THE RIVAL CLAIMANTS.
A very few days after the dinner-party at the Castle, almost everybody
in England who read the newspaper at all knew the romantic story of what
had happened at Dorincourt. It made a very interesting story when it was
told with all the details. There was the little American boy who had
been brought to England to be Lord Fauntleroy, and who was said to be so
fine and handsome a little fellow, and to have already made people fond
of him; there was the old Earl, his grandfather, who was so proud of his
heir; there was the pretty young mother who had never been forgiven for
marrying Captain Errol; and there was the strange marriage of Bevis the
dead Lord Fauntleroy, and the strange wife, of whom no one knew
anything, suddenly appearing with her son, and saying that he was the
real Lord Fauntleroy and must have his rights. All these things were
talked about and written about, and caused a tremendous sensation. And
then there came the rumour that the Earl of Dorincourt was not satisfied
with the turn affairs had taken, and would perhaps contest the claim by
law, and the matter might end with a wonderful trial.
There never had been such excitement before in the county in which
Erlesboro was situated. On market-days, people stood in groups and
talked and wondered what would be done; the farmers' wives invited one
another to tea that they might tell one another all they had heard and
all they thought and all they thought other people thought.
In fact there was excitement everywhere; at the Castle, in the library,
where the Earl and Mr. Havisham sat and talked; in the servants' hall,
where Mr. Thomas and the butler and the other men and women servants
gossiped and exclaimed at all times of the day; and in the stables,
where Wilkins went about his work in a quite depressed state of mind.
But in the midst of all the disturbance there was one person who was
quite calm and untroubled. That person was the little Lord Fauntleroy
who was said not to be Lord Fauntleroy at all. When first the Earl told
him what had happened, he had sat on a stool holding on to his knee, as
he so often did when he was listening to anything interesting; and by
the time the story was finished, he looked quite sober.
"It makes me feel very queer," he said; "it makes me--queer!"
The Earl looked at the boy in silence. It made him feel queer
too--queerer than he had ever felt in his whole life. And he felt more
queer still when he saw that there was a troubled expression on the
small face which was usually so happy.
"Will they take Dearest's house away from her--and her carriage?" Cedric
asked in a rather unsteady, anxious little voice.
"_No!_" said the Earl decidedly--in quite a loud voice in fact. "They
can take nothing from her."
"Ah!" said Cedric with evident relief. "Can't they?"
Then he looked up at his grandfather, and there was a wistful shade in
his eyes, and they looked very big and soft.
"That other boy," he said rather tremulously--"he will have to--to be
your boy now--as I was--won't he?"
"_No!_" answered the Earl--and he said it so fiercely and loudly that
Cedric quite jumped.
"No?" he exclaimed, in wonderment. "Won't he? I thought----"
He stood up from his stool quite suddenly.
"Shall I be your boy, even if I'm not going to be an earl?" he said.
"Shall I be your boy, just as I was before?" And his flushed little face
was all alight with eagerness.
How the old Earl did look at him from head to foot, to be sure! How his
great shaggy brows did draw themselves together, and how queerly his
deep eyes shone under them--how very queerly!
"My boy!" he said "yes, you'll be my boy as long as I live; and, by
George, sometimes I feel as if you were the only boy I had ever had."
Cedric's face turned red to the roots of his hair; it turned red with
relief and pleasure. He put both his hands deep into his pockets and
looked squarely into his noble relative's eyes.
"Do you?" he said. "Well, then, I don't care about the earl part at all.
I don't care whether I'm an earl or not. I thought--you see, I thought
the one that was going to be the Earl would have to be your boy too,
and--and I couldn't be. That was what made me feel so queer."
The Earl put his hand on his shoulder and drew him nearer.
"They shall take nothing from you that I can hold for you," he said,
drawing his breath hard. "I won't believe yet that they can take
anything from you. You were made for the place, and--well, you may fill
it still. But whatever comes, you shall have all that I can give
you--all!"
It scarcely seemed as if he were speaking to a child, there was such
determination in his face and voice; it was more as if he were making a
promise to himself--and perhaps he was.
He had never before known how deep a hold upon him his fondness for the
boy and his pride in him had taken. He had never seen his strength and
good qualities and beauty as he seemed to see them now. To his obstinate
nature it seemed impossible--to give up what he had so set his heart
upon. And he had determined that he would not give it up without a
fierce struggle.
Within a few days after she had seen Mr. Havisham, the woman who claimed
to be Lady Fauntleroy presented herself at the Castle, and brought her
child with her. She was sent away. The Earl would not see her, she was
told by the footman at the door; his lawyer would attend to her cause.
Mr. Havisham had noticed, during his interviews with her, that she was
neither so clever nor so bold as she meant to be. It was as if she had
not expected to meet with such opposition.
"She is evidently," the lawyer said to Mrs. Errol, "a person from the
lower walks of life. She is uneducated and quite unused to meeting
people like ourselves on any terms of equality. She does not know what
to do. Her visit to the Castle quite cowed her. She was infuriated, but
she was cowed. The Earl would not receive her, but I advised him to go
with me to the Dorincourt Arms, where she is staying. When she saw him
enter the room, she turned white, though she flew into a rage at once,
and threatened and demanded in one breath."
The fact was that the Earl had stalked into the room and stood, looking
like a venerable aristocratic giant, staring at the woman and not
condescending a word. He let her talk and demand until she was tired,
without himself uttering a word, and then he said:
"You say you are my eldest son's wife. If that is true, and if the proof
you offer is too much for us, the law is on your side. In that case,
your boy is Lord Fauntleroy. If your claims are proved, you will be
provided for. I want to see nothing either of you or the child so long
as I live."
And then he turned his back upon her and stalked out of the room as he
had stalked into it.
Not many days after that, a visitor was announced to Mrs. Errol, who was
writing in her little morning room. The maid who brought the message
looked rather excited.
"It's the Earl hisself, ma'am!" she said in tremulous awe.
When Mrs. Errol entered the drawing-room, a very tall, majestic-looking
old man was standing on the tiger-skin rug. He had a handsome, grim old
face, with an aquiline profile, a long white moustache, and an obstinate
look.
"Mrs. Errol, I believe?" he said.
"Mrs. Errol," she answered.
"I am the Earl of Dorincourt," he said.
He paused a moment, almost unconsciously, to look into her uplifted
eyes. They were so like the big, affectionate, childish eyes he had seen
uplifted to his own so often every day during the last few months, that
they gave him a quite curious sensation.
"The boy is very like you," he said abruptly.
"It has been often said so, my lord," she replied, "but I have been glad
to think him like his father also."
As Lady Lorridaile had told him, her voice was very sweet, and her
manner was very simple and dignified. She did not seem in the least
troubled by his sudden coming.
"Yes," said the Earl, "he is like--my son--too." He put his hand up to
his big white moustache and pulled it fiercely. "Do you know," he said,
"why I have come here?"
"I have seen Mr. Havisham," Mrs. Errol began, "and he has told me of the
claims which have been made----"
"I have come to tell you," said the Earl, "that they will be
investigated and contested, if a contest can be made. I have come to
tell you that the boy shall be defended with all the power of the law.
His rights----"
The soft voice interrupted him.
"He must have nothing that is _not_ his by right, even if the law can
give it to him," she said.
"Unfortunately the law cannot," said the Earl. "If it could, it should.
This outrageous woman and her child----"
"Perhaps she cares for him as much as I care for Cedric, my lord," said
little Mrs. Errol. "And if she was your eldest son's wife, her son is
Lord Fauntleroy, and mine is not."
"I suppose," said the Earl, "that you would much prefer that he should
not be the Earl of Dorincourt?"
Her fair young face flushed.
"It is a very magnificent thing to be the Earl of Dorincourt, my lord,"
she said. "I know that, but I care most that he should be what his
father was--brave and just and true always."
"In striking contrast to what his grandfather was, eh?" said his
lordship sardonically.
"I have not had the pleasure of knowing his grandfather," replied Mrs.
Errol, "but I know my little boy believes----" She stopped short a
moment, looking quietly into his face, and then she added, "I know that
Cedric loves you."
"Would he have loved me," said the Earl dryly, "if you had told him why
I did not receive you at the Castle?"
"No," answered Mrs. Errol; "I think not. That was why I did not wish him
to know."
"Well," said my lord, brusquely, "there are few women who would not have
told him."
He suddenly began to walk up and down the room, pulling his great
moustache more violently than ever.
"Yes, he is fond of me," he said, "and I am fond of him. I can't say I
ever was fond of anything before. I am fond of him. He pleased me from
the first. I am an old man, and was tired of my life. He has given me
something to live for. I am proud of him. I was satisfied to think of
his taking his place some day as the head of the family."
He came back and stood before Mrs. Errol.
"I am miserable," he said. "Miserable!"
He looked as if he was. Even his pride could not keep his voice steady
or his hands from shaking. For a moment it almost seemed as if his deep,
fierce eyes had tears in them. "Perhaps it is because I am miserable
that I have come to you," he said, quite glaring down at her. "I used to
hate you; I have been jealous of you. This wretched, disgraceful
business has changed that. I have been an obstinate old fool, and I
suppose I have treated you badly. You are like the boy and the boy is
the first object in my life. I am miserable, and I came to you merely
because you are like the boy, and he cares for you, and I care for him.
Treat me as well as you can, for the boy's sake."
He said it all in his harsh voice, and almost roughly, but somehow he
seemed so broken down for the time that Mrs. Errol was touched to the
heart. She got up and moved an arm-chair a little forward.
"I wish you would sit down," she said in a soft, pretty, sympathetic
way. "You have been so much troubled that you are very tired, and you
need all your strength."
It was just as new to him to be spoken to and cared for in that gentle,
simple way as it was to be contradicted. He was reminded of "the boy"
again, and he actually did as she asked him. Perhaps his disappointment
and wretchedness were good discipline for him; if he had not been
wretched he might have continued to hate her, but just at present he
found her a little soothing. She had so sweet a face and voice, and a
pretty dignity when she spoke or moved. Very soon, by the quiet magic of
these influences, he began to feel less gloomy, and then he talked still
more.
"Whatever happens," he said, "the boy shall be provided for. He shall be
taken care of, now and in the future."
Before he went away, he glanced around the room.
"Do you like the house?" he demanded.
"Very much," she answered.
"This is a cheerful room," he said. "May I come here again and talk this
matter over?"
"As often as you wish, my lord," she replied.
And then he went out to his carriage and drove away, Thomas and Henry
almost stricken dumb upon the box at the turn affairs had taken.