accordingly, but he has been a wild lad and a continual source of worry and

trouble to his stepfather. Nevertheless we are all very fond of Ralph Paton in

King’s Abbot. He is such a good-looking youngster for one thing.

 

As I said before, we are ready enough to gossip in our village.

 

Everybody noticed from the first that Ackroyd and Mrs. Ferrars got on very well

together. After her husband’s death, the intimacy became more marked. They were

always seen about together, and it was freely conjectured that at the end of her

period of mourning, Mrs. Ferrars would become Mrs. Roger Ackroyd. It was felt,

indeed, that there was a certain fitness in the thing. Roger Ackroyd’s wife had

admittedly died of drink. Ashley Ferrars had been a drunkard for many years

before his death. It was only fitting that these two victims of alcoholic excess

should make up to each other for all that they had previously endured at the

hands of their former spouses.

 

The Ferrars only came to live here just over a year ago, but a halo of gossip

has surrounded Ackroyd for many years past. All the time that Ralph Paton was

growing up to manhood, a series of lady housekeepers presided over Ackroyd’s

establishment, and each in turn was regarded with lively suspicion by Caroline

and her cronies. It is not too much to say that for at least fifteen years the

whole village has confidently expected Ackroyd to marry one of his housekeepers.

The last of them, a redoubtable lady called Miss Russell, has reigned undisputed

for five years, twice as long as any of her predecessors. It is felt that but

for the advent of Mrs. Ferrars, Ackroyd could hardly have escaped. That—and one