THE HEIR OF THE HOUSE
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."