The Unknown Ajax Read online

  The northern boundary to the estates being considerably nearer to the house than any other, they had set out in that direction. A nursery joke had had to be explained to Hugo. ‘And after that, which?’ Richmond had asked his sister. ‘Kent or Sussex?’

  ‘Kent,’ she had decided; and then, flashing a smile at Hugo: ‘We have a foot in each county, you know. Here, we are in Kent, and it was here that the first Darracott – well, the first that was ever in England! – settled. There’s nothing left of the old Saxon manor, but it was certainly on the site of the present house. Darracott tradition has it that he was a person of consequence, but we – Richmond, and Vincent, and I – take leave to doubt that, because the original manor was quite small. That’s why the house lies so close to the northern boundary. It was much later that the family crept over into Sussex. Today, that part of Grandpapa’s lands is the most important, because of the rents, you know; but although Darracott Place has been pulled down, and rebuilt, and enlarged a great many times, no reigning Darracott has ever had the temerity to remove from the original site. That would be flying in the face of tradition! an unpardonable crime!’

  So they had ridden towards the Weald, into more wooded country, and then eastward, above the Rother levels, for a little way, before dropping down again to the Marsh, and crossing the Military Canal at Appledore. The Marsh stretched before them, smiling and lush in the September sunshine, yet with a suggestion of eery loneliness about it which made the Major exclaim, under his breath: ‘Eh, it’s a queer place!’

  Just beyond Fairford, a cluster of alleys round a church, they had reined in their horses, so that the few landmarks could be more easily pointed out. Anthea had directed Hugo’s attention to the tower of Lydd Church, visible some six miles to the southeast, but although he bestowed a cursory glance on it his interest was claimed by the expanse of reclaimed land that lay between Lydd and Rye. Seen from the slight elevation on which Darracott Place had been built, the Marsh had appeared to be quite flat, with nothing but intersecting dykes, and, here and there, a few willows and thorn-bushes to relieve its tame monotony. His eye had been attracted by Rye, perched so unexpectedly high above the marsh, and reminding him, in the distance, of the Point of Cassilhas, near Lisbon, where there had been a military hospital (in which he had languished for several painful weeks), and on the top of just such another steep, isolated hill a convent had been built. Now, standing on the edge of the Marsh, he perceived that it was not quite flat, but sloped slightly upwards towards the dunes that hid the sea from his sight. A road meandered erratically across it, but there was no traffic to be seen, and not so much as a shepherd’s cot afforded any sign of human habitation. There seemed to be no living things on the Marsh but sheep, gulls, a moorhen seeking safety in the rushes, and somewhere, sounding its unmistakeable note, a peewit. The scene was peaceful, but it was not tame. As Anthea looked enquiringly at Hugo, he spoke the thought that came into his mind: ‘Do you meet flay-boggards, if you venture out when the light goes?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Anthea cautiously.

  He glanced down at her, and laughed. ‘Where’s our Claud to set me right? Hobgoblins is what I should have said! This is just where I’d look for them.’

  To Anthea and Richmond, born and bred on the edge of the Marsh, this was ridiculous. Richmond said: ‘Hobgoblins? You don’t believe in them, do you, cousin?’

  ‘Nay, I’m not so sure I don’t since I’ve come into these parts,’ said Hugo, shaking his head. ‘I’ll take care to turn my coat inside out, if ever I come here after nightfall, for fear of being pixie-led.’

  Richmond laughed; but Anthea said: ‘Does it seem to you an uncanny place? My aunt Anthea hated it: she used to say it was sullen land, full of evil sea-spirits, but she was very fanciful! It isn’t uncanny – not a bit! – even though it was once at the bottom of the sea! Innings have been made all along this stretch of coast, you know, as far back as Saxon times. People say it’s unhealthy – aguish – and I own that those who live on the Marsh are peculiarly subject to fits of ague. That’s why Darracott Place is almost the last of the great houses still remaining here: in general, the lords of the district removed to the uplands. Not the Darracotts, however! You may depend on that!’

  ‘Unless you do so, Cousin Hugo?’ interpolated Richmond. ‘My uncle Granville was used to say he would leave Darracott Place, and live in one of the manors on the Sussex side, Northiam-way.’

  ‘Yes! When he was at outs with Grandpapa!’ retorted Anthea. ‘He would never have done it! Even had he really wished to abandon the Place, only think of the cost!’ She smiled at Hugo, dancing lights in her eyes. ‘Did you fancy, cousin, that you had seen the worst of your family? I assure you, you have seen it at its best! When my uncle was alive, and he lived here, with all his family, brangles and brawls between him and my grandfather were the rule rather than the exception. He was inclined to be sickly, which Grandpapa took as an affront; and no matter what ailed him he always said that it was due to the horrid, marish situation of the house. You may imagine Grandpapa’s wrath!’

  ‘Well, what slum it was!’ said Richmond scornfully. ‘Grandpapa knew he only got the notion out of an old book my aunt found, and was for ever quoting! It was enough to put anyone out of temper, for there wasn’t a word of truth in it! Something about the Marsh being grievous in winter –’

  ‘Evil in winter, grievous in summer, and never good,’ Anthea amended. ‘Also that Kent has three steps, Wealth without health – that’s our part! Wealth and health – which is the Weald; and the third which affordeth health only, and no Wealth.’

  ‘Which proves it was a fudge!’ said Richmond. ‘We haven’t wealth!’

  ‘Ay, but there’s wealth here right enough,’ said Hugo, his gaze roving over the scene before him. ‘The land’s carrying more sheep to the acre than I ever saw. How many do you reckon on?’

  ‘From six to twelve – but that’s over Romney Marsh too,’ Anthea replied. ‘The farmers think it a bad year if the Marshes don’t yield four thousand packs. I believe it’s good wool, but I don’t know much about it, because we don’t keep sheep ourselves, of course. The pasturage and the arable lands are leased.’

  ‘I don’t know much about it either,’ said Hugo, ‘but I’ve seen the fleeces in grease, in the market, and listened to a deal of talk. It’s short-staple wool, isn’t it? Carding wool, that is?’

  ‘I haven’t the least notion,’ replied Anthea frankly. ‘In fact, I don’t know what carding wool is. Tell me!’

  ‘Nay, I’d likely tell you wrong, for I was never very sure in my own mind between wools and worsteds. Long-staple makes the worsteds: combing wool, they call it. Lincoln and Leicestershire is where it mostly comes from. The Southdown is the best of the carding wools: it mills well. I know that much, but when it comes to qualities I’m at a stand. Pitlock’s the first of the wools, and Fine of the worsteds, and Abb’s pretty well the last of ’em both, but I’d be done up if you were to ask me what comes betwixt the first and the last. As for stapling, if I pored over the lot for a sennight as like as not I’d mistake Breech for Prime at the back-end of the week!’

  She was interested, and would have questioned him further, but Richmond, attending with only half an ear, interrupted her to say: ‘Oh, never mind the sheep! I’ll tell you what’s to be had in abundance here besides those silly creatures, and that’s hares! Only wait until January – from then until March is when they run strongest – and we’ll show you some famous sport! There’s excellent duck-shooting, too, if you care for it.’

  ‘Do you course your hares?’ Hugo asked. ‘I’ve done a lot of that in the Peninsula.’

  ‘No, we hunt them with harriers. You’ll soon see! The young hounds will be entered in a week or two. They hunt leverets at this season, of course: it teaches them their business, but the real sport is after Christmas. Do you know, an old Jack will give you almost as good a run as a fox? Th