My Lord Duke

"It is a nice point," conceded Mr. Sellwood.

"In a nasty story!" cried the squatter, with his sardonic laugh. "No, not quite that; it's too strong a word. Still I am not here to whitewash the Marquis of Maske; indeed, the next feature of the case is wholly indefensible. You must know that all this time the exile nourished the most venomous feelings towards his family in general and the old Duke in particular. Unlovely as they were, however, I still think there was some excuse for such sentiments; the boy had been harshly treated; he was literally forced to desert his first wife; had they lived together, in England or elsewhere, not a penny-piece would have been theirs until the death of the Duke. Hence the silence of the Hunts – for the consideration you wot of. It wasn't the sort of arrangement that would have gone on very long had the woman lived, or left a child; but she died childless, as you know; and the Hunts' subsequent policy was obvious even to the Hunts. Nor was it an arrangement calculated to increase a young man's respect for his father; in the case of Maske it intensified contempt, and created the craving for revenge. I have heard him speak so often of that revenge! He would spring an Australian heir upon the family; that was his first, and, as you know, his very last idea. He even spoke of it, as I understand, in the letter that was pinned to the tree under which he was found dead in the bush! You see it was his dominant idea in life. But the heir he spoke of was not his son at all. And that's the indefensible feature of which I spoke."

"If not his son, who was he, pray?" asked Cripps, with indignant incredulity; for his own repute was in question here.

The squatter smiled. "Can you ask? The elder of the two boys; the son of Mrs. Greenfield by her first marriage," he quietly replied.

"And what of his own son?"

"Dead."

"You will find that difficult to prove!" cried the lawyer hotly.

"Yes? I think not; he died in Sydney, where the father migrated after the mother's death; he was dead within six months of his birth. You saw the certificate of the birth in Hobart, I believe?"

"Certainly I did."

"Then here is that of the death; better keep it; you will have more use for it than I."

And the squatter turned round, and rolled the red ball up and down the board, with his quiet sinister smile, while the men on the lounges examined the document he had put in the solicitor's hands.

"It looks all right," said Cripps at length, in a tone that made Dalrymple laugh heartily as he faced about.

"It looks all right, eh? That's all right! Mr. Cripps, your discernment – but excuse me! We are not here to bark and bite; we are here to clear up a mystery, at least I am. Is there any other point, gentlemen, which I can elucidate before we go any further?"

"I think there is one," said Claude, speaking nervously. "I have seen the last letter my uncle wrote, in which he mentioned an heir. I presume, in order to carry out the revenge you speak of, he called the living child by the dead child's name – "

"Exactly. He did it deliberately. I was coming to that."

"But he seemed uncertain as to the living child's whereabouts. My point is this: where was the so-called heir at the time that last letter was written?"

"Lost," said Dalrymple, shutting his ugly lips as you shut a window. "Lost in the bush, like Maske himself, only the child's body was not found. The father had tattooed one of the eagles of his crest upon the little chap's chest – I am afraid, to further his deception. I was in all his secrets, as you see; indeed, you may call me his accomplice without offending me; and I'm bound to say I considered the tattooing a smart idea. However, a judgment was at hand. The child was lost for many years. And the rest is easily told; it refers to me."

The squatter looked at Mr. Sellwood – not for the first time. As on the other occasions, however, he ran his eyes against an absolutely impassive, pink countenance.

"Mr. Sellwood may remember my little anecdote of the iron store, the Queensland blacks, and the French eagle on the chest of the stray shearer who saved all our lives?"

Mr. Sellwood very slightly inclined his head.

"Well, that was the finding of the soi-disant Jack Dillamore. I knew all about him. For his father's sake, I never lost sight of him again; for his father's sake (and also because the idea appealed to me personally) I allowed my old chum's very reprehensible plan to come off, and our friend Mr. Cripps to lay hold of my Happy Jack for the live Duke of St. Osmund's: and for the sake of some fun for my pains, I came home myself to see how matters were progressing. I'm bound to say I was disappointed. Happy Jack had grown tamer than I could have believed possible in the time. And hang me if the fellow wasn't in love! My disgust was such that I was on the point of taking myself off this very afternoon, and leaving the suppositious Duke (whom it wasn't my business to depose) to marry and save the Upper House by the example of high morality he seemed certain to set; but at the last moment I discovered his trouble. He was found out without my assistance; he was cutting a worse figure than was in any way necessary; and was about to lose, not only the title and emoluments he had enjoyed for some months, but the charming girl whom he had fairly won in love. That seemed a trifle too hard! I determined to speak out. I have done so: and I am prepared to prove every word I have said. The certificate now in your pocket, Mr. Cripps, was not the only one I had in mine. At the moment, however, there's no more to be said – except a few words with reference to Jack Greenfield's future. He has suffered enough. I have been, if not at the bottom of it, at all events to blame in the matter. I have a little inadequate scheme of reparation, which I shall submit to you, gentlemen, in order that you may use your influence with Jack, if necessary. The point is that I am never going back to Australia any more. I was born and brought up in the old country, and I've got the taste for it again during the few days I've been home. Indeed, I had never lost the taste; but I don't intend to run the risk any more. I am lucky enough to own one of the crack sheep-stations of New South Wales. I shall want a permanent manager in my absence. I needn't tell you who is the very man for that billet. Jack Greenfield – if he'll take it."

"A good house?" said Mr. Sellwood casually.

"The best homestead in the Riverina. Trust me for that."

Mr. Sellwood said no more. His mind was made up: better lose his daughter than have her break her heart. He could not forget the earlier experiences of the evening. The surprises of this hour were enchanting compared with the embarrassments of the last. Then he had no reason to doubt Dalrymple's word as to Jack's actual antecedents; where he doubted it, was in another matter altogether. At this point in his reflections, however, and with the inevitable discussion of the immaterial points still raging around him, Mr. Sellwood was brought to his feet by the violent opening of the billiard-room door and an agitated apparition of his wife upon the threshold. Something was the matter: had the lovers eloped? No; with Mary Freke they were at the heels of Lady Caroline, who came the length of the room at something ludicrously like a run – her very fringe awry, and a horrified glance shooting from the corner of each eye at the nonchalant, well-preserved figure of Dalrymple the squatter.

"Do you know what they are saying downstairs?" cried her Ladyship, looking as far as was possible at everybody at once. "Matthew Hunt is here, and do you know what he is saying? That neither Jack nor Claude is the Duke of St. Osmund's, but you – you – you!" And she turned like a podgy tigress upon none other than the squatter himself.

"I could have told him that," remarked Mr. Sellwood calmly; he had arrived at the conclusion exactly ten seconds before.

"I shall tell him something he doesn't bargain for – the born idiot!" added the squatter sotto voce.

"Then you believe it?" cried Lady Caroline to her husband. "You must be mad!"

"Your Ladyship is so right; it would indeed be madness to dream of entertaining so preposterous a notion!" cried Mr. Cripps, who was literally dancing with disbelief. "Even Mr. Dalrymple will hardly go as far as that. He has gone farther already than the law will follow him; we'll do him the justice to hold him irresponsible for this absurd report! He knows as well as we do that the Marquis of Maske was found dead in the bush; of that we have absolute proof. Even if we hadn't, who has recognized him? Has he one single witness to his identity? If so, let him be called!"

"The gentleman is excited," remarked Dalrymple, ringing the bell. "Does it really not occur to him that I might have found myself dead in the bush, and authenticated my own death by very obvious methods? Is it inconceivable that a young man with my then reputation should jump at the chance of dying on paper – if you will permit the expression? Such a death offers unusual advantages, a second birth among others. However, I never meant to be born again, least of all in this rather melodramatic manner; but I couldn't resist coming home to see the fun, and it serves me right to have to stop and pay the score. Witnesses? I had certainly no intention of calling any to-night; but now that my hand has been forced it can't be helped. The elder Hunt is one; knew me at sight; and here comes Stebbings for another. Shut the door behind you, Stebbings, and answer a couple of questions. It's generally supposed that you were drunk yesterday when I arrived. Were you, or were you not?"

"I was not, your Grace."

"'Your Grace,' you see!" repeated the squatter. "I'm afraid that was premature, Stebbings! However, if you were not drunk, and you certainly conveyed that impression, what was the matter with you?"

"Nervousness!" cried Stebbings, who was sufficiently nervous now. "I had seen the dead! I had recognised your Grace!"

"Exactly; and I swore at you as a blind, to explain the complete state of collapse that you were in. That's all, Stebbings; you may go. Jack, I see your face! You wonder you didn't spot it at the time? Stebbings backed me up, or else you would have done; for my part, I confess I was more frightened when you found us talking together in my room, when I was packing. I assure you all, I meant to clear out then; believe it or not, it's the case. In spite of what I said just now, I'm not so wedded to an English life as I fancied Jack was; and I had no idea at the time that his position was at all insecure. Yes, my boy, you were welcome to the whole thing! I was going back to the bush – "

"You were going back!" cried Jack, coming forward; and Olivia came also, flushed with a joy that rendered her uniquely indifferent to the great disclosure. Jack was hers. What did it matter who was the Duke?

"To be sure I was," said the squatter; "but now I think it will have to be you after all. What do you say to managing Carara? What do you say, Miss Sellwood, to helping him to try? You must talk to your father about it. And for heaven's sake, Jack, don't thank me; I've been the worst friend you ever had in your life."

Mr. Sellwood was already speaking to his wife. Jack and their daughter stood hand-in-hand beside them. The new Duke turned his back and joined Claude on his lounge. The solicitor had beaten a retreat; the Frekes had done so before him; and the rest of their party, including Jack, did so now. But Jack returned before either Claude or the squatter had left the room.

"The worst friend I ever had!" said he reproachfully, as he took his old master's hand. "What should I be doing to-night if it hadn't been for you? You may say what you like; you've helped to make me the happiest man in all the world. I can marry her after all! Mr. Sellwood's as white a man as I know; even Lady Caroline has just given us best! But you" – and he laid an affectionate rough hand on Claude's shoulder – "dear old boy, what can I say to you? I'm ashamed to look you in the face. You've lost everything!"

Claude was very pale; the other's honest eyes were shining with sympathy beneath their bushy brows; but the new Duke laughed aloud.

"Lost everything?" he cried. "Not a bit of it! I'm not going to live for ever, and Claude's exactly where he was – the next man in. You think not? And have you known me all these years, and do you really and truly expect me to marry again? Jack – my boy – have I to tell you how it is with me? I have been a bad old lot in my time; but one woman I once loved well enough to spoil me for ever for all the rest."

He paused an instant, and it was quite a tender hand he laid on Jack's shoulder.

"And there's one man I love for her sake!"