Roger Ingleton, Minor Part 34

Raffles took in the situation at once, and in half a minute was across at the stable.

As he returned with the whip he met Mr Armstrong in the yard, holding his victim much as a cat would hold a rat, utterly indifferent to his oaths, his kicks, or his threats.

"Thanks," said the tutor, as he took the whip; "go in and shut the door.

Now, sir, for you!"

"Touch me if you dare!" growled Ratman; "it will be the worse for you and every one. Do you know who I am! I'm--I'm,"--here he pulled himself up and glared his enemy in the face--"_I'm Roger Ingleton_!"

It spoke worlds for the tutor's self-possession that in the start produced by this announcement he did not let his victim escape. It spoke still more for his resolution that, having heard it, he continued his horsewhipping to the bitter end before he replied--

"Whoever you are, sir, that will teach you how to behave to a lady."

"You fool!" hissed Ratman, with an oath, getting up from the ground; "you'll be sorry for this. I'll be even with you. I'll ruin you. I'll turn your precious ward out of the place. I'll teach that girl--"

An ominous crack of the tutor's whip cut short the end of the sentence, and Mr Ratman left the remainder of his threats to the imagination of his audience.

When, ten minutes later, the tutor, with eye-gla.s.s erect, strolled back into the drawing-room, no one would have supposed that he had been horsewhipping an enemy or making a discovery on which the fate of a whole household depended. His thin, compressed lips wore their usual enigmatic lines; his brow was as unruffled as his shirt front.

"Dear Mr Armstrong, where have you been?" cried Jill, pouncing on him at the door; "I've been hunting for you everywhere. You promised me, you know." And the little lady towed off her captive in triumph.

The remainder of the evening pa.s.sed uneventfully until at eleven o'clock the festivities in the drawing-room gave place to the more serious business of the "county" supper, at which, in a specially-erected tent, about one hundred guests sat down.

Tom had taken care to procure an early and advantageous seat for the occasion, and, with one of the vicar's daughters under his patronage and control, prepared to enjoy himself at last. He had had a bad time of it so far, for he was in the black-books of almost every youth in the room, and had been posted as a defaulter in whatever corner he had tried to hide from his creditors.

"It's awful having a pretty sister," said he confidentially to his companion; "gets a fellow into no end of a mess. I wish I was your brother instead."

"Thank you," said the young lady, laughing.

"Oh, I didn't mean that," said Tom. "You're good enough looking, I think. But I don't see why Rosalind can't pick her own partners, instead of me having to manage it for her. Look out! if that chap opposite sees me he'll kick--put the ferns between. There she is next to Roger. Like her cheek, bagging the best place. Do you see that kid there grinning at the fellow with the eye-gla.s.s? That's my young sister--ought to be in bed instead of fooling about here. Ah, I knew it! she's planted herself opposite the grapes. If we don't look out we shan't get one. That's my governor coming in; looks rather chippy, don't he? I say, lean forward, or he'll see me. He's caught me in the supper-room five or six times already this evening. By the way, where's old Ratty? Do you know Ratty, Miss Isabel? No end of a scorch. Just the chap for you. I'll introduce you. Hullo! where is he?" added he, looking up and down the table cautiously. "Surely he's not going to shirk the feed? Never mind, Miss Isabel; I'll work it round for you if I can."

Miss Isabel expressed her grat.i.tude with a smile, and asked Tom how he liked living at Maxfield.

"Oh, all right, now I've got a football and can go shooting in the woods. I have to pay up for it though with lessons, and--(thanks; all right; just a little more. Won't you have some yourself while it's here?)--Armstrong makes us stick at it. I say, by the way, do you remember that fellow who died? (Don't take any of that; it's no good.

Wire in to a wing of the partridge instead.) Eh, do you?"

"Whom? What are you talking about?" asked she, bewildered.

"Ah, it doesn't matter. He died twenty-one years ago, before Roger was born. I thought you might have known him."

"Really, Tom, you are not complimentary. You can't expect me to remember before I was born."

"What! aren't you twenty-one?" asked Tom, staring round at her. "Go on; you're joking! No? Why, you look twice the age! This chap, you know, would have been the heir if he'd lived. There's a picture of him upstairs."

"And he died, did he?"

"Rather; but old Hodder--know old Hodder?"

"Hush!" said his companion; "the speeches are beginning."

"What a hung nuisance!" said Tom.

The oratorical interruption was a brief one. The Duke of Somewhere, as the big man of the county, rose to propose the health of the heir of Maxfield. They were glad to make their young neighbour's acquaintance, and looked forward that day year to welcoming him to his own. They hoped he'd be a credit to his name, and keep up the traditions of Maxfield. He understood Mr Ingleton was pretty strictly tied up in the matter of guardians--(laughter)--but from what he could see, he might be worse off in that respect; and the county would owe their thanks to those gentlemen if they turned out among them the right sort of man to be Squire of Maxfield. He wished his young friend joy and long life and many happy returns of the day.

Roger, rather pale and nervous, replied very briefly.

He thanked them for their good wishes, and said he hoped he might take these as given not to the heir of Maxfield but to plain Roger Ingleton.

He was still an infant--("Hear, hear!" from Tom)--and was in no hurry to get out of the charge of his guardians. Whatever his other expectations might be, he felt that his best heritage was the name he bore; and he hoped, as his n.o.ble neighbour had said, he should turn out worthy of that.

As he sat down, flushed with his effort, and wondering what two persons there would think of his feeble performance, his eye fell on the form of Dr Brandram, who at that moment hurriedly entered the room.

He saw him whisper something to Armstrong, who changed colour and rose from his seat. An intuition, quicker than a flash of lightning, revealed to the boy that something was wrong--something in which he was concerned. In a moment he stood with his two friends in the hall.

"Roger, my brave fellow, your mother has been taken seriously worse within the last hour. Come and see her."

The boy staggered away dazed. He was conscious of the hum of voices, with Tom's laugh above all, in the room behind; of the long curve of carriage lights waiting in the garden without; of the trophy of flowers and pampas on either side of the staircase. Then, as the doctor stepped forward and softly opened a door, he followed like one in a dream.

For an hour the dull roll of carriages came and went on the drive, and the cheery babel of departing voices broke the still morning air.

But two guests left Maxfield that night unexpectedly.

One was the soul of a good lady; the other was the horsewhipped body of a bad man.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

STRONG HEARTS AND WEAK TEMPERS.

In the sad confusion which followed upon Mrs Ingleton's sudden death, no one appeared to remark the abrupt departure of Mr Robert Ratman.

Roger certainly never bestowed a thought on the occurrence, and if any of the other members of the household thought twice about it, they all-- even Jill--kept their ideas on the subject to themselves.

To Roger the week that followed his twentieth birthday was the most dismal of his life. When a similar blow had fallen months ago he had been too bewildered and benumbed to realise fully his own loss. Now he realised everything only too vividly.

His own trouble; the loss of the last near relative he had in the world; his own sickly health, chaining him down when he would fain seek comfort in action; the uncertainty of his position as heir of Maxfield; the hopeless task before him of finding his lost brother; Rosalind's indifference to his affection--all seemed now to pile up in one great mountain to oppress him, and he half envied the gentle dead her quiet resting-place.

It was in the second week after the funeral, when Maxfield once more began to a.s.sume its normal aspect, and Captain Oliphant was allowing himself to hope that, notwithstanding the removal of his latest "dear departed," things were likely to shape themselves a trifle more comfortably for his own designs in her absence--it was in the middle of November that a letter was handed to Roger as he dressed one morning in his room.

It bore the London post-mark, and looked mysterious enough to induce Roger to lay down his brushes and open it there and then. This is what it said:--

"Dear Roger,--You'll have been expecting to hear from me, as no doubt your moral friend, Mr Armstrong, has told you who I am. I don't fancy you are specially pleased with the discovery, and it may suit you to turn up your nose at your affectionate brother. You may turn up what you like, but it doesn't alter the fact. I am your brother.

When I heard of my father's death I was in India, and made up my mind to come home on the chance the old boy had forgiven me and left me some of the needful in his will. Your guardian, Oliphant, had little idea that the Indian chum who made such a long journey to pay him a visit at Maxfield was really the man to whom the place ought to have belonged if every one had his rights. Of course I soon found out my mistake. The old man kept up his grudge to the end, and cut me out of his will without even a shilling. So you've nothing to be afraid of.

I dare say when you come into the property you will do something for your big brother. Meanwhile I don't expect much out of the pair of hypocrites my father chose to leave as your guardians. But as I am hard up, and you can probably do what you like with your pocket-money, let me have a 10 note once and again, say fortnightly, addressed to Robert Ratman, to be called for at the General Post Office. If I don't get this, I shall conclude the Ingletons are true to their reputation of being a good deal fonder of their money than their flesh and blood.

"I don't know whether I shall turn up again or not. It will depend pretty much on what I hear. No doubt you've set me down as a cad and a blackleg. Perhaps I am. I've not had the advantages you have.

But, cad or no cad, I've a right to sign myself your brother,--

"Roger Ingleton, _alias_ Robert Ratman."