The Unknown Ajax

by Джорджетт Хейер

  “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!”

  Chapter 13

  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 mediaeval 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 questions that could be construed as criticism he was not in the least grateful for this forbearance, but bitterly contemptuous, informing 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 rose 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 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 heart-burnings 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 otherwise. 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 batman, 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 horseblock, 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, Master Hugo, what gaes on here? Seek a meedless 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 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?”

  “Nay, that ’ud be sackless, Mester Hugo! Hark-ye-but, if there’s nowt carried in there’ll be nowt carried out! There’s nobbut a half-squadron o’ dragoons quartered twixt here and t’North Forleand, besides t’gadgers—and noan so many of them, by what I learn—and there’s plenty of other places need a watch kept on ’em. But I’ll tell you summat, sir!”

  He paused, nodding. Hugo waited patiently, and after a few moments, during which he seemed to be chewing the cud of his own reflections, John Joseph said: “T’young Riding-officer’s more frack than t’owd one, and since t’last run, when him and them dragoons was made April-gowks of, chasing after nobbut a few loads o’ faggots, Peasmarsh way, while t’run was carried off, it were rumoured, not so very far from here, I’ll take my accidavy he’s got his eye fixed on Spurstow again. Happen he’s not so sickened on watching the Dower House as he makes out, for there’s them as is ready to swear they seen him up t’lane now-and-now. There’s been no dragoons stationed thereabouts this while back, and no manner o’ good gin there had been, for Clotton—him as is his lordship’s head groom—tells me they’d got so that they took every bush for a boggart, and reet laughable it was one night when a couple of ’em—nobbut ignorant lads!—came sticklebutt into t’Blue Lion, frining and faffling that there was a flaysome thing jangling round t’Dower House, and wailing fit to freeze t’blood in a body’s veins. At-after that t’sergeant went up there, wi’ another chap, neither of ’em being flaid o’boggarts.” He smiled dourly. “They say in t’village t’sergeant weren’t very well suited wi’ what he saw and heard. Hooseever, he challenged t’boggart, but it vanished into t’shrubbery, and he didna care to gae after it, chance it happened Spurstow went frumping to t’owd lord that he’d been trespassing.”

  “Spurstow himself, with a sheet draped round him!” said Hugo, “Well, I thought as much.”

  “Nay, hold thee a minute, Mester Hugo! Tha’s out there: it weren’t Spurstow. That’s sure, because Spurstow stuck his head out o’ t’window, calling out to know who was there, and tha knows there’s no road he could have got back into t’house from t’shrubbery without t’sergeant would have seen him, let alone he’d no time to do it.”

  “Oh!” said Hugo slowly. He was silent for a minute, and then looked thoughtfully at John Joseph, and said: “Keep your eyes and your ears open, will you, John Joseph?”

  “Ay—and my tongue between my teeth. Happen it’s nobbut a silly lad playing tricks, Mester Hugo.”

  “Happens it is,” Hugo agreed. “I think I’ll go up to the Dower House myself one night.”

  John Joseph grunted. “Tha’ll need to bide a spirt, till t’moon’s up a bit. I’ll gae wi’ ye.”

  “The devil you’ll not! Do you think I’m afraid of ghosts?”

  “Nay, it’s no ghost, sir!”

  “I’ll go alone, thank you, John Joseph.”

  Several days elapsed before the waxing moon afforded enough light to make a midnight visit to the grounds of the Dower House practicable, and when the Major did go he saw nothing more alarming than Spurstow, who came out of the house (he said) to discover who was prowling about the gardens. As the Major had strolled all round the house in full view of its windows, and knew that even in the dim light his great size made him easily recognizable, he doubted this statement, but he replied in his pleasant way that he was sorry if he had alarmed Spurstow. “I came up to see this ghost of yours, but it seems to be shy of me.”

  “You shouldn’t ought to listen to what they’ll tell you in the village, sir. It’s all foolishment! Leastways, I’ve never seen it!” Spurstow said, in a surly tone.

  “I’ll go bail you haven’t!” replied the Major, amused.

  He mentioned his expedition to none but Anthea. She regarded him in frank admiration, exclaiming: “All by yourself? Weren’t you n
ervous? Just the least bit nervous?”

  “Nay, I was as brave as a lion!” he assured her.

  She laughed, but said: “Well, I must own I think you were! And you didn’t see or hear anything horrid?”

  “No, but I wasn’t expected,” he said. “Another time maybe I might see something.”

  “You mean you believe that there’s no ghost, only Spurstow? If it is so, he’ll never dare to try to hoax you—not when he knows you weren’t afraid to walk all round the house in the middle of the night! What are you hoping to do? To find if smugglers do use the Dower House, or to lay the ghost?”

  “Well, I’d like to do that,” he answered.

  ‘To be sure! Miss Melkinthorpe would wish it laid, of course!”

  “Who’s she?” asked Hugo, taken off his guard.

  She opened her eyes at him. “But, my dear cousin—! Miss Amelia Melkinthorpe!”

  “Miss Amel—” He broke off abruptly, and Anthea was glad to perceive that he had the grace to blush. “Oh! Her!”

  She said, in a shocked voice: “You cannot, surely, have forgotten her?”

  “Ay, but I had,” he confessed, rubbing his nose. “I’m that road, you see: out of sight, out of mind!”

  Miss Darracott realized, with considerable indignation, that the Major had yielded once more to the promptings of his worser self, and said, somewhat ominously: “Indeed?”

  He nodded, meeting her smouldering gaze with one of his blandest looks. “Ay. Mind you, I wouldn’t forget a lass I’d formed a lasting passion for!” He sighed. “The trouble is I mistook my own heart. Of course, she being so beautiful, it’s no wonder I was carried away.”

  “I should suppose her to have all Yorkshire at her feet,” said Anthea. “I remember thinking, when you described her to me, that she must be the loveliest creature imaginable! Almost too lovely to be true, in fact. There is something so particularly ravishing about brown eyes, and black curls, isn’t there?”