The Unknown Ajax

his groom, his lordship commanded Hugo to accompany him back to the house. “I’ve a good deal to say to you,” he informed him. “I’ll see you in the library after breakfast.”

Few members of his family would have sat down to breakfast with much appetite after such a pronouncement as this, but although a slightly wary expression came into Hugo’s eyes his appetite remained unimpaired, and he was soon consuming an extremely hearty meal. The fact that his cousin Anthea had chosen to seat herself on the opposite side of the table troubled him not at all. Glancing dispassionately at her, he was able to verify his first impression that she was a pretty girl, with remarkably fine eyes, and a good deal of countenance. It seemed a pity that she should be so cold and inanimate when a little vivacity would have done so much to improve her.

Neither Vincent nor Claud was an early riser, and each incurred censure for walking into the breakfast parlour when the meal was nearly over. Vincent, never in his sunniest mood before breakfast, furiously resented the scold he received, but betrayed this only by his thinned lips and a certain glitter in his eyes. Claud, on the other hand, was unwise enough to excuse himself. Owing to the stupidity of his man, the carelessness of the laundress, and the inexplicable whims of Fate, which decreed that although one might sometimes achieve a desired result at the first attempt, at others success would elude one until one was exhausted, it had taken him three quarters of an hour to tie his neckcloth. The style he had chosen was the Mailcoach, and as it was as bulky as it was wide, he bore all the appearance of having bound a compress round a sore throat, as his brother took care to inform him.

“Jack-at-warts!” said his lordship bitterly.

Everyone waited for him to develop this theme, but he said no more, merely staring fixedly at Claud under such lowering brows that that unfortunate exquisite became so much discomposed that he took an unwary gulp of tea and scalded his mouth,

“I have it!” suddenly announced his lordship, grimly triumphant. “I’ll set you to work!”

“Eh?” ejaculated Claud, alarmed.

“You are a Bartholomew baby, a park-saunterer, a good-for-nothing Jack Straw!” said his fond grandfather.

“Well, I shouldn’t put it like that myself, sir,” said Claud, “but I daresay you’re right. Well, what I mean is, no use setting me to work: I couldn’t!”

“A smock-faced wag-feather!” pursued my lord inexorably. “Your only talent is for alamodality!”

“Well, there you are, sir!” Claud pointed out.

“A certain sort of something!” mocked Vincent.

“That’s what I’ll turn to good account!” said his lordship. “You can teach Hugh how to pass himself off with credit! Give him a new touch! Rid him of that damned brogue! You don’t know much, but you’ve moved in the first circles all your life, and you do know the established mode!”

“Father! Really—!” Matthew exclaimed.

“Cousin Hugo doesn’t need any touch that Claud could give him!” declared Richmond, scarlet-faced.

Hugo, who had continued throughout this embarrassing dialogue to eat his way through several slices of cold beef, looked up from his plate to smile amiably, and to say, with a marked Yorkshire drawl: “Nay, I’d be fain to learn how to support the character of a gentleman. I’ve a fancy to be up to the knocker, and I’ll be well-suited to be put in the way of it. And I should think,” he added handsomely, “that our Claud could teach me better nor most.”

“Exactly so!” said Vincent. “An assinego may tutor thee!”

“To support the character of a gentleman!” exclaimed Anthea, unexpectedly entering the lists. “In this house, cousin, unless you will be content with my brother, you will search in vain for a model!”

“You keep your tongue, miss!” said his lordship, without any particular animosity.

“Anthea, pray—!” whispered Mrs. Darracott.

“Oh, have you changed your mind?” asked Vincent, levelling his quizzing-glass at Anthea. A provocative smile curled his lip; he said silkily: “Shall the elephant Ajax carry it thus, my sweet life?”

Her eyes blazed, and Hugo, considerably surprised, intervened, saying in his deep, slow voice: “Nay then! Don’t fratch over me! I don’t know what I’m to carry, but I’m agreeable to be called an elephant: it won’t be for the first time! They call me Gog Darracott in the regiment, but when I was a lad it was more often that great lump! There’s no need for any fuss and clart on my account; I’ve a broad back.”

“It must at all events be acknowledged that you have an amiable temper,” said Matthew, pushing back his chair. “You will excuse me, Elvira, if you please! I must go up to see how her ladyship does. She passed an indifferent night, and has the headache this morning.”

Mrs. Darracott replied suitably, and Matthew left the room. He was shortly followed by Lord Darracott, who went away, commanding Hugo not to keep him waiting. Hugh, who had just received his third cup of tea from Mrs. Darracott, said that he would follow him when he had finished his breakfast, a reply which struck Claud as being so foolhardy that he was moved to utter an earnest warning. “Better go at once!” he said. “No sense in putting him in a bad skin, coz! Very likely to regret it!”

“Nay, what could he do to me?” said Hugo, dropping sugar into his cup.

“That you will discover,” said Vincent dryly. “You will also discover the pains and penalties that attach to the position of heir.”

“Happen I’ve discovered a few already,” drawled Hugo.

Claud coughed delicately. “Rather fancy you mean perhaps, coz!”

“Ay, so I do!” agreed Hugo. “I’m much obliged to you.”

“The spectacle of Claud entering upon his new duties, though not unamusing, is not one which I can support at this hour of the day,” said Vincent. “Do you mind postponing any further tuition until I have withdrawn from the room?”

“Ah!” retorted Claud, with an odious smirk. “You’re piqued because m’grandfather didn’t ask you to hint Hugh into the proper mode!”

This quite failed to ruffle Vincent. “He did,” he answered. “I was persuaded, however, that it would prove to be a task beyond my poor power, and declined the office.” He saw that, while his target remained unmoved, Richmond was looking at him with a troubled frown between his eyes. He smiled slightly at the boy, and said, as he rose from the table: “What I am going to do is to teach Richmond how to point his leaders.”

Richmond had been shocked by Vincent’s conduct, but this was an invitation not to be resisted. His brow cleared; he jumped up, exclaiming: “No! Do you mean it? You’re not hoaxing me, are you?”

“No, but perhaps I should have said I mean to try to teach you.”

“Brute!” Richmond said, laughing. He thought he saw how to turn this cut to good account, and said ingenuously: “Vincent is always out of reason cross before breakfast, Cousin Hugo! Snaps all our noses off!”

“Well, if you ask me,” said Claud, as soon as the door was shut again, “he’s got a devilish nasty tongue in his head any hour of the day! Takes after the old gentleman.” He looked at his large cousin, and shook his head. “You may think it’s a fine thing to be the heir: got a strong notion m’father liked it pretty well, too. All I can say is, I’m dashed glad I’m not. Y’know, coz, if you’ve finished your tea, I’d as lief you went off to see what m’grandfather wants. There’s no saying but what he may blame me for it if you keep him waiting.”

Thus adjured, Hugh went in search of Lord Darracott, and found him (after peeping into three empty saloons) seated at his desk in the library. There was a pen in his hand, but the ink had dried on it, and he was staring absently out of the bay window. He turned his head when he heard the door open, and said: “Oh, so here you are! Shut the door, and come over here! You can take that chair, if it will bear you!”

It cracked, but gave no sign of immediate collapse under Hugo’s weight, so he disposed himself comfortably in it, crossed one booted leg over the other, and awaited his grandfather’s pleasure with every outward semblance of placidity.

For several moments his lordship said nothing; but sat looking at him morosely. “You don’t favour your father!” he said at last.

“No,” agreed the Major.

“Well, I daresay you’re none the worse for that! You are his son: there’s no doubt about it!” He put down his pen, and pushed aside the papers on his desk, something in the gesture seeming to indicate that with them he was pushing aside his memories. “Got to make the best of it!” he said. “When I’m booked, you’ll step into my shoes. I don’t mean to wrap the matter up in clean linen, and I’ll tell you to your head that that’s not what I wanted, or ever