ince he had parted from Hugo, Claud had acquired a buttonhole of enormous size, which added the final touch to an appearance startling enough to excuse Lieutenant Ottershaw’s stupefaction. It was seldom that any gentleman honoured Rye by sauntering through its streets in the long-tailed coat, the pantaloons, and the Hessians that were fashionable for a lounge down Bond Street, or a promenade in Hyde Park; and even in these modish haunts Claud’s costumes must have been remarkable, for his pantaloons (with which he hoped to set a fashion) were neither of a sober biscuit hue, nor of a more dashing yellow, but of a clear and delicate lilac; his neckcloth was of inordinate size, and had a large amethyst pin stuck in its folds; his hat, the very latest product of Baxter’s inventive genius, was so revolutionary in design as to cause even its wearer to feel some qualms, for instead of being the bell-topped and rough beaver favoured by town-dwellers, or the more countrified shallow, it bore a marked resemblance to a tapering chimneypot. But even more stunning than his hat, or his pantaloons, was the long cloak of white drab, lined with lilac silk, which hung in graceful folds from his shoulders. It was not the custom of gentlemen to wear cloaks over anything but evening-dress; but it had occurred to Claud, studying his reflection once before setting out for Almack’s Assembly Rooms, that there was something peculiarly becoming in a well-cut and silk-lined cloak. The idea of designing one suitable for day-wear had flashed into his mind, and he had instantly suggested it to Polyphant. Polyphant had not seemed to care for it, but although he usually allowed Polyphant to guide his taste, he had been so much taken with this flower of his own brain that after brooding over it for several weeks he laid it before the more adventurous of his tailors. “Yes, sir. For a masquerade?” had said Mr. Stultz, rather dauntingly.

But Claud had not allowed himself to be daunted; and when he subsequently showed his cloak to two of his particular friends they were loud in their expressions of envy and approval. He had not yet worn it in London, but its effect on Rye had been very encouraging, and he rather thought he would venture to try it on the ton at the start of the Little Season. Lieutenant Ottershaw found his voice. “Is that—is that Mr. Claud Darracott, sir?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the Major. “It is!”

The Lieutenant drew a long breath. “I’m glad I’ve seen him,” he said simply. “I’ve heard a lot about him, but I didn’t believe the half of it.”

Having come within range, Claud put up his glass, the better to scrutinize his cousin’s companion. The Lieutenant, fascinated by an eye thus hideously magnified, could not drag his gaze from it, and was only released from its spell when Claud let the glass fall, and addressed himself to Hugo, in fretful accents.

“Dash it, coz! Been searching for you all over! Even took a look-in at the church. If I hadn’t thought to ask pretty well everyone I met if they’d seen a mountain moving about on legs, I might be hunting for you still!”

“I’ve been chewing the bacon with Lieutenant Ottershaw here,” replied Hugo. “How-de-do?” murmured Claud, groping for his glass again. He raised it, a puzzled frown on his brow, and levelled it at the Lieutenant’s blue and white uniform. “Naval?” he said doubtfully.

“Customs’ Land-Guard, sir,” said the Lieutenant stiffly.

“Thought you wasn’t wearing naval rig,” said Claud. “Never know one uniform from another, but those breeches didn’t seem right. Well, what I mean is, don’t wear ’em in the navy, do they? Silly thing to do, because it stands to reason—Customs Land-Guard, did you say?”

The Lieutenant, growing stiffer every minute, made him a slight bow. “I am a Riding-officer, sir.”

“That accounts for the breeches,” said Claud, glad to have this point cleared up. “Had me in a puzzle. Very happy to have met you, but trust you’ll forgive me if I drag my cousin away: got a luncheon waiting for us at the George!”

“You remind me that I also must be on my way, sir,” responded Ottershaw. He then bowed again, saluted Hugo, and strode off.

“If ever I met such a ramshackle fellow!” said Claud severely. “Hobnobbing with a dashed tidesman! Next you’ll be arm-in-arm with the beadle!”

“You’re mighty high in the instep all at once!” remarked Hugo.

“No, I ain’t: no all at once about it! Never rubbed shoulders with a Preventive in my life! Not the thing! I’ll tell you what, coz: if you don’t take care you’ll have people wondering if you’re hand-in-glove with the fellow, and you’ll be in bad loaf. Take my word for it!”

“And if I were thought to be hand-in-glove with the free-traders? I collect that would be all right and regular?”

“Nothing of the sort!” retorted Claud crossly. “What you ought to do is to have nothing to say to any of ’em. I don’t wish that tidesman of yours any harm—in fact, I hope he may prosper, though I shouldn’t think he would, because he looked like a clunch to me. The point is, catching free-traders ain’t my business, and it ain’t yours either. And another thing! If my grandfather knew you’d formed that sort of an acquaintance he’d very likely go off in an apoplexy!”

Having uttered this warning, and even enlarged on it over the excellent ham pie provided for luncheon at the George, it was with considerable exasperation that Claud heard his incorrigible cousin, some hours later, describing his encounter with Lieutenant Ottershaw to an audience that included not only Lord Darracott, but Vincent as well. This foolish lapse took place at the dinner-table, and just when everything, in Claud’s judgment, was going on particularly well. When the port had been set on the mahogany, his lordship had bethought him of his heir’s expedition to Rye, and had asked him, in a mood of rare geniality, if he had been pleased with the town. Upon Hugo’s responding that he had been both pleased and interested, and would like to know much more about its history than he had been able to glean in one visit, he had nodded approvingly; and it had needed only one question from Hugo to set him talking about the town. As far as Claud was concerned, it was a dead bore, but he was glad to see Hugo getting on terms with his grandfather, feeling vaguely that a great deal of credit was due to himself; and he did his best to promote further discussion by requesting my lord to tell Hugo the true facts about the murderous butcher.

Happily unaware of having irritated my lord, who had been describing the original island-town, he then retired into his own thoughts, and paid no more heed to the conversation until his attention was recalled by Vincent’s saying idly: “Didn’t you tell me once, sir, that one of the cottages in Trader’s Passage has a secret way down to the Strand, or some such thing?”

“That’s what Ottershaw is trying to find, I daresay,” remarked Richmond, “He’s supposed to be stationed at Lydd, but he’s forever prowling about Rye. You didn’t see him there, did you, Cousin Hugo?”

“Oh, yes, I saw him!” Hugo replied. He refilled his glass, and passed the decanter on to Vincent, and added: “I met him at the top of the steps by the Ypres Tower.” Beginning to feel a trifle uneasy, Claud directed a look at him that was meant to convey a warning that any further disclosure should be sedulously avoided. He succeeded in catching his cousin’s eye, and so was startled and exacerbated when Hugo said, quite unnecessarily:

“He said he had been at the Ypres Tavern.”

“A ccosted you, did he?” said his lordship. “Intolerable Jack Straw! I hope you gave him a sharp set-down?”

“Nay, he didn’t accost me: I accosted him,” said Hugo. “I wouldn’t call him a Jack Straw, either.”

“What the devil possessed you to do so?” demanded his lordship, a frown gathering. “I wish you will remember that you’re a Darracott, sir, and learn to keep a proper distance! The fellow’s an infernal coxcomb!”

“I expect my cousin didn’t realize that,” said Vincent suavely.

“You’re right: I didn’t,” replied Hugo. “I’d say myself that he’s a stiff-necked lad, and devilish punctilious.”

“Full of starch, and mutton headed into the bargain!” said Richmond.

“Nay, I wouldn’t run away with that notion,” said Hugo, meeting Richmond’s eyes, and holding them. “He’s not as mutton headed as you think, lad.”

“What makes you say so?”

“Some of the things he told me,” Hugo replied. He lowered his eyes to the glass in his hand, contemplating the play of the candlelight on the port. “There’s not much he doesn’t know about smuggling ways, seemingly, and not much that escapes him. I’ve met his sort before: I’d take care how I tried to cut a wheedle with him.”

“I feel sure you are right,” said Vincent. “I cannot believe that you would cut a successful wheedle with anyone.”

A little chuckle shook the Major, but he said regretfully: “Nay, I’m too gaumless.”

“Can none of you find anything of more interest to discuss?” demanded his lordship contemptuously. “I wish you will inform me what you find to interest you in an Exciseman?”

“Speaking for myself,” answered Vincent, “nothing whatsoever, sir. Should you object to it if I were to take that sprig—” he nodded at Richmond—“to see how Cribb’s latest pupil shapes in the ring? He’s matched to fight Tom Bugle at Sevenoaks, for twenty guineas a side, and shows off, Cribb tells me, in excellent style. If he’s not levelled in the first round, it should be a good contest: stopping and hitting the order of the day—no hugging, or hauling, and nothing shy.”

“You may take him, if he cares to go,” replied his lordship. “I’ve no objection, though no doubt your aunt will raise a dust.”

“No, she won’t, Grandpapa! Not if I have your leave!” Richmond said impetuously. “Besides, I’m not a child! When is it to be, Vincent? How shall we do? I’ve never seen a real match—only a few turn ups, with tremendous milling, but no science.”

He could talk of nothing else. His grandfather listened to him indulgently, Vincent with weary resignation, and Claud not at all. It seemed to occur to no one but Hugo, watching him curiously, that his eager excitement was that of a schoolboy rather than a youth on the threshold of manhood. He was transformed, his big, expressive eyes sparkling, his cheeks a little flushed; and it was evident that he looked forward as much to spending two nights away from his home as to the treat of watching a fight under the aegis of a patron of the Fancy. As soon as his grandfather left the dining-room, he went off to cajole his mother into viewing the project with complaisance, reminding Hugo of a spirited colt kicking up his heels in sheer exuberance.

“I wonder what can have possessed me?” said Vincent, a look of ineffable boredom on his face. “My only hope now is that my Aunt Elvira may be moved to beg me not to take her nestling to watch such a horrid, brutal exhibition: I should not dream of doing so against her wishes.”

“Well, it beats me why he should be so devilish full of gig about it, but I call it dashed shabby if you run sly, when you’ve cast him into transports!” said Claud disapprovingly. “Yes, that reflection quite sinks my spirits,” agreed Vincent. “If only I had known that he would be cast into transports!”

“Didn’t you? And you so all-alive!” said Hugo. Vincent looked at him, his brows lifting haughtily.

“No saying what Richmond will do!” said Claud, intervening in some haste. “Odd sort of a boy. Often thought so!”

“There’s not one of you that has thought about him at all,” said Hugo. “Eh, Vincent, can’t you see that what’s cast him into transports is being let off his chain for a piece? The only odd thing about him is that he’s much too biddable for such a high-couraged lad!”

“The subject holds very little more interest for me than that of Excisemen, but I feel sure you are right.”

“You’d have more hair than wit if you didn’t,” replied Hugo, smiling. “I’ve had to do with a score of lads of Richmond’s age! You may take it that I know what I’m saying when I tell you that if he’s kept for much longer dancing attendance on his grandfather he’ll be getting up to mischief.”

“How very dreadful!” said Vincent sardonically.

“That’s what I’m thinking,” replied Hugo. “He’s got a deal of energy and no more worldly sense than a lass not out of the schoolroom. He wants always to be doing, but what he’s got his heart set on he’s been forbidden to think of, and the chances are there’ll be the devil to pay, because you’re brewing trouble when you try to keep randy, hey-go-mad lads of his cut in leading-strings.”

“May I suggest that instead of wasting your eloquence on me you should bestow your advice—no doubt excellent!—on my grandfather?”

“Good God, no!” exclaimed Claud, horrified. “Don’t you do any such thing, Hugo! As sure you—wouldn’t answer the purpose at all! In fact, far otherwise!”

“Nay, what right have I to interfere?” Hugo said.

“For once, cousin, I am entirely in accordance with you,” remarked Vincent.

“Happen we’ve neither of us any right, but if I’d known the lad from his cradle, and he looked up to me, as he does to you, I’d make a push to help him. Why don’t you do it, instead of throwing your tongue at me in a way that’ll do you no good nor me any harm?”

“Happen,” Vincent retorted, “I lack the effrontery!”

“Nay, you don’t lack that!” said Hugo, with his deep chuckle.

Vincent stiffened, his eyes narrowing; for a moment the issue seemed to be in the balance; and then he shrugged, and walked out of the room.

As had been foreseen, Mrs. Darracott was strongly opposed to the projected scheme for her son’s entertainment. She held prize-fighting in abhorrence, and seemed to be equally divided in her mind between dislike of Richmond’s being taken into low, vulgar company, and fear that he had only to witness an encounter to be fired with emulation. It was useless for Lady Aurelia to tell her that she need be under no apprehension, since gentlemen did not engage in prize-fighting: between prize-fighting and boxing she was unable to perceive the least difference; and, in any event, he had been subject, as a child, to severe nose-bleedings, which would very likely be brought on again if he were to sustain a blow in the face.

“But, Mama, indeed, I don’t think he has the least wish to be a boxer!” Anthea said coaxingly. “A fter all, Oliver didn’t box, did he? And he was forever going off to see a fight!” She broke off suddenly, with a comical look of dismay, as it occurred to her that this comparison was not entirely felicitous.

“Well!” uttered Mrs. Darracott, her plump bosom swelling with indignation. “If you wish to see your brother—your only brother!—return in the perfectly disgusting condition—”

“I don’t, I don’t!” interrupted Anthea, trying not to laugh. “Now, Mama—!”

“I am no friend to the sport in any form,” announced Lady Aurelia, “but in this instance, my dear Elvira, you need not fidget yourself. Recollect that Richmond will be in his cousin’s charge! Depend upon it, Vincent will take good care of him.”

Good manners compelled Mrs. Darracott to hold her peace, but it was with difficulty that she refrained from retort, as Anthea presently explained to Hugo.”

“I daresay she wouldn’t have cared so very much, if Richmond had not been going with Vincent,” she said. “Not that she would have liked it, for she never could. Indeed, I don’t see how anyone could, except that men seem to like the most peculiar things. There is no understanding it at all!”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “Time and again I’ve wondered what maggots gets into lasses’ heads to make them wild after summat that seems to me plain daft!” “Very possibly! But at least we don’t like cocking, and prize-fighting, and wrestling, and getting odiously foxed!” she countered, with spirit.

“We’re a terrible set!” he said, much struck.

“Yes, but some of you, I own, are worse than others,” she conceded handsomely. “I was used to think you were all detestable, but that, of course, was because I had only met the men of my own family. I still think them detestable—well, perhaps not Claud, and certainly not Richmond, though he’s only a boy—but the rest of them—ugh!”

“Well, that’s sent me to grass, choose how!” said Hugo, in a dejected voice. She stared at him for a moment, and then burst out laughing. “I didn’t mean you! You know I didn’t! I never think of you as one of the family.”

“That’s the worst you’ve said yet!”

“On the contrary! Not but what you are detestable too, but in your own fashion!” said Anthea. “Now, do, pray, be serious! Do you think there can be any harm in Richmond’s going to this horrid fight with Vincent?”

“None at all,” he replied.

“No, nor do I, but Mama has it fixed in her head that Vincent may lead Richmond into his own way of life. I am not very sure I know what that is, precisely, but Mama seems to think it quite shocking, which I can readily believe. But, in fairness to Vincent, I should perhaps tell you that Mama is not to be depended on when she speaks of him, for she holds him in the greatest aversion.”

“She needn’t be in a worry,” he said, smiling a little. “Vincent won’t lead Richmond into any way of life at all!”

“Well, I wish you will tell Mama so!” she said. “She is in such a fret over it! Since Grandpapa has said he may go, I don’t think Richmond will attend to her, but it must spoil his pleasure if he knows he is making her unhappy! A t least—” She paused, considering this. “Well, I should think it would, wouldn’t you?”

“No,” he replied frankly. “But if you wish me to do so I’ll talk to your mama, and gladly! Eh, lass, what nonsense it is! All this uproar about Richmond’s going to watch a prize-fight, as though he were eight years old instead of past eighteen! There’s not one lad in a hundred would have thought he must have his grandfather’s permission, and none at all that would have breathed a word about it to his mother! Lord, by the time I was Richmond’s age I’d fought my first campaign in South A merica, and was on my way to Sweden, with Sir John Moore! I wasn’t thought to be so very young when I joined, either.”

She looked up into his face, her eyes searching it rather anxiously. “It is unnatural, isn’t it, the life Richmond leads? I didn’t question it at first: you see, I know very little about the world! Except for one Season in London, and going to stay now and then with one or other of my aunts, I’ve hardly ever been away from this place. Of course I knew that Oliver wasn’t brought up as Richmond has been, but that only made me think how fortunate it was that Grandpapa loved Richmond too much to part with him, because Oliver was for ever getting into trouble! I don’t know what he did, except that it was always very expensive, and put my Uncle Granville into a passion, as well as Grandpapa, but I do know that he was a loose fish, because I once heard my uncle tell him so, and I daresay you know what that means!”

“Yes, love,” said Hugo, smiling very kindly at her. “I know right enough but happen you’d better not say it!”

“Oh, no! It sounds most improper! I wouldn’t say it to anyone but—Hugo, how dare you call me love?”

“Did I do that?” he asked incredulously.

“You know very well you did! What is more, it is by far more improper than anything I said!”

“It must have slipped out,” said Hugo feebly. “It’s a common expression in the north!”

“Like lass, no doubt! And if you think, sir, that just because I grew fagged to death with telling you not to call me that, you are at liberty to call me anything else that comes into your head—”

“No, ma’am!” he intervened hastily. He shook his head in self-condemnation. “I wasn’t minding my tongue. The instant our Claud’s not by to give me a nudge, it’s down with my apple-cart again! Eh, but it’s downright disheartening!”

“And d-don’t call me m-ma’am either!” said Anthea, in a hopelessly unsteady voice.

He heaved a disconsolate sigh. “I thought it would please you—Cousin Anthea!”

“You did not! You are an abominable person, Hugo! You’ve done nothing but make a May-game of us all ever since you set foot inside the house, while as for the whiskers you tell—!”

“Not whiskers, Cousin Anthea!” he pleaded.

““Whiskers!” she repeated firmly. “Besides acting the dunce—” “Nay, I was always terribly gawky!” “—and talking broad Yorkshire on the least provocation!” “But I told you how it is with me!”

“You did! You said you couldn’t help but do so whenever you are scared, and if that wasn’t a whisker I never heard one! Well! If you spent your time hoaxing them all in your regiment I shouldn’t wonder at it if you were compelled to sell out!” said Anthea, nodding darkly.

“Worse!” said the woebegone sinner before her. “I was hoping you wouldn’t discover it, but there! I might have known—”

“Hugo—! You—you—”

He laughed. “Yes, Cousin Anthea?”

“Where did you go to school?” demanded Anthea sternly.

“That’s a long time ago,” he objected. “There’s so much has happened to me since then—” “More whiskers!” said Anthea, casting up her eyes. “Well, it was—it was a school not so very far from London,” he disclosed, looking sheepish. “Eton?”

“Nay, lass!” he exclaimed shocked. “What would I have been doing at a place like that?”

“Wearing your tutor to death, I should think. But now I come to think of it I know you can’t have been at Eton, for you must have met Vincent there. Harrow?”

He looked at her for a moment, and then grinned, and nodded. “And why have you told no one that you were there?” “Well, no one asked me,” he replied. “If it comes to that, Claud hasn’t told me he was at Eton!”

“No, but he hasn’t done his best to make you think he was educated at a charity school!” “Now, what have I ever said—” “Hugo, you deliberately tried to talk like your groom! They cannot have allowed you to do so at Harrow!”

He smiled. “No, but I was very broad in my speech before I went there, and I had it in my ears in the holidays, so that I’ve never really lost it. My grandfather—not this one!—”

“I know!” she interpolated. “T’gaffer!”

There was an appreciative twinkle in his eye. “Ay, t’gaffer! Well, he spoke good Yorkshire all his life, but I got scolded for doing it—being Quality-make! But I do use Yorkshire expressions now-and-now—when the occasion calls for them! And in the regiment—cutting a joke, you know!”

“Yes, I understand that! Like Richmond saying things in the broadest Sussex—he does it beautifully, and so did Oliver! Only Grandpapa disliked it, and made them stop doing it. He said it would get to be a habit, and I must own it became very tedious. But you, Hugo, talked Yorkshire to hoax us!”

“It wasn’t exactly that,” he said. “I’d no notion of hoaxing anybody when I came here, but when I saw the way you were all of you pretty well expecting me to eat with my knife—eh, lass, I couldn’t resist!”

“How anyone who looks as you do can be so mad-brained—!” she marvelled. “If ever I hear of you in Newgate I shall know you owed your downfall to a prank you couldn’t resist going into full-fling!”

“I’ll be lucky if it’s no worse,” he said pessimistically. “Granddad was used to say I’d end on the gallows, all for the sake of cutting a joke. Mind you, I didn’t think to find myself in the suds over this, because I hadn’t been in the house above an hour before I was wondering how soon I could escape! I’d no more notion of remaining here than of flying to the moon.”

“What will you do?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ll bring myself home!” he said cheerfully.

“You do mean to remain, then?”

“If I get what I want.”

“The Dower House?”

“Nay, that’s a small matter! I’ll tell you what it is one of these days, but I’m not so very sure I can get it yet, so happen I’ll do best to keep it to myself.”

“Well, I wouldn’t tell anyone!” she exclaimed.

“The thing is you might say I’d no hope of getting it,” he explained. A n 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!”