It was the desire of the Tanneur house, that "Hydeholm" should keep
alive the traditions of its Georgian squiredom. Sir Harry Tanneur spoke
vaguely of "feudal customs" and was wont to stand dejectedly before a
suit of fifteen century armour that stood in the great hall, shaking his
head with some despondence at a pernicious modernity which allowed no
scope for steel-clad robbery with violence. The quarterings that glowed
in the great windows of the hall were eloquent of departed glories.
There was a charge, _on a field vert, goutte de sang, parted per fusil_,
with I know not what lions rampant and lions sejant, boars heads,
cinquefoils and water budgets, all of which, as Sir Harry would tell
you, formed a blazing memento of the deeds of Sir Folk de Tanneur
(1142-1197). Putting aside the family portraits, the historical
documents, and other misleading data, I speak the truth when I say that
the founder of the Tanneur family was Isaac Tanner, a Canterbury curer
of hides, who acquired a great fortune at the time of the Crimean war,
and having purchased a beautiful estate in Kent, christened the historic
mansion where he had taken up his residence "Hyde House," at once a
challenge to the fastidious county, and an honest tribute to the source
of his wealth. It is a fact that no Tanner--or Tanneur as they style
the name--has reached nearer the patents of nobility than Sir Harry
himself acquired, when he was knighted in 1897 in connexion with the
erection of the Jubilee Alms-Houses.
Sir Harry's son and heir was a heavily built young man, with a big
vacant face and a small black moustache. He was military in the militia
sense of the word, holding the rank of captain in the 9th battalion of
the Royal West Kent Regiment.
"Hal has a devil of a lot more in him than people give him credit for,"
was his father's favourite appreciation, and indeed it was popularly
supposed that in Mr. Harry Tanneur's big frame was revived the ancient
courage of Sir Folk, the wisdom of Sir Peter (a contemporary of Falstaff
and one of the Judges who sent Prince Henry to prison), the subtlety of
Sir George (ambassador at the Court of Louis of France), and the
eminently practical cent. per cent. acumen of his father.
They were seated at breakfast at "Hydeholm," Sir Harry, his son and the
faded lady of the house. Sir Harry read a letter and tossed it to his
wife.
"Laura's in trouble again," he said testily, "really, my dear, your
sister is a trial! First of all her husband loses his money and blames
me for putting him into the Siberian Gold Recovery Syndicate, then he
dies, and now his wife expects me to interest myself in a petty suburban
squabble."
The meek lady read the letter carefully.
"The man seems to have annoyed Alicia," she commented mildly, "and even
though he is a duke--and it seems strange for a duke to be living in
Brockley----"
"Duke?" frowned Sir Harry, "I didn't see anything about dukes. Let me
see the letter again, my love."
"Duke," muttered Sir Harry, "I can't see any word that looks like
'duke'--ah, here it is, I suppose, I thought it was 'dude'; really Laura
writes an abominable hand. H'm," he said, "I see she suggests that Hal
should spend a week or so with them--how does that strike you, my boy?"
It struck Hal as an unusually brilliant idea. He had views about Alicia,
inclinations that were held in check by his father's frequent
pronouncements on the subject of mesalliances.
So it came about that Hal went on a visit to his aunt and cousin.
"He's probably one of these insignificant continental noblemen," said
his father at parting, "you must put a stop to his nonsense. I have a
young man in my eye who would suit Alicia, a rising young jobber who
does business for me. If the duke or whatever he is persists in his
attentions, a word from you will bring him to his senses.
"I shall punch the beggar's head," promised Hal, and Sir Harry smiled
indulgently.
"If, on the other hand," he said thoughtfully, "you find he is the
genuine article the thing might be arranged amicably--you might make
friends with him and bring him along to Hydeholm. He is either no good
at all or too good for Alicia--it's about time Winnie was off my hands."
Miss Winnie Tanneur was aged about twenty-eight and looked every year of
it.