SIR ROGER GRANVILLE'S SUGGESTION
When the meeting was over, I looked around for my new acquaintance, but
he was nowhere to be found. I waited at the hall door until the last
man had departed, but could not see him. Thinking he might have gone
to the hotel where we had had dinner, I went up to The Hoe, and
inquired for him; but he had not been seen. He had vanished as
suddenly as he had appeared.
I must confess that I was somewhat anxious about him, and wondered what
had become of him. He was alone; he knew no one but myself; he had
lost his memory; he was utterly ignorant of Plymouth, and I feared lest
something untoward should have happened to him. However, I reflected
that, as volunteers had been ordered to report themselves at the
barracks at nine o'clock on the following morning, I should find him
there.
I went to the house I was staying at, therefore, hoping, in spite of my
misgivings, that all would be well.
I had no opportunity of going to the barracks, however. Before I had
finished breakfast the next day a telegram arrived, ordering me to go
to Falmouth by the earliest possible train on an urgent matter. This
necessitated my leaving Plymouth almost before my breakfast was
finished. All I could do, therefore, was to scribble him a hasty line,
explaining the situation, and urging him to communicate with me at an
address I gave him in Falmouth. I also told him that on my return to
Plymouth I would look him up, and do all I could for him.
As events turned out, however, I did not get back for more than a week,
and when I did, although I made careful inquiries, I could learn
nothing. Whether he remained in Plymouth, or not, I could not tell,
and of course, among the thousands of men who were daily enlisting, it
was difficult to discover the whereabouts of an unknown volunteer.
Moreover, there were several recruiting stations in Plymouth besides
the barracks, and thus it was easy for me to miss him.
Months passed, and I heard nothing about Paul Edgecumbe, and if the
truth must be told, owing to the multifarious duties which pressed upon
me at that time, I almost forgot him. But not altogether. Little as I
knew of him, his personality had impressed itself upon me, while the
remembrance of that wild flash in his eyes as he came on to the
platform in Plymouth, and declared that he should join the Army, was
not easily forgotten.
One day, about three months after our meeting, I was lunching with
Colonel Gray in Exeter, when Sir Roger Granville, who was chairman of
the meeting at which Edgecumbe had enlisted, joined us.
'I have often thought about that fellow who joined up at Plymouth,
Luscombe,' he said. 'Have you ever heard any more about him?'
I shook my head. 'I've tried to follow him up, too. The fellow has
had a curious history.' Whereupon I told Sir Roger what I knew about
him.
'Quite a romance,' laughed Colonel Gray. 'It would be interesting to
know what becomes of him.'
'I wonder who and what he is?' mused Sir Roger.
'Anything might happen to a fellow like that. He may be a peer or a
pauper; he may be married or single, and there may be all sorts of
interesting developments.'
He grew quite eloquent, I remember, as to the poor fellow's possible
future, and would not listen to Colonel Gray's suggestions that
probably everything would turn out in the most prosaic fashion.
About five o'clock that evening our train arrived at a little roadside
station, where Sir Roger Granville's motor-car awaited us. It was a
beautiful day in early summer, and the whole countryside was lovely.
'No wonder you Devonshire people are proud of your county,' I said, as
the car swept along a winding country lane.
'Yes, you Cornishmen may well be jealous of us, although, for that
matter, I don't know whether I am a Cornishman or a Devonshire man.
There has always been a quarrel, you know, as to whether the Granvilles
belonged to Cornwall or Devon, although I believe old Sir Richard was
born on the Cornish side of the county boundary. In fact, there are
several families around here who can hardly tell the county they hail
from. You see that place over there?' and he pointed to a fine old
mansion that stood on the slopes of a wooded hill.
'It's a lovely spot,' I ventured.
'It is lovely, and George St. Mabyn is a lucky fellow. But _à propos_
of our conversation, George does not know which county his family came
from originally, Cornwall or Devon. St. Mabyn, you know, is a Cornish
parish, and I suppose that some of the St. Mabyns came to Devonshire
from Cornwall three centuries ago. That reminds me, he is dining with
us to-night. If I mistake not, he is a bit gone on a lady who's
staying at my house,--fascinating girl she is, too; but whether she'll
have him or not, I have my doubts.'
'Why?' I asked.
'Oh, she was engaged to his elder brother, who was killed in Egypt, and
who was heir to the estate. It was awfully sad about Maurice,--fine
fellow he was. But there was a row with the Arabs up by the Nile
somewhere, and Maurice got potted.'
'And George not only came into the estate, but may also succeed to his
brother's sweetheart?' I laughed.
'That's so. It's years ago now since Maurice's regiment was sent to
Egypt, and the engagement, so I am informed, was fixed up the night
before he went.'
'And is George St. Mabyn a good chap?'
'Oh, yes. He was a captain in the Territorials before the war broke
out, and was very active in recruiting last autumn. In November he got
sent to Ypres, and had a rough time there, I suppose. He was there
until two months ago, when he was wounded. He's home on leave now.
This war's likely to drag on, isn't it? We've been at it nine months,
and there are no signs of the Germans crumbling up.'
'From all I can hear,' I said, 'it was touch and go with us a little
while ago. If they had broken through our lines at Ypres, we should
have been in a bad way.'
'My word, we should! Still, the way our fellows stuck it was
magnificent.'
The car entered the drive just then which led to Sir Roger's place, and
after passing more than a mile through fine park land, we swept up to
an old, grey stone mansion.
'You possess one of the finest specimens of an Old English home that I
know, Sir Roger,' I said.
'Yes, I do,' and there was a touch of pride in his voice. 'I love
every stone of it,--I love every outbuilding,--I love every acre of the
old place. I suppose it's natural, too,--my people have lived here so
long. Heavens! suppose the Germans were to get here, and treat it as
they have treated the old French chateaux! Hallo, here we are!' and he
shouted to some people near the house. 'You see I have brought the
orator with me!'
We alighted from the car, and made our way towards three ladies who sat
in a secluded nook on the lawn. One I knew immediately as Lady
Granville, the other two were strangers to me. But as they will figure
more or less prominently in this story, and were closely associated
with the events which followed, it will be necessary for me to give
some description of them.