The Unknown Ajax

Chapter 7

If the Major nursed a hope that his elegant cousin’s determination to give him a new touch would not survive his wrath, he was soon obliged to abandon it. A crusading spirit had entered Claud’s bosom, and before the day was out he had succeeded in cornering the Major, whom he found writing a letter in one of the smaller saloons. He had given much thought to a difficult problem, and he had decided that the first step must be a bolt to the village, where he would himself superintend the choice of hats, boots, gloves, knee-smalls, neckcloths, waistcoat, and shirts, and summon his own tailor to bring his pattern-card to his lodging in Duke Street. Gathering from this programme that a bolt to the village signified a visit to the Metropolis, the Major declined the threat. He was of the opinion that Lord Darracott would cup up extremely stiff if such a plan were even mooted.

“Thought of that too,” countered Claud. “Say you have the toothache! I’ll offer to drive to London with you, and take you to a good tooth-drawer. No need to tell the old gentleman I’m going to rig you out in style.”

The Major said that he thought his lordship had too much know to be bamboozled, and Claud made the disheartening discovery that his pupil was as obstinate as he was amiable, and so woodheaded that although he listened to what was said to him he seemed to be incapable of taking it in. He agreed that to present a good appearance was of the first importance; when it was pointed out to him that the points of his shirt-collars were so moderate as to be positively dowdy he said he had been afraid that was so from the start; when told that Nugee or Stultz would turn him out in smarter style than Scott, he nodded; but whenever he had been worked up to the point (as Claud thought) of making the necessary alterations to his attire it became apparent that either he had not been attending, or had failed to grasp, the meaning of what had been said to him.

“Cast your ogles over me!” Claud adjured. “Don’t want to boast, but I assure you this rig of mine is precise to a pin!”

“Ay, you’re as fine as five pence,” said Hugo, obediently looking him over.

“Well, I flatter myself this coat is an excellent fit. I don’t say it would do for you, because you haven’t the figure for it. Not but what you could wear a Cumberland corset, you know. Just to nip you in at the waist!”

“That ’ud be the thing,” agreed Hugo.

“No need to broaden the shoulders, but a bit of wadding at the top of the sleeve would give ’em a modish peak.”

“So it would!”

“The sleeves must be gathered at the shoulder, too.”

“Ay, they’d have to be.”

“And the tails made longer. Then, with a set of silver buttons—basket-work, I think; a natty waistcoat, and pantaloons of stockinette—not nankeen, or Angola—well, you see what I mean, coz?”

“I’d look champion.”

“You look as neat as wax,” said Claud. “Or trim as a trencher. Not champion!”

“I’d look as neat as wax,” said Hugo tractably.

“Take my advice, and let Nugee make your coats! Vincent goes to Schweitzer and Davidson for his sporting toggery, and I rather fancy Weston made the coat he wore last night, but Nugee is the man for my money. Or Stultz. I’ll tell you what! Have a coat from each of ’em!”

“Nay, I’ve enough coats already,” said Hugo.

“Dash it, haven’t I been telling you for ever that they won’t do?” demanded Claud, in pardonable exasperation.

“Ay, you have, and I’m fairly nappered I didn’t meet you before I let Scott take my measurements,” said Hugo sadly.

A worse set-back was in store for the Pink of the Ton. When he pointed out to the Major that two cloak-bags and a portmanteau could not, by any stretch of the imagination, provide adequate accommodation for the number of shirts any aspirant to fashion must carry with him, he was, in his own phrase, floored by his pupil’s simple rejoinder that he had been informed that when staying in the country he might with perfect propriety make good the deficiencies of bucolic launderers with a Tommy.

“A Tommy?” gasped Claud, his eyes starting from their sockets. “A false shirt-front?”

“Ay, that’s it,” nodded Hugo. “Only in the country, of course!”

A shudder ran through Claud’s frame. “No, no! Well, what I mean is—Dash it, coz!—No!”

Encountering only a blank stare from the Major, Claud was moved to order Richmond’s man, Wellow, who was looking after Hugo, to render up to him any Tommies he might have found. Wellow naturally repeated this extraordinary command to his own master, with the result that when Richmond rode out with Anthea and Hugo next morning he warmly congratulated Hugo on having successfully bubbled Claud.

“Bubbled Claud? How did I do that?” asked Hugo.

“No, no, cousin, you won’t bubble me! Telling him you meant to eke out your skirts with Tommies! The silly gudgeon bade Wellow hand ’em over to him. Wellow thought he must be touched, for of course you have none.”

“There, now, I knew there was something I’d forgotten to pack!” said Hugo.

“Yes, and you have also forgotten that since Grooby unpacked your luggage, and Wellow is waiting on you, everyone in the house knows that the Major’s linen is of the finest,” remarked Anthea.

“Now, that I am glad to hear, because I took care to buy the best,” confided Hugo.

She cast a somewhat amused glance at him, but said nothing. Riding on the other side of the big bay, Richmond said diffidently: “You don’t mean to let Claud rig you out, do you?”

“Eh, but I’m sorely tempted!” said Hugo. “I’d look gradely! That is, I would if I wore some kind of a corset, and that’s where the water sticks, for I’m one who likes to be comfortable.”

“A corset?” exclaimed both his companions in chorus.

“To nip me in round the waist,” he explained.

“Of all the impudence!” said Richmond. “You’ve a better figure than Claud!” He hesitated, and then said, with a slight stammer: “As a matter of fact—if you won’t take it amiss!—my grandfather says you look more the gentleman then Claud does!”

The Major showed no signs of offence, but he did not seem to be much elated either. “Well, if he said our Claud looked like a counter-coxcomb that’s not praising me to the skies,” he observed.

“Praising one to the skies is not one of Grandpapa’s weaknesses,” said Anthea, “You look what you are, cousin: a soldier! I don’t know how it is, but there is always a certain neatness that distinguishes them.”

“That’s due to Scott,” he replied. “There wasn’t much neatness about me, or any of us, barring poor Cadoux, in my Peninsular days. You’ll hear people talk about our jack-a-dandy green uniforms, but, Lord, you should have seen ’em by the time we got to Madrid!”

That was quite enough for Richmond, who at once began to ply his cousin with questions about his campaigns. The Major replied to them in his good-natured way, but either because he was not a loquacious person, or because he had been forbidden to encourage Richmond’s interest in military matters, he was not as forthcoming as his young cousin had hoped he might be. Sometimes he was even a little disappointing, for when he was begged to describe the march to Talavera, or the battle of Salamanca, the only things he seemed to remember about the march were one or two ludicrous incidents in which he cut a comical but unheroic figure; and all he had to say about the battle was that the Light Bobs had had very little to do in it. Richmond, persevering, asked him if it had always been his ambition to become a soldier. His own romantic ardour glared in his eyes, but the Major’s reply was again disappointing. “Nay, I never thought of it when I was a lad. All I ever wanted to do was to get under everyone’s feet in the mill, or to run off up to the moors instead of minding my book.”

“What made you join?” enquired Anthea. “Was it because your father had been a soldier, perhaps?”

“There wasn’t much else I could do,” he explained. “It was this road, you see: I never framed to be a scholar, so it was no use thinking of the Church, or the Law; and as for tewing in the mill, my grandfather wouldn’t hear of it, because I was a gentleman’s son. So, as I’d no fancy for the navy, it had to be the army.”

It was evident that this prosaic speech daunted Richmond. He said “Oh!” in a flattened tone, and relapsed for some time into silence.

He had accompanied the Major and his sister on their ride at Anthea’s request. Lord Darracott had told her at the breakfast-table that she might usefully employ herself in making her cousin acquainted with the Darracott land, an attempt to throw them together so blatant that she could only be thankful that she had had the resolution to declare herself to the Major. More from a desire to be revenged on her grandfather than from reluctance to be tête-à-tête with Hugo, she had instantly invited Richmond to accompany her. In this she had been supported by Mrs. Darracott, whose notions of propriety, though constantly outraged by the careless Darracotts, were too nice to allow her to regard with complaisance the spectacle of her daughter’s jauntering about the countryside with a strange man (be he never so much her cousin) for her only escort. Richmond, hoping to be regaled with stirring tales of war, had agreed willingly to go, and although the Major had disappointed him, he was too well-mannered a boy to make an excuse to leave the small party, or to betray that he thought talk about boundaries, enclosures, right-of-way, advowsons, leases, and crops a dead bore. He had never had much interest in such matters, and knew far less about them than his sister, so his contributions to the task of instructing the heir were largely confined to a description of the various forms of sport to be obtained in the neighbourhood.

The northern boundary to the estates being considerably nearer to the house than any other, they had set out in that direction. A nursery joke had had to be explained to Hugo. “And after that, which?” Richmond had asked his sister. “Kent or Sussex?”

“Kent,” she had decided; and then, flashing a smile at Hugo: “We have a foot in each county, you know. Here, we are in Kent, and it was here that the first Darracott—well, the first that was ever in England!—settled. There’s nothing left of the old Saxon manor, but it was certainly on the site of the present house. Darracott tradition has it that he was a person of consequence, but we—Richmond, and Vincent, and I—take leave to doubt that, because the original manor was quite small. That’s why the house lies so close to the northern boundary. It was much later that the family crept over into Sussex. Today, that part of Grandpapa’s lands is the most important, because of the rents, you know; but although Darracott Place has been pulled down, and rebuilt, and enlarged a great many times, no reigning Darracott has ever had the temerity to remove the original site. That would be flying in the face of tradition!—an unpardonable crime!”

So they had ridden towards the Weald, into more wooded country, and then eastward, above the Rother levels, for a little way, before dropping down again to the Marsh, and crossing the Military Canal at Appledore. The Marsh stretched before them, smiling and lush in the September sunshine, yet with a suggestion of eerie loneliness about it which made the Major exclaim, under his breath: “Eh, it’s a queer place!”

Just beyond Fairford, a cluster of alleys round a church, they had reined in their horses, so that the few landmarks could be more easily pointed out. Anthea had directed Hugo’s attention to the tower of Lydd Church, visible some six miles to the south-east, but although he bestowed a cursory glance on it his interest was claimed by the expanse of reclaimed land that lay between Lydd and Rye. Seen from the slight elevation on which Darracott Place had been built, the Marsh had appeared to be quite flat, with nothing but intersecting dykes, and, here and there, a few willows and thornbushes to relieve its tame monotony. His eye had been attracted by Rye, perched so unexpectedly high above the Marsh, and reminding him, in the distance, of the Point of Cassilhas, near Lisbon, where there had been a military hospital (in which he had languished for several painful weeks); and on the top of just such another steep, isolated hill a convent had been built. Now, standing on the edge of the Marsh, he perceived that it was not quite flat, but sloped slightly upwards towards the dunes that hid the sea from his sight. A road meandered erratically across it, but there was no traffic to be seen, and not so much as a shepherd’s cot afforded any sign of human habitation. There seemed to be no living things on the Marsh but sheep, gulls, a moorhen seeking safety in the rushes, and somewhere, sounding its unmistakable note, a peewit. The scene was peaceful, but it was not tame. As Anthea looked enquiringly at Hugo, he spoke the thought that came into his mind: “Do you meet flay-boggards, if you venture out when the light goes?”

“I don’t think so,” replied Anthea cautiously.

He glanced down at her, and laughed. “Where’s our Claud to set me right? Hobgoblins is what I should have said! This is just where I’d look for them.”

To Anthea and Richmond, born and bred on the edge of the Marsh, this was ridiculous. Richmond said: “Hobgoblins? You don’t believe in them, do you, cousin?”

“Nay, I’m not so sure I don’t since I’ve come into these parts,” said Hugo, shaking his head. “I’ll take care to turn my coat inside out, if ever I come here after nightfall, for fear of being pixie-led.”

Richmond laughed; but Anthea said: “Does it seem to you an uncanny place? My Aunt Anne hated it: she used to say it was sullen land, full of evil sea-spirits, but she was very fanciful! It isn’t uncanny—not a bit!—even though it was once at the bottom of the sea! Innings have been made all along this stretch of coast, you know, as far as Saxon times. People say it’s unhealthy—aguish—and I own that those who live on the Marsh are peculiarly subject to fits of ague. That’s why Darracott Place is almost the last of the great houses still remaining here: in general, the lords of the district removed to the uplands. Not the Darracotts, however! You may depend on that!”

“Unless you do so, Cousin Hugo?” interpolated Richmond. “My uncle Granville was used to say that he would leave Darracott Place, and live in one of the manors on the Sussex side. Northiamway.”

“Yes! When he was at outs with Grandpapa!” retorted Anthea. “He would never have done it! Even had he really wished to abandon the Place, only think of the cost!” She smiled at Hugo, dancing lights in her eyes. “Did you fancy, cousin, that you had seen the worst of your family? I assure you, you have seen it at its best! When my uncle was alive, and he lived here, with all his family, brangles and brawls between him and my grandfather were the rule rather than the exception. He was inclined to be sickly, which Grandpapa took as an affront; and no matter what ailed him he always said that it was due to the horrid, marish situation of the house. You may imagine Grandpapa’s wrath!”

“Well, what slum it was!” said Richmond scornfully. “Grandpapa knew he only got the notion out of an old book my aunt found, and was for ever quoting! It was enough to put anyone out of temper, for there wasn’t a word of truth in it! Something about the Marsh being grievous in winter—”

“Evil in winter, grievous in summer, and never good,” Anthea amended. “Also that Kent has three steps, Wealth without health—that’s our part! Wealth and health—which is the Weald; and the third which affordeth health only, and no Wealth.”

“Which proves it was a fudge!” said Richmond. “We haven’t wealth!”

“Ay, but there’s wealth here right enough,” said Hugo, his gaze roving over the scene before him. “The land’s carrying more sheep to the acre than I ever saw. How many do you reckon on?”

“From six to twelve—but that’s over Romney Marsh too,” Anthea replied. “The farmers think it a bad year if the Marshes don’t yield four thousand packs. I believe it’s good wool, but I don’t know much about it, because we don’t keep sheep ourselves, of course. The pasturage and the arable lands are leased.”

“I don’t know much about it either,” said Hugo, “but I’ve seen the fleeces in grease, in the market, and listened to a deal of talk. It’s short-staple wool, isn’t it? Carding wool, that is?”

“I haven’t the least notion,” replied Anthea frankly. “In fact, I don’t know what carding wool is. Tell me!”

“Nay, I’d likely tell you wrong, for I was never very sure in my own mind between wools and worsteds. Long-staple makes the worsteds: combing wool, they call it. Lincoln and Leicestershire is where it mostly comes from. The Southdown is the best of the carding wools: it mills well. I know that much, but when it comes to qualities I’m at a stand. Pitlock’s the first of the wools, and Fine of the worsteds, and Abb’s pretty well the last of ’em both, but I’d be done up if you were to ask me what comes betwixt the first and the last. As for stapling, if I pored over the lot for a sennight as like as not I’d mistake Breech for Prime at the back-end of the week!”

She was interested, and would have questioned him further, but Richmond, attending with only half an ear, interrupted her to say: “Oh, never mind the sheep! I’ll tell you what’s to be had in abundance here besides those silly creatures, and that’s hares! Only wait until January—from then until March is when they run strongest—and we’ll show you some famous sport! There’s excellent duck-shooting, too, if you care for it.”

“Do you course your hares?” Hugo asked. “I’ve done a lot of that in the Peninsula.”

“No, we hunt them with harriers. You’ll soon see! The young hounds will be entered in a week or two. They hunt leverets at this season, of course: it teaches them their business,, but the real sport is after Christmas. Do you know, an old Jack will give you almost as good a run as a fox? The doe doubles and turns shorter, but a Jack will very likely travel a four or even five mile point.”

There was no more talk of wool or agriculture after that. As they rode gently along the track, Anthea let her mare drop behind a little, well aware that once two gentlemen were fairly launched into sporting-talk neither would have a word to spare for a mere female. She occasionally rode to hounds herself, but she was by no means hunting-mad, and descriptions of great runs, of the wiles by which hares would baffle hounds, of the rival merits of the big Sussex-bred hound, and the fast, rough-coated harrier, very soon bored her. She preferred to follow the gentlemen at her leisure, and to occupy herself with her own thoughts.

These were largely concerned with her new cousin. She found him baffling. At first sight, he had appeared to her to be stupid: an overgrown gapeseed, slow of speech, and short of wit; either too woodheaded to understand the malicious shafts that had been aimed at him, or too meek to resent them. When she had first taken up the cudgels in his defence, she had yielded to the promptings, not of pity for a humble creature unable to defend himself, but of exasperation. High-spirited herself, and never afraid to answer a challenge, it had vexed her that Hugo should allow Vincent to make a butt of him. Her swift retort had been intended to furnish him with an example; it had won no response from him: he had merely looked surprised; but just as she had decided that he was too blockish to be worth a thought, she had seen the twinkle in his eye, and had realized that however meek and yielding his disposition might be he was not lacking in intelligence. Her curiosity roused, she had been covertly studying him ever since. By the time she had conducted him through the picture-gallery she had revised her first opinion of his character, and given free room in her brain to the suspicion that her ox-like cousin had a strong (and possibly reprehensible) sense of humour. Final judgment was suspended, but of one thing there was no doubt: Major Darracott was as kind as he was good-tempered. As she rode behind him and Richmond, catching snatches of their talk, her heart warmed to him. In his place, Vincent, after a very short space of time, would have grown bored with the outpourings of a stripling; he would never have taken the trouble to draw Richmond out, as Hugo was doing. It would be no bad thing, Anthea thought, if Richmond were to transfer his allegiance from Vincent to Hugo. The Corinthian might prove dangerous to a worshipful young cousin; the Major, her instinct told her, could be trusted to do him no harm.

By the time she had arrived at this conclusion, the road that zig-zagged through the Marsh on its way to New Romney and Hythe had been reached. She called out laughingly: “Whoa there! How much farther do you mean to go in this direction, you wool-gatherers?”

They halted, and Hugo, turning Rufus about, walked him back a few paces to meet Anthea. He said, smilingly, as she came up to him: “We’ve been chewing the bacon so hard we forgot you! I’m sorry!”

His simplicity pleased her; she smiled back at him, saying: “Odious creatures! Do you wish to go on, or shall we turn back?”

“I’ll do as you bid me,” he replied. “Richmond has been telling me about his boat. He wants to show her to me, but he may do that another day.”

“No, why?” said Richmond. “I’ve got her beached only a mile from here. We have plenty of time to take a look at her.”

“Perhaps your sister’s tired,” suggested Hugo.

“Not she! Come along, Anthea!”

“Very well, but you’ll swear a solemn oath that you will only take a look! I know you!”

“Nonsense! I’ll just make sure all’s snug. We shan’t be late for dinner, if that’s what’s in your mind. Now, coz, over the ditch and into Sussex!”

He led the way at a brisk canter. The pastures were poor near the coast, with furze bushes growing out of the sand, and the grass giving place to marrams. The dunes were soon reached; the horses scrambled up, the sand sliding away under their hooves; and the sea (as it seemed to Hugo) burst suddenly into view.

Big Rufus, checking at the top of the path between two towering dunes, snorted, and put his ears forward, “Nay then!” the Major admonished him reproachfully. “Pluck up, lad! Tha’s seen the sea afore, think on!”

Anthea, already awaiting him on the shore, said, as the bay came slithering down the steep slope: “Ah, Yorkshirebred, I collect?”

He met her quizzical look with one of his most guileless stares. “Nay, it’s this road,” he explained confidentially. “He was nobbut a young ’un when I came by him, and a smattering of Spanish was all he knew. He learned his English from John Joseph, sithee!”

“I must make John Joseph’s acquaintance,” she said. “How useful he must be to you!”

He eyed her speculatively. “Ay, he is and-all!”

“I daresay he has been with you for a great many years?”

“Since I was a lad,” he corroborated.

“I thought as much. You’d be at a loss without him, wouldn’t you, cousin?”

There was a dancing mockery in her eyes, a lurking smile in his. Before he could reply, Richmond, who had been listening impatiently to this passage, said: “This is the place I told you about, Cousin Hugo. Look, you may see the stakes holding the nets quite plainly! The season’s drawing to a close now, but at its height, when they pull in the Keddle nets, the whole of the foreshore is covered with mackerel. But don’t let’s stand dawdling here! The Gap where I’ve got the Seamew beached is a little way along, towards Camber.”

“Lead on, then!” said Hugo. “It seems to me an unhandy place, though. How do you get to your boat?”

“I ride, of course: it’s a mile closer than Rye, you know.”

“What happens to your horse while you’re at sea?” asked Hugo, slightly mystified.

“Oh, I stable him in Camber! There’s an inn,” said Richmond briefly. “As a matter of fact, it’s handier for me to run the Seamew into Mackerel Gap during the summer, when I might want to take her out any day, because Jem Hordle lives at Camber. He’s my crew! When I have her moored in Rye harbour, someone must take a message to Jem before I can set sail: she’s too big for one man to sail.”

He had turned his head, to answer Hugo over his shoulder, but Anthea, looking ahead, said suddenly: “Good God, here comes that tiresome Preventive officer! I never knew anyone so ubiquitous! What on earth is he doing here, I wonder?”

“The Lord only knows!” replied Richmond, watching the approach of the Customs’ Riding-officer with disfavour.

“Well, for heaven’s sake be civil to the poor man!” she begged. “The last time I encountered him was when I was with Grandpapa, and he was so ill-advised as to accost us. He got so badly snubbed that I’m persuaded he thinks now that we are all of us in league with the free-traders.”

“I wish I had been there!” Richmond said, grinning.

“I would have yielded my place to you with pleasure. Grandpapa is never more embarrassing than when he becomes high in the instep. Good-day to you, Mr. Ottershaw!”

The Riding-officer, a rather tight-lipped young man, with eyes of a hard, shallow grey, pulled his horse up, and raised his hand in a stiff salute. “Good-day, ma’am.”

“Whither away, Lieutenant?” enquired Richmond. “Not looking for tubs amongst the sandhills, are you? I’ve never come upon any there!”

The Lieutenant replied in a flat tone that matched his rigid back and unsmiling countenance: “No, sir. I am riding to Lydd. I see you have your boat beached in Mackerel Gap.”

“Yes, I’m taking my cousin down to see her. Lieutenant Ottershaw—Major Darracott, of the 95th!”

“Sir!” said the Lieutenant, bringing his hand up again to the salute.

Hugo touched his hat in acknowledgment, and said, with a smile: “Land-guard?” The Lieutenant bowed slightly. “I’m told that’s no sinecure on this coast.”

“No, sir,” said the Lieutenant, with a good deal of emphasis. “But we may see a change presently!”

“Yes, you’ve established a famous blockade, haven’t you?” remarked Richmond. “What with Customs’ cruisers and Revenue cutters you should have the Channel swept clear before the year’s out.”

“The task of stamping out the illicit trade, sir, would be rendered easier if the rascals who engage in it met with less sympathy from those who live in these counties.”

“And if the duties were less extortionate there would be no trade to be stamped out!” retorted Richmond. “It’s all the fault of the Government—and a pretty set of leatherheads they are! The remedy is under their noses, but instead of cutting the duties they squander fortunes on Preventive measures.!”

“Nay, that’s no answer,” interposed Hugo. “The law may be daft, but it has to be obeyed.” He looked at Ottershaw, and said pleasantly: “I’m from the West Riding myself. They used to say there was plenty of smuggling went on at the ports, but I never knew much about it.”

“If it were only the ports!” said Ottershaw bitterly.

“Ay, you’ve a job on here, with the French coast so near. I wouldn’t want it—with the countryside hostile. I know what that means.”

“Why, were the Spaniards hostile?” asked Richmond. “I thought—”

“They weren’t hostile to us, but to the French they were.” He nodded at the Riding-officer. “What you need is a Division here, and I doubt if that would answer either. Myself, I’d say it was a job for the navy.”

“The Admiralty, sir, is now in control of the coast blockade, and the force patrolling the Channel is under the command of a very able and zealous officer. I am happy to say that running the blockade is becoming every night a more dangerous enterprise.”

“Lord, yes!” said Richmond. “It’s getting to be dangerous to put out to sea at all! I was overhauled myself last week by one of the sloops. What the commander thought I was doing, God knows! For two pins, I daresay, he’d have fired a shot across my bows. He wanted to know who I was, where I came from, where I was bound for, why I didn’t heave-to at once—which I thought I had done, but it turned out that I hadn’t obeyed his signal. The only wonder is I wasn’t put in irons.”

“A strict watch is being kept on all vessels, sir, and it is the duty of those engaged on the coastal guard to pay particular heed to any vessel that appears to be behaving suspiciously. Failing to obey a naval signal would naturally give rise to grave suspicion—though in your case, as I collect the officer soon realized, this was groundless.”

Having uttered this severe speech, the Lieutenant took his leave, punctiliously saluting, and then riding off without a word or a smile.

“Did you ever see such a pompous whipstraw?” said Richmond scornfully.

The Major looked meditatively at him. “Happen he’s nattered,” he drawled. “Seemingly, he doesn’t like you, lad.”

“I don’t think he likes any of us,” said Anthea. “That’s Grandpapa’s fault! He was odiously haughty to the poor man—and you may depend upon it that the Preventives have a pretty shrewd notion that all the brandy we have at the Place is run.”

“It is, is it?” said Hugo. “That would account for it, then.”