“His grandmother!”
Anthony’s temper, under control until now, at last burst forth. Seizing the secretary, he shook him like a terrier with a rat.
“His grandmother’s alive, Durrant,” he said, between clenched teeth, “and she’s not Mrs. Lathom! Ay, that’s set you back, hasn’t it?” he demanded, as he had the satisfaction of seeing the other man give a start of surprise. “Somerby found her at that hospital of his, and she gave him the whole true history of Rowland Carlton, otherwise Joe Baker! And now, b’God, I’m going to give you the thrashing you deserve, so look to yourself!”
Flinging Durrant away from him, he quickly peeled off his coat, then strode to the door and turned the key in the lock.
“You’re welcome to try, Shaldon, damn you!”
Durrant’s voice was still defiant as he, too, rapidly discarded his jacket.
For a moment the years rolled hack as they faced each other grimly. They were two schoolboys again, fighting as they had done in the wood at Alvington. Then it had been over a little girl’s toy, but now it was because of a man’s inheritance. In those days they had been evenly matched and their struggle had been inconclusive. But now, although still of an equal height and weight, Shaldon had something of the advantage. During the years that his opponent had spent sitting at a desk, he himself had been active in outdoor sports and a frequenter of Gentleman Jackson’s boxing academy in Bond Street.
This was no friendly sparring match, though, but deadly earnest. As blow after blow was exchanged, each fought with the impetus of his own particular fury — Durrant’s the venom of years of envy mixed with rage at his thwarted schemes, Anthony’s the wrath of an avenger.
“One satisfaction!” panted Durrant, as he dodged a powerful right. “There’s a pretty scandal!”
“Think I care for that?” retorted Anthony, scoring a bull’s eye this time on the other’s chin.
Durrant staggered, but remained upright, and was soon pressing in again with renewed vigour.
“Soon forgotten when the next gossip does the rounds,” finished Anthony, successfully parrying a series of blows aimed at his head.
He was less successful a moment later, when a glancing blow of Durrant’s caught him on the mouth, cutting his lip. Blood started, but he brushed it impatiently away with his left hand while his right went out with all the force of his weight behind it. The blow landed on Durrant’s temple and felled him.
He lay still.
Panting a little, Anthony bent over him for a moment. Then, reaching for a chair, he sat down until he had recovered his breath.
Presently Durrant stirred, looked vaguely about him, then sat up.
“A lucky hit,” he said, thickly.
“Perhaps.”
Anthony mopped his lip, which was still bleeding.
“The game’s up, now, Durrant, so you may as well tell me the part I don’t yet know. How did you come to choose this fellow Carlton for the imposture?”
“Saw him at Bartholomew Fair last August, in a play booth. Put me in mind of you because of his red thatch, although he don’t otherwise resemble you. Same age and height, though, which I recalled later.”
“I collect that when you gained possession of the box, you decided to abandon a genuine search for Mrs. Lathom?”
Durrant nodded incautiously, then winced, uttering an oath.
“The Earl’s account gave me little hope of finding your half-brother alive, even if I did succeed in tracing the woman after all those years. Why should I go to that trouble, when I could set up a claimant of my own, with any luck? I had the proofs already.”
“And you then thought of Carlton?”
“Tracked him down to Astley’s, where he was standing in for an injured clown. It was a devil of a job to persuade him, though. I daren’t reveal too much at first — concentrated on finding out his history. No living relatives, no ties, reared in Southwark by a grandmother — it was just what I wanted.”
“And having discovered he was brought up in Southwark, you suggested that place to Mrs. Fremlin as being the destination mentioned by her mistress when she quitted Rye? Afterwards, you set up the elaborate deception with the pawnbrokers, I collect?”
Durrant smiled, though the effect was strained. “Ingenious, don’t you think? I actually sent Carlton into the shop with the ring, you know, so that if the pawnbroker were questioned later, it would appear genuine.”
“Your ingenuity is certainly in the first flight,” said Anthony, coldly. “It’s a pity you didn’t confine it to a legitimate enterprise.”
Durrant struggled to his feet.
“What do you mean to do? Will you bring charges against me?”
Anthony shrugged. “That’s for the Earl to say.”
“I shall lose everything — my livelihood, my expectations — what in God’s name is to become of me? You can’t do it. For old times’ sake—”
Anthony gave him a contemptuous look.
“For old times’ sake, Durrant, you were ready to trick me out of my patrimony.”
“Yes, and you can’t be certain of it yet!” Durrant flung back at him. “I may not have found your half-brother, but who’s to say he doesn’t exist somewhere? I’ll tell you this, too — you won’t get Cynthia, damn you to hell!”
“Are you referring to Miss Lydney?” demanded Anthony, at his most frigid.
“Yes, Cynthia. She’s mine, mine, I tell you!”
“I think even Miss Lydney might aspire to a better fate,” said Anthony, as he turned on his heel.
“It wasn’t only that I hated you!” shouted Durrant after him. “Though I always did — that was no secret! But when they decided she was to marry you, I knew I must do something to stop it! And she’s mine, now, finally and irrevocably mine. She has already come to me willingly, gladly! And I shall never let her go again. Never, do you hear?”
“I should think all the house must do so. All I can say is that you evidently deserve each other.”
He closed the door, almost colliding with the butler who, drawn by the noise, had been loitering outside.
CHAPTER XXXV
After returning from her drive with Anthony, Helen went up to her bedchamber to remove her bonnet. She found the housemaid Martha hovering on the landing, and the girl greeted her with relief.
“I was hopin’ you’d come soon, Miss Helen. I’ve been waitin’ about here thinkin’ I might see you without anyone else bein’ by.”
“Why, what is it, Martha? Is something amiss? Perhaps we’d better step inside my room while you tell me what it is.”
“Not exactly amiss, ma’am,” replied Martha, once the door was safely shut behind them. “But that girl you told me to look out for is downstairs askin’ to see you.”
“Oh, yes, I see. Well, can you conduct her up here by the servants’ staircase without attracting undue attention, do you suppose?”
Martha undertook to do this, and presently Phyllis Stiggins was shown into the room. Dismissing Martha with instructions to return in a quarter of an hour or so to show the visitor out, Helen turned enquiringly to the girl.
Phyllis, who looked pale and anxious, fixed an incredulous stare on Helen, taking in every detail of her modish attire.
“Crikey!” she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting her errand in her astonishment at seeing this transformation of the dishevelled female she had rescued at Greenwich Fair only a week since. “I knew ye wasn’t what ye seemed that day, but I never guessed the ’arf on it!”
“No, but never mind that now. Tell me why you came to see me. Won’t you be seated for a moment?”
Phyllis obediently sat down gingerly on the extreme edge of a brocaded chair.
“Now,” said Helen, encouragingly, as she herself took a chair.
“It’s Rowly, Miss,” began Phyllis, with a gulp. “ ’E’s gorn — vanished, an’ no one seems to know where! Not even a word left be’ind fer me. ’E went that same day you was there, an’ to my way of thinkin’ with that s
ame chap we seen ’im talkin’ to. I’ve lost ’im, Miss, fer sure! Worse nor that, ’ow do I know ’e b’ain’t in some kind o’ trouble? I tell ye, ’e was dead scared o’ whatever it was that swell wanted ’im to do, an’ wouldn’t never ’ave listened to ’im, but ’e needed the money so bad. I said as I’d come to tell ye if I found out what ’twas, but I still don’t know nothin’; I swear it on me Bible oath! I was meanin’ to ask ’im, see, that same night — but ’e never come back to me. And no one knows where ’e went, though I tried ever so to find out!”
She paused for a very necessary breath, then burst into tears.
“Oh, what’ll I do, Miss, what’ll I do? I come to ye ’cos I don’t know where else to turn, an’ that’s the truth, Gawd ’elp me!”
Helen rose and went over to put an arm about her shoulders.
“There, there, don’t cry. I know where Carlton is.”
“Ye do?” The girl grasped her hand fervently. “Oh, tell me quickly, so’s I can go to ’im!”
“I’m not sure about that,” said Helen, slowly. “The situation’s a trifle awkward.”
“What d’ye mean, awkward? Oh, Gawd, is Rowly in trouble, then, as I feared ’e was?”
“Now don’t be alarmed, Phyllis. In a way — yes, he is in trouble, but I don’t believe that any serious harm will result to him, in the end. Perhaps I should explain a little, though I’m not at liberty to divulge the whole.”
She hesitated, seeking for words that would accomplish this purpose, while Phyllis gazed eagerly into her face, waiting.
“The man we saw with your friend,” she began, at last, “was persuading him to take part in a serious fraud. Doubtless that’s why Carlton had the misgivings that you noticed.”
“I knowed it. I told ye so! Oh, Gawd, Miss, what will become of poor Rowly? It was the money, see, an’ not bein’ able to find work. ’E’d never ’ave done it else. ’E’s not a bad cove, not one to go agin’ the Law, leastways! Ye’ll ’elp ’im, Miss, if ye can, won’t ye? Please — please — I’ll do anythin’ for ye. I’ll serve ye all the rest o’ my days.”
She broke down again, and Helen soothed her for a while, thinking what was best to be done. Anthony had assured her that he intended to persuade the Earl not to bring any charges against the man. Should he succeed, Carlton would be free to return to his old way of life; but would he return to Phyllis? It was evident that the girl loved him to distraction. There could be no certainty, however, that he returned her love, as Phyllis herself had expressed doubts about being able to keep him long enough to make him her husband. It was melancholy, reflected Helen, to see a female so deeply in the toils of love. She thought about Melissa, who was just as desperately enamoured of James; and she wondered why it was that she herself seemed to have escaped this intense passion. Did she feel like this about Mr. Lydney? There was no doubt that she was somewhat attracted to him. She enjoyed his courtship, often felt the magnetism of hand on hand and eye meeting eye when they danced together. Believing him only to be flirting, she had not allowed herself to go beyond that. But if he went away, would she experience the heartbreak that poor Phyllis now felt? If he were in serious trouble, would she be prepared, like Phyllis, to go to any lengths to rescue him from it?
For a moment, she turned cold as a sudden realisation swept over her.
But this was no moment to be thinking of herself. She must do something for Phyllis, and now she knew what she intended to do.
“Listen to me, Phyllis,” she said, urgently, as the girl’s sobs began to subside. “Where are you living at present?”
“I’m back at Mrs. Gerridge’s place, No. 4, Murphy Street. I went there so’s Rowly could find me, if ’e do come back.”
“Then go back there now, and wait for a few days — no longer, I promise you,” said Helen, recklessly. “I think it’s most likely that your friend will return by then, but if he does not, I myself will come to give you news of him. There is someone working on his behalf to see that no harm shall come to him for his part in this affair. I truly believe that this — this person — will succeed, and that Carlton will be none the worse for his venture. But remember this” — Helen infused as much gravity as she could muster into her tone — “if he does return without having incurred any penalty for his wrongdoing, you must both of you keep as silent as the grave about it all. An unguarded word might lead to the most serious consequences for him. Do you understand?”
Phyllis said that she did, and promised fervently that no word about the affair should pass the lips of either. Her gratitude was touching; and Helen could only hope as they parted that Anthony had not overestimated his influence with the Earl on Rowland Carlton’s behalf.
On the following morning Anthony arose early, conscious of a full day ahead. It was imperative that he should go at once to Alvington to inform his father that Carlton was an impostor and Durrant a fraud; but first he considered it only right to acquaint Lord Lydney with these facts, and to consult him about what action should be taken. He himself felt an odd reluctance to bring charges against Durrant. Physical combat had brought him all the satisfaction he required for the injury done to him; but Baron Lydney was Durrant’s employer, after all, and could fairly be considered to have some say in the matter.
He was sitting at his breakfast in an elegant dressing gown of blue brocade when his man brought him a brief note from Helen telling him of the visit she had received from Phyllis Stiggins. She also gave the girl’s direction, in the hope that Carlton might eventually be at liberty to return there. The note concluded with the writer’s good wishes and a plea to be kept informed of events.
He smiled over this last, started to crumple the note, then changed his mind and, smoothing out the creases, inserted it instead in his pocketbook.
Presently he stepped round to Berkeley Street. Lord Lydney seemed a trifle surprised at receiving a call at such an early hour of the morning; but understanding that the matter was both urgent and private, conducted his visitor to a small parlour next to the library, explaining that Durrant would be at work in the latter.
“It’s about Durrant that I’ve come, sir,” began Anthony. “I fear you must be prepared for some unpleasant tidings.”
“If you mean news of your damnable situation, my boy, I know of it already; and, believe me, you have my heartfelt sympathy. If only your father could have been persuaded to let well alone. But, there, talking pays no toll. I collect that the news is spreading about the Town, and I am grieved for you both.”
“Thank you, sir, but I supposed you to be already informed on that head. That is not why I came. My purpose — I don’t particularly relish it, but it must be done — is to apprise you of Durrant’s infamous conduct in the affair.”
Lord Lydney’s eyebrows shot up as he repeated these final words. Anthony then went on to explain everything, ending with the encounter between himself and Durrant on the previous day. At the conclusion of the recital, Lord Lydney leapt to his feet, his face dark with fury.
“Good God, we’ll see the fellow straightaway!”
He charged out of the room and into the adjoining library, Anthony at his heels.
The library was empty. The desk where Durrant normally worked was clear of documents and had obviously not been used at all that morning.
“Where the devil is he?” demanded Lord Lydney, stepping over to the bellrope and tugging it violently.
He repeated the question to the butler, who came himself in answer to the summons.
“I can’t rightly say, m’lord, but I have reason to believe that Mr. Durrant is no longer on the premises.”
“No longer — What in thunder d’you mean?”
“Mr. Durrant appears to have departed for good, m’lord,” replied the butler, woodenly. “The housekeeper informs me that his bed has not been slept in and all his personal possessions have been cleared from his room. He summoned a hackney last night and had a quantity of baggage transferred to it before leaving in it himself, m’lord.”
“Then why the devil was I not informed of this before?”
The butler coughed. “I believed that Mr. Durrant must be acting under your orders, m’lord. Of late, he has frequently gone away on your lordship’s business. It was only when I was informed by the housekeeper half an hour ago that he had left nothing at all behind, that it occurred to me to wonder if he had — to use a vulgar phrase, m’lord, if you’ll forgive me — done a flit.”
“Yes, yes!” said Lord Lydney, impatiently. “Did any of the servants chance to hear him give a direction to the jarvey as he got into the hackney?”
The butler admitted regretfully that they had not, although he left his audience with the impression that it had not been for lack of trying.
“I rather think your man may have overheard most of our quarrel yesterday afternoon,” remarked Anthony, when they were once more alone. “Durrant was shouting, towards the end. And I almost fell over the butler when I opened this door to leave.”
“Servants always know most of what goes on,” said Lord Lydney, disparagingly. “No use trying to hide anything from ’em! Now what’s to be done? Shall I set the Runners onto the damned fellow? He was always an excellent secretary — discreet, reliable — must be dicked in his nob, to risk his career on a foolhardy ploy like this!”
“The rewards were tempting, though,” replied Anthony, reflectively, “and the risk wasn’t so great, when one considers the matter, sir. It was a well thought-out plan that would have stood up to legal investigation, as far as he could tell. The one weak spot was the tenant of Mrs. Lathom’s old cottage at Rye — and why should the lawyers make enquiries there, when Mrs. Fremlin would have already told them where her mistress was bound for when she left the town? I myself only went there on impulse, not supposing for a moment that there could be anything to be learnt by doing so. As for the rest, he had planted all the necessary evidence by inserting advertisements in the pawnbrokers’ shops, and making sure that the one to whom Carlton took the ring would see enough of the fellow to recognise him again. No, as far as Durrant knew, he was safe enough. What he didn’t know, of course, was that Carlton’s grandmother was still alive. Carlton himself believed her to be dead.”
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