Eastleigh soon gave way to the outskirts of Bideford.
âWe have to cross the bridge over the Torridge and the house can be seen from there, apparently, my Lord,â said Bennett, as their motor car caused a great stir on the streets of the town.
A while later, they crossed the bridge and as the road curved round to the right, the house came into view.
The Viscount sat up in his seat and squinted into the distance.
Torr House nestled on the side of a hill with a long dusty drive leading up to it. His heart began to beat faster as they drew closer.
âThis is it!â shouted Bennett, changing gear and slowing down by the gates.
The Viscount looked up the track, but could not see the house as, at that level, it was obscured by trees. He signalled to Bennett to move forward and the car made its bumpy way towards the house.
At last, as they passed the trees, Torr House sprang into view.
The Viscount caught his breath as he first set eyes on it. It had a faded beauty of its own, he thought. Although Bennett probably expressed the popular view when he blurted out,
âLawks, itâs a bit of a wreck, isnât it, my Lord?â
He turned off the engine and immediately a tall man with a sombre face emerged from the front door. Judging by his attire, the Viscount assumed he was Cork, the butler, who had served Madame Le Fevre for many years.
âWelcome to Torr House,â he said, as his face broke into an unexpected smile. âI cannot tell you how glad I am you have come â and so is everyone in these parts. We all hope that you will rescue the place from wrack and ruin.â
âIt looks like I have arrived just in time,â commented the Viscount, as he noted the peeling paint on the door and the latticed windows with panes missing and covered with brown paper to keep out the elements.
âThis is Bennett, my chauffeur. Would you be kind enough to direct him to a dry place where he can park the Daimler?â
âThat would be the barn, my Lord,â replied Cork, his drawled vowels belying his Devon roots. âIt doesnât have a door but itâs dry enough.â
With a bemused expression, Bennett unloaded the luggage and then drove the car round to the rear of the house as directed by Cork.
The Viscount was shown inside and immediately he fell in love with the place.
The hall was typical Jacobean with a hefty wooden staircase rising up solidly in front of him, while the walls were covered with oak panelling. What he thought was a cupboard door, turned out to be the entrance to the gunroom, while he looked at the large stagâs head high looming over the stairwell.
âIs there hunting around here?â he asked, as Cork took him upstairs.
âThe best in all of Devon, my Lord. The Exmoor hunt is the largest hereabouts and youâll find plenty of folk come down from London and Bristol for the sport. We even get some of them industrialists from up North.â
âReally?â remarked the Viscount, astounded that this part of the country should boast such a thriving social scene.
âAnd then thereâs the pheasants in a monthâs time â rich pickings for gentlemen like you.â
âI had no idea â â began the Viscount, as Cork showed him into a large, draughty room with a dusty four-poster bed and heavy oak furniture.
âThis was Madameâs room, but I am certain she would not mind, that is, if you do not object considering â â
The words died on Corkâs lips.
The Viscount nodded. He knew exactly what he meant.
âAs long as I do not mind sleeping in my grandfatherâs mistressâs bed,â he said to himself.
The fireplace was a large stone affair with a carving of a shield in the middle.
âHow old is the house, Cork?â
âThree hundred years old or thereabouts. One of King James Iâs Scottish Lords built it when he was given lands in these parts.â
The Viscount