Worcester House was one of those semi-palatial residences set down
apparently for no reason whatever in the middle of Regent's Park. It had
been acquired by a former duke at the instigation of the Regent, who was
his intimate friend, and retained by later generations in mute protest
against the disfiguring edifices which had made a millionaire's highway
of Park Lane. Dominey, who was first scrutinised by an individual in
buff waistcoat and silk hat at the porter's lodge, was interviewed by a
major-domo in the great stone hall, conducted through an extraordinarily
Victorian drawing-room by another myrmidon in a buff waistcoat, and
finally ushered into a tiny little boudoir leading out of a larger
apartment and terminating in a conservatory filled with sweet-smelling
exotics. The Duchess, who was reclining in an easy-chair, held out her
hand, which her visitor raised to his lips. She motioned him to a seat
by her side and once more scrutinised him with unabashed intentness.
“There's something wrong about you, you know,” she declared.
“That seems very unfortunate,” he rejoined, “when I return to find you
wholly unchanged.”
“Not bad,” she remarked critically. “All the same, I have changed. I am
not in the least in love with you any longer.”
“It was the fear of that change in you,” he sighed, “which kept me for
so long in the furthest corners of the world.”
She looked at him with a severity which was obviously assumed.
“Look here,” she said, “it is better for us to have a perfectly clear
understanding upon one point. I know the exact position of your affairs,
and I know, too, that the two hundred a year which your lawyer has been
sending out to you came partly out of a few old trees and partly out of
his own pocket. How you are going to live over here I cannot imagine,
but it isn't the least use expecting Henry to do a thing for you. The
poor man has scarcely enough pocket money to pay his travelling expenses
when he goes lecturing.”
“Lecturing?” Dominey repeated. “What's happened to poor Henry?”
“My husband is an exceedingly conscientious man,” was the dignified
reply. “He goes from town to town with Lord Roberts and a secretary,
lecturing on national defence.”
“Dear Henry was always a little cranky, wasn't he?” Dominey observed.
“Let me put your mind at rest on that other matter, though, Caroline. I
can assure you that I have come back to England not to borrow money but
to spend it.”
His cousin shook her head mournfully. “And a few minutes ago I was
nearly observing that you had lost your sense of humour!”
“I am in earnest,” he persisted. “Africa has turned out to be my
Eldorado. Quite unexpectedly, I must admit, I came in for a considerable
sum of money towards the end of my stay there. I am paying off the
mortgages at Dominey at once, and I want Henry to jot down on paper at
once those few amounts he was good enough to lend me in the old days.”
Caroline, Duchess of Worcester, sat perfectly still for a moment with
her mouth open, a condition which was entirely natural but unbecoming.
“And you mean to tell me that you really are Everard Dominey?” she
exclaimed.
“The weight of evidence is rather that way,” he murmured.
He moved his chair deliberately a little nearer, took her hand and
raised it to his lips. Her face was perilously near to his. She drew a
little back--and too abruptly.
“My dear Everard,” she whispered, “Henry is in the house! Besides--Yes,
I suppose you must be Everard. Just now there was something in your eyes
exactly like his. But you are so stiff. Have you been drilling out there
or anything?”
He shook his head.
“One spends half one's time in the saddle.”
“And you are really well off?” she asked again wonderingly.
“If I had stayed there another year,” he replied, “and been able to
marry a Dutch Jewess, I should have qualified for Park Lane.”
She sighed.
“It's too wonderful. Henry will love having his money back.”
“And you?”
She looked positively distressed.
“You've lost all your manners,” she complained. “You make love like a
garden rake. You should have leaned towards me with a quiver in your
voice when you said those last two words, and instead of that you look
as though you were sitting at attention, with a positive glint of steel
in your eyes.”
“One sees a woman once in a blue moon out there,” he pleaded.
She shook her head. “You've changed. It was a sixth sense with you to
make love in exactly the right tone, to say exactly the right thing in
the right manner.”
“I shall pick it up,” he declared hopefully, “with a little assistance.”
She made a little grimace.
“You won't want an old woman like me to assist you, Everard. You'll have
the town at your feet. You'll be able to frivol with musical comedy,
flirt with our married beauties, or--I'm sorry, Everard, I forgot.”
“You forgot what?” he asked steadfastly.
“I forgot the tragedy which finally drove you abroad. I forgot your
marriage. Is there any change in your wife?”
“Not much, I am afraid.”
“And Mr. Mangan--he thinks that you are safe over here?”
“Perfectly.”
She looked at him earnestly. Perhaps she had never admitted, even to
herself, how fond she had been of this scapegrace cousin.
“You'll find that no one will have a word to say against you,” she told
him, “now that you are wealthy and regenerate. They'll forget everything
you want them to. When will you come and dine here and meet all your
relatives?”
“Whenever you are kind enough to ask me,” he answered. “I thought of
going down to Dominey to-morrow.”
She looked at him with a new thing in her eyes--something of fear,
something, too, of admiration.
“But--your wife?”
“She is there, I believe,” he said. “I cannot help it. I have been an
exile from my home long enough.”
“Don't go,” she begged suddenly. “Why not be brave and have her removed.
I know how tender-hearted you are, but you have your future and your
career to consider. For her sake, too, you ought not to give her the
opportunity--”
Dominey could never make up his mind whether the interruption which came
at that moment was welcome or otherwise. Caroline suddenly broke off
in her speech and glanced warningly towards the larger room. A tall,
grey-haired man, dressed in old-fashioned clothes and wearing a
pince-nez, had lifted the curtains. He addressed the Duchess in a thin,
reedy voice.
“My dear Caroline,” he began,--“ah, you must forgive me. I did not know
that you were engaged. We will not stay, but I should like to present to
you a young friend of mine who is going to help me at the meeting this
evening.”
“Do bring him in,” his wife replied, her voice once more attuned to its
natural drawl. “And I have a surprise for you too, Henry--a very great
surprise, I think you will find it!”
Dominey rose to his feet--a tall, commanding figure--and stood waiting
the approach of the newcomer. The Duke advanced, looking at him
enquiringly. A young man, very obviously a soldier in mufti, was
hovering in the background.
“I must plead guilty to the surprise,” the Duke confessed courteously.
“There is something exceedingly familiar about your face, sir, but I
cannot remember having had the privilege of meeting you.”
“You see,” Caroline observed, “I am not the only one, Everard, who did
not accept you upon a glance. This is Everard Dominey, Henry, returned
from foreign exile and regenerated in every sense of the word.”
“How do you do?” Dominey said, holding out his hand. “I seem to be
rather a surprise to every one, but I hope you haven't quite forgotten
me.”
“God bless my soul!” the Duke exclaimed. “You don't mean to say that
you're really Everard Dominey?”
“I am he, beyond a doubt,” was the calm assurance.
“Most amazing!” the Duke declared, as he shook hands. “Most amazing! I
never saw such a change in my life. Yes, yes, I see--same complexion,
of course--nose and eyes--yes, yes! But you seem taller, and you carry
yourself like a soldier. Dear, dear me! Africa has done wonderfully by
you. Delighted, my dear Everard! Delighted!”
“You'll be more delighted still when you hear the rest of the news,” his
wife remarked drily. “In the meantime, do present your friend.”
“Precisely so,” the Duke acquiesced, turning to the young man in the
background. “Most sorry, my dear Captain Bartram. The unexpected return
of a connection of my wife must be my apology for this lapse of manners.
Let me present you to the Duchess. Captain Bartram is just back from
Germany, my dear, and is an enthusiastic supporter of our cause.--Sir
Everard Dominey.”
Caroline shook hands kindly with her husband's protege, and Dominey
exchanged a solemn handshake with him.
“You, too, are one of those, then, Captain Bartram, who are convinced
that Germany has evil designs upon us?” the former said, smiling.
“I have just returned from Germany after twelve months' stay there,”
the young soldier replied. “I went with an open mind. I have come
back convinced that we shall be at war with Germany within a couple of
years.”
The Duke nodded vigorously.
“Our young friend is right,” he declared. “Three times a week for many
months I have been drumming the fact into the handful of wooden-headed
Englishmen who have deigned to come to our meetings. I have made myself
a nuisance to the House of Lords and the Press. It is a terrible thing
to realise how hard it is to make an Englishman reflect, so long as he
is making money and having a good time.--You are just back from Africa,
Everard?”
“Within a week, sir.”
“Did you see anything of the Germans out there? Were you anywhere near
their Colony?”
“I have been in touch with them for some years,” Dominey replied.
“Most interesting!” his questioner exclaimed. “You may be of service to
us, Everard. You may, indeed! Now tell me, isn't it true that they have
secret agents out there, trying to provoke unsettlement and disquiet
amongst the Boers? Isn't it true that they apprehend a war with England
before very long and are determined to stir up the Colony against us?”
“I am very sorry,” Dominey replied, “but I am not a politician in any
shape or form. All the Germans whom I have met out there seem a most
peaceful race of men, and there doesn't seem to be the slightest
discontent amongst the Boers or any one else.”
The Duke's face fell. “This is very surprising.”
“The only people who seem to have any cause for discontent,” Dominey
continued, “are the English settlers. I didn't commence to do any good
myself there till a few years ago, but I have heard some queer stories
about the way our own people were treated after the war.”
“What you say about South Africa, Sir Everard,” the young soldier
remarked, “is naturally interesting, but I am bound to say that it is in
direct opposition to all I have heard.”
“And I,” the Duke echoed fervently.
“I have lived there for the last eleven years,” Dominey continued, “and
although I spent the earlier part of that time trekking after big game,
lately I am bound to confess that every thought and energy I possess
have been centered upon money-making. For that reason, perhaps, my
observations may have been at fault. I shall claim the privilege of
coming to one of your first meetings, Duke, and of trying to understand
this question.”
His august connection blinked at him a little curiously for a moment
behind his glasses.
“My dear Everard,” he said, “forgive my remarking it, but I find you
more changed than I could have believed possible.”
“Everard is changed in more ways than one,” his wife observed, with
faint irony.
Dominey, who had risen to leave, bent over her hand.
“What about my dinner party, sir?” she added.
“As soon as I return from Norfolk,” he replied.
“Dominey Hall will really find you?” she asked a little curiously.
“Most certainly!”
There was again that little flutter of fear in her eyes, followed by a
momentary flash of admiration. Dominey shook hands gravely with his host
and nodded to Bertram. The servant whom the Duchess had summoned stood
holding the curtains on one side.
“I shall hope to see you again shortly, Duke,” Dominey said, as he
completed his leave-taking. “There is a little matter of business to be
adjusted between us. You will probably hear from Mr. Mangan in a day or
two.”
The Duke gazed after the retreating figure of this very amazing visitor.
When the curtains had fallen he turned to his wife.
“A little matter of business,” he repeated. “I hope you have explained
to Everard, my dear, that although, of course, we are very glad to see
him back again, it is absolutely hopeless for him to look to me for any
financial assistance at the present moment.”
Caroline smiled.
“Everard was alluding to the money he already owes you,” she explained.
“He intends to repay it at once. He is also paying off the Dominey
mortgages. He has apparently made a fortune in Africa.”
The Duke collapsed into an easy-chair.
“Everard pay his debts?” he exclaimed. “Everard Dominey pay off the
mortgages?”
“That is what I understand,” his wife acquiesced.
The Duke clutched at the last refuge of a weak but obstinate man. His
mouth came together like a rat-trap.
“There's something wrong about it somewhere,” he declared.