Shaldon was silent for some minutes. He was turning these astounding revelations over in his mind.
“A pity the grandmother’s dead,” he said at last. “She was the one certain proof. Presumably you would have known her again, even after a lapse of so many years, since you once spent so much time under the same roof together.”
“Who’s to say?” growled the Earl. “I don’t scruple to admit that I’m so altered myself that anyone who knew me in those days might be hard put to it to recognise me now! But no other proof is needed than my ring and the letter, together with this fellow Carlton’s story. Durrant is convinced, and so am I. Though in a way,” he added, in a petulant tone, “I can’t help wishing it had turned out as Ned Lydney expected, and the child had died. God knows what’s to be done to make this fellow presentable, for one thing. You’ll have to lend a hand there.”
“Will I, indeed? You’d do well not to count on that,” Shaldon warned him grimly. “Since you obviously find him somewhat lacking in certain respects, I collect that you’ve already met him?”
“Of course I’ve met him. Durrant brought him here two days since.”
“And where is he now, may I ask?”
“Why, here, of course. Where else should the fellow be? This is his rightful place, ain’t it?”
“Possibly,” replied Anthony, cautiously. “Have you informed the domestic staff of his identity?”
“Not so far. They know him as Mr. Carlton, at present staying here as a guest. It’s all devilish awkward,” complained the Earl.
“But not perhaps so awkward for you as for myself,” Anthony reminded him drily. “Perhaps you will introduce him to me. I should very much like to have a talk with Mr. Rowland Carlton.”
Anthony arrived back in Town that same evening, and having dined alone and somewhat more hurriedly than was his custom, set out for Cavendish Square. Now that he had at last discovered the solution to the mystery which Helen had first scented, he intended to lose no time in redeeming his promise to place her in possession of the facts.
He was disappointed to be informed at the house that the ladies were not at home, having gone to spend the evening at Almack’s. Although this was not a favourite haunt of his, he decided to follow them there. He could scarcely hope to find a suitable opportunity at the fashionable Assembly rooms to enjoy a lengthy private conversation with Miss Somerby; but at least he might make an appointment to see her on the following day. He was somewhat put out at having to return to Clarges Street in order to change into knee breeches, but the strict rules obtaining at Almack’s made this delay essential.
He finally arrived at his destination just before eleven o’clock, the hour at which subscribers ceased to be admitted. The dancing was in full swing. Having first civilly greeted the patronesses and one or two other acquaintances, he looked round for his quarry, and saw her enjoying the intimacy of a waltz with Henry Lydney.
The sight did not please him. He almost made up his mind to leave the ballroom at once; but Helen, glancing down the room in an interval between her animated conversation with Lydney, had seen him and raised a hand in greeting, so he remained. He watched the rest of the waltz with a jaundiced eye, however, then joined Lady Chetwode’s party just as Helen and her partner returned to it.
“I don’t often see you here,” she remarked, after general greetings had been exchanged.
“I don’t often attend,” he replied, shortly.
“Finds it too slow,” explained Lydney, with a grin at his friend. “Don’t know what he’s missing, though.”
Shaldon attempted some light reply, though at that moment he was wishing Lydney at the devil. Helen, perceptive as always, detached herself a little from her late partner’s side.
“Have you been to Alvington?” she asked, in a low tone.
He nodded, but was unable to say any more because Lydney moved towards them at that moment. The best he could do was to solicit Helen’s hand as a partner for the next dance, a favour which she readily granted.
“Did you succeed in finding out anything?” she asked eagerly, as they moved down the set.
“The whole,” he answered. “But it’s not a story to be told in snatches, as it must be if I attempt to recount it here. When can I see you alone? Will you drive out with me in the Park tomorrow?”
Her face clouded. “Oh, dear, how unfortunate! We are engaged on an expedition to Middlesex tomorrow to visit Lady Calcot — Melissa’s married sister, you know, who lives in Harrow. Melissa has been quite looking forward to it, and since she’s been so sadly out of spirits lately, I wouldn’t care to disappoint her. Besides, what possible excuse could I make to Lady Calcot?”
“Why, you couldn’t, of course.” His tone was disappointed. “Are you and Miss Chetwode to go alone?”
He was thinking that, if so, he might ride part of the way with them and possibly contrive some private conversation with Helen; but her answer put an end to this scheme.
“No, we’re to go in a party. Melissa, Catherine Horwood, and I will be in the coach, while Mr. Chetwode and Mr. Lydney are to ride.”
“Lydney; so he’s accompanying you, is he?”
“Yes, Lady Calcot said her brother might bring a friend, if he chose, and she had already made Mr. Lydney’s acquaintance at our ball. Oh, it is so vexing that we cannot meet tomorrow! I am dying to hear what you have to tell me! Are you sure you cannot tell me now?”
“I am positive. We are about to be separated now for the figures of the dance. Any sustained conversation of a serious nature is impossible in these circumstances.”
She was bound to agree, though her patience was sorely tried by the abstinence.
“Then when can you see me in private?” she demanded, as soon as they came together again.
“Whenever you contrive to shake off that fellow Lydney,” he replied, somewhat tartly. “I daresay if I call in tomorrow evening, after you’ve returned from your outing, I shall still find him with you.”
“Oh, you do sound cross!”
“Not at all — merely baffled for the moment. I don’t care to make clandestine assignations with you, yet if I call on you in the normal way, I can scarcely hope to see you alone.”
She sighed. “If only we were at Alvington, you might easily enough snatch a few moments’ private conversation with me in the Rectory garden or the wood. But a female is so protected in London.”
“And then not sufficiently,” he replied, drily. “You contrived to go to the Fair alone, in spite of all Lady Chetwode’s care — not to mention my own warning.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You shouldn’t warn me against things — it gives me an overwhelming desire to do them!”
“You are the most incorrigible madcap,” he said, severely.
His eyes gave a different message, however; for he was thinking at that moment how young and fresh she looked, how unspoilt in spite of having been subjected to the sophisticating influence of a London season and the attentions of at least two eligible men. She caught the glance and felt to her dismay the slight tingle of excitement which sometimes came to her when Mr. Lydney looked at her in that way. Oh, no, no! Shaldon must not flirt with her, nor she with him; she valued his friendship too much for that.
They danced in silence for a while, separating and coming together again once more before Shaldon finally spoke.
“I have it,” he said, triumphantly. “I’ll write you a letter. It will be best in many ways, for you’ll then have time to think over what I have to tell you.”
“Oh, but that will take so long!” she complained. “I shan’t receive it until the day after tomorrow.”
“You will. I’ll write it tonight and have it delivered by hand in Cavendish Square first thing in the morning. And I can only hope,” he added, “that it won’t spoil your day’s outing for you.”
“Oh, dear,” she said, looking doubtfully at him, “is the news so very bad?”
“It certainly appears to be, but I’m not y
et convinced,” he answered, with forced cheerfulness. “And now, let us talk of something else, for if anyone is watching our performance, we must appear a very dull couple.”
“There’s only one thing,” she persisted. “Am I at liberty to communicate anything of what you tell me to Melissa? She already knows all about my suspicions, you see. She was with me that time when I saw the man Rowland Carlton in Piccadilly and jumped out of the coach to follow him — naturally, I was obliged to explain it later to her. But I won’t divulge another word, if you’d rather I didn’t.”
“There’s little purpose in concealing it from anyone, I suppose, since it may all have to come out in time,” he said, wryly. “All the same, for the moment I would prefer your confidences to be restricted to Miss Chetwode — and your brother, of course. I shall inform James myself, in any case, when next I see him.”
“Oh, dear, you sound sadly out of spirits.” Her hand was resting formally on his arm at the time, and she gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “If only there were anything I could do to help — anything in the world!”
“You can,” he replied, with a twisted smile. “Make me laugh with some of your absurdities.”
And under the influence of her lively countenance and the light-hearted chatter which she obediently produced for him, he did succeed in forgetting his troubles for a while.
CHAPTER XXXII
Helen slept fitfully that night, too full of combined curiosity and apprehension to relax. She was down to breakfast before anyone else, and sure enough the letter had arrived, in the flowing hand which she had come to recognise as Shaldon’s.
She hastily broke the seal and read avidly. It was as well that no one else was present, for as she devoured the contents of the letter — her breakfast, on the other hand, remaining untouched — a look of deepening dismay spread over her face.
She had imagined many things, but never anything as bad as this. How could the Earl have behaved in so cruel a way? Cruel to his first wife, and to the child of that marriage; cruel to poor Aunt Maria, whom she still vaguely remembered; and, worst of all, cruel to Anthony himself. It seemed hard to believe that any father could have treated his son so — allowing him to be brought up in the belief that he was the undisputed heir to Alvington, only to shatter his expectations when he had reached manhood. At that moment she felt she hated the Earl, little though she was usually given to violent antipathies.
After the first storm of dismay and anger had somewhat abated, she read the letter through again. This time she noticed that Anthony — she supposed she could no longer think of him as Viscount Shaldon — was fighting back. The evidence appeared conclusive, but he meant to examine it carefully for himself. He had already spoken to Rowland Carlton, and allowing far the fact that the man was understandably uneasy in his new and totally unexpected situation, his story seemed straightforward enough. Anthony announced that he next intended to question Durrant to see if there should be any discrepancies in their separate accounts.
I am not very sanguine on this head. Durrant is the last man to make any kind of slip. But the matter is too serious to be accepted without question. At some stage, of course, the lawyers will have to come into it, but at present I wish to make some investigations myself. I may even go down to Rye, though it’s doubtful if anything fresh can be learnt there after so long. I must be doing something, however.
So don’t look to hear from me for several days — perhaps a week — though you may be assured that you’ll be the first person I shall seek out on my return. That much I owe you, dear Nell — may I for once assume a brother’s right to your name? — in return for all the affectionate interest you have taken in my concerns.
If Carlton is in truth my father’s heir, I shall accept the fact philosophically, even though I have a fondness for Alvington and would have liked to think that it would be mine someday. But my case is far from desperate, whatever the outcome. I already possess an estate, if much smaller, and an adequate income.
From this you’ll see that I am counting my blessings in the approved fashion, and not succumbing to flat despair!
Until our next meeting, then,
I remain,
The letter was signed with the single initial A instead of the usual S.
Melissa had been eagerly looking forward to this visit to her sister’s home in Middlesex, because she intended to seize the opportunity of a heart-to-heart talk with Julia. In spite of the difference of five years in age and their varying temperaments, the two sisters had at one time been very close, sharing their little feminine secrets until Julia’s marriage to Baron Calcot four years ago. Since then Helen Somerby had replaced Julia as Melissa’s chief confidante; in family matters, however, Melissa still turned to her sister for guidance. She had written a frantic appeal for help after James Somerby’s proposal of marriage had been so cautiously received by her parents, and the invitation to Harrow had resulted.
Lord Calcot had evidently had his instructions on the way in which a tête-à-tête between the two sisters was to be contrived. Shortly after an excellent nuncheon, he proposed that the visitors should accompany him on a tour of the grounds. Julia, who was shortly expecting her second confinement, chose instead to sit on a shady bench on the terrace in her sister’s company, an arrangement which seemed agreeable to everyone.
As soon as the others had walked away out of earshot, Melissa began her tale of woe, while Julia listened in a sympathetic silence.
“Are you perfectly certain, dearest,” she ventured to say at last, “that what you at present feel for Mr. Somerby will stand the test of time? You are still young, you know, and haven’t met many gentlemen so far.”
“I shall be nineteen next week,” protested Melissa. “You weren’t much older than that when you were married, and Mama herself was wed at eighteen! Besides, I don’t see what age has to do with it. One can be quite as desperately in love at my age as at — oh, any age you care to mention! I know what it is, Julia. Just because I am the youngest, you all persist in thinking of me as being still a child! But I’m not. I’m a woman with a woman’s feelings, and I am truly in love with Mr. Somerby! If I wait until I’m thirty, I shall never meet anyone to whom I’ll be more passionately attached. I’ve met some other perfectly amiable gentlemen already, but to my way of thinking — and feeling — not one of them could ever have the power to attach me! They are all such — such statues compared to James Somerby! I shall never change, I tell you! And I would rather die an old maid than marry anyone else!”
Julia smiled gently. “Well, love, I hope you won’t do that, nor wait until you’re thirty to get married.”
“I shall if Mama and Papa have anything to say to it,” replied Melissa despondently.
“Try to understand their point of view.” Julia’s tone was quietly persuasive. “They only want what is best for you. I have a little girl of my own, and I know just how they feel.”
“Then they must surely see that it’s best for me to follow the dictates of my own heart!”
“Perhaps. Yet love sometimes blinds us to disadvantages which might later disrupt a marriage.” She hesitated for a moment, feeling her way over what she realised was difficult ground. “James Somerby is an excellent young man, I know. His character leaves nothing to be desired. He has many advantages — good looks and address, genteel parentage—”
“Now I know you’re going to say but!” interrupted Melissa, hotly. “And I know what your objection will be, too! It’s because he’s a doctor and must practise a profession, instead of being simply a gentleman of leisure!”
“We have to live in the world, Mel, and sometimes must accept its judgments. There can be no doubt that our world regards a medical man as being very little removed in social degree from a tradesman.”
“Yes, but all that is changing! If you could but talk to Mr. Somerby, you would learn how much the Apothecaries’ Act, which was passed last year, has done to ensure the raising of standards in medical education. Before the S
ociety will issue its Diploma, candidates are required to produce certificates of attendance upon courses of lectures in medicine and the medical sciences, and also upon medical practice in the wards. It will not be long before a fully qualified medical practitioner stands in as high social regard as a clergyman, whom everyone respects! Why, students come from all over the country to attend the medical courses at Guy’s Hospital. Mr. Somerby told me there was even one from America there at present, a Mr. John Wagner, from New York.”
Julia smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm. “Well, you are certainly well informed on the subject, at all events. But have you considered, Melissa, what a change in your material circumstances marriage to Mr. Somerby would mean? You will be obliged — at first, at any rate — to live in a much smaller house than any to which you’ve been accustomed, with only a few servants. And I don’t suppose you’ll be able to keep a carriage or have any of the luxuries to which you’ve been used all your life.”
“I shall be no worse off than Helen’s Mama,” said Melissa, stoutly. “And she is one of the happiest ladies I know!”
“So you have already considered all these objections thoroughly?” asked Julia.
“Of course I have! I’ve been obliged to do so, for Mr. Somerby himself was the first person to point them out to me. And all I can say is exactly what I said to him — that to be deprived of these material advantages will be nothing compared to the misery of being separated from him, and perhaps obliged to marry some odious nobleman who can give me everything but what I most desire!”
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