The Unknown Ajax

“Now, that is trying it on much too rare and thick!” said Richmond accusingly.

“Foolish boy! You are as bad as your sister, and what your poor papa would think of you both, if he could hear you, I’m sure I don’t know! And you ought to be in bed, Richmond! You look worn to a bone!”

At this, her masterful offspring converged upon her, Anthea sinking down on to a stool at her feet, and Richmond perching on the arm of her chair.

“And we don’t know what poor Papa would think of you for shamming it so, dearest!” said Anthea. “Grandpapa has told you all about the weaver’s son. Confess!”

“No, no, I promise you he hasn’t! He told me nothing about him—well, nothing to the purpose! Only when I ventured to ask him if it had not been a great shock to him to learn of the young man’s existence, he said he had known of it for ever. My dears, would you have believed it? It seems that poor Hugh wrote to tell your grandfather of this Hugh’s birth, twenty-seven years ago! And not a word has he uttered to a soul until today! Unless, of course, he disclosed the truth to Granville, but I am positive he never did so, for your Aunt Anne and I were the closest of friends, and she must have told me, if she had known anything about it. Oh dear, poor soul, I wonder how she does? I wonder how it will answer, living with her daughter and her son-in-law? To be sure, Sir John Caldbeck seemed a most amiable man, and I daresay anything was preferable to Anne than continuing here—though I always used to think that Grandpapa was by far more civil to her than—”

“Yes, Mama,” interrupted Anthea. “But all this is fair and far off, you know! So Grandpapa has known from the start how it was, has he? We needn’t marvel that he said nothing about it while my Uncle Granville and Oliver were alive, but how can he have allowed my Uncle Matthew to suppose all these months that he was now the heir to the barony? It is a great deal too bad, besides being quite crackbrained! Did he hope the young man might be dead? He can’t, surely, have forgotten him!”

“Well, I fancy, from something he said to me just now, that he had the intention of disinheriting him, if it might be done, only from some cause or another—but I don’t precisely understand about settlements, so—or do I mean any entail? No, I don’t think it was that, and naturally I shouldn’t dream of asking your grandfather to explain, for nothing provokes him more than to be asked questions, though why it should I can’t conjecture!”

“I didn’t know one could cut out the heir of one’s title,” objected Richmond.

“It seems to be established that Grandpapa, at all events, cannot,” said Anthea.

“Sequestration!” suddenly and triumphantly exclaimed Mrs. Darracott. “That was the word! I thought very likely it would come back to me, for very often things, do, and sometimes, which always seems extraordinary to me, in the middle of the night! Well, that was it, only it can’t be done, and so Grandpapa feels that there is nothing for it but to make the best of this young man.”

“Did he say that, Mama?” asked Anthea incredulously.

“Yes, he did,” nodded Mrs. Darracott. “Well, it was what he meant!”

“But what did he say?”demanded Richmond.

“Oh, I can’t recall exactly what he said! Only he seems to think he might go off at any moment, though why he should I can’t imagine, for I never knew anyone so hearty! In feet, it wouldn’t surprise me if he—Well, never mind that! Dear me, I have forgotten what I was about to say!”

“It wouldn’t surprise you if he outlived us all,” supplied Anthea helpfully.

“Certainly not!” stated Mrs. Darracott, blushing, “Such a thought never entered my head!”

“Lord, what a rapper!” remarked Richmond, palliating this undutiful criticism by hugging her briefly. “You’re trying to cut a wheedle, but if you think you can turn us up sweet, you’re a goose, Mama!”

“Richmond!”

“How many more times is Mama to tell you not to speak to her so saucily?” interpolated Anthea severely.

“You are two very silly, impertinent children!” said Mrs. Darracott, trying not to laugh. “And what your Aunt Aurelia will think of you, if you talk in that improper style, makes me quite sick with apprehension!”

“We won’t,” promised Anthea. “We will remember that a want of conduct in us reflects directly upon you, love, and, we will behave with all the propriety in the world.”

“If she stops trying to gammon us,” amended Richmond.

“Oh, that is understood! How does Grandpapa mean to make the best of our new cousin, Mama?”

“Well, my dears,” responded the widow, capitulating, “he seems to think that it will be necessary to lick the unfortunate young man into shape. At least, that’s what he said.”

“Unfortunate young man indeed!”

“I own, one can’t but feel a great deal of compassion for him, yet it can’t be denied that it is a severe trial for your grandfather to know that he must be succeeded by quite a vulgar person. I should be very much vexed myself, and heaven knows I don’t set half the store by my consequence that your grandfather does! Oh dear, how uncomfortable it will be! I did hope, when I learned that he is a military man, that he might be quite gentlemanlike, but your grandfather says that the army has grown so large, on account of the war’s having dragged on for such a time, that it is full of what he calls shabby-genteel officers—though how he should know that, when he never stirs from home, is more than I can tell! And to make it worse the poor man is in the wrong sort of regiment.”

“What?” ejaculated Richmond, kindling. “He’s in the 95th! A Light Division man! I should like to know what is wrong with that!”

“Well, dearest, I don’t know anything about such matters myself, but Grandpapa spoke of its being newfangled, which, of course, would account for his not liking it.”

“If that’s the way my grandfather means to talk he’ll make more of a Jack-pudding of himself than ever this cousin could, even if he is a rum ’un!” declared Richmond hotly. “Of all the antiquated, top-lofty—”

“Well, don’t put yourself in a passion!” recommended his sister. “You cannot suppose that anything other than a cavalry regiment, or the 1st Foot Guards, would do for a Darracott!”

“Balderdash!” said Richmond. “I don’t mean I wouldn’t wish for a cavalry regiment myself, but if I can’t— couldn’t—join one, I’d as lief be a Light Bob as anything else. And if Grandpapa says something slighting—oh, lord, I shan’t know where to look! I wonder if this man marched to Talavera? Do you know that—” He broke off, seeing his mother look quickly up at him, a stricken expression in her face. “Oh, well!” he said, shrugging. “It’s of no consequence—only I do hope to God Grandpapa doesn’t make a cake of himself! Go on, Mama! How is our cousin to be licked into shape? Does my grandfather mean to undertake the task himself? The wretched victim will seize the first opportunity that offers of escaping from the home of his fathers!”

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Darracott said. “That is—no, I am persuaded your grandfather doesn’t mean—He said something about Vincent’s being able to hint him into the established mode.”

“Vincent! He won’t do it!” said Richmond positively.

“No, well—well, at least your grandfather seems to feel that we ought, all of us, to use the young man kindly!” Mrs. Darracott perceived that both her children were regarding her with a mixture of surprise and disbelief, and her colour rose. She began to rearrange the Paisley shawl she wore draped round her shoulders, and said, rather too airily: “I am sure it is greatly to his credit, and not at all what one would have expected! Poor young man! Your cousin, I mean, not Grandpapa! I daresay he will feel sadly out of place here, and we must try to make him welcome. I shall certainly do so, and I hope you will, too, dearest Anthea. Grandpapa is—is particularly anxious that you should make yourself agreeable to him. Indeed, I don’t know why you should not! Not that I mean ...” Aware that two pairs of fine grey eyes were fixed on her face, she found herself unable to finish this sentence, and tried hurriedly to begin another. “Dear me, how late it is! Anthea, my love,—”

“Mama!” uttered Anthea accusingly. “If you don’t tell me precisely what it was that my grandfather said to you I’ll go to the library and ask him!”

This dreadful threat threw Mrs. Darracott into instant disorder. She scolded a little, wept a little, asseverated that my lord had said nothing at all, and ended by divulging to her children that my lord had conceived the happy notion of bringing about a match between his shabby-genteel heir and his only unmarried granddaughter. “To keep him in the Family!”she explained earnestly.

That was all that was needed to send Richmond into shouts of laughter. His sister, in general a girl with a