Chapter XXXV: Explanations

It was after ten o'clock the next night when they drove into Wyvveloe and knocked on Mrs. Jex's door. Mrs. Jex had gone to bed and so had Gracie. Eager himself answered their knock, and jumped with surprise at sight of them.

"Why--Jack--Jim! What on earth----"

"We'll tell you if you'll let us in," said Jack.

"Now what mischief have you been getting into?" said Eager, as they sat down before the fire, and he knocked the wood into life.

"It's not us this time. We've come to ask you something, Mr. Eager; and if you can't tell us we are going on to see Sir Denzil." And Charles Eager knew, without more telling, that the boys had somehow fallen on the mystery of their birth.

"Go on," he nodded.

"You know what we want to know?"

"I think so; but if you'll tell me I shall be sure."

And Jack, as the better speaker, laid the matter before him, and both eyed him anxiously the while.

"I am glad you came to me first," he said. "I can probably tell you all you wish to know; and you must take it from me, boys, that if it was never told to you before, it was for good reason. Better still if it had never needed to be told at all. Best of all if there had been nothing to tell. The trouble is none of our making. All we can do is to face it like men, and that, I know, you will do."

And he told them, as clearly and briefly as possible, all that he had learned concerning their births.

"To sum it all up," he said in conclusion, "you are sons of the same father, and so are half-brothers. But which of you is the son of Lady Susan and which the son of Mrs. Lee's daughter, no man on earth knows. And again--whether your father was really married to Mrs. Lee's daughter I doubt if any one but himself knows. And so you see the tangle the whole matter is in, and you can understand why it was kept from you. We could only present you with a puzzle of which we did not know the solution. It could only have upset your lives as it has done now. We have gained twenty years by keeping silence."

"Old Mrs. Lee knows which of us is which, I suppose," said Jack. And Jim jumped at the thought.

"I have very little doubt that she does, Jack; but she has never shown any indication of it whatever."

"And is her daughter still alive?"

"I doubt if even she knows that. She has not heard of her for a great many years."

"Does Gracie know anything about it all?" asked Jim.

"Not a word; and I see no reason why she should. You two have given her quite enough to think about without troubling her with this matter."

They quite agreed with that, and Jack, who had been pondering gloomily, summed up with:

"It's all an awful tangle, and I see no way out. It seems to me that it doesn't matter in the least who is who; for even if we learned who our mothers were, we don't know if they were legally married. I'm afraid there is only one thing to be said--and that is, that the one parent we are both certain about was a dishonourable rascal, and we have got to suffer for his sins."

"Morals were very much looser then than they are now," said Eager gently. "He was the product of his age. We may at all events be thankful that things have improved, and you two are the proofs thereof."

"We'd probably have been no better if you'd never come here," said Jim, with very genuine feeling. "We owe everything to you--and Gracie."

"That is so," said Jack heartily; and wished he had said it first, but he had been too fully occupied with the other aspect of the case.

"One cannot help wondering," he said presently, "what is going to happen if our father and our grandfather should die. What are we going to do then, Mr. Eager?"

"That is a question Sir Denzil and I have often debated, but we never arrived at any conclusion. One of you must be Carron of Carne. There is also another possibility. Lady Susan Sandys was the only sister of the Earl of Quixande. He is unmarried, so far as the world knows, but he also comes of the bad old times and--well, you know his reputation. But if he leaves no legitimate heir the title comes to his sister's son----"

"If he should happen to be legitimate," growled Jack.

"As you say, my boy--if he can be proved legitimate?"

"In which case he is both Carron of Carne and Earl of Quixande."

"And, having no need for the two titles, it might be possible to hand one over to his half-brother."

"Could he?" asked Jack doubtfully.

"Under the circumstances it might possibly be sanctioned."

"Failing that, who comes in?"

"Some Solway Canons. I know nothing of them except that your grandfather detests them. But there is still further possibility for you both."

"What?" And they eyed him anxiously.

"That in your military careers you may both rise to such heights as to cast even the title of Carron of Carne into the shade."

Jack nodded. Jim did not seem to regard it as a very hopeful prospect.

"Well," said Jack, as he got up, "we've got quite enough to think over for one night. We're going to the inn. We told them to make up beds for us there. They'll all have turned in at Carne. We'll go along and see Sir Denzil in the morning."

"Come in to breakfast, and I'll go with you. I shall have to explain to him how it comes that I have had to disclose the whole matter to you."

"The boys came down last night, Gracie," was the surprising news that met the Little Lady when she came down next morning.

"The boys? Whatever for, Charlie? There isn't anything wrong with them, is there?" And the startled colour flooded her face and then left it white.

"Nothing of the kind, dear. They wanted to see Sir Denzil on some family matters, and they arrived too late to go there last night, so they went to the inn."

"You're sure they haven't been getting into trouble?"

"Quite sure. They're coming in to breakfast. You'd better go and talk to Mrs. Jex about supplies. Hungry soldiers, you know." And Gracie flew to the commissariat department.

"You dear boys!" was her greeting, when they came striding in, very tall and large in their undress uniforms. "What _have_ you been doing? Over-studying?--softening of the brain?"--to Jack. "Gambling?--and frivolling generally?"--to Jim.

"Quite out," laughed Jack. "My brain was never better in its life, and Jim's pocket never so full. Mayn't a pair of hungry men come all the way from London to see you without being accused of such iniquities?"

"It is nice to get such good reports from yourselves," laughed Gracie. "I wonder how long you can keep it up."

"It depends upon circumstances," said Jack.

"And what are the circumstances?" asked Gracie incautiously.

"You're one," said Jack boldly.

"Here's breakfast. Charlie gave me to understand you had had nothing to eat for a week."

"Nothing half so good as this," said Jack, with an appreciative look at the cottage loaves and golden butter, and the great dish of ham and eggs Mrs. Jex had just brought in.

"My! but yo' do look rare and big and bonny," said that estimable woman. "I do think I'll cook ye some more eggs."

"Yes, do, Mrs. Jex," said Eager. "They don't get eggs like these in London."

And so they got through breakfast; but Jim was the quietest of the party, and Gracie got it into her head that he was in some dreadful mess, in spite of what Charlie had said. And just before they started for Carne she got hold of him for a minute, and asked:

"Jim, what's the trouble? Is it anything very bad?"

"It's nothing we've done, Grace," he said, with so frank a look in his own anxious eyes that she could not doubt him. "Just some old family matters that have cropped up." And though she could not doubt his word, he was so unlike himself that she watched them go in a state of extreme puzzlement as to what could have sapped Jim's spirits to such an unusual extent.

As a matter of fact, the strange disclosures of the previous night were weighing heavily upon him. With a vague, dull discomfort he was saying to himself that, as between himself and Jack, there could be no possible doubt as to which was the better man; and therefore--as he argued with himself--of the true stock. And, if that was so, he was simply superfluous and in everybody's way. He was not much good in the world, anyway. He felt as if he would be better out of it. If he were gone, Jack would take his proper place--and marry Gracie---- All the same, it was deucedly hard that one's life should be broken up like this through absolutely no fault of one's own. And to surrender all thought of Gracie---- Yes, that was the hardest thing of all. But she would go to Jack by rights, along with all the rest.

"Thank God for this war that is coming!" he said to himself. "There will be my chance of getting out of the tangle and leaving the field clear to them."

So no wonder our poor old Jim was feeling in the dumps, and was quite unable to keep them out of his face.

"Hillo? What's brought yo' home?" asked old Mrs. Lee, as they came into her kitchen.

"Business," said Jack curtly, and she was surprised at the dourness of them all.

But Jack was saying to himself--"That old witch may be my grandmother."

And Jim--"She is most likely my grandmother."

And Eager--"If the old wretch would only speak she could tell us all we want to know."

Under which conditions a certain lack of cordiality was really not very surprising.

"Well, well! How much is it?" asked Sir Denzil, eyeing them quizzically over his arrested pinch of snuff as they came into his room. "And how did you manage to get here at this time of day?"

"We slept at the Pig and Whistle, sir," said Jack. "We got to Wyvveloe too late last night to come on here."

"Most considerate, I'm sure. What have you been up to, to make you so thoughtful of the old man?

"They have run up against the Great Puzzle, sir, as we knew they must sooner or later," said Eager. "They came in to me at ten o'clock last night to ask if I could enlighten them, and I have told them all we know."

"So!" And he absorbed his snuff and stared intently at the boys. . . . "And how do you feel about it?"

"We feel bad, sir," said Jack. "But apparently there is no way out of the tangle."

"We've been trying to find one for the last twenty years," said the old man grimly. "How did it come to you?"

"Ah! I'm surprised at Deseret," he said, when he had heard the story. "He's old enough to know how to hold his tongue."

"How are things shaping? Have they made up their minds to fight?" he asked. And Eager, at all events, knew how that great question bore upon the smaller.

"I think there is no doubt about it, sir," said Jack. "There is talk of some of our men going out almost at once."

"And you are both set on going?"

"Yes, sir"--very heartily from both of them.

"Well," said the old man weightily, "war is a great clearer of the air. Don't trouble your heads any more about this matter till you come home again. If you both come, we must consider what is best to be done. If only one of you comes, it will need no discussion. If neither,"--he snuffed very deliberately, looking at them as if he saw them for the first, or was looking at them for the last, time--"then, as far as you are concerned, the matter is ended. When do you return?"

"To-morrow morning, sir. We could only get short leave."

"Then perhaps you will favour me with your company at dinner to-night. And Mr. Eager will perhaps bring Miss Gracie."

They would very much have preferred the simpler hospitality of Mrs. Jex's cottage, but could not well refuse. With Sir Denzil's words in their minds they could not but recognise that, for some of them, it might well be the last time they would all meet there.

They picked up Gracie by arrangement, and all went off down along for a quick walk round some of their old haunts.

"How well I remember my first sight of these flats!" said Eager, looking with great enjoyment at the tall, clean-made, upstanding figures striding by his side. Jim, he noticed, was rather the taller and certainly the more boyish-looking. Jack had a maturer air, which doubtless came of study. But both looked eminently soldierly and likely to give a good account of themselves. "You two were just little naked savages, and you stole all my clothes but one sock, and I thought I would have to go home clad only in a towel."

"They were good old times," said Jack. "But I'm mightily glad you came. What would we have grown up into if you hadn't?"

"Wild sand-boys," suggested Gracie.

"And what a sight you were, the first time we saw you!" laughed Jack: "in your little red bathing things, with your hair all flying, and your little arms and legs going like drumsticks--a perfect vision of delight."

"What a pity we can't always remain children!"

"You can--in all good ways," said her brother.

"One grows and one grows," she said, shaking her head knowingly, "and things are never the same again."

"They may be better," said Jack, valiantly doing his best to allow no sinking of spirits. "It would be a pretty bad look out if one could only look backwards."

Jim was unusually sober. As a rule, on such an occasion, nonsense was his vogue, and he and Gracie carried on like the children of those earlier days.

"If you ask _me_," said Gracie, venturing a flight towards olden times, "I believe old Jim here has got himself into the most awful scrape of his life, in spite of all your assertions to the contrary. _I_ believe he's been and gone and lost one hundred thousand pounds at cards, and grandpa has quietly cut him off with a shilling over the usual pinch of snuff."

"No, I haven't. I've lost hardly anything, and I've got heaps of money, more than I ever had in my life before. I'll buy you a pony, if you like."

"All right! I don't mind. Sir George has a jolly one for sale; you know--Meg's Paddy. She's got too big for him, and he's just up to my feather-weight."

"We'll go along and see about him when we've been to the Mere and seen Mrs. Rimmer and Kattie. How's Kattie getting on?"

"She's a wild thing and as pretty as a rose. I'm afraid her mother worries about her. But it must be dreadfully lonely living here all the year round. Just look how grim and gray it all is. How would you like it yourself?"

"I'd Like it better than London," said Jim stoutly. "If I hadn't plenty to do I'd get sick of it all--streets and houses and houses and streets, and no end to them."

"But the people! You meet lots of nice people."

"Some are nice, but there are too many of them for me. I can't remember them all, and I get muddled and feel like a fool. I'd swap them all for----"

"For what?"

"Oh--nothing!"

"You flatter them. But you'll get used to it, Jim. It takes time, of course."

"Don't know that I particularly want to get used to it. However, this war will make a change."

"You are certain to go?"

"If we don't, I'll exchange. I want to see some fighting, and to get some."

"Bloodthirsty wretch!"

"No, I don't think I really am. But if there has to be fighting I wouldn't miss it for the world. It's the only thing I'm good for. I'm no good at books, like Jack. But I believe I can fight."

Mrs. Rimmer gave them very hearty welcome, in her surprised spasmodic fashion.

"Ech, but it's good on yo' all to come an' see an old woman," she said, gazing round at them from her bed, with bright restless eyes and a curious anxious scrutiny. "Yo' grow so I connot hardly keep pace wi' yo'. It seems nobbut a year or two sin' yo' lads were running naked on the flats."

"We were just recalling it all as we came along, Mrs. Rimmer, and regretting that we couldn't remain children all our lives," said Gracie.

"Ah--yo' connot do that"--with a wistful shake of the head.

"And how's Mr. Rimmer?" asked Eager.

"Hoo's a' reet. Hoo's at his work."

"And Seth?"

"Seth's away."

"And where's Kattie?" asked Jim.

"Hoo went across to village, but hoo'd ought to be home by now. But once the lasses git togither they mun clack, and they nivver know when to stop."

"Girls will be girls, Mrs. Rimmer," said Eager soothingly, "and Kattie's a girl to be proud of. She's blossomed out like a rose."

"A'm feart she's a bit flighty, an' who she gets it from I dunnot know. Not fro' me, I'm sure, nor from her feyther neither."

"Here she is," said Jim. "I hear the oars." And he jumped up and went to the door, and in another minute Kattie came in, all rosy with her exertions in the nipping air, and prettier than ever.

They chatted together for a while, Kattie's sparkling eyes roving appreciatively over the wonderful changes in her former playmates, and a great wish in her heart that the girls up at Wyvveloe could see her on such friendly terms with two such stalwart warriors.

When they got up to go she went out with them, and offered to put them across the Mere in the boat.

"Yo're going back to London?" asked Kattie of Jim, as they threaded their way through the sand-hills.

"We go back to-morrow. They don't give us long holidays, you see."

"London's a grand place, they say."

"In some ways, Kattie, but in most ways I'd sooner live at Carne."

"Ech, I'd give a moight to see London," she sighed.

"You'd soon have enough of it and want to get home again."

"It's main dull here, year in, year out. I'm sick o' sand and sea," And then they were scrambling into the boat and trimming it to the requirements of so large a party.

They said good-bye to Kattie at the other side of the Mere; and when they waved their hands to her for the last time, she was still standing watching them and wishing for the wider life beyond the sand-hills and the sea.

Sir George and Margaret Herapath gave them the warmest of welcomes, and Jim tackled the master at once on the subject of Paddy.

"But, Grace, where on earth can you keep him?" remonstrated the Rev. Charles. "I supposed it was all a joke when I heard you discussing it before."

"Paddy is no joke, as you will know when you've seen him in one of his tantrums. I shall keep him in my bedroom. He will occupy the sofa," said Miss Grace didactically.

"Was ever inoffensive parson burdened with such a baggage before?"

"You silly old dear, I'll find a dozen places to keep him in the village, and a score of willing hands to rub him down whenever he needs it."

"Of course you will," echoed Jim. "And if you can't I'll come and do it myself. Let's go and look at the dear old boy." And they sauntered off to the stables.

"See here, my boy," said Sir George, slipping his arm through Jim's, "if I'd had the slightest idea Gracie would have taken him I'd have offered him to her long since."

"You'll spoil one of the greatest enjoyments of my life if you do that, sir. Please don't!"

"But----"

"I've got heaps of money. If you've anything that would make a good charger knocking about too, I'm your man."

"Ah--you're sure of going, then?"

"If any one goes, I'm going, sir--if I have to exchange for it."

"You're all alike. George writes just in the same strain. God grant some of you may come back!"

"Some of us wouldn't be much missed if we didn't." And Sir George wondered what was wrong now.

They had no difficulty in coming to terms about Paddy, and Jim's pocket did not suffer greatly, but Sir George would not part with any of his horses to be food for powder.

Jack, feeling just a trifle left out in the matter of Paddy, obtained Gracie's permission to send her from London a new saddle and accompanying gear, and vowed they should all be the very best he could procure.