Mr Ratman's business interview with his friend was short and stormy.
When Captain Oliphant produced the hundred-pound note, and requested his
creditor to accept a fresh bill for the balance, that injured gentleman
broke out into very emphatic abuse.
"Likely, is it not?" laughed he. "You, a common thief, bring me, who've
saved you from a convict's cell, here to be insulted and made a fool of
by your miserable brats and servants, and then have the calmness to ask
me to lend you a hundred pounds? I admire your impudence, sir, and
that's all I admire about you."
"My dear fellow, how can you blame me--"
"Blame you! You don't suppose I'm going to take the trouble to do that!
Come, hand over the other hundred, sharp. I've nothing to say to you
till that's done."
And Mr Ratman, digging his hands in his pockets, got up and walked to
the fireplace.
Captain Oliphant's face fell. He knew his man by this time, and had
sense enough at least to know that this was no time for argument. Yet
he could not help snarling--
"I can only do part."
"The whole--in five minutes--or there'll be interest to add!" retorted
Mr Ratman.
With a groan Captain Oliphant flung down the second bank-note on the
table.
"Take it, you coward! and may it help you to perdition!"
"Thanks, very much," said Ratman, carefully putting away the money.
"I'm not going to ask you where the money came from. That would be
painful. Ah, Teddy, my boy, what a nice, respectable family man you
are, to be sure!"
With which acknowledgment Mr Ratman, in capital spirits, returned to
his room. On the way he encountered Tom, who, being of a forgiving
disposition, owed him no grudge for the trouble that had occurred at
breakfast-time.
"Hullo, Mr Ratty!" said the boy; "going out? Aren't you looking
forward to the party to-night? I am. Only I'm afraid they'll make a
mess of it among them. Auntie's ill and in bed, Rosalind and Roger are
spooning about in the grounds, Armstrong's got the dismals, and the
governor's not to be disturbed. I've got to look after everything. The
spread will be good enough--only I think they ought to have roasted an
ox whole in the hall; don't you? That's the proper way to do things,
instead of kickshaws and things with French names that one can swallow
at a gulp. I say, there's to be a dance first. I'll introduce you to
some of the old girls if you like. It won't be much fun for me, for
Jill has made me promise to dance every dance with her, for fear you
should want one. But I know a chap or two that will take her off my
hands. I say, would you like to see my den?" added he, as they passed
the door in question.
Mr Ratman being of an inquiring turn of mind, accepted the invitation,
and gave a cursory glance at the chaos which formed the leading feature
of the apartment.
"It's not such a swagger crib as Roger's," said Tom; "but it's snug
enough. That's Roger's opposite. Like to look?"
Once more Mr Ratman allowed himself to be escorted on a tour of
discovery.
"Who is that a portrait of?" asked he, looking at the lost Roger's
picture.
"Oh, that's what's his name, the fellow who would have been heir if he
hadn't died. He looks rather a tough customer, doesn't he? That's the
picture Rosalind painted for Roger's birthday--a view of the park from
her window, with the sea beyond. Not so bad, is it? Rosalind thinks
she's no end of an artist, but I--"
"When did he die?" inquired Mr Ratman, still examining the picture.
"Oh, ever so long ago--before the old Squire married Auntie. I say,
come and have a punt about with my new football, will you?"
"Go and get it. I'll be down presently. I like pictures, and shall
just take a look at these first!"
Tom bustled off, wondering what Mr Ratman could see in the pictures to
allure him from the joys of football.
To tell the truth, Mr Ratman was not a great artist. But the portrait
of the lost Roger appeared to interest him, as did also the sight of an
open letter, hastily laid down by the owner on the writing-table.
Something in the handwriting of the letter particularly aroused the
curiosity of the trespasser, who, being, as has been said, of an
inquiring disposition, ventured to look at it more closely.
"_To be given unopened into the hands of Roger Ingleton, junior, on his
twentieth birthday_."
The coast was conveniently clear for Mr Ratman, as, fired with a zeal
for information, he slipped the letter from the envelope and, with half
an eye on the door, hastily read it. As he did so, he flushed a little,
and having read the letter once, read it again. Then he quickly
replaced it in its cover, and laying it where he had discovered it, beat
a rapid retreat.
He played football badly that afternoon, so that his young companion's
opinion of him lowered considerably. Nor was either sorry when the
ceremony was over, and the bell warned them to return to their quarters
and prepare for the evening's festivities.
Mr Ratman dressed with special care, spending some time before the
mirror in an endeavour to set off his person to the best advantage. As
the reader has already been told, Mr Ratman retained some of the traces
of a handsome youth. The fires of honour and sobriety were
extinguished, but his well-shaped head and clear-cut features still
weathered the storm, and suggested that if their owner was not good-
looking now, he might once have been.
Perhaps it was a lingering impression of the lost Roger's portrait which
made this vain gentleman adjust his curly locks and pose his head before
the glass in a style not unlike his model. Whether that was so or not,
the result appeared to satisfy him, and in due time, and not till after
several of the guests had already arrived, he descended in state to the
drawing-room.
It was the first festive gathering at Maxfield since the death of the
late Squire, and a good deal of curiosity was manifest on the part of
some of the guests both as to the heir and his new guardian.
Roger, nerved up to the occasion by his own spirit and the encouragement
of his tutor, bore his inspection well, and won golden opinions from his
future comrades and neighbours.
Captain Oliphant also acquitted himself well; and anything lacking in
him was amply forgiven for the sake of his charming daughters, the elder
of whom fairly took the "county" by storm.
Quite unconscious of the broken hearts which strewed her way, Rosalind,
with the duties of hostess unexpectedly cast upon her by Mrs Ingleton's
illness, exerted herself for the general happiness, and enjoyed herself
in the task.
Despite Tom's forebodings, the evening went off brilliantly. The music
was excellent, the amateur theatricals highly appreciated, and the dance
all that could be desired. The loyal youth found no difficulty in
palming his young sister off on half a dozen partners delighted to have
the opportunity, and his head was fairly turned by the sudden popularity
in which he found himself with visitors anxious for an introduction to
the fair Rosalind.
"Oh, all serene," said he confidentially to one of those glowing youths.
"She's booked six or seven deep, but I'll work it for you if I can.
You hang about here, and I'll fetch her up."
But the luckless ones hung about in vain. For Tom's progress was
intercepted by other candidates for the same favour, amidst whom the
young diplomatist played fast and loose in a reprehensible manner.
"Promised _you_, did I?" demanded he of one. "Well, you'll have to
square it up with that sandy-haired chap at the door. He says I
promised _him_; but he's all wrong, for the one I _did_ promise is that
little dapper chap there in the window. He's been waiting on and off
since eight o'clock. Never you mind; you hang about here, and I'll work
it if I-- Hullo! here's another one! I didn't promise you, did I? All
right, old chappie. You lean up there against the wall, and I'll
engineer it for you somehow. She's owing me a dance about eight down
the list. You can have a quarter of it, if you like, and the other two
chaps can go halves in the rest."
With which the unprincipled youth absconded into the supper-room.
"And who is that talking to your charming cousin?" asked a dowager who
had succeeded in capturing Roger for five minutes in a corner.
"Oh, that's my tutor, Armstrong--the best fellow in the world."
"Evidently a great admirer of Miss Oliphant. No doubt the attraction is
mutual?"
Roger laughed, and speculated on Armstrong's horror were he to hear of
such a suggestion.
"And that gentleman talking to Captain Oliphant? What relation is he?"
"He? None at all. He's a Mr Ratman, an Indian friend of my
guardian's."
"Dear me! I quite thought he was an Ingleton by his face--but I'm glad
he is not; I dislike his appearance. Besides, he has already had more
than is good for him."
"He's no great favourite," said Roger shortly.
Presently Captain Oliphant and his companion stepped up to where
Rosalind and her partner stood.
"Mr Armstrong," said the former, "will you kindly see that the band
gets supper after the next dance?"
The words were spoken politely, and Mr Armstrong, although he knew that
the speaker's solicitude on behalf of the band was by no means as great
as his desire to see the tutor's back, felt he could hardly refuse.
"Rosalind," said the Captain, looking significantly at his daughter,
"Mr Ratman desires the pleasure of a dance, and will take you into the
next room."
Rosalind tossed her head and flushed.
"Thank you; I am tired," said she. "I prefer not to dance at present."
"You are keeping Mr Ratman waiting, my dear."
The colour died out of the girl's face as, with a little shiver, she
laid the tips of her fingers on her partner's arm.
"That's right," said that genial individual. "Do as you are told. You
don't fancy it; but pa's word is law, isn't it?"
She said nothing, but the colour shot back ominously into her cheeks.
"And so you've run off and left us," pursued her partner, who rather
enjoyed the situation, and was vain enough to appreciate the distinction
of dancing with the belle of the evening. "So sorry. I quite envy the
little vicar boys and girls--upon my honour I do. Very unkind of you to
go just as I came. Never mind. Not far away, is it? We shall see lots
of one another."
At this moment, just as the band was striking up for a quadrille, Jill
came up.
"Have you seen dear Mr Arm-- O Rosalind! how _can_ you dance with that
man?"
Mr Ratman laughed.
"Very well, missy. I'll pay you out. You shall dance with me, see if
you don't, before the evening is out."
Before which awful threat Jill fled headlong to seek the tutor.
"Fact is," pursued Mr Ratman, reverting to his previous topic, "ever
since I saw you, Miss Rosalind, I said to myself--Robert Ratman, you
have found the right article at last. You don't suppose I'd come all
the way here from India, do you, if there weren't attractions?"
She kept a rigid silence, and went through the steps of the quadrille
without so much as a look at the talker, Ratman was sober enough to be
annoyed at this chilly disdain.
"Don't you know it's rude not to speak when you're spoken to, Miss
Rosalind?" said he. "If you choose to be friends with me we shall get
on very well, but you mustn't be rude."
She turned her head away.
"You aren't deaf, are you?" said he, becoming still more nettled. "I
suppose if it was the heir of Maxfield that was talking to you you'd
hear, wouldn't you? You'd be all smiles and nods to the owner of ten
thousand a year, eh? Do you suppose we can't see through your little
game, you artful little schemer? Now, will you speak or not?"
Her cheeks gave the only indication that she had heard this last
polished speech as she gathered up her dress and swept out of the
quadrille.
"Wait," said he, losing his temper, "the dance is not over."
She stepped quickly to a chair, and sat there at bay.
"Come back," said he, following her, "or I will make you. I won't be
insulted like this before the whole room. Come back; do you hear?"
And he snatched her hand.
Rosalind looked up, and as she did so she caught a distant vision of an
eye-glass dropping from a gentleman's eye to the length of its cord. A
moment after, Mr Ratman felt a hand close like a vice on his collar and
himself almost lifted from the room. It was all done so quickly that
the quadrille party were only just becoming aware that a couple had
dropped out; and the non-dancers were beginning to wonder if Miss
Oliphant had been taken poorly, when Robert Ratman was writhing in the
clutches of his chastiser in the hall.
Mr Armstrong marched straight with his prey to the kitchen.
"Raffles," said he to the footman, "get me a horsewhip."
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-glass 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 passed 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-glass? 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 gratitude 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 noble 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.