by Sapper
It would be very nice to be the Earl of Olford – very nice indeed. Sometimes, as he polished his chair, he almost forgot the dangers he incurred from Zeppelin raids, in the wonderful train of thought that the idea conjured up. Stephen, Earl of Olford –
But the baby didn’t die; it grew into a sturdy, straight-backed little boy. And John Mason, rising sixty himself now, watched the child with discerning eyes, even as in days gone by he had watched Hector. He felt if anything a keener sense of responsibility towards the house of Olford than ever before; it was his job to see that the spirit of those keen-faced men was carried on, just as if the line had not been broken.
And the mother helped him wonderfully. She too, seemed to realise the bigness of the issue, and the place her sonnie had to fill in the world.
He was eight years old when she took him to see the gap on the wall in the picture gallery. And he listened to her with wide-open eyes as she told him why there was no picture.
“But what did he do, mummie?” asked the boy eagerly.
“I don’t know quite what he did, darling,” she answered. “Perhaps Uncle John can tell you next time he comes down. Anyway, he was a coward, and that’s a terrible thing.”
“Daddy wasn’t a coward,” said the child proudly.
And with a little cry she caught him up and kissed him.
“Of course he wasn’t, my pet,” she whispered, “and you’ve got to be like daddy – never afraid of anything.”
“Uncle Stephen is afraid,” announced the boy gravely. “He was afraid of Rollo when he barked at him the other day. I don’t like Uncle Stephen, mummie, he looks at me so funnily sometimes.”
“Don’t think about him, darling,” said his mother.
“Do you like Uncle Stephen, mummie?” he pursued.
“Not very much, old man, but we won’t talk about him.”
“He didn’t fight, did he, mummie, in daddy’s war?”
“No, darling, he didn’t fight in daddy’s war. He was afraid.”
“So he was a coward like that gentleman whose picture is hidden?”
Involuntarily she smiled; but much as she disliked Stephen, the conversation was becoming dangerous with an outspoken young man of eight. So she frowned reprovingly.
“Yes, but you must never tell him so, old chap, because that’s rude. And you mustn’t be rude to people older than yourself.”
They went off to play a game, but those few words lingered in her mind – “He looks at me so funnily sometimes.”
It was true; she had noticed it herself. It was very rarely that he came near them; even Stephen’s rhinoceros-like hide was not impervious to the icy contempt she felt for him. But on the last occasion it had seemed to her that his face had worn a peculiar gloating look: as if he was in possession of some secret which boded ill for her – and her Robin.
She realised, of course, as well as he did, that he would become Earl if anything happened to Robin; but, unpleasant specimen though he was, she did him sufficient credit to believe that he would never attempt to harm the boy. In the first place, he was far too much afraid for his own skin. Still, she felt vaguely worried, and one day she went so far as to mention the matter to John Mason.
“Perhaps it’s foolish of me, Uncle John, and yet there are times when I can’t help being uneasy. All his life Stephen has been a wrong ’un; Harold always used to admit it openly, and wonder where the kink in him came from. And when I realise that it’s only Robin’s life that stands between him and all this–”
“But, Marcia, my dear, what could he do?” said John Mason reassuringly. “This is a civilised country, and nothing short of killing the child would be of any use to him.”
“Oh! I know! I know! Put it down to the illogical woman’s brain if you like. But what I feel is that the wish is there, and if the opportunity came who knows what would happen? I don’t say that it’s likely to, but it might. After all, children have been kidnapped before now.”
She paused and stared over the great park, and John Mason saw a strange look come into her eyes – the look which, in days gone by, he had seen so often in the faces of men and women who had lost their all in France – the look of a great pride.
“I’ve got proud of this place,” she went on slowly. “Heaven knows how proud. It’s not for myself; it’s for Robin. I know we’re not the direct line, but that can’t be helped. And I’ve tried to make him worthy of the name; I’ve put my whole soul, my whole life into it. Harold was worthy; those fierce men upstairs would all say that. And Robin’s going to be; he is now. But Stephen! Why, the hidden picture in the attic would cry aloud if he came here. It’s all that, as well as the fact that he’s my baby.”
They were strolling through the Copthorne Spinney, their feet making no sound on the soft turf, when suddenly John Mason clutched her arm and dragged her behind a clump of undergrowth.
“Look!” he muttered. “Don’t move; don’t let them see you.”
And had the woman not been engrossed in the scene in front of her, she would have noticed that every vestige of colour had left his face.
In a little clearing in front of them stood a tall, sunburnt, black-bearded man, holding a struggling small boy in each hand, whilst facing him was Robin.
“Not two to one,” he said in a deep, pleasant voice. “That’s not fair. Now, who are you, young fellow?” he asked Robin.
“I’m Lord Olford,” said Robin, “and I’ll thrash them both if you’ll let them go.”
The big man stared at the child curiously; then he laughed.
“Of course, you’ll thrash them both,” he agreed. “But one at a time. Take this one first.”
He propelled a wriggling victim forward, and Robin set on him furiously.
“Well done,” said the man gravely, as after about a minute the boy turned and ran away. “Now the other.”
Once again Robin fought like a young tiger cat, but this time it was a longer affair. Robin was getting tired, and the other boy was bigger. And it was only John Mason’s restraining hand that prevented the devoted mother from hurling herself into the fray.
“Now then – stop it, both of you,” remarked the big man at length. “Shake hands; that’s quite enough.”
The two children shook hands sheepishly, and the man solemnly helped Robin on with his coat.
“You cut off out of it,” he said to the other boy, who did so with alacrity. “Well, young fellow; so you’re Lord Olford, are you? What’s your other name?”
“Robin. They were teasing me about it; calling me a bird,” he announced. “That’s why I fought.”
“Quite right,” agreed the man. “Nil timent; has anyone ever told you what that means?”
“Of course,” answered the boy proudly. “‘They fear nothing.’ That’s our motto. And my mummie always says I must never be afraid. None of the Olfords ever are. My daddy wasn’t afraid, and he was Lord Olford before me. He was killed in the war.”
“Was he?” said the man quietly.
“But my Uncle Stephen was a coward. He didn’t go to daddy’s war. He was like the man in the picture at home who isn’t allowed to be there because he was a coward, too. I asked Mummie what he did, but she didn’t know.”
“I’ll tell you what he did, young fellow,” said the man. “There was a king in England called Charles the First. And the king was hidden from a man called Cromwell. And the man in the picture knew where the king was because the king trusted him. And then, to save his own life, he went and told Cromwell, so that the king was very nearly caught. So that’s why we put his picture in the attic, Robin.”
He broke off as a tall and graceful woman came out into the clearing. Robin, with a cry of “Mummie”, had run to her, and over the child’s head their eyes met.
“Who are you?” said the woman slowly. “You seem to know a lot of the Olford history.”
“It is a fairly well-known one, madam,” he returned gravely. “May I congratulate you on the present holder of the title?”
She frowned a little; the appearance of this stranger was not altogether prepossessing.
“Uncle John,” she said, turning round – but John Mason seemed to have disappeared.
“I suppose you know you’re trespassing?” she went on abruptly.
The black-bearded man smiled.
“Please forgive me,” he said. “At any rate I got Robin a fair fight.”
“The road is through there,” she remarked, haughtily, and still with the same faint smile the stranger turned and left her. Again she looked round for John Mason, but there was no sign of him, and at length she led Robin back to the house.
“He suddenly came, Mummie; off the road – just as we were fighting. Wasn’t he a nice man?”
“I don’t want you to go so far away, darling, when you’re by yourself. There are all sorts of tramps and nasty people about.”
She hardly heard his indignant defence of his new friend: all sorts of vague fears were darting through her mind. Ingratiating strangers who enticed children away; gipsies. Coming to think of it, he had looked like a gipsy. And was it mere coincidence that Stephen was now paying one of his rare visits to Olford Towers? A tutor: she’d have to get a tutor. Robin was getting too old to be left any longer to his own devices.
And even as she hurried Robin back to have arnica applied to his bruises, John Mason and Hector, Earl of Olford, met face to face.
“It can’t be, but it is,” said John Mason, and his voice was shaking.
“Aye! old John, it is – right enough,” answered the other, quietly. “I told you I’d come back, didn’t I? I wonder you recognised me, for I’m altered more than you.”
“I think it was seeing you with Robin, Hector. The first time I saw you, you’d just licked Joe Mercer. D’you remember?”
“I remember,” said the other. “The beginning of one’s life – and now the end.”
“What do you mean, Hector – the end? You’re only forty-eight.”
“Is that all? I suppose it is. For all that, John – it’s the end. I’ve got about six months at the most to go.”
John Mason laughed incredulously, and then grew silent. For there was that in the eyes of the man to whom he spoke which forbade disbelief.
“Tell me,” he said at length. “I know nothing.”
“There’s not much to tell, John,” said the other. “You thought, of course, that I went down when the Bellonia sank. Well, as you can see for yourself, I didn’t. She struck something during that appalling storm – possibly a derelict – and sank in two minutes. And I found myself with three of the deck hands clinging to some superstructure that had been carried away. Mercifully the water was warm, because we were adrift for three days. Gradually the sea went down; the pitiless sun came out, and we began to wish that we’d died quickly like the others. And then, one of the other three went mad, and dived overboard. It lightened the load a bit, but beyond that it didn’t help, because anyway, we had no water. I think we were all just about following his example, when we sighted land. It was an island, John, with a few peaceful natives on it. I think they’d only seen a white man once before; later on we managed to talk to them a bit. And the island was miles out of the beaten track.”
He leaned back suddenly against the tree and seemed to fall asleep, and John Mason stared at him in amazement.
“What’s the matter, Hector?” he cried.
With an effort the other opened his eyes.
“That’s what the others died of,” he said heavily. “It’s a sort of sleeping sickness, I suppose. The natives die of it too, but they’re more or less immune. Water or something on the island. John, I must sleep.”
He sat down on the ground and rolled on his side. And for over an hour did John Mason sit beside him waiting. It needed no expert now to see that he spoke the truth; the grey tinge of his face told its own tale. He woke as suddenly as he had fallen asleep.
“How long was I asleep, John?” he demanded.
“Over an hour,” said John Mason. “You’ll come straight up with me to a specialist, of course.”
The Earl of Olford smiled faintly.
“I don’t think so, old man,” he answered. “I’ll die in peace, thanks. It saps one’s vitality; one doesn’t want to do anything – except sleep. It’ll be two hours soon, John, and a shorter time between the bouts. And at last one will never wake up. I’ve watched the others. And when the first boat in ten years did come, I almost decided to let her go without me. But there was one thing stronger than this cursed germ: my will to see the place again. To die here, John; and to see my successor. For I can’t do the other thing I told you I would – marry. It’s too late for that. But I wouldn’t want a better kid anyway than Robin – so what does it matter? It’s not for long, and they needn’t turn out. I’ll leave you to explain it to Robin’s mother.”
His eyes closed again, but he pulled himself together with an effort.
“An element of humour in being ordered off my own ground, John,” he laughed. “But a fine woman. Let’s go to the house. I want to see it, John; I want to see it. It bored me in the old days, but now it’s my life, or what’s left of it. And we’ll get someone down to put my face on canvas. Shave off this beard, buy some decent clothes, and die like an Olford. Come on, old friend, I want to set foot in my home again. Great Scott! Who’s this?”
For the shifty-eyed, ferret-nosed youngster with the unhealthy skin had developed true to type, and the Earl of Olford watched Stephen Spencer taking his morning walk much as a man watches a noisome insect. Stephen Spencer glanced curiously at the big black-bearded man in such deep conversation with John Mason, and for a moment paused as if to speak. Then he seemed to think better of it, and with a little nod to the lawyer he shuffled on and disappeared.
“Who the devil is that?” repeated Hector.
“He’s Robin’s uncle, and your heir should anything happen to Robin,” said John Mason. “What’s the matter, Hector? What are you looking like that for?”
“You say that he would be the heir if anything happened to Robin,” said the other slowly.
“Certainly,” answered John Mason. “He’s Robin’s next of kin in the male line.”
“Then what was he doing talking to the most villainous-looking ruffian a mile or so down the road there? I passed him this morning – though he didn’t see me. He was so engrossed in his conversation.”
“Are you sure, Hector?” cried the other.
“Of course, I’m sure,” snapped Lord Olford. “You can’t mistake a man with a face like that. John, little sportsmen who climb trees and run wild – can easily break their necks. In a big place like this who is to tell? A broken neck can always be made to look accidental.”
“My God!” muttered John Mason, and his face was white. “But we’ve got no proof, Hector.”
“And a damned lot of good proof would be – once it’s happened. Don’t be a fool, John; don’t be a fool.”
For a while they fell silent, pacing up and down over the soft turf.
“Granted you’re right, Hector,” said the lawyer at last, “or even supposing you’re wrong, it doesn’t alter things. In fact – now that you’ve come back it makes them easier. Any designs that Stephen may have on Robin are useless now. He gains nothing from the death of the boy. You’ve got to do it; you’ve got to see a specialist. Don’t you see that you must marry. Marry and have a son. When Marcia knows you’re back – that it’s you – she won’t mind. She feels in a sense just a steward for the Olfords.”
Lord Olford nodded gravely.
“We could not ask for a better. She must continue.”
“But how can she, Hector?” cried John Mason irritably. “Don’t you see–”
“I see nothing, John, except one thing. And that is that for me to have a child would be a crime, suffering as I am from this disease. And in any event I might not succeed before I died – or it might be a girl. And what then? We have only postponed things. Robin would still be thre
atened by the same danger.”
“You mustn’t assume on that,” said the lawyer. “Just because you saw him talking to a tramp–”
“I’m not risking it,” remarked the Earl calmly.
“You’ll have to,” answered John Mason. “You can’t shut the boy up.”
And the other’s deep-set eyes gleamed strangely.
“True, John; you can’t shut the boy up. But there are other ways of killing a cat than drowning it.”
He smiled grimly, as if amused by some sudden thought, and John Mason stared at him gravely. Only too well did he know the futility of argument once the other had made up his mind, but he made one final attempt.
“What is the use of all this discussion?” he cried. “Come back to the house now with me, and make yourself known. And if you want to, you can put the fear of God into Master Stephen.”
And then he shrugged his shoulders despairingly; the other wasn’t even listening.
“It’s a difficult proposition, John; very difficult,” he remarked slowly. “Even with a reptile of that type one would like to have some proof. And I, as you say, have none.”
“And what if you could get proof, Hector? What would you do then?”
“The removal of Stephen would assist matters,” answered the Earl calmly. “I feel certain no one would miss him.”
“But good heavens, man,” spluttered John Mason, “you’re in England. And I’m not anxious to see the Earl of Olford ending his days on the gallows.”
“You won’t, John; I can promise you that. We’ve died most ways, but never by hanging, so far. And I don’t propose to start. No, John, there shall be no disgrace – if by any chance I find that what I suspect is the truth. Only I mustn’t be recognised; that’s vital. I’m a wanderer, John; a tramp – and tramps may do what the Earls of Olford may not.”
“But, Hector,” protested the other feebly, only to be silenced with an impervious wave of the hand.
“Your word, John – your word of honour – that you will not divulge to a living soul that you have met me this morning, until you hear further from me.”