Roger Ingleton, Minor Part 43

"Mr Ratman; he hurt me awfully once."

The duke, feeling that Miss Oliphant's party was taking rather a serious turn, walked across the room to where Mr Ratman was already engaged in an uncomfortable colloquy with Dr Brandram.

"What are you doing here?" the doctor had asked.

"That's my business," said Mr Ratman. "For the matter of that, what are you doing here?"

"Among other things, I am here to see that the young people of the house are not annoyed by the intrusion of a person called Ratman."

"And I," said the duke, coming up, "am here to advise you to save trouble by leaving the house."

"And who are you, sir?"

"I am the Duke of Somewhere."

"Proud to renew my acquaintance, sir. May I ask if you have quite forgotten me?"

"Sir, you have the advantage of me. I never saw you before."

"Pardon me, my lord, you saw me a month ago, at a birthday party in this very house."

"If so, I was not sufficiently impressed sir, to remember you now. I repeat my request as the friend of the young lady."

"Ah, indeed!" said Ratman; "I am not aware, your grace, of your right to speak to me in the name of Miss Oliphant, or anybody else."

"Oh," said Tom, arriving on the scene at this juncture, "you there, Ratty? you'd better clear out. All the grub's done, and you're not wanted here. We didn't ask you--took care not to. Rosalind's not here.

This is Jilly's and my party. Isn't it, you chaps?" The chaps appealed to, His Grace, the doctor, and one or two of the other guests, corroborated this statement.

Mr Ratman leant comfortably against the wall.

"Flattering reception," said he. "I am inclined to take your lordship's advice and go; but before I do, may I ask your lordship again if you really do not remember me?"

"I never saw you before, sir," said His Grace; "and allow me to add, I have no desire to see you again."

"_Dear_ Duke!" whispered Jill encouragingly, putting her hand in his.

"Odd the changes a few years make," rejoined Mr Ratman. "I presume your lordship's memory can carry you back a little time--say twenty years?"

"What of that, sir?"

"Merely that if that is so, you probably can remember a lad named Roger Ingleton who lived in this house, son of the old Squire."

There was a dead silence now, and the Duke looked in a startled way at the speaker.

"I see you remember that boy," said the intruder; "and you probably heard the story of my--I mean his quarrel with his father, and also heard of his supposed death. Now, your grace, put twenty years on to that boy, and suppose the story of his death was a myth, then say again you don't remember me."

"What, you mean to say _you_ are young Roger Ingleton?"

"At your grace's service."

Tom gave a whistle, half dismay, half amus.e.m.e.nt. The doctor smiled contemptuously. The duke bit his lip and gazed stolidly at the speaker.

"You are not obliged to believe me," said the latter jauntily; "only you wanted to know my business in Maxfield, and I have told you. I don't say I'm the heir, for I understand my father was good enough to cut me out of every penny of his estate. And as for being a paragon of virtue, or the opposite, that's my affair and no one else's--eh, your grace?"

His Grace was much disturbed. He had once seen young Roger Ingleton, at that time a mere boy, but retained no distinct memory of him. At the time of the quarrel between father and son he had been abroad, and the news of the lad's death had been formally communicated as a matter beyond question. Recognition, as far as he was concerned, was impossible.

"You choose a strange time, sir," said he, "for coming here with this story, when the heir and his guardians are both away."

"I supposed my brother was here," said Ratman. "In any case he knows who I am; so does your friend the tutor, Dr Brandram."

"Oh, why _do_ you stop talking to that hateful man instead of coming, and enjoying the party?" pleaded Jill.

"Ah, my little lady, is that you?" said Ratman advancing.

But his pa.s.sage was intercepted by the doctor.

"Gently, my friend," said he. "Now that you have relieved yourself of your pretty story, let me suggest that the easiest way out of this house is by the door."

"Who are you, sir?" bl.u.s.tered Ratman.

Dr Brandram laughed.

"I must have changed in twenty years as much as you," said he.

"I am not going to ask _your_ leave to be in my father's house."

"I am not going to ask your leave to put you out of it."

Tom's spirits rose. There seemed every promise of an unrehea.r.s.ed entertainment for the delectation of his guests.

"I caution you, sir."

"I will take all responsibility," said the doctor. "Anything more you have to say can just as well be said in Mr Pottinger's office to-morrow morning as here."

"Thank you, sir," said Mr Ratman, with a snarl. "It is never pleasant to have to introduce oneself, but I am glad to have had the opportunity before this distinguished company. It is now the turn of the other side to move. If they want me they must find me. Good night, your grace; you are a nice loyal neighbour to an old comrade's boy. Good night, you, sir; take as much responsibility as you like if it is any satisfaction to you. Good-bye, my pretty little Jill; some day you'll have to call me cousin Roger, and then we'll be quits. Good night, gentlemen and ladies all. The prodigal's return has not been a success, I own, but it's a fact all the same. _Au revoir_."

And he bowed himself out.

"This fellow is either the most impudent villain I ever met," said the Duke, "or there is something in his story."

This seemed to be the general impression. A few, Dr Brandram among them, scoffed irreverently at the whole affair. But the majority of those present felt decidedly disturbed by the incident, and poor Miss Jill Oliphant had the mortification of seeing her party drop flat after all.

Tom and she made Herculean efforts to rehabilitate it. Jill played her polka till she was tired, and Tom, after setting out all the duplicate "goes" in the hall, retired to grope in the wet gra.s.s for a few of the unexploded squibs.

Some of the guests did what they could to back their hosts up, and made great show of enjoying themselves, but the Duke was preoccupied, and the Bishop was pensive. The Marigold girls talked in a corner, and Mr Pottinger was out in the hall calling for his carriage.

"Odious man!" said the poor little hostess, "he's spoiled all our fun.

No one likes our party now. They'll all be glad to get away; and we did try so hard to make it jolly."