England -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Soldiers -- Fiction
All this gave the baronet, who was really the man in possession,
but little uneasiness. As the next heir, he had heard long ago
of the eager inquiries for the missing Herbert; and although he
had resented them then, he had accepted their impotent conclusion
as an unanswerable proof that his presumptive rights were not
to be impugned. On the death of Sir Algernon his title had not
been disputed, and he had succeeded, as a matter of course. Lady
Farrington had made no protest. There was no shadow of foundation
for a protest. And if not then, would any person in his sober
senses think of disputing his rights now, when he had a firm grip
of the title, property, and place? Only an old mad woman would
harbour such an idea. Even she would hardly dare to raise the
question openly, after such a lapse of years. And who would believe
her if she did?
He told her so, very roughly, when her allusions became more
and more significant. He warned her too that ‘she had better be
careful what she said or did. It was a fact well known to the whole
country-side that she was quite unable to take care of herself,
that she was not responsible for her actions, that her proper place
was an asylum, and she might come to that yet if--’
One day, when he had been taunting thus longer and more bitterly
than usual, she was goaded into making an incautious reply.
‘The cup is nearly full to the brim, Rupert. Your time is fast
drawing to a close.’
‘What new craze is this, Lady Farrington?’ he said, laughing
scornfully, but with a black look on his face.
Sir Rupert’s was a hard dark face, with full eyes rather
prominent, and a long, drooping, black moustache. When he looked
black it was not a pleasant face to see.
‘It is nothing new, Rupert. I have waited patiently, hopefully. I
thought the end would never come. It is near at hand now, although
the consummation has been long delayed.’
‘Your ladyship’s language is, as usual, clear and perspicuous, yet
you will forgive me if I ask you to explain.’
‘Listen,’ she said, as she laid her hand upon his arm, and hissed
out her words slowly one by one. ‘Within a few short months, nay
weeks, whenever I choose, I can produce the rightful heir of the
Farringtons; and he shall come to his own.’
‘This is mere rhapsody, mere raving. You cannot touch me, you know
that.’
‘I can, ay, and I will, miserable fool! You have not the shadow
of a claim to the title and estates. My grandson, Herbert’s son,
lives, and you must make way for him.’
‘Psha! Herbert’s son? How do you know that? What proof have you?’
‘The youth himself. He has been under my charge these five years
past, and more. I found him--I myself found him. I knew I could not
err. He had Herbert’s eyes, he is Herbert’s image; he--’
‘He must have more proof than this if he is to make good his case
in a court of law,’ said Sir Rupert coolly.
‘I know it, and the proof shall be forthcoming. Every link in the
chain.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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