S u^aA/t yf^jLv^t ARCHIBALD MARSHALL WITH HIS DAUGHTER LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS BY THE SAME AUTHOR ^ — ■ ■ - ^ the house of merkilees richard baldock exton manor the squire s daughter tub eldest son the honour of the clintons the greatest of these the old order changeth watern;evd? upsidonia abington abbey the graftons the clintons, and others SIR HARR7 MANY JUNES THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS BY ARCHIBALD MARSHALL - 1 NEW YORK DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 1920 COPTRIGHT, 1919 Bt DODD, mead and company, Inc. TO E. C. BENTLEY CONTENTS PAGE 3 Kencote The Terrors *^ 63 A Son of Service •' In That State of Life " '^^ The Builder ^^^ The Little Squire . ^"^ Audacious Ann The Bookkeeper ^^^ The Squire and the War ....•••• 327 KENCOTE THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS KENCOTE THE narrow streets of the City resounded with the clangour of church bells. It was a sunny morning in late September, and such of the citizens of London as still resided within the boundaries were making their way, with their wives and families, to their respective parish churches, which were some- times so close together that a stone thrown from one tower or steeple could have hit another. The bells of the city still ring out on Sunday morn- ings and evenings, but they call few parishioners to church. The streets, so thronged on week days, are a desert; for the citizens of London now live elsewhere, and those that are left of the fine old dwelling-houses are let out into offices, and may deliver up the children of an occasional caretaker to the ministrations of re- ligion, but never a well-to-do City family out of all those that used to inhabit them. At the beginning of the nineteenth century, the exodus had already begun. City magnates lived in Bloomsbury or Holborn, or in the nearer suburbs, or had migrated to the pleasant villages of Dulwieh or Hampstead, where they could enjoy complete rurality within a few miles of their offices and warehouses. But there were some who clung to the old wavs of living; and most of the tradespeople within the City boundaries still lived over their shops. So that on this 4 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS fine Sunday morning the streets were quite respectably filled witii churchgoers, dressed in their sober best, most of whom were inclined to congratulate themselves on the return of the day which closed all the shops and offices and opened all the churches. Eor our greatgrandpar- ents were more regular in their habits than we are, be- sides being greater sermon-fanciers ; and the weekly change of habit stood for a good deal to them for which nowadays we go further afield. ]\Iaking for the fine church of St. Stephen's, Wall- brook, hard by the Mansion House, was a family more typical of the City in appearance than it was in actual- ity. The head of it, John Clinton, a prosperous mer- chant in the silk trade, looked the part, indeed, to the life. He was not much past fifty, but with his portly presence, and deliberate well-satisfied air, he appeared to be a man of substance who was quite content with the position in which he found himself, and would feel out of place in any other. His wife too, in her rich silks, which were yet not quite in the mode, would have been taken anywhere for a city dame ; and her parentage was purely mercantile, not to say aldermanic. But John Clinton belonged by birth to the landed gentry, and came of a very old and honourable family. He had been apprenticed to trade in his youth, as was sometimes done in those days in the case of younger sons, and had prospered as a merchant by his own capacity and diligence. He loved the City, and still lived there; but whenever his eldest brother, who was unmarried and something of a rake, should die, he would succeed to the family estates, when he had every intention of trans- forming himself into as capable a country gentleman as he had been a city merchant. The family with which this fortunate pair had been KENCOTE 6 blessed, and which now accompanied them in their de- liberate, arm-in-arm progress, consisted of three sons and one daughter. The eldest son, a lean, hard-bodied young man in a military surtout, had just been invalided home from India, where he had been fighting and marching for four years under General Arthur Wellesley. The sec- ond had a look of freshness which seemed to bespeak a country rather than a town upbringing. He had been educated at the Merchant Tailors' School, and was shortly going on to St. John's College at Oxford, with a view to Holy Orders and the family living. He was a good scholar, but his passion was for the sports of the field, which he had had more opportunities of en- joying than usually falls to the lot of city-bred youth; for he had spent many of his holidays with his uncle, the present rector of Kencote, in Meadshire, where lay the Clinton estates. Neither of these two young men had any of the air of the City about them, but the third, who was still at Sir Roger Cholmeley's School at Highgate, where, being rather delicate, he had been sent on account of the good air, seemed cut out to succeed his father in business, as it was intended that he should do. He had a clever, rather sharp, but by no means cunning face, and much preferred spending his holidays within sound of Bow Bells than among the fields and woods that surrounded Kencote. The little girl of seven, who held her mother's hand, and tripped it sedately, in her long high-waisted frock and bonnet trimmed with swansdown, was the prettiest fairy imaginable, and might be expected to turn the heads of whatever male society she should find herself in by and by, whether it was that of the city or the county. 6 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS The diurches gradually filled, the clocks chimed the hour, and the bells ceased their clamour, which was taken up on a more subdued note by the drone of organs and the singing of choirs and congregations. The autumn sun shone on tiie shutters and barred doors of the shops, and on streets nearly empty of human life, the few foot passengers hurrying along somewhat shamefacedly, as if aware that absence from church at that hour threw doubts at least upon their respectai bility, if not upon their orthodoxj'. This consideration did not appear to affect tht occupant of a smart-looking cabriolet which drove down Cheapside an hour or two later, just as the first efflux from the churches was beginnincr. He was a man at first sight 3'oung, at second middle-aged, if not elderly. He was foppishly dressed, and wore his hair in the new style, curled and pomatumed but not powdered. Prob- ably it was his only by purchase, for its light bro^n^ tinge belied the crowsfcet that showed on his face, al^ though it was in accord with his slim laced-up figure. The high-stepping horse was drawn up with a flour- ish before the door of John Clinton's handsome por-^ ticoed house in Bucklersbury, the diminutive groonj hopped from his perch to ring the bell, and, when it was answered, took his place at the horse's head, while his master entered the house, not without elderly bend- ings and adjustments of legs and back. He was shown into a severely furnished parlour, and by his expression, which was one of boredom and some contempt, did not appear to find himself in congenial surroundings. Not to keep so important a personage any longer unintroduced — he was John Clinton's eld- est brother, owner of Kencote and all its wide lands, but a resident there as little as possible and a landlord KENCOTE 7 who considered his duty towards his tenants accom- plished when he had taken as much from them as he could, and given as little as possible in return. He was known as Beau Clinton, had been a dashing man about town for the past thirty years and more, and a crony of that pattern of royal grace and virtue, the Prince of Wales, for longer than most of his kidney managed to retain the somewhat precarious position. He had run through a fine fortune years before, had piled up mortgages on Kencote as long as any one could be found to advance money on it, and was getting deeper into debt every day. But he had always kept the highest company and lived in the most fashionable part of the town, and could hardly be expected to wait in a citizen's parlour without showing some signs of dis- gust, even though that citizen was his own brother, of blood as good as his, who had been steadily amassing a fortune while he had been dissipating one. He was at the window when his brother and his family returned from church, and saw the disapproval on the Merchant's face as he looked at the smart equipage standing before his door. But John Clinton came into the room, followed by his family, with no trace of that disapproval visible. The Merchant did not approve of the Beau, but he was his eldest brother and the head of his house, and would al- ways be given a welcome whenever he honoured him with a visit. He was now cordially pressed to stay and dine, but while he politely concealed his disgust at the idea of a man of his fashion eating his dinner at such a time of the day, and within an hour of his having taken his morning chocolate, his refusal was firm. He had come to see his brother on a little matter of business, and must 8 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS then bo getting back to the other end of the town. But he was not in such a hurry as to refrain from a few com- phuants to his sister-in-law, a word or two to each of his nephews, and the graceful presentation of a box of French sweetmeats to his little niece. Then the family filed out of the room, and the brothers were left alone together. " I do not like transacting business on the Lord's Day, Richard," said the Merchant, as he closed the door, " and if yours has anything to do with raising money, as seems probable, I must tell you at once that your visit will be wasted." The good man was ruffled at the refusal of his hos- pitality, and his patience with his brother's financial habits had long since worn thin. " La, my dear Jack ! " replied the Beau, " How you take one up! It is a very small matter I have come to you about, and I have something to tell you at which you will l)e as pleased as I. You have always twitted me with neglecting Kencote, and perhaps with some reason. But I have secured an honour for our house ■which has not come to us before. His Royal Highness intends making a tour through the country to visit the mansions of some of his friends among the high no- bility, and he has done me the honour of including Kencote. None of liis other hosts will be under the rank of an earl, and I am naturally pleased with this mark of royal condescension." That the Merchant was not particularly pleased with it might have been gathered from his face. But he would not say a word against one who must very shortly become his sovereign. "Well, and what then?" he asked. " What then? Why the house must be done up, and « KENCOTE 9 some of the rooms refurnished, and the Prince must be entertained in a way that will not compare unfav- ourably with that of the other houses he will visit. He will only be at Kencote one night, and I can do all that is necessary for a thousand pounds, but not less. But for the damnable luck I have had lately I should not trouble you about so small a matter ; but — " A thousand pounds ! " interrupted the Merchant. A thousand pounds for one night's lodging, and I am to provide it, Richard, after all I have done for you, and for Kencote ! Why not ask for a hundred thou- sand at once? The proposal is absurd, and you must have known that I should refuse it, as of course I do." The Beau slightly closed his eyes, as if in pain. ** My dear brother," he said, " you are so loud and rough. I protest that there is no need for it. Listen to me. The bulk of the money will go to restoring the house, which is in a devilish bad state of repair, and to refurnishing the apartments which the Prince will use. After my death — which it should desolate you to think of, but to which, no doubt, you are eagerly looking forward — Kencote will be yours, and you will get the benefit of this expenditure." " That is so," said the Merchant ; " but you are quite wrong in thinking that I am looking forward to your death, and it is a wrong thing to say, Richard. It may be years before I succeed, and I hope it will be. I am very well content as I am for the present, and it is quite possible that I may die before you. But in the meantime I shall not spend money in doing up Ken- cote for your benefit, nor even that of His Royal High- ness, if he proposes to stay there no more than one night ; and you may take that as settled." The Beau closed his eyes again, with the gesture that 10 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS so irritated his brother. " There is another considera- tion," he said. " I have had no promises; no promises could be given. But our family is a devilish old one — a good deal older than that of most of the noble lords on whom our Prinny is to shed the light of his august countenance. When he comes to the throne, wliich nmst be ver}' soon, now, there will be honours to be bestowed on those who are worthy of them. I dare say you take me." The Merchant looked puzzled for a moment. Then his frown deepened. " If it is a title you are angling for, Richard." he said, " I think you should take shame on yourself for such an idea. We Clintons have been at Kencote for over five hundred years, and want no titles to gild our gentility ; least of all titles that are bought. Besides, a title conferred on you would die with you. Why should it tempt me to give you money.'* I will not do so; and if you h^ve nothing more to say to me I will now go to my dinner." The Beau knew enough of his brother to avoid wasting his time in persuasion when he had expressed himself in this way. He rose from his chair with a languid, fine- gentleman air. " I was about to say that it is not unknown for honours to be conferred with succession to brothers and nephews," he said. " But it is useless to talk to you when you are in your business mood. It is one I do not understand, and cannot cope with. I will wish you farewell. Brother Jack, and beg you to consider that I am not yet past the marriageable age, and — " " You have held that threat over me before," said the Merchant, now thoroughly angry. " In God's name rrury if you wish to, and settle down into a more worthy head of our family than you have yet shown yourself." KENCOTE 11 " I will also say," added the Beau, unmoved by this outburst, " that there are ways of raising the pitiful sum you have refused me which will probably suit you less than lending it to me would have done. His Royal Highness will come to Kencote, and will be suitably en- tertained there. Good morning. Brother Jack." II Somewhat restored to his equanimity by a good din- ner, the Merchant sat over his wine with his two elder sons. The Beau had succeeded in offending all three of them. Young Thomas had fought with distinction at Assaye, and been wounded at Argaum, rather seriously. His uncle had had little to say about that, but had asked after various young lordlings campaigning with the guards, or on the staff of General Wellesle}^ whom he, as ensign in a regiment of the line had not been likely to meet. Young Giles had taken a scholarship from the Mer- chant Tailors' School to St. John's College, and the Beau had expressed regret that he had not been sent to Eton and to Trinity College at Cambridge, at which aristocratic foundations he himself had laid the founda- tions of his spendthrift career. Their father had once more been outraged at being treated with disdain as a mere " cit," by a brother who, if he had worthily fulfilled his responsibilities, would have been a richer man than he was, and who had al- lowed the fine house in which they had been brought up together to sink from its honourable state into one of almost entire desertion. It was this contemptuous treatment that always aroused his gorge. If his 12 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS brother had come to him in a proper way, he might have let him have the money that he wanted ; for it was true that he would eventually have the benefit of its main ex- penditure, and he would not have been averse to seeing Kfr.cote honoured by a visit from his future sovereign, ks and his fine cellar of port. He had been something of a sportsman in his youth, but had grown indolent. Like all the Clintons, with the unfor- tunate exception of the reigning head of the family, he loved Kencote. The only bitter drop in his cup wa^ the present state of the house and estate. The cot- tacvrs among his parishioners wiere in a bad plight, with roofs letting in the rain everywhere, and doors and 14 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS windows letting in the wind. This concerned him chiefly because cottages were property, and it was part of the general state of affairs that those in the village of Kencote were being badly let down, with all the rest. In his youth, he and the large family of which he was the third son had lived in the great house, and there had been merry times there, with coming and going of coun- try neigiibours, much lavish hospitality, and at least an outward air of prosperity among the peasantry, who had been souped and coaled and blanketed into some oblivion of low wages and inconvenient, though pic- turesque, dwellings. Now it was as if a blight had de- scended upon the pleasant country-side. The great house, which ought to have played a leading part among the other great houses of the neighbourhood, was shut up from year's end to gear's end. Not a tenant but wliat was grumbling, not a wall or a roof or a gate or a fence but needed repair ; and worst of all, not a whist table within reach, without taking out a horse and braving the dreadful roads, which in those days were almost impassable in winter. The Rector of Kencote was too much of a philoso- pher to allow these incidental drawbacks to weigh upon him. The roof of his own house was sound enough, and he had beneath it all the materials for the kind of life that suited him. But he had quarrelled fiercely with his brother, the Beau, on account of his treatment of Kencote, and felt considerable satisfac- tion in acting as watchdog over the place, so that its owner should get as much annoyance as might be over the neglect of his duties, and be restrained from de- pleting its revenues further than he was entitled to do. " We've stopped my gentleman from poking his nose KENCOTE 16 into the woods," he chuckled to his nephew, as they bumped together over the rutty roads. " How did you do it, sir? " asked Thomas. " Oh, don't ask me, my boy. Vd nothing to do with it. Some of the villagers seem to have taken a dislike to him. I don't fancy they did him much harm. If he did get his head broken, they'll patch it up for him in London. That's where he's gone back to. Laid an information before me as a magistrate before he went ; but it was a dark night — he'd lost his horse and cart, I don't know how — cart was found in a ditch next day — and he was walking back to Bathgate. I told him I'd do what I could, but unless he could identify the men who had set on him, I didn't think I could do much. Lots of bad characters about, I said. Wouldn't hear of its being any of my people. They wouldn't do such a thing — much too well taught." The Rector went off into a series of chuckles, and his nephew laughed heartily. Then he told his uncle about the prospective honour that was to be conferred upon Kencote. " Now there are some men in my position," said the Rector, when he had digested the information, " who would see a great stroke to be performed for them- selves there. They would come bowing and scraping to his Royal Highness, and expect a bishopric to come of it, or at least a deanery. If the Prince comes here, I shall not go near him, Tom." " My father says he should be treated with respect." " I shall take myself off. I shall have an urgent call to go to Cambridge. The Beau will expect the village to collect and huzza, with me at the head of it. The village may do what it pleases, but it will get no help 16 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS from me. My brother has played a bad part at Kencote for many years. It is not to be smoothed over, and everything to be made to look happy and prosperous for the occasion. Let him explain my absence to the Prince, if he can." Young Thomas heartily approved of this attitude. Kencote was as the breath of his nostrils to him. When he liad lain out on the field of battle, during that long nigiit, he had thought in his fever that he was wander- ing about its woods and meadows ; and afterwards, a factor in his recovery had been the strong determina- tion that he would not die and lose the happy lot that would one day be his, of living in the old house, and taking his pleasure over the broad acres that went with it. He was not strong enough for much exercise yet, but he went out the next morning with a dog and a gun, along the village street, and into the park, through the principal lodge gates. The house came immediately into view — a massive pile of red brick, flanked and fronted by high-walled formal gardens, of a date mucli older. The stately mansion, which had been built at the same time as they had been laid out, had been burnt down about a hun- dred years before, and this one had been built in its place. It was a fine, solid house, with great high square rooms and many of them, but it did not suit the taste of that age, which had come to despise red brick, and often disguised it with the newly invented stucco. Nor were the Elizalx^than gardens, with tiieir wonderful clipped yews, bowling alleys, fish-ponds and fountains, any longer admired. Taste had moved on to an arti- ficial aping of nature, and many a beautiful pleasaunce of this sort had been swept away at the hands of " Ca- KENCOTE 17 pability Brown " and his pupils, to malce room for vast lawns, and carefully disposed groups of trees and shrubs. But young Thomas saw little to complain of in house and garden as they were, if only they had been in decent repair. The gardens were a wilderness. The peacocks and pyramids and arcadings of yew were run- ning wild, the paths were raoss-grown, the knots and parterres full of weeds, the fountains choked. He stood by a broken sundial and looked up at the house, the brickwork of which wanted pointing, the woodwork repainting. All the windows were shuttered ; no smoke went up from the chimneys. It was a dead husk of a house, forsaken and despised. And yet there were those who loved it, and looked upon it as their chief glory. He turned away with a muttered expression of anger, and looked round on the well-treed park and the thick woods of the surrounding country. The foolish spend- thrift who could leave all this beauty and dignity to rot and decay, while he took his pleasure in the nar- row streets of a town, should not bring further ruin upon it, for the sake of an empty honour. The fleet- ing patronage of royalty was not what Kencote wanted, but the homage of those who would restore it to what it had once been, — a home, second to none, in their eyes, in all the broad lands of England. HI The work began. Where had the money come from? It was good to see the house aroused from its in- glorious sleep. A host of workmen was busy about the structure; others were indoors, painting, papering, cleaning, restoring; others trimming up the neglected 18 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS giirdens, and remaking tlie road through the park, along whicli the royal visitor would drive, once when he came, once when he went away. Younff Thomas watched it all, established relations with the contractors, and acquired information. Al- though what work was being done was being well done, as all such work was in those days, the restoration was none the less being scamped — by order. Nothing was being done to the great expanse of roof, which needed a great deal doing to it ; nothing was being done any- where that would not make a show. All this money was being spent so that the house should look as if it were in perfect repair — for one day and one night. What should happen to it after that wouldn't matter. It was an indignity. Kcncote was being turned into a sham and a fraud. iNIoney was being paid regularly ; the work would not have been undertaken otherwise. They knew the Beau, at Bathgate, where the workmen came from. That was made plain to young Thomas, who liid his chagrin, but vowed that they should come to know him under a very different aspect when he should stand where the Beau stood now. The woods were untouched. Notliing more had been seen or heard of the valuer, who had not completed half his work when he had been driven out, in the way that had so puzzled the Rector. Neither he nor young Thomas believed that any deal in standing timber could liave been put through; and the Merchant's lawyers had been busy. The woods were safe. But the Beau had got money somehow, and was once more spending in London on his old scale. That he was in funds, for however short a time, meant mis- chief of some sort to Kencote, since Kencote was all KENCOTE 19 he had on which to raise it ; and those who came after him would have to foot the bill, sooner or later. The Merchant was inclined to regret that he had not footed it promptly. The necessary work could have been done under his own eyes, and in such a way that it would not have to be done all over again by and by ; and the Beau would not have been gaming at White's and Brooks's, as rumour reported him once more to be do- ing. The Merchant chafed more and more as the days went by, the date of the royal visit drew nearer, and the post brought no news from Kencote to clear up the mystery. IV The days went by. The Prince had set out upon his tour, accompanied by various of his friends, among whom was Beau Clinton. He was due at Kencote on a Friday evening, but the date of none of his visits was quite certain, as he was likely to linger in a house that suited him, and might cut out one here and there en- tirely. He was going as a private gentleman, and was not to be hampered by arrangements cut and dried. On Wednesday evening the Merchant had been drink- ing tea in his wife's parlour. Giles was away at Ox- ford, John at school. Only little Betty was with her parents, sitting on a stool by her father's chair, read- ing in a book. He liked to have her by him, though he often sat silent for a long time together, busy with his thoughts, which his wife and daughter had both been taught not to interrupt by intemperate chatter. He sat silent now, gazing into the fire, his hand some- times caressing the child's fair head. Mrs. Clinton plied u busy needle, and sometimes looked up fondly at 20 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS her little daughter, and then questioningly at her hus- band's irrave face. She knew what was now inces- santlv on liis mind, but she could not help him in it. She could only keep quiet and wait for what was to come. Upon this peaceful scene, broke in Thomas. He was splashed with mud from head to foot, but looked splen- didly strong and virile, as he stood before his parents, with all trace of his illness gone from him. " The Prince arrives at Kencote this evening," he said. " His visit has been put forward two days. It was only known tliis morning that he was coming so soon." Thomas had ridden all the way from Kencote to Lon- don, a hundred and thirty miles, with only two changes of horses, and no rest. His mother would have him eat and drink, and went out of the room with the child while he told his father the news, still standing. " I know now," he said, " where the money has come from. The valuation of timber was a blind to put us off the scent. He has sold everything in the house for three thousand pounds. It is to be stripped di- rectly the Prince has paid his visit, and left it." The Merchant sprang from his seat, his eyes flash- ing. "He would never commit such an outrage!" he cried, but knew as he said it that it was true. Most of what the old house had contained in the way of heirlooms had been destroyed in the fire, but the Clinton who had rebuilt it had been a rich man, and had furnished it richly. Family pictures, and other treas- ures, had been added durinf' ^^^-^ last hundred years, which were of value and interest to the Clintons who should inherit it, but of small value to anybody else. Three thousand pounds was a preposterous price in KENCOTE 21 any case for the contents of such a house, but it did not represent a quarter of their value to a member of the family. Why had this outrage not been guarded against? And wjiy had no suspicion crossed the minds of any of them that this was the source from which the Beau's funds had come? Partly because their minds had been running on the Kencote timber, directed thereto by the trickery of the Beau himself; but chiefly because, cyn- ically selfish as he was, he was yet a Clinton, and it would have seemed incredible that he should deal such a blow to the honour of his house. But he had done it. The Merchant very quickly recovered his outraged astonishment. The situation must be faced ; and perhaps there was yet time to re- cover the final loss. " He cannot sell the heirlooms," he said shortly. " The rest is his, but it would be diffi- cult to disengage it. We may be able to upset the sale. How did you know of it? " " All that will keep, sir," said Thomas. " There is no doubt about the facts. My advice to you is to set out for Kencote now, at once." He had remained standing- lie spoke quickly, but with great determination. His father, active although deliberate in mind, was yet declining to the bodily in- ertness of middle age, which was enhanced by the se- dentary life he had led for many years. But he re- sponded now to the young man's quickening. " What to do? " he asked. " Why, to confront my uncle before the Prince him- self, if necessary. You will catch him at a disad- vantage. Besides, the matter is very pressing. The moment the Prince goes out of the house the people who have bought the contents of it have a right to 22 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS step in and carry tlieni off. I would have you start at once, sir, within the hour. You can post, and be at Kencote before the Prince leaves for Kemsale. If he has already left, you can follow him there. My uncle goes with him to my Lord Meadshire's. I will come with you, if you give your leave." " I will go, Thomas," said his father, after a mo- ment's hesitation. " But you cannot do the journey again within an hour of your having ridden here." The young man laughed. " I would go twice as far for the chance of saving our house," he said. " A lit- tle HKat and wine while you prepare 3'ourself, and I shall be ready when you are." An hour later father and son were in a post chaise, on the road to Bathgate. The travellers reached Bathgate at seven o'clock in the evening of the following day, and on horseback. They had escaped the perils of highwaymen, but those were about the only vicissitudes contingent to such a journey that they had escaped. Much rain had fallen, and once off the great trunk roads the going was ex- ecrable. Here and there they had difficulties in get- ting relays of horses, and time was wasted. One of the postboys was drunk, and took them off the road in the darkness. Thomas, when he found it out, pushed him off the saddle and left him by the side of the road, while he made his own way back. Two hours were lost over this. When day dawned they had not gone much more than forty miles, and there were ninety more to go. But their troubles were not ended. A wheel came off as they were crossing the high lonely downs which KENCOTE 23 border the county of Meadshire, and they were landed in a ditch, both horses being lamed in the ensuing me- lee. The travellers had to walk six miles to the next posting-house, and there they took horse and rode the rest of the way. \ The Merchant was tired out when they reached Bath- gate, but his strong spirit upheld him. Thomas seemed as fresh as when he had started, and was very tender to his father, sparing him all that he could, but always pressing on. The Merchant could not have done the journey without him. They rode up to the inn at seven o'clock, and ordered a chaise to take them to Kencote. They could not hear whether the Prince and his party had proceeded to Kemsale, which lay on the other side of Kencote. They ate and drank hurriedly while the chaise was being prepared, " If they have left Ken- cote by the time we get there," said Thomas, looking at his father, " we must rest, and follow them tomor- row." The Merchant was already refreshed. " They must have left," he said. " But we will follow them tonight." The five miles that lay between Bathgate and Kencote were soon covered. Thomas slept soundly until they reached the village. His father sat thinking. He must keep his wits about him for what was to come. There were lights in doors and windows of the cot- tages, and a group of villagers hanging about the en- trance gates. Then the Prince had not left yet. The chaise was stopped and the question asked. He was to have gone two hours before, but no signs of departure had yet become apparent. They drove through the gates, along the newly made road through the park, and into the great stable-yard. It was full of bustle — carriages standing there, some 24 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS of them already liorsed, men running to and fro with lanterns and liglits everywhere. A groom told them that no orders for departure had come out yet, though they were expecting them at any time. They entered the house by a door at the back. The Merchant meant to walk straight into whatever room his brother was in, and no doubt his royal guest with him. He and Thomas were plastered with mud, their clothes and hair in disorder, their faces unwashed and unshaven — hardly figures to appear before Royalty. But as they strode along the echoing stone corridors, there was a dignity and authority about them that pre- vented any of the servants whom they met from stopping them. The back regions of the house seemed to be full of servants ; they stared, hesitated, and let tliem pass. They came through a door into the great square hall of the house. The black and white marble pavement was partly covered with a fine new Turkey carpet; the carvings and panels of the woodwork had been re- painted, the frames of the pictures regilded. This work, at least, was good, and permanent, but it had already served its turn. Tomorrow, only the bare walls were to be left, if the Beau had his way. All round the hall were tall pedimented doorways, framing solid mahogany doors. The Merchant strode towards the one that opened into the dining-room, his son following him. A lackey in a laced coat came run- ning up to stop him, but he pushed him aside, and both of them went into the room, shutting the door in his face. VI Although the room was very large, and was lit only by wax tapers, there were so many of them that the KENCOTE 25 effect was at first dazzling. A group of men sat and stood at the farther end of the table, on which was a great show of silver plate, with piled-up fruits, decanters of wine, and branched candlesticks, whose lights were reflected in the dark polished mahogany. The Prince sat in the place of honour, a stout be- wigged figure in black, his neck tightly swathed in voluminous folds of cambric, his round face swelling up out of it like a great over-blown flower. The Beau sat at the head of the table, half-facing him. These two were the centre of the group. The Beau was shak- ing a dice-box, and looked up to see his brother and nephew standing there as the dice fell on the table. In the confusion that followed — the Beau expressing outraged horror, some of the others moving to prevent the disordered mud-splashed figures from approaching the august presence, the Prince staring in surprise, not unmixed with alarm — the Merchant's thoughts cleared, and he knew what he wanted to do. He advanced a few paces into the room, and made a low bow. " Your Royal Highness," he said in a clear voice. " I and my son have ridden from London to ask justice of you against my brother, Richard Clinton, who has served me a vile trick under the shelter of your Royal Highness's name." The Beau was in a fury. He spluttered his anger at his brother's daring to enter the royal presence in such a state, and made towards the bell, to summon servants to turn him out of the room, and out of the house. The Merchant stood his ground. " With the utmost respect," he said, " I ask your Royal Highness to hear me, and judge between my brother and me." The Prince had recovered his equanimity. It tickled his vanity to be appealed to in this way. He stirred 26 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS his large bodv in his chair, and held up a plump hand covered with rings to the Beau, who had reached the bell-pull hy the mantel-piece. " Wait a while," he said. " Let us hear what your good brother has against you, Dick. I have always known vou were a proper rascal, and I should like the opinion of a member of your family upon the subject. Your name and condition, sir, as a preliminary to the tale." "My name is John Clinton, sir. I am a merchant in the city of London, but I am also descended of the family that has been seated on this Manor of Kencote for five hundred years, and heir presumptive to its estates. They were granted by your Royal Highness's great ancestor, Edward I. The founder of our house was knighted by the King on the field of Falkirk, and Kencote has descended in the direct line ever since." " A very respectable pedigree," said the Prince, prob- ably not ill-pleased to be reminded of his own somewhat zig-zag descent from the great Kings of England. " A better one than 3'ours by some centuries, I think, George." He turned towards a young man, not much older than Thomas, who stood by his elbow, dressed very soberly but very exquisitely, with a supercilious look on his face. He showed no sign of confusion at being addressed in this way, or at the laughter of his companions. " The name of Brunimcll is what I have made it," he said. " I owe nothing to my ancestors, or to anybody else." Considering that the Prince's favour had launched him on liis career of fashion, this was pretty pointed; but he and his ro^-al patron had already begun to fall out, and this was actually the last time that he was to appear in his most intimate circle. KENCOTE 27 The Prince took ho notice of his speech. " Your long descent has already been brought to my notice, Mr. CHnton," he said, " and when you came in we were at the point of discussing whether it would not be fittingly graced with some mark of honour." The Merchant's eye fell upon the dice lying on the table at his elbow. The Beau, who still held the dice- box in his hand, intervened. " I can assure you, sir," he said, " that the little matter of dispute between my brother and myself is not worthy of your attention. Let us continue our — discussion." There was a general laugh at this. *' He is within three throws of his Earldom," said a handsome dissi- pated-looking man on the Prince's right. " I suggest that if he wins it, his patent shall be made out to include his brother, the citizen, who looks far more capable of continuing his honourable line than he does himself." The company began to talk and laugh among them- selves at this, but the Prince seemed anxious to preserve the air of dignity with which he had begun. " We will first hear what the worthy citizen has to say against the unworthy Beau," he said. " Before you unfold your tale, Mr. Clinton, you will be better for a glass of wine — you and your son too. Please drink it sitting." He motioned him towards a chair, and a fair-haired young man, with a pleasant expression of face, hastened to pour out two glasses of wine for them. The Merchant, deeply angered at what had been going on when he entered the room, but hiding his anger, stood his ground. " I am deeply sensible of your Royal Highness's condescension," he said. " But I come here as a plain man to plead my cause, not to intrude myself into the company of my betters. Whatever rank we Clintons may have held in the past, we have lived for 28 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS some genertitions as quiet country gentlemen, not as men and women of fashion. We have done our best for our tenantry, and we have loved our home. My brother has done neither, and now, as a last injury to his family, he has taken upon himself to sell everything that this house contains. The very chair upon »vhich your Royal Highness is sitting, the bed upon which you have slept, the glass from which you drink, with every- thing else, have been turned into money to jingle in his pockets." There was a shout of laughter. " So that's where you get your funds, Dick ! " said the man on the Prince's right. " His goods and chattels against an earldom that he'll have nothing to support!" said another. " What a roystering blade it is ! " The Prince laughed with the rest. The Beau threw himself into a chair, and plunged his hands into his breeches pockets. " Tis true," he said with an air of indifference, " and 'tis nothing. I would have bartered my barrack of a house itself for a visit from his Royal Highness. It shames me not at all. What does shame me is that this pettifogging tradesman who calls himself my brother should have obtruded himself into his Royal Highncss's presence to flourish the bill in his face. He can think of nothing but the bill ; but it is not for his paying, and it is an outrage that he should mention it in this company." The Prince looked uncomfortable. He must have known that his friend, the Beau, could not afford to entertain him at all, and it could not have been pleasant to him to have the cost of his entertainment brought before him. It was a shrewd stroke on the Beau's part. The handsome young man who had poured out the nine leaned forward and looked from one brother to the KENCOTE 29 other, as if to lose nothing of the duel that was being fought between them. Thomas, who had stood as if on parade slightly behind his father, had had his eye on this young man ever since he had been in the room. With his look of health and activity he did not seem to belong to this company, which, with the exception of the posturing Brummell, was made up of men of middle- age, nearly all of them of dissipated appearance, and some of them not as sober as they might have been. " Begging your pardon," said the Merchant, " the bill will be footed by me sooner or later, as you very well know. And I do not grudge it. It was not for that purpose that I — " " You did grudge it," interrupted the Beau, without looking at him. " You are a rich man, and I came to you for a loan of the wretched sum that was necessary to make my poor house fit for the honour that was to be conferred on it. You thought nothing about the honour, and refused me. If you have come all the way from London to tell his Royal Highness that, I think you had better have stuck to your office stool. What I have sold is mine to sell, and has nothing to do with you." The Prince's bilious looking eyes were fixed upon the Merchant with no great favour. " If this is true, Mr. Clinton," he said, " my inclinations are somewhat to- wards my friend who has entertained me so handsomely, and made no bother on it, rather than towards one who thought a visit from me of small account." " He has stuck to his desk and made money," added the Beau, pursuing his advantage. " I have spent mine in the best of company, and I don't grudge a farthing of it. Tell him to go back to his shop, sir, and worry us no longer." 30 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS "What is it that jou want of me, Mr. Clinton?" asked tlic Prince. The Merchant ghinced round upon the company. The faces of most of them showed amusement at the awkward position in which he stood, and some showed contempt. Only the handsome young man looked at him with sympathy. " I will not deny that I refused," he said boldly. " For five and twenty years this house of Kencote has been neglected, and the land that goes with it starved. Five and twenty years ago it was a house that a royal Prince might well have taken a pleasure in visiting. It is so no longer, and I would not support my brother in giving it a false air, for a few hours only." " A careful man, this," observed Brummell, looking at him and Thomas through his quizzing-glass. " And he's brought his groom with him to protect his money bags on the journey. But why should the groom be introduced into this compan}'? " It was perhaps Thomas's cold glances of contempt that had aroused him to this wanton and foolish attack. For Thomas had also been making comparisons. Brummell and the fair young man were the only mem- bers of the company of about his own age. The one he admired for his fresh and open expression and his look of health and activity. The other, of whom he had heard something, and liked nothing that he had heard, seemed to hini, who liad already done something in the world, to be nothing but an idle conceited fop and lickspittle, aping a superiority to which neither birth nor achievement entitled him. " I am not a groom," he said quietly, looking Brum- mell straiglit in the face, " though 'tis true that I can stick on a horse." KENCOTE 31 As Brummell was known to have fallen off one, during his short career as a cavalry officer, and broken his nose by it, this stroke was well received by the company, and especially by the Prince. But the Merchant turned to his son and told him to be silent, and the Prince frowned again. "What is it you want of me?" he asked, shortly. " You have admitted that you did not want my presence here. We need have no more of that." The Merchant paused a moment. " A hundred years ago," he said, " the house that stands where this house now stands was burnt down, and the Clintons suffered the loss of nearly all that it contained. The house was rebuilt and refurnished; for four generations we have enjoyed it. Now comes my brother — a scourge as destructive as the fire — to despoil us again. A word from your Royal Highness would stop the wicked deed. It is not too late. There must be irregularities ; there are things here that he has no right to sell. I will repay the money that has already been handed over. I will relieve him of the responsibilities that he makes so light of. I will pay him an annuit}'^ as long as he lives. Tell him, sir, to make Kencote over to me, and cease from troubling it further." " That I will not do," put in the Beau. " It has been suggested to me before. As long as I live I will be Clinton of Kencote." " Or Earl of Kencote," put in the man on the Prince's right. " Throw the Merchant and his son into the succession, sir, and let him settle for his goods and chattels afterwards." The Prince laughed and bestirred himself. " It is your throw," he said to the Beau. " We will finish our own business and then turn to your brother's. Mr. Clinton, you are concerned in this little affair. I ac- 32 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS ccpt the suggestion made to me on jour behalf, and of 3'our son, who can ride a horse." The Beau aroused himself and shook the dice-box. The Merchant took a step forward ; his face was red and his eyes flashed. " It is a disgraceful compact," he said loudly. " I will publish it to the world — our good King beset by England's enemies, and his son shaking dice, for money against honour ! " The company sprang to their feet, all except the Prince, who stared at the Merchant's angry face — his own also angered, scandalized and alarmed. " As for you," said the Merchant, through the hubbub, to his brother, " I shall appeal to the law. I have reason to believe that you have overstepped it." He turned on his heel and left the room, showing a full broad back to his future sovereign. Thomas fol- lowed him, after a glance at his enemy, who had kept a lofty air of indifference throughout the foregoing scene. A group of servants had gathered in tlie hall ; one of them, who had probably had his eye or ear to the key- hole, was nearly knocked over by the Merchant as he came out of the room. He pushed them angrily aside, and strode across the hall, his spurs clanking. Before he had reached the door by which he had entered it, the fair-haired young man, who had followed them out of the room, laid his hand on his shoulder. " Mr. Clinton," he said. " I am Humphrey Kemsale, and very much at your service. Let us see this business through together." The Merchant, who had exclaimed angrily at the hand on his shoulder, stood still and looked at him, his face clearing a little as his eyes met the frank friendly look of the young man. Lord Kemsale was the eldest son of the Marquis of Meadshire, and the two houses of KENCOTE 33 Kemsale and Kencote had been allies for generations, though of late one had stood high and the other had deteriorated in dignity. " I was sent by my father to convoy the Prince to Kemsale," said the young man, " where they will have been awaiting him these two hours past. It was Lord Beechmont who suggested this throwing of dice after dinner. I think it may serve your turn, if you will wait awhile." The Merchant's face grew dark again. " So that was my Lord Beechmont ! " he exclaimed, " whose family is also allied to mine, but who could do nothing but sneer at my condition of citizen. As for serving my turn, my lord, I promise you that it shall serve the turn neither of the Prince nor my brother. When they get back to London they shall find the town ringing with the story." " They will dread that," said the young man, with a clear laugh. " Do you wait in this room, Mr. Clinton, and let me go back and deal with the matter on your behalf." He was full of life and energy, and seemed to enjoy the idea of having his finger in the pie. He opened the door of a room brightly lit up, but unoccupied, and with a quick friendly glance and smile at Thomas went back to the dining-room. The room which they entered was that which the Merchant's mother had chiefly used, in the happy days of his childhood. It was full of little things that re- minded him of her — the spinet open whi-ch she had played for her children to sing to, her embroidery frame, her books and materials for writing, the chair and the sofa upon which she had sat. On the walls were many drawings and miniatures of her family, besides older 34 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS pictures of greater value. All these things his brother — a j)ortrait of wlioiii as a child hung in a place of lionour — had sold. He could hardly hold himself in patience, and came near to choking as his eye fell first upon one thing and then upon another that brought back memories. " He shall not do it," he cried, with his hands clenched. " I think he will not do it," said Thomas. " I have great faith in Lord Kemsale." " He is kin to us," said his father, " though he may not know it. We have come low in the world, and never lower than now, when the head of our house thinks him- self so highly distinguished." He swore a round oath at the Beau. " Why did I come before the Prince as a suitor? " he said angrily. " His word might have been given to stop this robbery, and he has not given it. He has shown offence instead." " We need care little enough for that," said Thomas. *' Neither you nor I would care to take the road that leads to his favour." " I do not care for it," said the merchant. " Much more offence will be shown when I publish my story. And I care not for that either." In a short time Lord Kemsale came back. He looked both triumphant and amused. " It has gone our w&y" he said. " Come, Mr. Clinton. If I might advise," he added, turning to Thomas, " you had better stay here. We shall see each other again, I hope — often." The Merchant followed him into the dining-room. The company' was seated, and had something of the air of a judicial assembly, with the Prince at its head. There were no signs of the dice-box. The Beau sat in tFie same careless attitude as before, but he looked sulky. KENCOTE 35 He did not turn his head as his brother came into the room. " Mr. Clinton," said the Prince, leaning forward a little, " you seem to have entirely misunderstood the little pleasantry in which we were engaged when you came upon us. It is now at an end, and in consideration of the disturbance of mind you were undergoing, I over- look the somewhat unusual manner in which you behaved in my presence." The Merchant's anger had not cooled during his wait, but he controlled himself sufficiently to bow and say nothing. " Your brother," said the Prince with a smile, " is one of my oldest and most intimate friends ; but I am not altogether blind to his little failings. It would distress me to feel that the hospitality he has offered me has been purchased at the expense of his family, in the way you have brought to my notice. He has con- sented, at my solicitation, to accede to the request that I understand you have already made of him, and he has so far refused to consider. He will make over his property here to you ; the details you can settle between you. But when we leave this house, as we must do now, immediately, we will leave you in undisputed possession. May you live long to enjoy it, and be a better Squire of Kencote than your brother, who is something of a town- lover, has ever been ! " The ]\Ierchant's angry thoughts were shot through with a pure streak of joy. That he would have to pay heavily for succeeding before his time, was nothing. He would willingly do that. The Prince had turned towards the Beau, and was laughing at him. The Beau rose slowly to his feet, 86 THE CLINTONS, AND OTHERS « I think it is time we were setting forth," he said, languidly. " This house is distasteful to me, and I want to get away from it as quickly as possible." There was a general laugh, as the Prince also rose to his feet, and the rest of the company with him. The Merchant stood aside. The Prince bowed to him as he went out of the room, with a somewhat distant air. Although he had brought about the most desirable solution of the difficulties of so many years, and had played his part handsomely at the end, the Merchant understood that, as the new Clinton of Kencote, he must be content to remain outside the circle of the royal favour. He smiled inwardly at the thought. Some of the Prince's followers bowed ironically to him, his brother passed him without a look or a word. Youn