when he asked. ‘Of course,’ she’d say, and she would smile in her understated way. And Maude would throw her arms around him and say, ‘I knew it! I always knew you would be my son-in-law!’And Robert would shake his hand and open good wine.
    And there, bouncing towards the outcrop on the plain ahead of him, was Robert himself on his white horse. Just the man, a fortuitous chance. Robert was always easy to identify because his horse was white, like his hat, and an ex-pacer – a rough but swift ride for an ageing, round man. The hamper tied behind the saddle forgotten, Hadley spurred his mare on to a gallop: ‘Mr Crupp!’
    Robert’s words, pounding up and down at derby pace, were punctuated by his mount: ‘Had-lee-ee. Fan-ce-ee …’ He had a wine-drinker’s nose and it drooped a little over his large, tobacco-stained moustache.
    Hadley’s brown mare cantered hard to keep up. ‘I wondered if I could have a word with you, sir.’
    â€˜No-ow-ow?’ asked Robert.
    â€˜It’s an important matter.’
    Robert leaned back on the reins, the bit dragging his horse’s jaw open. Gradually the gelding slowed to a