forgotten, wrote out of the blue to ask Connor, then aged nineteen, to make his home at Whitescar and be trained for farm management, the boy had gone like an arrow from a bow, and with very little in the nature of a by-your-leave. If Lisa wept after he had gone, nobody knew; there was plenty for Lisa to do at home, anyway . . .
Small wonder that Con arrived at Whitescar with the determination to make a place for himself, and stay; a determination that, very soon, hardened into a definite ambition. Security. The Winslow property. Whitescar itself. There was only Annabel in the way, and Con came very quickly to think that she had no business to be in the way at all. It didnât take him long to find out that the place, backed by Matthew Winslowâs not inconsiderable private income, could be willed any way that the old man wished.
So Connor Winslow had set to work. He had learned his job, he made himself very quickly indispensable, he had worked like a navvy at anything and everything that came along, earning the respect and even the admiration of the slow, conservative local farmers, who at first had been rather inclined to regard the good-looking lad from Ireland as an extravagant whim of Matthewâs, showy, perhaps, but bound to be a poor stayer. He had proved them wrong.
Matthew himself, though he had never publicly admitted it, had had the same doubts, but Con defeated his prejudices first, then proceeded to charm his great-uncle âlike a bird off a treeâ, (so Lisa, surprisingly). But charm he never so wisely, he couldnât quite charm Whitescar from him, away from Annabel. âBecause Con tried, he admits it,â says Lisa. âThe old man thought the world of him, and still does, but heâs like the rest of the English Winslows, as stubborn as the devil and as sticky as a limpet. What he has, he hangs on to. He wanted her to have it after him, and what he wants, goes. The fact that sheâs deadâ, added Lisa bitterly, âdoesnât make a bit of difference. If the old man said black was white, heâd believe it was true. He canât be wrong, you see; he once said sheâd come back, and he wonât change. Heâll die sooner. Literally. And heâll leave everything to Annabel in his Will, and the messâll take years to clear up, and the odds are that Julieâs the residuary beneficiary. The point is, we just donât know. He wonât say a word. But it does seem unfair.â
She paused for a moment. I had half turned back from the window, and was standing leaning against the shutter. But I still didnât look at her, or make any comment on the story. I felt her eyes on me for a few moments, then she went on.
There wasnât much more. Conâs next move had been the obvious one. If Annabel and Whitescar were to go together, then he would try to take both. Indeed, he was genuinely (so Lisa told me) in love with her, and an understanding between them was such an obvious and satisfactory thing to happen that the old man, who was fond of them both, was delighted.
âBut,â said Lisa, hesitating now and appearing to choose her words, âit went wrong, somehow. I wonât go into details now â in any case, I donât know a great deal, because I wasnât there, and Con hasnât said much â but they quarrelled terribly, and she used to try and make him jealous, he says, and, well, thatâs only too easy with Con, and he has a terrible temper. They had a dreadful quarrel one night. I donât know what happened, but I think Con may have said something to frighten her, and she threw him over once and for all, said she couldnât stay at Whitescar while he was there, and all that sort of thing. Then she ran off to see her grandfather. Con doesnât know what happened between them, or if he does, he wonât tell me. But of course the old man was bound to be furious, and disappointed, and he never
Small wonder that Con arrived at Whitescar with the determination to make a place for himself, and stay; a determination that, very soon, hardened into a definite ambition. Security. The Winslow property. Whitescar itself. There was only Annabel in the way, and Con came very quickly to think that she had no business to be in the way at all. It didnât take him long to find out that the place, backed by Matthew Winslowâs not inconsiderable private income, could be willed any way that the old man wished.
So Connor Winslow had set to work. He had learned his job, he made himself very quickly indispensable, he had worked like a navvy at anything and everything that came along, earning the respect and even the admiration of the slow, conservative local farmers, who at first had been rather inclined to regard the good-looking lad from Ireland as an extravagant whim of Matthewâs, showy, perhaps, but bound to be a poor stayer. He had proved them wrong.
Matthew himself, though he had never publicly admitted it, had had the same doubts, but Con defeated his prejudices first, then proceeded to charm his great-uncle âlike a bird off a treeâ, (so Lisa, surprisingly). But charm he never so wisely, he couldnât quite charm Whitescar from him, away from Annabel. âBecause Con tried, he admits it,â says Lisa. âThe old man thought the world of him, and still does, but heâs like the rest of the English Winslows, as stubborn as the devil and as sticky as a limpet. What he has, he hangs on to. He wanted her to have it after him, and what he wants, goes. The fact that sheâs deadâ, added Lisa bitterly, âdoesnât make a bit of difference. If the old man said black was white, heâd believe it was true. He canât be wrong, you see; he once said sheâd come back, and he wonât change. Heâll die sooner. Literally. And heâll leave everything to Annabel in his Will, and the messâll take years to clear up, and the odds are that Julieâs the residuary beneficiary. The point is, we just donât know. He wonât say a word. But it does seem unfair.â
She paused for a moment. I had half turned back from the window, and was standing leaning against the shutter. But I still didnât look at her, or make any comment on the story. I felt her eyes on me for a few moments, then she went on.
There wasnât much more. Conâs next move had been the obvious one. If Annabel and Whitescar were to go together, then he would try to take both. Indeed, he was genuinely (so Lisa told me) in love with her, and an understanding between them was such an obvious and satisfactory thing to happen that the old man, who was fond of them both, was delighted.
âBut,â said Lisa, hesitating now and appearing to choose her words, âit went wrong, somehow. I wonât go into details now â in any case, I donât know a great deal, because I wasnât there, and Con hasnât said much â but they quarrelled terribly, and she used to try and make him jealous, he says, and, well, thatâs only too easy with Con, and he has a terrible temper. They had a dreadful quarrel one night. I donât know what happened, but I think Con may have said something to frighten her, and she threw him over once and for all, said she couldnât stay at Whitescar while he was there, and all that sort of thing. Then she ran off to see her grandfather. Con doesnât know what happened between them, or if he does, he wonât tell me. But of course the old man was bound to be furious, and disappointed, and he never
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