Love Bade Me Welcome Read Online Free PDF Page A

between them.
    “Did he not?” Jarvis asked. “I become forgetful in my old age. Yes, I believe it was Bulow’s uncle who won the Victoria Cross. Well, and do you think you can be comfortable with us here? We will do everything in our power to make you happy. It would be nice to have a young lady around the house, eh, Homer?”
    I had received the impression earlier that Jarvis was interested in family history. I did not think he would mistake Bulow’s uncle for my father. Soon Homer was replying, “I’m sure the place could use a lady’s hand. Since mother’s accident we haven’t done much in the way of refurbishing.”
    “Now is hardly the time for any major overhaul either,” Jarvis said.
    “Such minor details as curtains or gewgaws could always be managed,” Homer answered, “but it is early days for it yet. Let Davinia settle in before she undertakes to make us fashionable.”
    Truth to tell, I found the house magnificent as it was. I could hardly imagine any improvement, and gewgaws would have been out of place amidst their real finery.
    “We know you are used to the best,” Jarvis said, sending my mind to wonder just what Norman had told them about me. Had he told them Papa was a colonel, to aggrandize my background? It was not beyond him, for though I found very few faults in Norman, there was no denying he liked the world to appreciate me, and had occasionally stretched the truth a little to make me grander than I was.
    “Blythe Wyngate is beautiful just as it is. I never saw such a handsome home. Norman gave me no idea it was so fine an estate.”
    “Tomorrow you must have a drive around it with me,” Homer offered.
    “I should like to visit the windmill that is seen from the rear windows. Does it drive anything—grind wheat, dress lumber—or is it purely ornamental? I noticed it was not working.”
    “It is only ornamental now, though it was a gristmill in the old days,” Homer answered.
    “It was working when I was a lad—well, when you were yourself, Homer. It is only—what, fifteen years, since it was let go idle?” Jarvis asked.
    “Thereabouts, yes. When Crofft put up his new mill we began taking our grain to it, like everyone else. Ours still works, or could, with some small fixing up.”
    “It is very pretty, an attractive addition to the landscape in any case,” I mentioned.
    “It will never purposely be demolished,” Jarvis told me. “The estate takes its name from the windmill. Our ancestors erected it there, at the windgate where the north wind finds a passage through the hills. The valley over the hill, which is meadow now, used to grow grain. Many changes have occurred. Even Homer doesn’t know them all. Folks filled most of their own needs a hundred years ago. The paneling in this house is all from our forest, but the granite was hauled in from outside. I believe Lady Monrest’s house is also of granite. Monrest Castle—a grander place entirely than Wyngate, of course.”
    “Yes, it is of granite. How on earth did you know that, Mr. Blythe? Norfolk is far from here.” The Monrests are the feudal lords of the village where I lived. “But of course you would know Lord Monrest from your own political work in London,” I added, answering my own question.
    “I have a nodding acquaintance with him, but actually, it was Norman who mentioned the castle to me, in his letters.”
    “That would be after our visit there,” I said, a vivid picture of that halcyon afternoon rearing up in my mind to disturb me deeply. Norman was fascinated by old architecture. We drove ten miles to tour the castle, and in the middle of winter, too.
    “He was mighty impressed with it.”
    “It was lovely.”
    “Was? Why, has something happened to it?” Jarvis asked, blinking.
    “Oh no, I meant the visit was lovely. The castle is still there, and still very grand. Norman and I went for the tour one day. It is open to the public once a week.” I remembered Norman sitting in the great