The Unknown Ajax

“I haven’t. He wrote to Lissett—a damnable scrawl!”

A smile flickered in Vincent’s eyes for an instant, but he swiftly lowered his lids. My lord’s own handwriting would have led no one to suppose that he was a man of birth, far less of education;, but it would plainly be unwise even to hint as much. Instead, Vincent asked: “Did he—er—put forward his claims, as my father appears to believe?”

“No, I’ll grant him that: he didn’t. Never gave a sign of life till I told Lissett to write to him. Seems not to have known he was the heir, unless he was shamming it. Very likely! He wrote that he was sorry to hear of Granville’s death. Gammon!”

“Oh, mere civility!”

“Ay! So I might have thought if he hadn’t added that he didn’t see what was to be done about the business, but would as lief not step into his uncle’s shoes! Dry-boots!”

“Oh, that is pitching it very much too rum!” agreed Vincent “Demonstrably an underbred person: we can do nothing for him!”

“You may not; I shall! I don’t deny I thought myself done-up at the start, but I’ve never been outjockeyed yet, and I fancy I’ve hit on a way to button it up tolerably well. The fellow shall marry Anthea.”

Vincent had been idly twirling his quizzing-glass on the end of its riband, but he was so much startled by this announcement that he let it drop, and gave an audible gasp. “Marry Anthea?”

“Yes, lobcock!” said his lordship testily. “Why not?”

Vincent drew a breath. “I can think of a score of reasons why not, but it seems that I must indeed be a lobcock, since I can’t think of one why he should! How very humiliating! I’ve always believed myself to be a man of reasonable intelligence.”

“You’re as muttonheaded as the rest of ’em! It’s the best way out of a curst hobble. He ain’t likely to form a more eligible connection—”

Up went Vincent’s brows again. “A Darracott of Darracott?” he said.

“A half-bred Darracott!” my lord said savagely. “Ten to one he’d choose a commoner like himself, if I gave him his head! Well, I won’t do it! No, and I won’t have him making a figure of himself in what passes in these days for the ton! I’ll have him legshackled assoon as I can, and depend on Anthea for the rest! She’ll do the trick: she doesn’t want for sense, and she doesn’t want for spirit either. She’s a girl of rank and character, and he may think himself lucky if she takes him.”

“Certainly he may! And what may she think herself, sir?”

“She may think the same. She’s not a pea-goose, like her mother! She had her chance, and a pretty penny that cost me! Either she frittered it away, or she didn’t take: I don’t know. I do know that Oversley offered for her, and she wouldn’t have him. If she don’t want to end up an ape-leader she’ll take her cousin, and make the best of him.”

“Which,” Vincent told Anthea on the following day, “leads me to hope, for your sake, my poor girl, that this intrusive relation of ours is married already.”

“Yes, but what an uproar there would be! Has Grandpapa informed everyone of this splendid match he has made for me? It is too abominable! However, I imagine you can none of you suppose me to be so meek and dutiful as to acquiesce in such a scheme!”

“If I thought that, my love, I should feel constrained to marry you myself.”

“Is that a declaration?” she demanded.

“Certainly not! I don’t think it.”

“I wish it had been!” she said longingly. “How unhandsome of you! When you know how few pleasures come in my way, you might have granted me the indulgence of refusing you!”

He laughed, but said, a certain gleam in his eyes: “I wonder if you would?”

She met his look without a trace of embarrassment, a good deal of amusement in her face. “Dear Vincent, with enthusiasm! You must never marry. Don’t, I do earnestly beg of you, allow yourself to be taken in by any lure thrown out to you! You cannot hope to find a lady who will like you better than you like yourself.”

He was nettled, but made a quick recover. “Not like, sweetest cousin: appreciate!”

She only smiled; and, as a few drops of rain had begun to fall, turned towards the house. As they entered it, they were met by Matthew, who was looking peevish. He exclaimed: “It’s to be hoped this fellow don’t dawdle on the road! Your grandfather may say he doesn’t want to clap eyes on him, but here he is, fretting and fuming already! and it’s barely past noon! I don’t expect him to show a minute before three o’clock!”

By three o’clock, however, there was still no sign of Major Darracott, and my lord was fast working himself into a passion. He strode into one of the saloons, with his watch in his hand, and demanded explosively what the devil could be keeping the fellow. Since no one knew, no one answered, whereupon he asked if they were a set of dumb mutes.

“Mute, but not of malice,” murmured Vincent. “Claud, where is your cousin?”

“Which cousin?” enquired Claud.

This instantly brought him under fire. He was apostrophized as an impudent young idiot, and warned not to try his grandfather’s patience too far. He looked very much startled, and protested earnestly that nothing was more remote from his intention. “Not such an idiot as that, sir!” he said, with a placating but nervous smile.

My lord, regarding him with loathing, said awfully: “It’s my belief you’re queer in your attic!” His gaze swept to Lady Aurelia, tatting, by the window, and he added with relish; “He must take after your family, my dear. We Darracotts never bred a mooncalf yet!”

“Very likely,” responded Lady Aurelia.

My lord, balked, stood fulminating, and Claud, who had been turning the question put to him over in his mind, suddenly said: “Oh, that cousin! Well, I’ll tell you!” He discovered that everyone but his mother was staring at him in surprise, and blushed, saying modestly: “I may not be a clever cove, but I can answer that. Well, what I mean is, nothing has happened to him. I don’t precisely know where he is, mind, though I’ve a notion about that, too.” He looked round the circle with mild pride, and enunciated triumphantly: “Tonbridge! Won’t be here for another three hours. More, if the postboys lose the way, which I daresay they will. Dashed difficult place to find, this. Lost the way myself once.”

After this burst of loquacity he subsided. His grandfather, a most alarming expression on his face, was still struggling for words with which to annihilate him when Lady Aurelia intervened, saying calmly: “No doubt you are right. Indeed, I see no reason to expect the young man before dinnertime.”

“Oh, you don’t, ma’am?” said his lordship, abandoning Claud for a worthier prey. “Then let me tell you that my orders to Lissett were that the fellow should be sent off post not an instant later than eight o’clock! He will have to learn that when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed to the letter!”

“It seems reasonable to prophesy that he will,” remarked Vincent, as the door shut with a decided slam behind his lordship.

“Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Darracott. “Since your grandfather seems to want him, I do wish he hadn’t chosen to be late! I can’t help feeling that we shall have a very uncomfortable evening.”

By twenty minutes to six, the Major still not having arrived, my lord was in a mood of cold rage, as surly (as Claud confided to Richmond) as a butcher’s dog. The ladies of the party had not yet come down from their- respective bedchambers, but the gentlemen had prudently changed their dress in good time, and dutifully assembled in the Green Saloon, My lord tugged the bell-rope, his brow black, and upon the butler’s coming into the room, told him that dinner was to be served punctually at six o’clock.

“Very good, my lord,” Chollacombe said, “but—”

“You heard me!”

It was apparent from Chollacombe’s raised head, and straining expression, that he had also heard something else. He said: “Yes, my lord. But I fancy that the Major has arrived.”

“Bring him in here immediately!” commanded his lordship.

Chollacombe bowed, and left the room, carefully shutting the door. An indistinguishable murmur of voices penetrated to the saloon, as though an argument had sprang

“Wants to change his dress first,” said Claud, explaining the pause, and nodding wisely. “Very