The Unknown Ajax

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘Yes, love,’ said Hugo, smiling very kindly at her. ‘I know right enough, but happen you’d better not say it!’

  ‘Oh, no! It sounds most improper! I wouldn’t say it to anyone but – Hugo, how dare you call me love?’

  ‘Did I do that?’ he asked incredulously.

  ‘You know very well you did! What is more, it is by far more improper than anything I said!’

  ‘It must have slipped out,’ said Hugo feebly. ‘It’s a common expression in the north!’

  ‘Like lass, no doubt! And if you think, sir, that just because I grew fagged to death with telling you not to call me that, you are at liberty to call me anything else that comes into your head –’

  ‘No, ma’am,’ he intervened hastily. He shook his head in self-condemnation. ‘I wasn’t minding my tongue. The instant our Claud’s not by to give me a nudge it’s down with my apple-cart again! Eh, but it’s downright disheartening!’

  ‘And d-don’t call me m-ma’am either!’ said Anthea, in a hopelessly unsteady voice.

  He heaved a disconsolate sigh. ‘I thought it would please you – Cousin Anthea!’

  ‘You did not! You are an abominable person, Hugo! You’ve done nothing but make a May-game of us all ever since you set foot inside the house, while as for the whiskers you tell – !’

  ‘Not whiskers, Cousin Anthea!’ he pleaded.

  ‘Whiskers!’ she repeated firmly. ‘Besides acting the dunce –’

  ‘Nay, I was always a terrible gawky!’

  ‘– and talking broad Yorkshire on the least provocation!’

  ‘But I told you how it is with me!’

  ‘You did! You said you couldn’t help but do so whenever you are scared, and if that wasn’t a whisker I never heard one! Well! If you spent your time hoaxing them all in your regiment I shouldn’t wonder at it if you were compelled to sell out!’ said Anthea, nodding darkly.

  ‘Worse!’ said the woebegone sinner before her. ‘I was hoping you wouldn’t discover it, but there! I might have known –’

  ‘Hugo – ! You – you –’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, Cousin Anthea?’

  ‘Where did you go to school?’ demanded Anthea sternly.

  ‘That’s a long time ago,’ he objected. ‘There’s so much has happened to me since then –’

  ‘More whiskers!’ said Anthea, casting up her eyes.

  ‘Well, it was – it was a school not so very far from London,’ he disclosed, looking sheepish.

  ‘Eton?’

  ‘Nay, lass!’ he exclaimed, shocked. ‘What would I have been doing at a place like that?’

  ‘Wearing your tutor to death, I should think. But now I come to think of it I know you can’t have been at Eton, for you must have met Vincent there. Harrow?’

  He looked at her for a moment, and then grinned, and nodded.

  ‘And why have you told no one that you were there?’

  ‘Well, no one asked me,’ he replied. ‘If it comes to that, Claud hasn’t told me he was at Eton!’

  ‘No, but he hasn’t done his best to make you think he was educated at a charity school!’

  ‘Now, what have I ever said –’

  ‘Hugo, you deliberately tried to talk like your groom! They cannot have allowed you to do so at Harrow!’

  He smiled. ‘No, but I was very broad in my speech before I went there, and I had it in my ears in the holidays, so that I’ve never really lost it. My grandfather – not this one! –’

  ‘I know!’ she interpolated. ‘T’gaffer!’

  There was an appreciative twinkle in his eye. ‘Ay, t’gaffer! Well, he spoke good Yorkshire all his life, but I got skelped for doing it – being Quality-make! But I do use Yorkshire expressions now-and-now – when the occasion calls for them! And in the regiment – cutting a joke, you know!’

  ‘Yes, I understand that! Like Richmond saying things in the broadest Sussex – he does it beautifully, and so did Oliver! Only Grandpapa disliked it, and made them stop doing it. He said it would get to be a habit, and I must own it became very tedious. But you, Hugo, talked Yorkshire to hoax us!’

  ‘It wasn’t exactly that,’ he said. ‘I’d no notion of hoaxing anybody when I came here, but when I saw the way you were all of you pretty well expecting me to eat with my knife – eh, lass, I couldn’t resist!’

  ‘How anyone who looks as you do can be so mad-brained – !’ she marvelled. ‘If ever I hear of you in Newgate I shall know you owed your downfall to a prank you couldn’t resist going into full-fling!’

  ‘I’ll be lucky if it’s no worse,’ he said pessimistically. ‘Granddad was used to say I’d end on the gallows, all for the sake of cutting a joke. Mind you, I didn’t think to find myself in the suds over this, because I hadn’t been in the house above an hour before I was wondering how soon I could escape! I’d no more notion of remaining here than of flying to the moon.’

  ‘What will you do?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, I’ll bring myself home!’ he said cheerfully.

  ‘You do mean to remain, then?’

  ‘If I get what I want.’

  ‘The Dower House?’

  ‘Nay, that’s a small matter! I’ll tell you what it is one of these days, but I’m not so very sure I can get it yet, so happen I’ll do best to keep it to myself.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t tell anyone!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘The thing is you might say I’d no hope of getting it,’ he explained. An odd little smile came into his eyes as he saw her puzzled frown. ‘I’d be all dashed down in a minute,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That would never do!’

  Thirteen

  If the Major did not succeed in wholly reconciling Mrs Darracott to Richmond’s expedition, he did contrive, with the aid of much tact and patience, to convince her that to protest against it would only serve to make Richmond feel that he was tied to her apron-strings. Perceiving from her suddenly thoughtful expression that he had struck home, he enlarged gently upon this theme; but it soon became apparent that while she could be persuaded to agree (with a sigh) that Richmond must be allowed to spread his wings, any suggestion that she should support his ambition to enter upon a military career threw her instantly on the defensive. In a rush of volubility, she explained why this was not to be thought of, her reasons ranging over a wide field which began with the delicacy of Richmond’s constitution, and ended with the clinching statement that Lord Darracott would not hear of it. Not being one (as he himself phrased it) to fling his cap after lost causes, he let the matter rest, devoting his energies instead to the task of soothing her fear that Vincent was imbued with a sinister determination to corrupt the morals of his young cousin. To do this without setting up her back by the least hint that few things would bore Vincent more than to be obliged to sponsor Richmond into his own or any other social circle called for no little ingenuity; and it spoke volumes for Hugo’s adroit handling of the situation that Mrs Darracott should later have told her daughter that no one would ever know what a comfort dear Hugo was to her. She added that he was like a son to her; and, upon Anthea’s objecting that only fifteen years lay between them, replied, with great dignity, that in mediæval times it would not have been considered remarkable had she become a mother at an even earlier age.

  So Richmond was allowed to set forth for Sevenoaks with no other manifestation of maternal concern than a few injunctions to be sure that his bed at the Crown had been well aired before he got between possibly damp sheets; to wrap himself up while watching the fight (because however warm he might suppose himself to be nothing could be more depended upon to give him a chill than sitting about in the open air); to go to bed in good time; to remember that buttered crab and roast pork were alike fatal to his digestion; to resist any attempts made by persons unnamed to lead him into excess; to be careful always to have a clean handkerchief in his pocket; and, finally
, not to forget to thank his cousin for the treat.

  Blithely promising to bear all these sensible instructions in mind, Richmond kissed his anxious parent farewell, climbed up into the phaeton, and proceeded without loss of time to forget all about them. However, as he returned two days later not a penny the worse for his hazardous adventure, Mrs Darracott remained in ignorance of his perfidy, and was even able (though with the utmost reluctance) to give Vincent credit for having taken every care of the delicate treasure entrusted to his charge.

  Meanwhile, the absence of his two favourites left Lord Darracott with no other male companion (for Claud could not be said to count) than his heir: a circumstance which prevailed upon him not only to take Hugo on a tour of his estates, but also to embark on the disagreeable task of putting him in possession of a great many financial details which he would have preferred to have kept to himself. Treading warily, Hugo listened, and made few comments. His lordship would have been furious had he demanded explanations, which, since the estate was settled, he had every right to do; but when Hugo asked no question that could be construed as criticism he was not in the least grateful for this forbearance, but bitterly contemptuous, informed Lady Aurelia later that he did not know what he had done to be cursed with a blubberheaded commoner for his heir. She could have furnished him with several reasons, but she remained true to her traditions, hearing him out in high-bred silence, and merely remarking, at the end of his tirade, that for her part she did not consider Major Darracott to be at all deficient in understanding, however meagre might be his scholastic attainments.

  The Major emerged from these sessions with his grandsire undismayed, and with one object attained: my lord’s steward had been formally presented to him, and he had been advised to ask this melancholy individual to furnish him with such further information as he might desire.

  Glossop, regarding the neophyte without enthusiasm, said, with mechanical civility, that he would be happy to be of service to him. Hugo responded with equal civility and even less enthusiasm, his own observations having given him the poorest opinion of Mr Glossop’s capability. It was not long, however, before each discovered that he had done the other less than justice. The steward’s laodicean attitude arose not from ineptitude but from despair; and the Major’s ignorance was offset by a shrewdness which awoke in Glossop’s breast a faint gleam of hope that the repairs and improvements he had long since ceased to urge upon Lord Darracott might some day be undertaken.

  The return of Vincent and Richmond from Sevenoaks coincided with the arrival at Darracott Place of Crimplesham’s nephew. He was a solemn-eyed and conscientious young man, the eldest of a numerous family. His mother, a widow of long-standing, sped him on his way with anxious exhortations to prove himself worthy of her dear brother’s exceeding kindness; his uncle received him with rather stronger exhortations to the same effect; and by the time he was conducted to his new master’s presence he was so nervous that he could hardly speak. The Major’s size did nothing to soothe his alarm, nor did his uncle’s introductory speech add to his self-esteem. No one could have gathered from it that he had the smallest pretension to call himself a valet. His uncle trusted that the Major would make allowance for his lack of experience; and the best he seemed able to say of him was that he believed him to be honest and hardworking. It would not have surprised the unhappy young man if the Major had then and there dismissed him; but the Major dismissed Crimplesham instead, which did something to restore his sinking spirits. Upon being asked his name, he said: ‘Ferring, sir,’ and ventured to raise his eyes to his employer’s face. The Major smiled kindly, and said: ‘Eh, don’t look so dejected! If your uncle’s spoken the truth about you, we’ll deal very well together. I don’t want a valet who will try to turn me into a Bond Street Beau, and I don’t want a dry-nurse either. You’ll keep my gear in good order, and make yourself useful in a general way, but you won’t shave me, or brush my hair for me, and if I find you waiting up to put me to bed we’ll fall out!’

  Ferring grinned shyly at him, and said that he would do his best to give satisfaction. By the time he had laid out the Major’s evening-dress, hauled off his boots, helped him out of his coat, and rendered him as much assistance in dressing as he would accept, he had registered a silent vow to exert himself to the utmost in his determination to make himself indispensable to a master who seemed to him to approach very nearly to the ideal. When he went down to the Servants’ Hall he was blissfully looking forward to an honourable and comfortable future; and when his formidable uncle yielded precedence to him at the table his cup almost overflowed. He was a modest young man, and would willingly have taken the lowliest place, but when Mrs Flitwick invited him to a seat beside her, opposite no less a personage than Grooby, his lordship’s own valet, he realized that he had leapt magically into a position of consequence, and his elation was only tempered by regret that his mother was not present to see his triumph.

  He would have been distressed had he known what heartburnings his elevation had caused his uncle to suffer, for he was deeply grateful to him. It had not occurred to Crimplesham, when he recommended Ferring to the Major, that he was placing his nephew above himself; and when the odious Polyphant had maliciously pointed this circumstance out to him his first impulse had been to claim precedence over Ferring on the score of their relationship. But however lax they might be in the dining-room, in the Hall the hierarchy was strictly observed. There could be no question that the heir’s valet ranked above Mr Vincent’s, and Crimplesham was a stickler on points of etiquette. Moreover, although he had no doubt that Ferring would yield precedence to him, he had also no doubt that he would yield it to Polyphant too. Having weighed the matter carefully, he decided that the most dignified course for him to pursue, and the one that would most annoy his rival, would be to insist on Ferring’s going before him, with a smile that would indicate at once appreciation of a humorous situation, and sublime indifference to his own position at the board. Having carried out this programme, he had the consolation of knowing that he had not only annoyed Polyphant, but had disappointed him as well. This was satisfactory, and even more so was the very proper way Ferring responded to several spiteful remarks addressed to him by Polyphant. He was civil, as became his years, but his smile was abstracted, conveying the irritating impression that his mind was otherwhere. This happened to be the exact truth, but as Crimplesham did not know it he continued to be very well pleased with him, and even suspected that the boy had more intelligence than he had hitherto supposed.

  By the end of the week, Ferring had completely identified himself with the Major’s interests, and had consolidated his position by winning the qualified approval of John Joseph, who informed his master somewhat grudgingly that the lad was better nor like, and (although born south of the Trent, which was to be deplored) certainly preferable to the Major’s late bâtman: a hapless creature, to whom John Joseph referred as that gauming, clouterly gobbin we had wi’ us in Spain.

  The Major let this pass. He was seated on a horse-block, smoking a cigarillo, a circumstance that prompted John Joseph to inform him that it was a favourite perch of Miss Anthy’s. ‘Ee, she’s a floutersome lass!’ he said, with a dry chuckle, and a wag of his grizzled head. ‘Eyeable, too,’ he added, with a sidelong glance at Hugo.

  The Major let this pass too, his countenance immovable. After a pause, John Joseph asked bluntly: ‘What’s tha bahn to do, Mester Hugo? Tha knows I’m not one to frump, but chance it happens tha’s framing to bide here I winna be so very well suited.’

  ‘No, I’m thinking I might set up for myself at the Dower House,’ said the Major.

  ‘Nay then! By what that slamtrash that lives there tells me, it’s flue-full of boggarts!’

  ‘Oh, so he’s been telling you ghost-stories too, has he? Tell me now, John Joseph, what do you think of him?’

  ‘He’s a reet hellion!’ replied John Joseph promptly. ‘Ee, Mester Hugo, what gaes on here? Seck a meedl
ess set they are in these parts as I never saw! Ay, and not to take pack-thread, sir, t’gaffer up yonder –’ he jerked his thumb in the direction of the house – ‘nigh as bad as the rest! Sithee, tha knows t’Blue Lion, Mester Hugo?’

  Hugo nodded. ‘Yes, I know it: it’s the inn in the village. Well?’

  ‘I’ve been there whiles, playing off my dust, and neighbouring wi’ t’tapper. Seemingly there’s some kind of scuggery afoot at that Dower House.’

  ‘Smuggling?’

  ‘Ay, that’s what I think mysen, nor it wouldn’t surprise me. There’s nowt ’ud surprise me in these flappy, slibber-slabber south-country folk! I’d be reet fain to be shut of every Jack rag of ’em! Hooseever, that’s not to be, so no use naffing. Mester Hugo, if tha’s shaping to wink at smuggling, like t’rest o’ t’gentry hereabouts –’

  ‘Don’t be a clodhead, John Joseph! Are the Preventives still suspicious of Spurstow? I know they had dragoons watching the Dower House, but I was told they never had sight or sound of run goods being carried into it.’

  ‘Nor they hadn’t, sir, but when t’new young gadger came into these ungodly parts he got it into his head, seemingly, that uncustomed goods were being brung up from t’coast and stored in t’Dower House. They run t’boats in pick-nights, and mun store t’goods until t’moon’s up. They carry ’em on to London then. By what t’tapper’s let fall – and a reet clash-me-saunter he is when he gets to be nazy, which he does at-after he’s swallowed nobbut a driver’s pint! – there’s hidden ways hereabouts. Leastways, that’s what they call ’em, but they’re nobbut t’owd roads, sunk-like.’

  ‘Is there a watch kept on moonlight nights, to see if anything is taken out of the house?’