Again the doctor and the young lawyer looked significantly at one another. As if that look had communicated their silent agreement, the lawyer said firmly, "Duchess, far be it from me to mar your happiness at this moment, but it is my professional duty to be practical. You are prepared to accept this young – er – lady as David Holmes's daughter, without proof, without the slightest evidence -"
"Only look at her!" the Duchess exclaimed.
Carlton shook his head. "You forget, I never knew Mr. Holmes. In my opinion the photographs of him show no striking resemblance to Miss Ransom. And even if they did -"
"Horace." The Duchess turned impetuously to her old friend. "You knew David, knew him well."
The doctor's chair had been emitting a series of alarming creaks – evidence, Marianne suspected, of mental perturbation displaying itself in physical discomfort.
"The only resemblance I can see is in her coloring," he growled.
"Precisely." The Duchess's hand brushed Marianne's hair. "That rare, unmistakable shade of pale gold. David was the only other person I have known who had hair of that color."
"No evidence." Again the lawyer shook his head. "Now, Your Grace, pray let me proceed without interruption. I admit that Doctor Gruffstone was struck, when he first saw Miss Ransom, by the resemblance you insist upon. This carries some weight, in view of his – er – personal feelings about the matter; he was the first to declare that such a fancied resemblance was not enough in itself. Therefore, I took it upon myself to make certain inquiries – or rather, since the doctor was then at liberty, he was good enough to make them for me. He has just returned from Yorkshire."
"You dared!" The Duchess half rose. There had been a certain regality even in her ordinary manner, but now Marianne saw the true nature of the result of centuries of noble ancestry. "Roger, you are my trusted adviser and the son of my old friend, but you have gone too far. How dare you act without my knowledge!"
"I dare because it is my duty. Will you wait to hear what I have to say? After that you may dismiss me. That is your privilege. But I request – nay, I insist – upon being allowed to carry out my responsibility toward you so long as I am in your service."
Marianne held her breath as the two confronted one another, the current of antagonism between them almost visible. Carlton's rocklike imperturbability was as impressive in its way as the flaming anger of the lady. And, as flame may touch a rock and then retreat, leaving it unscratched, the Duchess's anger subsided.
"You are correct, Roger. Proceed."
The lawyer's face relaxed into its habitual expression of bored amusement. He seemed almost embarrassed at his display of genuine feeling.
"I have not heard Dr. Gruffstone's report myself. I had hoped that we could wait to hear it before communicating with Miss Ransom -"
"You mean," the Duchess interrupted, with a note of humor, "you hoped you would not be required to communicate with her after you had heard it."
"Quite right." Carlton returned her smile. "As it turned out, I was forced to precipitate action. Learning that Miss Ransom had disappeared without warning or explanation from – er – her place of employment, I felt I ought to find out what had become of her. One of the persons at – er – that place was acquainted with her address -"
"Maggie!" Marianne exclaimed. "Was it Maggie? Did you see her? Is she safe?"
"I am not familiar with the person to whom you refer," the lawyer replied, looking at her in surprise.
"She helped me to escape. I have been so worried about her! If he learned that she had actually attacked him, struck him down, to defend me…"
"Attacked Bagshot?" The lawyer forgot his professional reserve and grinned broadly. Then, remembering himself, he covered his face with his hand and smoothed out the smile. "Never mind, we are wandering off the subject."
"But Maggie," Marianne insisted. "I must find out where she is and make sure she is safe."
"Never fear, my child," the Duchess assured her. "Anyone who helped you can be sure of my goodwill. Oh, dear, I do hate to think of what you must have gone through! Who is this Bagshot person?"
"No one to whom you need give the slightest thought," Carlton told her. "I assure Miss Ransom that I will endeavor to locate this – er – Maggie person. I have the greatest interest in interviewing her." The gleam of malicious curiosity in his eyes assured Marianne that this was probably correct, and that Maggie would be assisted, if for the wrong reasons.
"If I may be allowed to resume?" Carlton asked. "Thank you, Miss Ransom. The person from whom I obtained your London address was of the male sex. You probably know to whom I refer."
Marianne nodded. She should have known Carlton could not have obtained her address from Maggie. Wilson was the only one who knew it.
Methodically Carlton resumed his report.
"From Mrs. Shortbody, your landlady, I learned that you had recently come from Yorkshire. I was able to convince her of my bona fides, though naturally I did not explain the reason for my inquiries. She is under the impression that there is a small legacy involved." He added, with a meaningful look at Marianne, "Nor did I feel it was necessary to tell her where I had recently seen you."
Marianne's cheeks burned. "Thank you for that," she murmured.
"Oh, no thanks are required, I assure you. At any rate, I took Gruffstone with me the next time I visited the place to which we have been referring so obliquely; as things turned out, it was your last night there, though of course we did not know that. Having seen you, he rushed off to Yorkshire like a knight of old following the Grail, and I did my duty by returning nightly to – er – that place. It was a great sacrifice on my part, of course."
The wicked twinkle in his eye did not escape Marianne; but the Duchess took him quite seriously.
"I am deeply in your debt, Roger. I know your sober habits."
"Your Grace is too kind. To resume – when Miss Ransom failed to appear for two nights running, I returned to Mrs. Shortbody, and after a prolonged inquisition I managed to ascertain that she knows nothing of Miss Ransom's family history. She is a friend of a friend and has no acquaintances in Yorkshire."
"But she knows Mrs. Jay, and Mrs. Jay has known me since I was a baby," Marianne exclaimed. "If there were any mystery concerning any real parentage, surely Mrs Jay -"
"I did not speak to Mrs. Jay, I spoke to her friend. I am convinced that if there is a secret concerning your parentage, Mrs. Shortbody knows nothing about it."
Marianne was forced to admire his impartiality. Though he was clearly against her, he had assessed the evidence fairly.
And why, she wondered suddenly, should I think of him as against me? I agree with him. I am not the daughter of that strange unknown man. I am my father's child. The Duchess has got it all wrong.
Seeing her absorbed in her own thoughts, the lawyer waited, with somewhat ironic courtesy, for her to return to the discussion. As Marianne continued to muse, trying to assess her real feelings, she recalled something the Duchess had said earlier, and all at once the true meaning of the casual comment dawned on her. The angry blood rushed into her face. She could not bring herself to accuse the Duchess, who had been so kind to her, so she turned her rage on a more suitable object.
"How dare you imply such things about my mother!" she shouted at Carlton.
He burst into a disconcerting shout of laughter.
"I wondered when that would strike you. No one really believes that your mother's honor is in question, Miss Ransom."
"Oh, no, my dear," the Duchess exclaimed. "Or, at least, if any such thought passed through my mind, let me apologize. I never knew the name of David's sweetheart. I am sure that if he had known about you, he would have married her at once. Perhaps only his passing prevented that. Finding herself alone in her pitiable state, your dear young mother must have been forced to give you up for adoption. That is all I meant."
The illogic of the statement and the apology failed to occur to Marianne. She could accept with relative compla
cency the idea that some unknown girl had committed the unforgivable sin, so long as Squire Ransom's wife was left with her reputation intact.
"Get on with it," the doctor said irritably.
"I will if I am allowed," the lawyer replied with some acerbity. "I trust there will be no further interruptions. To return, then, to what I was saying. Mrs. Shortbody, persuaded at last that Miss Ransom would hear something to her advantage, directed me to Richmond. Learning, to my surprise, that Dr. Gruffstone had – in my opinion most unadvisedly – let slip the state of our inquiries to Your Grace…"
"Stupid," the doctor muttered. He gnawed at his mustache. "Devilish stupid of me. Sorry."
"Now, Horace, when have you ever been able to hide something important from me?" the Duchess asked with an affectionate smile. "I knew you were trying to conceal something; and in view of the fact that I have been searching for David's daughter for several years, naturally I was able to guess the nature of the secret."
"However it came about, the fat was in the fire," Carlton said. "Her Grace insisted that I locate Miss Ransom at once. I found matters in Richmond in such a state that it seemed best to remove her. And so, here she is, and I am most curious to learn the results of the good doctor's investigations."
All eyes – including Marianne's – turned expectantly toward the doctor.
His chair gave off a perfect fusillade of creaks. Fearing for the dainty object – in which she had already, unconsciously, begun to have a proprietary interest – Marianne was relieved when he pulled himself out of it and began to stalk up and down the room. She realized that she was awaiting the doctor's statement with as much suspense as were the others. Which was ridiculous! She knew her own parentage.
"The evidence." Gruffstone said, "is inconclusive."
"What on earth do you mean?" Carlton demanded.
"Just what I say." The doctor continued to pace. "The young lady was born in York -"
"I was born at Wulfingham, in my – in Squire Ransom's house," Marianne exclaimed.
"Your mother was on a visit to York when – as she claimed – you were born a month before your time," the doctor said shortly. "I have here a signed affidavit to that effect, by a former servant, one of the housemaids." Irritably, as if he hated what he had to do, he flung a crumpled paper onto the table.
The young lawyer snatched it up and began to read. He had obviously not expected this development, and for once his countenance expressed his true feelings – chagrin and suspicion.
"It was difficult to obtain the facts," the doctor continued. "Particularly when, as I believed, it was necessary to conceal my reasons for demanding them. Few of the servants who were alive at that time are to be found. Mrs. Ransom's maid, who might have been useful, has been dead for ten years. Those few who remained in Mr. Ransom's employ departed for other positions after his estate was settled. Many of the older villagers remember Miss Ransom and her parents quite well, but naturally they were never admitted to the confidence of the Squire and his lady. If there was a secret, it was well kept."
"That is precisely the nature of a secret," the Duchess said. "It should not be common knowledge. If Mrs. Ransom desired to have the child adopted as her own, she would make sure that few people, if any, knew the truth."
"No doubt," the doctor agreed gloomily.
"Oh, nonsense," Carlton exclaimed. With a pettish gesture he threw the affidavit back onto the table. "It seems to be in order, but it tells us nothing. Why should Mrs. Ransom endeavor to conceal the fact that she had adopted a child?"
"I can think of many reasons," the Duchess retorted. "Women have strange fancies when the prospect of motherhood blesses them. If, let us say, the lady lost her own child and found another to take its place… Or if she knew the unfortunate mother and pitied the girl's situation… Oh, there are a dozen reasons! So you found no one, my poor Gruffstone, who could testify that the child was actually born of Mrs. Ransom?"
Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of victory. The doctor's grim look softened into a smile as he bowed in sardonic acknowledgment.
"So far, my dear Honoria, you win. It was impossible even to discover the name of the physician who attended upon Mrs. Ransom in York."
"But there must be someone," the lawyer insisted angrily. "What of the friend or relative Mrs. Ransom was visiting at the time?"
The look the doctor turned on his young friend was comically like that of a large shaggy dog who has done something naughty.
"Dead," he replied.
"The nurse?"
"Dead."
The lawyer struck the table sharply with his clenched fist. "I tell you, this is absurd. We are going about it backward. The burden of proof does not rest on us, to find evidence that Miss Ransom must be her mother's child; it rests with her to prove she is -"
"With me?" Marianne exclaimed angrily. "I am attempting to prove no such thing, sir. I deny it. I do not believe…"
Her firm denials died on her lips as she encountered the Duchess's steady regard. The faded blue eyes were gentle, smiling, and confident.
"But you are the last person who would know," the Duchess said softly. Then, with apparent irrelevance, she went on, "I perceive, my dear, that you are wearing a pretty old-fashioned locket. Would it, by any chance, contain portraits of your parents?"
"How did you know?" Marianne exclaimed.
It was, in fact, a reasonable deduction. Such lockets were common, and those who had been bereaved often wore trinkets containing locks of hair or pictures of the deceased. The Duchess smiled complacently.
"It Came To Me," she said. "May I see it, my child?"
Marianne unfastened the chain and handed the locket to the Duchess, who pressed the catch that opened it. Her faint smile deepened. Still holding Marianne's locket, she drew from the soft lace at her throat a similar jewel, though this one, unlike Marianne's plain gold ornament, was a creation of jet and enamel and tiny diamonds. Opening it, she turned the two lockets and held them side by side.
The portrait of the Squire had been done years before by a local miniaturist, to match the painting of his pretty brown-haired wife. Even then he had been the epitome of John Bull – ruddy-faced, coarse of feature – and the questionable skill of the painter had not flattered him. Mrs. Ransom had suffered less in the process of being transferred to ivory, but the face might have been that of any young lady of fashionable prettiness.
Beside these two commonplace, if amiable, faces, lay that of a young man. No question, in this case, of the painter's skill; he had caught to perfection the blue eyes that shone like aquamarines, the halo of pale-golden hair, the delicate, almost feminine mouth.
There was no need to comment. After a moment the Duchess returned Marianne's locket and replaced her own in its hiding place next to her heart. Even the lawyer looked shaken.
"After all," the Duchess said calmly, "there is no need for all this fuss, is there? I am satisfied; Miss Ransom is entitled to her own opinion and shall not be forced to change it against her will; and as for you two silly men, I don't care what you think! If I had decided to assist some deserving young lady who found herself in difficulty, you would both admire me for my kind heart. Perhaps I may form an organization for that purpose. There is certainly need of it, if half the sad stories I hear are to be believed. I have chosen to begin my patronage with Miss Ransom. What is wrong with that?"
The effect of this speech on the two gentlemen amused Marianne. Unable to deny its killing logic, yet totally unconvinced, they exchanged looks of mutual disgust. The lawyer was the first to recover his speech.
"What is wrong," he said, "is your state of mind, Duchess. So long as you are convinced that this young person is David Holmes's child -"
"My state of mind is my own affair," the Duchess interrupted, with such cold dignity that even Carlton was silenced. Seeing the effect of her reproof she smiled at him in a kindly fashion. "Come, Roger, let us be friends. You have been most helpful, and I am deeply in your debt. Cannot we
leave it at that?"
Such affable condescension, Marianne thought, must have its effect; and indeed the young man's lips twitched as though he wished to return the lady's smile. But he was more stubborn than she had realized.
He shook his head.
"I must point out to Your Grace -"
The Duchess cut him off by rising to her feet. "Very well, if you persist, there is one way of proving I am right. I had wished to give Miss Ransom time to adjust to the change in her condition, but in order to convince you two, I will beg her cooperation in a brief… experiment."
"I cannot refuse you anything," Marianne replied. "After your kindness…" She might have added, "and your insistence," for the force of the lady's rank and conviction were indeed difficult to withstand. Instead she finished, "But I do not understand what sort of experiment you mean."
The lawyer let out a heartfelt groan and slapped his forehead with his open hand. A lock of dark hair tumbled becomingly across his brow.
"I believe I do," he exclaimed. "For the love of heaven, Your Grace, you cannot intend -"
"Indeed I do, if Miss Ransom is willing. It is your own fault, Roger; if you were not so unreasonable, this would not be necessary. Let us adjourn to the White Room."
Carlton turned to the doctor. "Gruffstone, can't you forbid this farce?"
The doctor rubbed his nose with his knuckle, apparently in order to assist the deep cogitation that wrinkled his brow. At last he said reluctantly, "Perhaps, after all, Carlton, this may be a way out, eh? You know my sentiments; they are in accord with your own. If the experiment should fail, as it must, why then… Eh?"
This enigmatic speech left Marianne in deeper confusion than before, but the others seemed to understand. The Duchess laughed merrily.
"You are not a skeptic, Horace, you are completely close-minded. Come along, then."
She took his arm, making, at the same time, a beckoning gesture to Marianne, and the two older people left the room. Carlton, abandoned by his ally, swept his hair from his brow in a gesture positively Byronic.
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