“It is a possibility, my lord: I do not say a probability.”
“This is all quite ridiculous,” said my Lord Barham. “Moreover I am becoming weary of it. I bring you papers, and you say I stole them. I show you where I hid my own portrait, years ago, and you say I was told of it. I show you a ring, and you say I stole that. What a pity it is I have no birthmarks! Or would you say that I had stolen them as well? It is a very good thing that I brought my friend Mr. Fontenoy. And here is Mr. Clapperly as well may remember a little about me.”
“Vividly, sir.” Mr. Clapperly inclined his head.
“Then I am sure you will remember the circumstances of my departure, all those years ago?”
“I do, sir.”
“Then I beg you will correct me if I should err in my tale. It is quite short.” He offered snuff to Clevedale. “My own mixture, Clevedale. You will like it. Well, gentlemen, you know that I was never at one with my father: he could not appreciate the genius that was in me. I disliked my brother only less than he disliked me. He hated me, I believe, but he would not have chosen to set you in my shoes, cousin, in spite of it. He was, after all, a Tremaine. I was no doubt a wild youth. I can remember incidents here and there—but no matter. I overspent my allowance with amazing regularity. I shall be careful to put no limits to my son’s income. Then I committed the indiscretion of falling in love with a lady called Maria Banstead. She was the daughter of a farmer.”
“Near Barham,” nodded Mr. Clapperly.
My lord looked ironically across at him. “Your memory fails you, sir. Not in the least near Barham. She lived at Culverly, on the estate of my aunt Johanna’s husband. I was, I admit, young, and possibly hotheaded. But I have never regretted my marriage. An incomparable creature! I led her a sad dance I fear me. I eloped with her secretly, and went to France, just as soon as I heard that I had been thrown off by my indignant family. That is my story, gentlemen. Is it true?”
It was admitted to be true. My lord indicated the clerk with a wave of his hand. “Tell your clerk, Brent, to call my man in. He is in the hall.”
“Certainly, my lord. Go, Fawley.” It was the first time he had addressed my lord by his title and Rensley flushed as he heard him.
The clerk went out, and a moment later John stood in the doorway.
Everyone looked towards him, since it seemed he had been called for some special purpose. But my lord’s eyes were on Mrs. Staines’ face. “He does not change much with the passing of time, I believe,” he said.
Mrs. Staines was staring. The colour left her face, and she put up a hand to her ample bosom. “Johnny!” she faltered. “Oh, dearie, dearie, am I dreaming?”
Burton was incredulous. “It’s never our John!” he gasped. “Bless my soul, but it is really yourself, John?”
“Ay, it’s me,” John said grimly and sustained the shock of having his sister cast herself on his chest. “Well, Maggie, how do you, eh? Remember where you are, lass!”
Mrs. Staines was quite oblivious of her surroundings. “Oh, Johnny, to think of you come back to us after all these years! Snakes, and I scarcely knew you, dearie, you’ve grown so grey! Sam, do you know your brother?”
Mr. Samuel Burton gripped Mr. John Burton’s hand. “Well, John!” was all he could find to say.
“Did you ever learn to master the bay mare?” John asked grinning.
It appeared to be an old jest. Samuel shook with laughter. “Lordy, John, to think you’d remember that! Ay, I was naught but a stripling then, and the mare the tricksiest piece—well, to think you’d remember!”
Surprise had held the others spellbound, but Mr. Brent recovered himself. “Mrs. Staines, do you recognise this man?”
“Oh, the legal mind!” murmured my lord.
“Why, of course I do, sir! It’s our John, who went off years ago soon after Master Robert.” She turned again to her brother. “And you’ve been with him all the time! Eh, and we never thought of it! But you was always saying you’d be off to Americky to try your fortune, Johnny, and we made sure you’d gone there.”
Mr. Brent put a question no one thought needful. “Is this gentleman Viscount Barham?” he said.
John looked scornful. “Ay, of course he is,” he answered. “Is there ever another would have that nose but a Tremaine?”
“You have been with him all these years?”
“I have, sir, and a pretty dance he’s led me.” John smiled grimly at my lord. “Many’s the time I’ve told his lordship I’d be off home again. But we Burtons have always served Tremaine.”
There was a long silence. Mr. Brent was slowly putting his papers together; Mr. Clapperly smiled knowingly at his son; Rensley stood staring at the floor.
“Cousin,” said my lord. “I trust you are at last satisfied.”
“There is no more to be said, my lord,” said old Mr. Clapperly.
My lord picked up his hat. “In that case I will take my leave of you. I should like my house at the end of a week, if you please. Brent, you will make the arrangements necessary, and put my terms before Mr. Rensley. I hope he will not find me ungenerous. Clevedale, your arm!”
XXXI
The Honourable Robin Tremaine
People flocked to offer their congratulations to my Lord Barham, and to tell him how delighted they were that his claim—which they had always felt to be true—had been successfully proved. He received these visitors with his usual smile, and deprecated the suggestion that he had made a most handsome settlement on his cousin Rensley. How this news got about no one knew, for certainly Rensley said nothing about it. Rensley went abroad almost immediately, for his health.
