My lord, balked, stood fulminating, and Claud, who had been turning the question put to him over in his mind, suddenly said: “Oh, that cousin! Well, I’ll tell you!” He discovered that everyone but his mother was staring at him in surprise, and blushed, saying modestly: “I may not be a clever cove, but I can answer that. Well, what I mean is, nothing has happened to him. I don’t precisely know where he is, mind, though I’ve a notion about that, too.” He looked round the circle with mild pride, and enunciated triumphantly: “Tonbridge! Won’t be here for another three hours. More, if the postboys lose the way, which I daresay they will. Dashed difficult place to find, this. Lost the way myself once.”
After this burst of loquacity he subsided. His grandfather, a most alarming expression on his face, was still struggling for words with which to annihilate him when Lady Aurelia intervened, saying calmly: “No doubt you are right. Indeed, I see no reason to expect the young man before dinnertime.”
“Oh, you don’t, ma’am?” said his lordship, abandoning Claud for a worthier prey. “Then let me tell you that my orders to Lissett were that the fellow should be sent off post not an instant later than eight o’clock! He will have to learn that when I give an order I expect it to be obeyed to the letter!”
“It seems reasonable to prophesy that he will,” remarked Vincent, as the door shut with a decided slam behind his lordship.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Darracott. “Since your grandfather seems to want him, I do wish he hadn’t chosen to be late! I can’t help feeling that we shall have a very uncomfortable evening.”
By twenty minutes to six, the Major still not having arrived, my lord was in a mood of cold rage, as surly (as Claud confided to Richmond) as a butcher’s dog. The ladies of the party had not yet come down from their-respective bedchambers, but the gentlemen had prudently changed their dress in good time, and dutifully assembled in the Green Saloon, My lord tugged the bell-rope, his brow black, and upon the butler’s coming into the room, told him that dinner was to be served punctually at six o’clock.
“Very good, my lord,” Chollacombe said, “but—”
“You heard me!”
It was apparent from Chollacombe’s raised head, and straining expression, that he had also heard something else. He said: “Yes, my lord. But I fancy that the Major has arrived.”
“Bring him in here immediately!” commanded his lordship.
Chollacombe bowed, and left the room, carefully shutting the door. An indistinguishable murmur of voices penetrated to the saloon, as though an argument had sprang
“Wants to change his dress first,” said Claud, explaining the pause, and nodding wisely. “Very understandable. I would myself.”
“Whippersnapper!” said my lord.
The door was opened again. “Major Darracott!” announced Chollacombe.
Chapter 4
The Major trod resolutely over the threshold, and there stopped, pulled up short by the battery that confronted him. Five pairs of eyes scanned him with varying degrees of astonishment, hostility, and criticism. He looked round, his own, very blue orbs holding a comical expression of dismay, and a deep flush creeping up under his tan. Three of the gentlemen had levelled their quizzing-glasses at him; and one, whom he judged to be his grandfather, was scowling at him from under a beetling brow.
For a nerve-racking minute no one spoke, or moved. Surprise was, in fact, responsible for this frozen immobility, but only Richmond’s widening gaze and Claud’s dropped jaw betrayed this.
The Darracotts were a tall race, but the man who stood on the threshold dwarfed them all. He stood six foot four in his stockinged feet, and he was built on noble lines, with great shoulders, a deep barrel of a chest, and powerful thighs. He was much fairer than his cousins, with tightly curling brown hair, cut rather shorter than was fashionable, and a ruddy complexion. His nose had no aquiline trend: it was rather indeterminate; and this, with his curly locks and his well-opened and childishly blue eyes, gave him an air of innocence at variance with his firm-lipped mouth and decided chin. He looked to be amiable; he was certainly bashful, but for this there was every excuse. He had been ushered into a room occupied by five gentlemen attired in raiment commonly worn only at Court, or at Almack’s Assembly Rooms, and he was himself wearing leathers and top-boots, and a serviceable riding-coat, all of which were splashed with mud.
“Good God!” muttered Matthew, breaking the silence.
“So you’ve shown at last, have you?” said Lord Darracott. “You’re devilish late, sir!”
“I am a trifle late,” acknowledged the culprit. “I’m sorry for it, but I missed the way, and that delayed me.”
“Thought as much!” said Claud.
“Well, don’t stand there like a stock!” said Darracott. “This is your uncle Matthew, and the others are your cousins: Vincent—Claud—Richmond!”
Considerably unnerved by his reception, the Major took an unwary step forward, and very nearly fell over an unnoticed stool in his path. Vincent said, in Richmond’s ear, not quite under his breath: “The lubber Ajax!”
If the Major heard him, he gave no sign of having done so. Matthew caught the words, and uttered a short laugh, which he changed, not very convincingly, into a cough. The Major, recovering his balance, advanced towards Lord Darracott, who waved him, slightly impatiently, to his uncle. He turned, half putting out his hand, but Matthew,—not moving from his stand before the empty fireplace, only nodded to him, and said: “How do you do?”
The Major made no attempt to shake hands with the rest of the company, but when he had exchanged formal bows with Vincent and Claud, Richmond, whose colour was also considerably heightened, stepped forward, with his hand held out, saying with a little stammer: “How—how do you do, Cousin Hugh?”
His hand was lost in the Major’s large clasp. “Now, which of my cousins are you?” asked the. Major, smiling kindly down at him.
“I’m Richmond, sir.”
“Nay!” protested the Major. “Don’t call me sir! I’d as lief you didn’t call me Cousin Hugh either. I was christened Hugh, but I’ve never answered to anything but Hugo all my life.”
Lord Darracott broke in on this. Having by this time had time to assimilate the fact that Hugo’s clothes were freely bespattered with mud, he demanded to know the reason. Hugo released Richmond’s hand, and turned his head towards his grandfather. “Well, you’ve had some rain down here, sir. I should not have come in till I’d got rid of my dirt, but I wasn’t given any choice in the matter,” he explained.
“Chaise overturn?” enquired Claud, not without sympathy.
Hugo laughed. “No, it wasn’t as bad as that. I didn’t come by chaise.”
“Then how did you come?” asked Matthew. “From the look of you one would say that you had ridden from town!”
“Ay, so I did,” nodded Hugo.
“Ridden?”gasped Claud. “Ridden all the way from London?”
“Why not?” said Hugo.
“But—Dash it, you can’t do things like that!” Claud said, in a shocked tone. “I mean to say—no, really, coz! Your luggage!”
“Oh, that!” replied Hugo. “John Joseph had all I need, loaded on my spare horse—my groom, I mean—my private groom!”
“How very original!” drawled Vincent. “I rarely travel by chaise myself, but I confess it had never before occurred to me to turn any of my cattle into pack-horses.”
“Nay, why should it?” returned the Major good-humouredly. “Maybe you’ve never been obliged to travel rough. I don’t think I’ve gone in a chaise above two or three times in my life.”
Lord Darracott stirred restlessly in his chair, gripping its arms momentarily. “No doubt! You are not obliged to travel rough, as you term it, now! My orders were that a chaise was to be hired for you, and I expect my orders to be obeyed!”