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Page 29
"Life!" she exclaimed. "Life!"
"My life," answered Pratt. "And let me tell you--you'll find me a
first-class man--a good, faithful, honest servant. I'll do well by you
and yours. You'll never regret it as long as you live. It'll be the best
day's work you've ever done. I'll look after your son's
interests--everybody's interests--as if they were my own. As indeed," he
added, with a sly glance, "they will be."
Mrs. Mallathorpe realized the finality, the resolve, in all this--but
she made one more attempt.
"Ten thousand!" she said. "Come, now!--think what ten thousand pounds in
cash would mean to you!"
"No--nor twenty thousand," replied Pratt. "I've made up my mind. I'll
have my own terms. It's no use--not one bit of use--haggling or
discussing matters further. I'm in possession of the will--and therefore
of the situation, Mrs. Mallathorpe, you've just got to do what I tell
you!"
He got up from his chair, and going over to a side-table took from it a
blotting-pad, some writing paper and a pencil. For the moment his back
was turned--and again he did not see the look of almost murderous hatred
which came into his visitor's eyes; had he seen and understood it, he
might even then have reconsidered matters and taken Mrs. Mallathorpe's
last offer. But the look had gone when he turned again, and he noticed
nothing as he handed over the writing materials.
"What are these for?" she asked.
"You'll see in a moment," replied Pratt, reseating himself, and drawing
his chair a little nearer her own. "Now listen--because it's no good
arguing any more. You're going to give me that stewardship and agency.
You'll simply tell your son that it's absolutely necessary to have a
steward. He'll agree. If he doesn't, no matter--you'll convince him.
Now, then, we must do it in a fashion that won't excite any suspicion.
Thus--in a few days--say next week--you'll insert in the Barford
papers--all three of them--the advertisement I'm going to dictate to
you. We'll put it in the usual, formal phraseology. Write this down, if
you please, Mrs. Mallathorpe."
He dictated an advertisement, setting forth the requirements of which he
had spoken, and Mrs. Mallathorpe obeyed him and wrote. She hated Pratt
more than ever at that moment--there was a quiet, steadfast
implacability about him that made her feel helpless. But she restrained
all sign of it, and when she had done his bidding she looked at him as
calmly as he looked at her.
"I am to insert this in the Barford papers next week," she said.
"And--what then?"
"Then you'll get a lot of applications for the job," chuckled Pratt.
"There'll be mine amongst them. You can throw most of 'em in the fire.
Keep a few for form's sake. Profess to discuss them with Mr. Harper--but
let the discussion be all on your side. I'll send two or three good
testimonials--you'll incline to me from the first. You'll send for me.
Your interview with me will be highly satisfactory. And you'll give me
the appointment."
"And--your terms?" asked Mrs. Mallathorpe. Now that her own scheme had
failed, she seemed quite placable to all Pratt's proposals--a sure sign
of danger to him if he had only known it. "Better let me know them
now--and have done with it."
"Quite so," agreed Pratt. "But first of all--can you keep this secret to
yourself and me? The money part, any way?"
"I can--and shall," she answered.
"Good!" said Pratt. "Very well. I want a thousand a year. Also I want
two rooms--and a business room--at the Grange. I shall not interfere
with you or your family, or your domestic arrangements, but I shall
expect to have all my meals served to me from your kitchen, and to have
one of your servants at my disposal. I know the Grange--I've been over
it more than once. There's much more room there than you can make use
of. Give me the rooms I want in one of the wings. I shan't disturb any
of you. You'll never see me except on business--and if you want to."
Again the calm acquiescence which would have surprised some men. Why
Pratt failed to be surprised by it was because he was just then feeling
exceedingly triumphant--he believed that Mrs. Mallathorpe was,
metaphorically, at his feet. He had more than a little vanity in him,
and it pleased him greatly, that dictating of terms: he saw himself a
conqueror, with his foot on the neck of his victim.
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