The Unknown Ajax (19 page)

“Five hundred,” supplied Richmond. “And they used to have regular battles with rival gangs!”

“They indulged in far worse practices than that, my boy,” said Matthew dryly, “Yes, I know—murdering people, and torturing any they thought had informed against them—horrid! It went on for years, too. I wish I had been alive then!”

“Wish you’d been alive then?” echoed Claud. The height of his collar made it impossible for him to turn his head, so he was obliged to slew his body round in his chair to obtain a view of Richmond, seated beside him. “Well, of all the jingle-brained things to say!” “No, because only think what sport it would have been! None of us—

I don’t mean only ourselves, but everyone like us!—seems to have made the least push to get the better of the gang, and of course the Government did nothing but what was paltry, but I’ll swear the country people only wanted someone to lead them! Arms, too, but we could have supplied them with arms, and made them into—what do you call those irregular troops that fought in Spain, Hugo?”

“Guerrilleros,” Hugo responded, regarding him with a lurking twinkle. “So that’s what you’d have enjoyed, is it?”

Richmond blushed, but his eyes still glowed. “Well, you must own it—it would have been something like!”

Hugo shook his head. “Nay, lad, what it would have been like is something you’ve never seen.”

“Oh, you mean burning ricks, and laying the country waste, but that wouldn’t happen! I daresay the gang would have tried to burn our houses, but we should have kept watch—yes, and laid ambushes, too!” “Well, if that’s your notion of comfort it ain’t mine!” said Claud. “Dashed if I don’t think you’ve got windmills in your head!”

Lord Darracott thrust back his chair, and rose. “I wish to hear no more from any of you!” he said harshly. “I don’t know which puts me the more out of patience, Hugh’s damned morality, or your nonsense, Richmond! Matthew, I want a word with you! The rest of you may join the ladies.”

He then stalked out of the room, and Vincent, getting up, said: “That I take to be a command. Shall we go?”

His lordship was not seen again that evening, but shortly before the tea-tray was brought in Matthew joined the drawing-room party, all of whom, with the exception of Vincent, who was absent, were gathered round a card-table. As Matthew entered the room, his wife laid her hand face upwards on the table, to the accompaniment of a chorus of indignant protests, which she acknowledged with a small, triumphant smile.

“Dash it, Mama, that makes it five times you’ve looed the board!” “Oh, Aurelia, you wretch!”

“Aunt! That was my forlorn hope! You’ve left me without a feather to fly with!” “Well! you are all very merry!” said Matthew. “Silver-loo, eh?”

“No, copper-loo, sir,” replied Richmond. “We were too fly to be hooked in to play silver-loo with my aunt!”

“Aha! so you have been physicking them, have you, my dear?”

“I should rather think she has!” said Claud. “If she don’t loo the board outright, you may depend upon it she holds Pam!”

“Except when Hugo has it! Hugo, if you’ve saved your groats again—!” “No, not this time. My luck is nothing to her ladyship’s. Do you always hold such cards, ma’am?”

“I am, in general, very fortunate,” said Lady Aurelia. She gathered up her fan and her reticule, and said graciously: “Well, that was very diverting! You would have stared, I daresay, Matthew, had you seen us being so foolish, and cutting such jokes!” Matthew had never known his wife to cut jokes, or to behave foolishly, but he accepted this without a blink, saying that he was glad she had been so well entertained. He then looked round the room, and asked, with a slight frown, what had become of Vincent. To this she replied with majestic unconcern that she had no notion, but it was to be inferred from the subsequent folding of her lips that she was displeased.

“Begged to be excused,” said Claud. “Beneath his touch to play copper-loo.” “Stupid fellow!” Matthew said, his frown deepening.

He did not mention Vincent again until he was alone with Lady Aurelia. He found her ladyship attired in a voluminous dressing-gown, reading a volume of sermons, as was her invariable custom, while her maid brushed her hair. She raised her eyes, and after a moment’s dispassionate study of his face, placed a marker in her book, laid it down, and dismissed the maid.

“Well, Matthew?”

He was fidgeting about the room, and at first seemed to have nothing of much moment to say; but after making several desultory remarks, to which she responded with accustomed patience, he disclosed the real purpose of his visit by saying that he wished she would speak to Vincent.

“It would be useless,” she replied.

“He is behaving abominably!” Matthew said angrily. “I am vexed to death! If anyone has a right to resent Hugh’s presence it is I—though I trust I have too much dignity to conduct myself towards him as Vincent does! It is a fortunate circumstance that Hugh is a muttonhead, and doesn’t know when Vincent is cutting at him, but sooner or later Vincent will go too far, and a pretty uproar there will be!”

“I do not consider Hugh a muttonhead, nor do I think he is unaware of Vincent’s hostility.” He stared at her. “I cannot imagine why you should say so, ma’am! For my part, he seems to me little better than a dummy! It is always so with these clumsy giants: beefwitted! When I think of the future—that oaf in my father’s shoes!—I declare I don’t know how to support my spirits! But as for coming the ugly, as Vincent does—Upon my word, he will be well served if Hugh does take offence! That is—” he paused, looking harassed, but Lady Aurelia said nothing, and after a minute he burst out with the true cause of his anxiety. “I do not conceal from you, Aurelia, that my mind misgives me! There is no saying what might come of it, if a quarrel were to spring up between those two! Vincent is capable of anything: he is my father over again!”

She considered this calmly, before saying: “There is a want of conduct in him that vexes me very much, but I cannot suppose that he would go so far as to force such a quarrel upon his cousin as I collect you have in mind, my dear Matthew.”

It was what he had in mind, but he exclaimed instantly: “Good God, I hope not indeed! It does not bear thinking of!” He took a hasty turn about the room. “I wish I knew what to do for the best! I don’t understand Vincent: I have frequently been shocked by the reckless things he will do. His temper, too! Then the feeling he seems to have for this place: one would imagine he had always expected to inherit it, but that is absurd! And—But I will not say all I feel upon this occasion!”

“You are afraid that Vincent may force a duel on his cousin,” she said relentlessly. “I cannot think it possible. If he did so, it could only be with the intention of putting a period to Hugh’s life, and that, my dear sir, would be such an infamous act as I am persuaded no son of ours would be capable of performing.”

“No, no, of course not!” he said. “Good God, I should hope—Aurelia, my father told me this evening that he wishes Vincent to remain here for a week or two! I had had no notion that anything like that was in the air, and I cannot like it. I ventured to suggest to my father that it would be wiser to let Vincent go, but you know what he is! He will never listen to one word of advice. Indeed, he is becoming so—However, I do not mean to discuss that! But I don’t deny that I am excessively uneasy, and could almost wish it were not necessary for me to be in London next week. However little intention Vincent may have of bringing things to a—a fatal conclusion, I cannot rid myself of the apprehension that a quarrel might flare up; and I do not scruple to tell you, ma’am, that I do not feel that any dependence may be placed on my father’s nipping anything of that nature in the bud. In fact, the suspicion flashed across my mind—But that’s nonsense, of course! You will not regard it, I beg!”

“Certainly not,” she replied. “I believe you are overanxious, and although I place no more reliance than you do upon your father’s behaving as he ought I am strongly of the opinion that we may place every reliance on Major Hugh Darracott’s good sense. Of the amiability of his disposition even you can have no doubt. I have observed him narrowly, and have been agreeably surprised. He is a man of principle; his temper is equable; his manners perfectly gentlemanlike and unaffected. The only fault I perceive in him is a tendency to levity, but—” “Levity?” broke in Matthew.

“If it escaped your notice, my dear sir, that his atrocious brogue overcame him only when it had been made deplorably plain to him that his family held him in contempt, I can only say that it did not escape mine.”

“You mean to tell me—No, I don’t believe it! He slips into it when he forgets to guard his tongue! If he is shamming it—Well, upon my word, what infernal impudence!” “I am no friend to levity, but I cannot but acknowledge that in taking his family’s hostility in good part he showed himself to be a man of considerable forbearance,” said her ladyship repressively.

He coloured, and looked discomfited. Lady Aurelia, satisfied that her words had gone home, continued in precisely the same composed tone: “As to Vincent, though I do not anticipate any such issue as you have suggested, I daresay it would be wiser for me to remain at Darracott Place, instead of returning with you to Mount Street.” His expression changed to one of relief. “Should you dislike it, ma’am? I own, I should be easier in my mind, for although you may say Vincent does not listen to you, I am tolerably certain that while you are at hand he will take care to keep within bounds. But I don’t mean to press you: it is not an object with my father to make his guests comfortable!” “My dear sir, I hope my mind is stronger than you believe it to be! I do not suffer from an excess of sensibility. I have never allowed your father’s odd humours to sink my spirits, and it would be a strange thing if I did so now, after nearly thirty years. I am perfectly willing to remain, particularly so because Elvira has twice expressed her wish that I should stay to support her through this very awkward time.”

“Ay, no doubt she must be dreading your departure! I hadn’t thought of that, but I promise you I pity her with all my heart! She is thrown into high fidgets by no more than a rough word from my father. If she could school herself to be a little less in alt she would go on better with him, but her understanding I have never thought superior. I only wish you may not find it a bore to be continually with her!”

“You may be easy on that head. We have the habit of easy intercourse, and if she has little force of mind she is always so good-natured and attentive that you need entertain no fears that I shall not be comfortable.”

With these words, Lady Aurelia picked up her book again, and Matthew, interpreting this as a sign that the audience was at an end, imprinted a salute upon her cheek, and took himself off to his own room.

Hugo, meanwhile, had been strolling up and down the terrace, and enjoying the solace of one of his forbidden cigars. His countenance was thoughtful; and when he presently sat down on the parapet there was the hint of a crease between his brows. He remained there for some little time, staring abstractedly before him; but presently some small sound caught his attention, and he turned his head to look searchingly across the shadowed garden below. The moonlight was faint, obscured by broken clouds, but he was able to discern a vague figure striding across the lawn towards the house. He remained motionless, and in another minute or two recognized Vincent. It was not until Vincent had reached the foot of the shallow stone steps that he perceived his cousin. He paused, looking up, and said: “Ah! Ajax! Taking the air, or is it possible you were waiting for me?”

“Just blowing a cloud,” replied Hugo, lifting his hand to show the butt of the cigar between his fingers.

“A filthy habit—if you don’t object to my saying so?” “Nay, why should I?”

Vincent mounted the steps leisurely. “Who am I to instruct you? I daresay you know why you should not, at all events.”

“Oh, yes, I know that!” Hugo said serenely.

“Your compliance is only equalled by your amiability—and I find both insupportable.” “There’s no need to tell me that. I’m sorry for it, but happen you’d find me insupportable whatever I did.”

“Almost undoubtedly. I find virtue a dead bore. I have very little myself. I don’t know how it is, but the virtuous are invariably dull, which I can’t bring myself to pardon.” Hugo’s deep chuckle sounded. “Nay then! You’re trying to hoax me! To think of you calling me virtuous! You’ll have me blushing like a lass!” He pitched the butt of his cigar into one of the flowerbeds below. When he turned again towards Vincent he spoke in a different tone, and with less than his usual drawl. “Sithee, Vincent! Squaring with me won’t help either of us. I’d be very well suited if you were in my shoes, but there’s no way of bringing that about, and naught for either of us to do but make the best of it.”

“Yes, you wrote as much to my grandfather, didn’t you?” Vincent said. “A mistake! It didn’t turn him up sweet at all. He’s a hard man to gammon, and that, you know, was doing it much too brown.”

Hugo heaved a despairing sigh. “You’re as daft as he is! I can understand that you should think it a grand thing to inherit all this, for you’ve known it your life long, and I don’t doubt it’s home to you. It’s not home to me, and why any of you should have got it stuck in your heads that I’d want to be saddled with a place that’s falling to ruin I’ll be damned if I know!” “To you, I feel sure, it must seem a sad, rubbishing place—almost a hovel, in fact!” “Nay, I didn’t mean to offend you! It’s a fine old house, but it’s like everything else I’ve seen: there’s been no brass spent on it for many a day, and it’ll take a mountain of brass to set it to rights. As for the land, I’ve a notion there’s something more than brass needed, and that’s better management. I can see I’ll have a hard job on, and one to which I wasn’t bred. Eh, it’s more like a millstone tied round my neck than a honey-fall!”