Meanwhile the police were pushing on their investigations into the causes leading up to the fire at Dashwood Hall with great energy. The clue of the matchbox was held to be an important one, and now that the owner of the toy had been discovered, important developments were expected. In theinterim, Vincent Dashwood returned from London, having forgotten all about his loss. It was brought back to his mind with unpleasant force after luncheon the following day by a visit from the inspector of police.
Dashwood was lounging at the table, smoking a cigarette. Lady Dashwood sat opposite to him, her slim hands folded in her lap. She was looking white and worn; her eyes seemed to seek her companion in weary misery.
"I don't see what you have to complain of," Dashwood was saying. "I've done everything to please you. Here I am, a kind of mystery in the house, living more or less on your bounty, whilst all the time I might have been Sir Vincent Dashwood, with a fine property behind me. And any time I want a few pounds you grumble."
"That is not a true statement of the case," Lady Dashwood said in her resigned way. "You told me you could do nothing till you received the certificate of your father's marriage. As to the rest, I accepted you implicitly as my grandson. After the proofs that you placed in my hands, I had no alternative."
"Much as you would have liked one," Dashwood sneered.
"Yes, if you will force me to speak plainly. Many a time I have prayed that a child of my son's should be sent to me. But you are not in the least like your father. He was wild and headstrong, and he never forgave the shameful way we treated him, but he was a gentleman."
"Meaning that I'm not one, eh? Well, hard words break no bones. For the sake of peace and quietness, I've kept my claim from everybody but you; to please you I have suppressed the truth till I can get that certificate. And in return you promised me that I should not suffer. And now you refuse me a paltry £500."
"I have not refused it you. I have not the money. And you have had all my jewels, jewels valued at nearly £30,000. In my weakness and folly I parted with the property which does not belong to me. £30,000 in the space of a year! Where has the money gone?"
"Now if that isn't just like a woman," Dashwood growled. "I daresay those stones were valued at the sum you mention, but to get that for them is a different matter. To be candid, I pawned your gems for less than a third of that money. And when I tried to raise a further loan on the same security, I was met with a pointblank refusal. So you see, I have not been so very extravagant after all."
Lady Dashwood sighed bitterly. She was getting used to vulgar scenes like this. And yet there was hope that before long she would be freed from the bloodsucker. She watched him now as he sat sprawling in his chair, flicking the ashes of his cigarette into a priceless Sevres dessert dish. How could she ever have taken him for her grandson, she wondered? Why had she been so weak and feeble?
A servant entered at the same moment with an intimation to the effect that somebody desired to see Mr. Dashwood. The gentleman was waiting in the dining-room. A dull flush of annoyance came over Dashwood's face.
"Some meddling creditor," he muttered. "A London tradesman, who has managed to get my address from somewhere. Goodbye to all peace if once my retreat has got known. Tell the man to call again, Charles. I can't see him."
"Begging your pardon, sir," the footman said respectfully, "it is not a tradesman, and he said he must see you on the most important business. The gentleman is Inspector Drake, the head constable from Longtown."
Dashwood's teeth clicked together; his face turned to a dull ashen hue. He had been suddenly stricken by some mortal fear; he could not disguise the fact from Lady Dashwood. Her heart sank within her as she glanced fearfully at the white set face on the other side of the table. She wondered what new disgrace was here.
"I--I'll come in a minute," Dashwood muttered thickly. "This room is so hot that it makes one feel quite faint. Charles, give me a glass of brandy from the sideboard. A large glass without water. Ah!"
The white face resumed a little of its colour and the teeth ceased to chatter as the potent spirit got in its work. With an uneasy swagger, Dashwood crossed over to the door, but his heart was beating thick and fast and there was a great lump in his throat that he could not quite succeed in swallowing. But the inspector of police knew nothing of this as he responded curtly enough to Dashwood's insolent salutation.
"And what can I do for you?" the latter asked. "This is a very inconvenient hour for me."
"Very sorry for that, sir," the official said coolly. "But my duty is plain. I should like to have a few words with you as to the fire at Dashwood Hall."
A strange sense of relief, almost of exultation, came over the listener. He could breathe more freely now; all his swagger came back to him. The visit of the officer had nothing to do with any episode out of a dark and dubious past.
"What can I tell you about that?" he asked. "I know nothing of it."
"Well, it's like this, sir," Drake proceeded to explain. "We have established beyond all shadow of a doubt that the fire was not caused by accident. Straw was laid deliberately on the floor of the hall, and as deliberately soaked in petroleum. We found the rest of the straw, and also we found the empty drum of oil, which had been taken from one of the outhouses. All this must have happened in the early hours of the morning. It was a very good thing that the timbers of the house are so sound, or nothing could have saved the place. As it is, the fire burnt itself out."
"But what has all this got to do with me?" Dashwood asked impatiently.
"Half a minute, sir. I was merely telling you that this was the work of an incendiary. Once having established the fact, we will get to business. We searched in the ashes, and we were so fortunate as to find this."
Drake held up the familiar matchbox and handed it to Dashwood. He looked just a little uneasy, but there was no suggestion of guilt about him.
"We found this peculiar matchbox in the straw, sir," Drake went on. "The theory is that it was dropped by somebody who was connected with the fire. Suppose that the culprit was disturbed, or perhaps the sudden blaze was so fierce that the box fell and could not be recovered. I want to know if you have seen this box before?"
Dashwood turned the silver toy over in his hands for a moment. There was nothing to be gained by concealing the truth.
"I understand your insinuation," he said. "As a matter of fact, that box belongs to me, and, as I dare say you are aware, my initials are engraved upon it. The box is a novelty in its way; I bought it some years ago in America. Do you mean to say that this was found in the ashes of the fire?"
"It was, sir. I picked it up myself. The butler, Slight, recognised it as belonging to you. Now you will see why I came to you."
"Oh, of course. So your beautiful intelligence suggests that I had some hand in that fire. If you only knew the true position of affairs, you would know that I am the very last person in the world to want anything to happen to the Hall. But that is a detail which we may come to presently. Meanwhile, I am prepared to accept the responsibility of calling myself the owner of the box. I must have been careless enough to drop it and somebody picked it up--the somebody who tried to set fire to the Hall. I'm afraid that I can't tell you any more than that."
"All the same, I'm afraid I must go a little farther, sir," Drake said. "That box is yours and it was found in the ashes of the fire. It appears that some time before the fire broke out one of the servants at the Hall was called up to take a message to Mr. Mayfield, who is staying in a farmhouse not far from here. The servant's name is Walters. He went back to his quarters over the stables, and as it was a fine night and he did not feel in the least sleepy, he sat by the open window and smoked a cigarette. He says that a little before two--close to the time when the fire broke out--he saw somebody come from the direction of the house and cross the lawn. The figure was moving rapidly, and apparently desired to escape observation. When Walters was asked if he could recognise the figure in question, he said positively that he could. I asked him to give it a name, and, to make a long story short, he said it was you, sir."
There was no mistaking the dry suggestiveness in Drake's manner. He was not in the least apologetic now, he made his statement with the air of a man who is sure of his ground. Dashwood changed colour slightly.
"This is ridiculous," he cried. "The idea that I should have any motive for destroying the old house is out of the question. If you knew who I really am----"
"That is not the point, sir. The question is were you there?"
"Yes, I was," Dashwood said in a kind of sullen desperation. "I was out at that hour. The best thing I can do is to come as far as the Hall and have it out with Walters. I see that the time has come when I must tell the truth."
Sir George Dashwood sat in the Gothic library at Dashwood Hall bewailing his hard fate in a manner which would have been called peevish in a less distinguished man. He wanted to know when he was going to get back the full possession of his house again; he desired to be informed why Horace Mayfield had not been to see him. He did not appear to be listening to what Mary had to say. Also he was full of the fact that the more or less mysterious Vincent Dashwood had made a dastardly attempt to reduce the old house to ashes.
"You don't seem to understand," Mary said with some impatience. She was standing in the window of the library with the sunshine full on her face. Through the great mullion, with its crested devices, she could see the deer in the park beyond. "You do not seem to comprehend that this is a blessing in disguise. So far as I can see, the house is not a bit the worse for what might have been a terrible disaster. I am bound to confess that I don't like Mr. Dashwood, but at the same time I am quite sure that he had nothing to do with the fire--the fire which prevented anybody from knowing of the disgrace that had fallen upon us."
"No thanks to that young man," Sir George grumbled. "I tell you he was responsible for the fire. His matchbox was found there. Walters saw him by the house. Why Lady Dashwood doesn't get rid of the fellow passes my comprehension."
"But I have just been trying to explain to you, only you won't listen," Mary responded with some show of impatience. "There are the most powerful reasons why Mr. Vincent Dashwood does not desire the destruction of the house. Mr. Darnley told me all about it last night. Vincent Dashwood claims to be the son of Ralph Dashwood."
Sir George started as if something had stung him. He had been so wrapped up in his own selfishness up to now that he had no ears for anything else. Mary's statement almost overpowered him. Many things suddenly became plain to the baronet's understanding.
He rose to his feet and paced up and down the room in terrible agitation.
"Is this really a fact?" he demanded. "I cannot believe it, and yet, and yet, I have met that fellow a good many times, and the oftener I see him, the more does he impress me unfavourably. I see now that there must have been some powerful reason why Lady Dashwood should tolerate the man. But why did she not tell us at once, why did she go on feeding him with money? for I can now quite see why she was not in a position to do me a favour the other night. If what you say is correct, Mary, then we are little better than beggars. Still, the reason for all this mystery----"
"Is not so strange when one comes to understand, father. It appears that Ralph Dashwood married an American lady somewhere in the wildest part of California. There has been a great difficulty in finding the marriage certificate. Lady Dashwood is quite convinced that the man we are speaking of is her grandson."
Sir George broke out into feeble whinings, he grew almost tearful. And as he became weak and sentimental, so did Mary grow harder. If this crowning blow had to fall, then nobody should hear a word of weakness from her. For her part she could have fought this man, even if it had left her penniless before the world. She clenched her teeth upon her lip to keep down the rising tide of bitter reproaches. Then she turned to see that Vincent Dashwood, together with Inspector Drake, had entered the room. The former looked heated and indignant, for he had been giving a piece of his mind to the policeman.
"I am glad to find you here, Sir George," he shouted. "The police are making all kinds of accusations against me. They say, forsooth, that I have tried to burn the house down, and all because a matchbox of mine was found in the ashes. I suppose I am not the first man in the world who has lost a matchbox. And I've been telling Drake here that I have every reason that the house should not be injured."
"So my daughter informs me," Sir George replied in the same whining voice. "Seeing that you claim to be the son of Ralph Dashwood----"
The other man laughed defiantly. All the same he could not meet the glance that Mary turned upon him. His bold eyes were turned to her face, then they dropped as if looking for something on the floor.
"I'm very sorry," Drake put in, "but this is a serious matter. The finding of that box, the mere fact that Mr. Dashwood was seen here at the hour of the fire, all make it necessary for me to take certain steps----"
"I must speak," Vincent Dashwood broke out. "I did not mean to proclaim the truth, because I was not ready to do so. And there was Lady Dashwood to be considered. Still, as I see that Mr. Drake is prepared to go to the extreme length of arresting me for the alleged act of arson, I am compelled to declare the truth for my own protection. Drake tells me that he has lived in the adjacent town of Longtown all his life, so he must be more or less acquainted with the family of Dashwood. He knows, for instance, that Mr. Ralph Dashwood left here forty years ago, and that his friends have seen nothing of him since. I suppose that statement is not too much for your intelligence, Drake?"
"I am quite aware that you are quoting facts, sir," Drake said grimly.
"Very well. I'm glad to hear that you believe something I say. It is not generally known, but it will be clearly established before long that Mr. Ralph Dashwood married an American lady, by whom he had one child, a son. To go farther, I may say that that son now stands before you. I am the only son of Ralph Dashwood, born in lawful wedlock, as Lady Dashwood perfectly well knows, and therefore the property belongs to me. There is no such person really as Sir George Dashwood; as a matter of fact, Sir Vincent Dashwood--in other words, myself--is head of the family and owner of the place. There is only one proof necessary, and that I hope to have in my hands in a few days. I allude to the certificate of my parents' wedding. And now, Mr. Drake, after hearing all this, can you suggest that I should gain anything by burning this house down? If I had had an impulse in that direction, I could easily have waited for an opportunity of committing that folly in a safer fashion."
Drake was bound to admit that the astounding revelations made all the difference in the complexion of the case. Sir George Dashwood listened with a dark look on his face. Mary turned to the door to see that Ralph Darnley was standing there. The mere knowledge of his presence seemed to support and comfort her in this trying hour. Yet she did not feel the poignant sorrow and sense of loss as keenly as she should.
"Mr. Darnley will tell us if this is true," she cried.
"Lady Dashwood will tell you so, at any rate," Ralph responded. "I have taken the liberty of listening to what this gentleman had to say. It so happens that I can throw considerable light on the story. As I told you last night, I knew the late Ralph Dashwood very well, though I had not the honour of meeting the man who claims to be his son. Perhaps Mr. Dashwood will reply to a few of my questions. Will he tell me, for instance, in what part of California his mother lived?"
"Certainly I will," Vincent Dashwood replied without the slightest hesitation. "It was in Jackson County; I understand the town was Courville."
"I should say that is perfectly correct," Ralph said. "In fact, I have every reason to know that it is correct. And the name of your mother?"
"Alice Montrose. But where the wedding took place, I can't say just now."
"That is also correct," Ralph went on in the same solemn way. "I am in a position to prove that Alice Montrose was the wife of Ralph Dashwood. It is the legal verification of the marriage that you seek?"
"That's it," Dashwood cried eagerly. "Once that is in my possession, the rest is easy. As I said before, I did not desire to proclaim my identity just yet for several reasons. But I have been compelled to speak for the sake of my honour. And if you, Mr. Darnley, who seem to know so much, can help me to discover that particular document, I shall be eternally grateful to you. Anything that I can do for you by way of reward----"
"I shall make use of you, no doubt," Ralph replied. "Your claim appears to be a very strong one, and everything is going in your favour. So far all you say as to the marriage of Ralph Dashwood and Alice Montrose has been correct. You are in urgent need of the certificate. Let me make the dramatic situation complete by presenting you with the paper that you most desire. If you will look at this long slip of paper, you will see that it is a copy, certified, of the marriage in question. As you seem to be the person most entitled to the paper, it is with pleasure that I place it in your hands."
Vincent Dashwood's face turned from grey to red, and then to deadly white. Then he suddenly burst out into a hoarse whoop of triumph and he danced round the room with every manifestation of extravagant joy. He would have shaken hands with Ralph, only the latter did not seem to see the trembling moist palm extended to him.
"Is this real?" Sir George groaned, "or is it all some hideous dream?"
"It is real enough," Ralph said. "It is a case of 'the King is dead, long live the King.' Pray allow me to offer you my congratulations, Sir Vincent."
Vincent Dashwood seemed to expand, he stood there smiling benignly, he had lost his strange uneasiness of manner altogether. And yet Mary did not fail to notice the furtive look in his eyes. There must be something wrong here, she thought; it was impossible to regard this man as the head of the family. For three hundred years Dashwood had been ruled by a gentleman, a man of honour.
And this smirking creature, with the red, grinning face and cunning eyes, was neither. Mary knew him to be little better than a blackmailer. And if he was the person he claimed to be, why had he not come forward and proclaimed his identity before? She could not believe that Vincent Dashwood had hidden his light under a bushel merely because he was short of one particular document.
The girl did not believe that he would have spoken now had not the awkward incident of the matchbox compelled him to do so. And here was Ralph Darnley actually pushing forward the cause of the new claimant and giving him the one proof that he needed.
And yet the thing was impossible; surely the walls of the house would collapse about the head of so poor a ruler as Vincent Dashwood. The old familiar objects around Mary filled her with a kind of dumb pain. She was going to lose them all--the pictures and the gardens, the horses in the stables, and the very deer that loved her. What the future held for her, Mary had not considered. She brought herself back to the present with an effort; she became aware that Vincent Dashwood was speaking.
"This--this is really extraordinary," he cackled. "Like a scene from a play. I had my own good reasons for not proclaiming my identity for the present, but you all see that circumstances have been too strong for me. And then at the critical moment Mr. Darnley comes along with that paper. How it came into his possession----"
"That is easily explained," Ralph said in his grave way. "It was given to me by Mr. Ralph Dashwood in circumstances that I need not go into here. Primarily, the certificate was to have been forwarded to the solicitors of this estate."
"Quite so, quite so," Dashwood said loftily. "Really, it doesn't matter. The point is that my proofs are now complete. My idea was to do nothing and say nothing till Lady Dashwood--my grandmother--had become resigned to the change in the condition of affairs. It is perhaps natural that the good lady should look coldly on me and that all her affection should be for Mary here. And I am bound to say that Mary has not treated me with the friendliness that I could have wished."
Hot words rose to the girl's lips, but she checked herself with an effort. Doubtless the new heir was doing his best to be agreeable, perhaps he did not know how offensive he was.
"But I am not going to be vindictive," he resumed. "It is only natural that you should feel a little sore and hurt. One doesn't turn out of a snug crib like this without turning a hair. As a matter of fact, there is no reason why you should go at all, at least, not for some time to come. I don't suppose I shall ever marry--I'm not that kind of chap. There is no reason why Mary and the old gentleman and myself shouldn't be very snug here together. Mr. Dashwood wants little more than the run of his teeth at his time of life."
Mary's cheeks flamed at the unconscious humiliation. She was being offered a home as a pauper and a dependent; it was infinitely worse than going into a workhouse. Mary had never dreamed of being humbled and crushed in the dust like this. Before she could reply, Slight looked into the doorway, his dry, red face screwed up into the semblance of respect. He announced Horace Mayfield in a loud voice.
Mayfield came in, glass in eye, serene and self-confident, his hard mouth looking more like a steel trap than ever. The quiet triumph in his eyes was not lost on Mary; she did not fail to note the gleam of possession as he glanced at her. There was cold consolation in the knowledge that after all Mayfield was powerless to hold her soul and body in thraldom any longer.
"I beg your pardon," Mayfield said, "I seem to be intruding on a family conference or something of that kind. Slight did not tell me, though I have every reason to believe that he was listening outside the door. What are you doing here?"
The question was flung headlong at Vincent Dashwood, who had started and changed colour as Mayfield came in. Evidently these two knew one another, for Mayfield was rudely contemptuous, Dashwood cringing yet defiant. Was there yet another vulgar mystery here? Mary wondered wearily.
"Perhaps I had better explain," Ralph said. "This, Mr. Mayfield, is an unexpected, but nevertheless dramatic situation. Let me present you to Sir Vincent Dashwood, only son and heir of the late Ralph Dashwood, who died some time ago. Sir Vincent had some natural hesitation in declaring his identity; he was loth to upset existing arrangements. We must all respect proper feeling of that kind. One reason Sir Vincent had for keeping his personality a secret was the fact that he lacked the legal proof of his parent's marriage. By a fortunate chance I was able to supply the omission. Still, we need not go into that. The fact remains that Sir Vincent has now established his claim, as the family solicitors will admit without unnecessary delay. Unhappily, this new condition of affairs makes it very awkward for Sir George--I mean, Mr. George Dashwood. By this cruel stroke he finds himself practically a pauper. And on Miss Dashwood the blow falls with the same heavy weight. The heiress becomes dependent upon the charity of the head of the family."
As Ralph spoke his eyes were fixed on Mayfield's. He was searching keenly for any sign of anger or emotion. But Mayfield did not betray himself. There was a red spark in his eyes and the big veins stood on his forehead, but nothing further. And as Ralph proceeded a faint smile grew at the corners of the cruel mouth.
"This is exceedingly interesting," he said, "and to think that Sir Vincent should have kept this from so old a friend as myself."
There was mocking bitterness in the speech and Dashwood fairly writhed under it. He seemed to hang in a kind of agony on the next word. His sigh of relief as Mayfield turned from him was not lost on Mary. Mayfield turned abruptly to the girl.
"This will make a great difference to you," he said. "For my own part, I am disappointed at the strange turn of affairs. Still, I am philosophic enough to take my chances. In reality I came here to say goodbye to you. I will not see you for some time to come."
The whole thing was so cool, so icily audacious, that Mary had no words for reply. This man had accepted the change in the situation with instant readiness, there was not so much as a shade of regret in his voice. Mary had gone out of the sphere of his affection, and he was prepared to drop her like an old glove. The blood flamed into her face at this fresh humiliation; the pride of the family was serving her badly now. Her trembling hands went out to Ralph. He saw what was passing in her mind.
"Take me away from here," she whispered. "Take me out into the fresh air or I shall die. What have I done to deserve this degradation? And get my father to come, too. Has he lost all his manhood that he stays here?"
They went out into the sunshine and the air at length, and Dashwood was alone with Mayfield. The latter closed the door and lighted a cigarette. There was a grim ferocity in his eyes that caused Dashwood to turn sick.
"So you've done it, you rascal," Mayfield muttered. "I daresay you will tell me that your hand was more or less forced. Perhaps it was. And yet if I raise my little finger you will pass the next ten years of your life in gaol."
"Don't," Dashwood said with difficulty, "don't talk like that. The cards were all of them literally forced on me. Why should you mind?"
"Why should I mind? Why, man alive, you have 'queered my pitch' as some of your dissolute companions would say. I was going to marry Mary Dashwood, the great heiress, everything was ready to my hand. A little later and the thing would have been accomplished. Only one thing bothered me--I am at my wit's ends for some ready money, which I must have before long. And, as things stand at present, Mary Dashwood could not raise anything on her expectations. But I was going to play the bold game and risk everything, even my liberty, on this stake. I was never more surprised in my life than when that fellow Darnley explained the situation. I nearly gave you away."
"I saw that," Dashwood said hoarsely, "my heart was in my mouth. It was very good of you to remember an old pal who----"
"Old pal be hanged," Mayfield cried. "I'd have betrayed you fast enough had it been to my interest to do so. I saw my game like a flash. They are going to let you into the thing without a fight. But not for very long, my boy, so you had better make the most of your time. As Sir Vincent Dashwood you are all right, you can play ducks and drakes with the estate if you please; in fact, you are going to start with a mortgage of £50,000. That sum of money you will pay over to me."
"What for?" Dashwood asked uneasily. "Why should I do it?"
"Call it what you like. Call it blackmail. But I'm going to have it all the same."
Mr. George Dashwood staggered into the hall at the dower house with an exaggeration of grief that filled Mary with contempt. The dethroned head of the house seemed to have no thought for anything but himself. His eyes were filled with tears, his voice was weak and tremulous with selfish emotion.
"This is dreadful," he moaned. "Really, I had expected something better at your hands, Darnley. Still, I suppose you are merely here to fulfil a promise to Ralph Dashwood. Most selfish of a man to keep in the background all these years and then spring a mine on one like this. And here am I, at my time of life, with nothing to fall back on, not even a pension, for I commuted mine when I left the Service. Still, that young fellow did not behave at all badly. Don't forget, my dear that he offered us the free use of the Hall for the present, at any rate. And he said that he was not a marrying man. Well, if you play your cards properly, Mary----"
Mary turned her face away and hid her hot cheeks in a great bowl of dewy roses standing on the hall table. It was no use, she could not keep the tears back any longer. This was the crowning humiliation of an unspeakable day. For her father to deal her this blow in the presence of the one man whose respect she valued so highly was the refinement of cruelty. She rushed from the hall with choking words to the effect that she must go and tell Lady Dashwood everything.
"What's the matter with the girl now?" Dashwood asked peevishly. "Not one word of sympathy has she uttered. Children have no feelings nowadays, Darnley. I suppose she was angry about the new head of the house. What better arrangement could be made? It would settle all the difficulties at once, especially now Mayfield is out of the way. I thought that our young friend put it very nicely."
"Did you?" Ralph responded coldly. "I may not be a judge of these matters, but I fail to see how you could accept that invitation. Of course, a few days' residence at Dashwood to get your personal belongings together would be another matter."
"But what am I to do?" Dashwood asked feebly. "I am an old man, I have been accustomed to the best of everything all my lifetime, and here I am cut off from all my pleasures and not a penny to call my own. I can't starve, my good fellow, and I couldn't stay here with Lady Dashwood; she gets on my nerves terribly. What am I to do? Really, I feel in absolute need of a cigar and glass of champagne. It is not my habit to drink at this time of the day, but my condition calls for it."
Dashwood crept away with many a sigh and groan, and Ralph was left to his own by no means pleasant thoughts. He had deliberately struck the blow, and now that it had fallen, he was inclined to be dismayed at the result. It was very hard upon this feeble old man, it was very hard upon Mary, but Ralph steeled himself for the fray. Things were going to be worse yet, the lily was going to pine upon the stem. Still, it would never do now to become infirm of purpose, let the consequences be ever so bad. Yet, if the worst came to the worst, it would be easy to sweep away the whole network of intrigue and fraud by the raising of a finger. It was necessary that Mary should learn her lesson to the last letter. That the girl would fight hard against her misfortunes Ralph did not need to be told. That she would refuse to eat the bread of charity at another person's expense he was perfectly sure. He was still debating the problem when Mary entered the hall again. Her face was very white; there were dark rings under her blue eyes, which were now swollen with tears. The girl flushed as she saw the sympathy in Ralph's face.
"Do not think me weak," she pleaded. "I am finding out that I am only human after all. I have always despised tears, but the pain at my heart was so great that tears brought the only cure for it. But I did not come here to talk about myself. I have been telling Lady Dashwood everything, and she has expressed a desire to see you. What have you done with my father?"
"He has gone to the dining-room. He declared that exhausted nature required a stimulant in the form of champagne. I am afraid that you will not find your father much use to you in the dark hours to come, Mary."
"I'm afraid not," Mary sighed, "but won't you go and see Lady Dashwood? She is upstairs in her sitting-room. Of course, she is upset; in fact, she has been saying all sorts of strange things which are beyond my comprehension. Why has she taken such a strange fancy to you, I wonder?"
But Ralph did not appear to be listening. There was every prospect of a painful interview before him. He passed up the stairs to the pleasant room looking over the gardens which Lady Dashwood had made her own. She signed for the door to be shut; as Ralph came towards her, she advanced with both hands outstretched.
"You will guess why I sent for you," she said. "Mary has been telling me everything. So the man who calls himself Vincent Dashwood has made a bold move at last."
"He really didn't," Ralph smiled. "But had we not better sit down? My dear grandmother, you are going to become a party to the conspiracy. Let us no longer keep up the pretence of not knowing the relationship in which we stand to each other."
Lady Dashwood extended a shaking hand, and Ralph touched it with his lips.
"Perhaps I had better make a full confession," he said. "I am your grandson. I knew that you would recognise me by the likeness to my father. Old Slight did so at once and very nearly betrayed me. I had forgotten Slight. I pledged him to secrecy, I had nobody to fear but you, and it seemed to me that it was quite easy to keep out of your way. But circumstances were too strong for me. Then I saw that you were going to respect my wishes and I was safe. Forty years have gone by since my father left the Hall, so that nobody was likely to guess my identity."
"Yes, but who is this Vincent Dashwood?" Lady Dashwood asked. "Oh, I am not quite so foolish over that man as you may think. He came here and declared himself to me. He had the most absolute documentary evidence. He had many of the letters which I had written to your father--letters to which I never received any reply. Old Slight was more mistrustful, and submitted the claimant to a rigid cross-examination. The man was not to be shaken in a single detail. We were bound to accept his statements. But one proof was lacking, the certificate of his parents' marriage. He desired to have his claim kept quiet till that proof was forthcoming. This was after Mary and her father came into possession. You can imagine my distress and grief, seeing that I loved Mary so, and I hated the intruder in proportion. He preyed upon my weakness, he seemed to read me like an open book. If you had not appeared, he would have gone on blackmailing me till the end. But when that man came face to face with you, I knew that he was an impostor, that he had never seen my son Ralph. And now he has decided to play the bold game, seeing that nothing more is to be expected from me."
"Not quite that," Ralph explained. "Fate played into my hands. The man was more or less forced to disclose his identity. Let me tell you all about the matchbox. . . . Now you see exactly how it is."
"But this is monstrous," Lady Dashwood cried, "you have only to speak and the wicked scheme collapses. You will not let this go on, Ralph?"
"For the present, grandmother. For the present we are going to say nothing. A little time before my father died he told me who I was. We had lost our money, but that did not matter as my father was provided for here. When I came to find out how the land lay, to my surprise I discovered that the only woman I could ever care for was installed at the Hall as mistress. I had no idea that this was going to happen when I met Mary two years ago in Paris. Her father had not assumed the family name then. And when I came face to face with Mary and held her in my arms, I knew that the old love was stronger than ever. And here was a solution. Those people were occupying my place, the place that belonged by birth to me, Sir Ralph Dashwood. If I had proclaimed and asked Mary to marry me, she would have consented. She would have regarded it as her duty to do so. But that is not the marriage of my dreams. Perhaps I am romantic: I want Mary to marry me, me, plain Ralph Darnley, for love of me, and deem the family pride well lost for a good man's affection. It is the living, breathing woman I want, not the lovely mistress of that family who puts the pride of the Dashwoods in front of everything else. Suffering and trouble and poverty shall be her portion. She shall go out into the world and see what noble souls are there who rise superior to fierce temptation though they have no family pride to boast of. Then, when the scales have fallen from Mary's eyes, and she sees as I do, then will I ask her to share my life with me. My dream is to come back here with a bride who deems love and pity and sympathy to be far above the steady sentiment that says, 'I am a Dashwood, and the rest are as dirt under my feet.' You see what I mean, don't you? And that is why I am asking you to help me in the matter. Let this little imposter strut his passing hours on the stage; let him be our puppet. I shall know how to punish him when the time comes."
Lady Dashwood smiled through her tears. She had eyes of affection for this tall, handsome, earnest man who paced up and down the room now with the burning words on his lips. He was moved to the very heart; it seemed to him that his scheme was the only way. Lady Dashwood felt that she could hesitate no longer.
"You are very eloquent, Ralph," she said, "and whatever the faults of your scheme may be, you are terribly in earnest. It is not for me to stand in the way. God knows the family pride that I did so much to foster has done harm enough. It drove your father away from home, it came between me and my son and my husband, and rendered all the best years of my life a blank and a desolation. Some day, when I have the courage, I will tell you why your father left home, and the shameful deceit that I put upon him. And all to save the family dignity! And now Mary is as hard as I ever was. Still, the good that lies in that girl of mine----"
"I know it," Ralph cried. "Mary's is, in reality, a beautiful nature. But the fires will go out one by one if the cinders are not cleared away, so that by the time Mary comes to middle age she will be a cold and distant woman with none to love her. This is why I have practically turned her out of house and home. Her proper pride will not permit her to be dependent upon anyone; you may offer her a home here, but she will never accept it. She will elect to go, out into the world and get her own living."
"Which she is not the least fitted to do, Ralph."
"Of course she isn't," Ralph exclaimed. "With all her courage and pride and beauty, she has no equipment to battle with the world. And yet it is the best thing that could happen to her. She will realise her own helplessness, she will come to acknowledge that the typewriting girls and the shop assistants have qualities and virtues that she does not possess. Oh, those lovely blue eyes will come to see at last, the mind come to learn that there is dignity in labour and cheerfulness in the struggle that put family pride to shame. And then Mary will be the bride for me, the noblest and sweetest mistress that ever yet ruled at Dashwood. You may laugh at me, grandmother, but that is my dream. Wherever Mary is, I shall not be far off, she will have a friend in me."
Lady Dashwood's tears were falling fast now. For the first time she fully understood the breadth and beauty of Ralph's scheme. It seemed hard that the misfortune should fall upon Mary, and yet it was all for the best. Still, tradition and training are not to be put lightly aside, and the idea of Mary taking her place with the working women of the county was a vision that caused Lady Dashwood a pang.
"Let us hope that everything will turn out right," she murmured. "I will not betray your secret, Ralph; I am an old woman, and you are a strong, masterful man. Still, I shall be bound to offer Mary a home here, and I am afraid that I shall be glad if she accepts it."
"She won't," Ralph said confidently, "she is too proud. Besides, after what has happened, she could not stay so near to Dashwood Hall. Remember, she has reigned there, she has looked for homage as naturally as a queen. She will go away; probably she will try to obtain some occupation in London. Anyway, I will see that she does not starve. And when the lesson is learned and the clouds have cleared away----"
Ralph paused, there was a strange, tender thrill in his voice. Lady Dashwood seemed to catch some of his enthusiasm, for a smile lighted her face.
"You are a clever lad, my dear," she said, "you are one of those who compel Fate to work for them. Well, it shall be as you desire, so far as I am concerned. And now let us go down and see what the others are doing."
Mary was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. Dashwood was in the library. He seemed more calm and resigned now; he was reading a letter which appeared to give him some satisfaction.
"From--from Sir Vincent," he said, getting the name out with some difficulty. "I suppose we must call the young fellow by his proper title now. Still, he will of course, have to satisfy the family solicitors first."
"I have one or two further proofs that will induce the family solicitors to maintain a policy of silence," Ralph said. "The best thing to do is quietly to accept the new situation. People will talk for a day or two, and then the incident will be forgotten."
"I suppose so," Dashwood muttered. "Anyway, this is from--er--Sir Vincent. I am bound to confess that it is not at all a bad letter. Between ourselves, the fellow is by no means a gentleman. Still, that's not quite his own fault, probably his mother was quite a common sort of person. I beg your pardon, Lady Dashwood."
"We need not go into that," Ralph said hastily. "Sir Vincent has written to you----"
"Really quite a nice letter. He has a suggestion to make. It appears that he is by no means disposed to stay quietly here and live the life of a country landlord. He does not care for sport to begin with, in fact, he dislikes a rural life. And he seems to think that marriage is--is not good enough. He therefore proposes that Mary and myself should look upon Dashwood as our present home, that Mary should take her place as mistress there. Really, this gets us out of a great difficulty. I have no money beyond a pittance of a hundred or so a year, and Mary has nothing whatever. As a sensible girl, she will accept this offer."
Ralph said nothing. It was not for him to persuade George Dashwood one way or another. He rather despised the weak creature who had posed as the head of the family. But Ralph could give a shrewd guess at Mary's answer.
Mary came back presently a little before tea-time. She had been over at the Hall, she said, looking after certain belongings of her own. The trace of tears was still on her face, but her small mouth had a steely purpose. She lay back in her chair in the great hall, sipping her tea, and looking out into the garden beyond. Ever and again there came a yearning look in her eyes. She said nothing, and vouchsafed no information, when a footman brought her a telegram presently. With a guilty air her father placed Vincent Dashwood's letter in her hand.
"I want you to read that, my dear," he said blandly. "To my mind, it is an admirable letter and the sentiments in it are beyond question; in fact, I may admit that I was quite touched by it. The fellow is evidently a gentleman at heart. I want you to read the letter carefully and send a reply on behalf of both of us."
Dashwood spoke glibly enough, but he was obviously ill at ease. He seemed to have lost all his dignity, his haggard face looked almost mean as he glanced furtively at Mary as she read the letter through, very slowly. Her face grew hard and bitter, though something like a contemptuous smile flickered over her lips.
"This is generosity indeed," she said. "So the beggars are to be offered a home, with board and lodging and perhaps wages. I am to be mistress of the house where for two years I have had my own way, in a house where you have been master. We are to humble our pride and take the place of the housekeeper and steward, to be polite to a man whom, from the bottom of my heart, I loathe and despise. Oh, the situation would be farcical but for the note of bitter tragedy in it. So you want me to answer this letter. So far as I am concerned I answer thus."
With fierce energy Mary tore the letter across and then across again, and flung the fragments amongst the flowers on the great hearthstone.
"My dear," Dashwood protested, "really, Mary. Have you considered what you are going to do, that you are practically penniless?"
"There is always a home for Mary and her father here," Lady Dashwood murmured.
"That--that is very good of you," Dashwood stammered, "but I could not think of putting you to so much inconvenience. Mary may do what she pleases, but for my part I am going to accept the offer so kindly made by the new--er--head of the family. I presume that Mary means to stay here for the present, at any rate, and----"
"No," Mary cried. She had risen to her feet, and was glaring from one to the other of the little group with eyes filled with resolution. She was very pale, her lips were trembling, but she contrived to keep her voice steady. "No, I will not remain here, I will not stay anywhere to eat the bread of charity. Dear Lady Dashwood, you will forgive me if I seem to be harsh or ungrateful after all your loving kindness to me. But I have been troubled and humiliated enough, and I could not stand any more of it. My father can do as he chooses: if he likes to humble himself in this way it is no business of mine. But I am going away to London; everything has been arranged. The telegram I had just now confirms it. And I have got my belongings together. My plans are made, and it only remains for me to say goodbye."
Lady Dashwood rose hastily to her feet. She felt vaguely alarmed and agitated, now that matters had come to this pass. She gripped Mary by the hand.
"Going," she faltered, "going, and when and where? Oh, do nothing hastily."
"There has been nothing hasty about it," Mary said as she kissed the speaker. "Believe me, I am not doing anything that is rash. And as to the rest, I am going very soon indeed. In fact I expect to sleep in London tonight."