Namesakes. The story of a secret

Front matter

NAMESAKES Yolante was actually on her kuees before her mother. (See p. 394.) (Frontispiece.) Namesakes THE STOBY OF A SECRET BY EVELYN EVEEETT-GrREEN, AUTHOR OF "DARE LOBIMER'.S heritage", "BARBARA'S brothers", "temple's trlal". * monica", etc. fonbon HUTCHINSON & C°. 25 Paternoster Square PRINTED AT NIMEGUEN (HOLLAND) BV H. C A. THIEME OF NIMEGUEN (HOLLAND' AND TALBOT HOUSE, ARUNDEL STREET, LONDON, W.C CONTENTS CHAPTER. PAGE. I. THE OLD MAN'S WILL 1 II. A DISCOVERY 12 III. A SOLEMN HOUR 24 IV. FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS 35 V. DANGERFIELD PARK 46 VI. INTRODUCTIONS. 57 VII. THE HERO OF THE NIGHT 69 VIII. THE INVALIDS 81 IX. MONK'S FOLLY 93 X. SUMMERTIDE 104 XI. CICELY AT HOME 116 XII. STARTLING DISCOVERIES 127 XUI. THE MISSING PAPERS 138 XIV. A CHRISTMAS GATHERING 149 XV. A TERRIBLE TEMPTATION 161 XVI.

" CORPSE-CANDLES " 172 XVII. BANISHMENT 184 XVIII. YOLANTE'S TRIUMPH 196 xrx. monk's HAPPINESS 208 XX. YOLANTE'S DIPLOMACY 218 XXI. THE SHOT IN THE WOOD 229 XXII. HARD TO BEAR 241 XXIII. DIFFICULT QUESTIONS CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAGE. xxrv. monk 263 XXV. GUY SPEAKS 275 XXVI. CONFIDENCES 286 XXVH. CONSPIRACY 298 XXVIH. CHOOSING AND LOSING 309 XXIX. THE GIPSY OF THE GROTTO . . 321 XXX. KIDNAPPED 333 XXXI. DISAPPEARED 344 XXXU. THE CAPTIVE 355 XXXUI. THE EVE OF THE WEDDING 367 XXXIV. THE WEDDING DAY 378 XXXV. THE WHOLE TRUTH 389 XXXVI. THE LAST NAMESAKES.

Chapter I. The Old Man's Will

" To my eldest grandson, Guy Monkswold Dangerfield. " A sudden deep breath of rehef telling of release from great tension of mind passed Mrs. Dangerfield's lips at the sound of these words. The lawyer continued his reading in the cold, mechanical way pecuhar to his profession, but all uncertainty and excitement was now at an end. Mrs. Dangerfield hardly listened to the peroration. The fine property and the bulk of her father-in-law's large fortune had been secured to her son, and she was content. She had always felt — and few who knew the circumstances of the case would differ from her — that in common justice this was the right disposition to make and yet the harsh, suspicious nature of the hard old man whose house she had kept for so many years had rendered her painfully uncertain as to his intentions towards her and hers.

She had played a daughter's part to him as faithfully and dutifully as she knew how both during her husband's hfe time, and also during the three years of her widowhood : and yet she had never felt that she drew any nearer to the misanthropic old man, or that he ever truly hked or trusted her. She had always felt that he bore her a certain amount of tacit hostil ity — that he half resented the presence of herself and her children in his house, and even when he lay upon his death bed, and told her that he thought she NAMESAKES. would have no reasonable ground of complaint with his will, there had been a gleam almost as of mahce in his half closed eyes, and she had felt more uncer tain than ever as to the disposition he might have chosen to have made with regard to his property. Men had been known before this to will away their own in extraordinary fashions and to forget the claims of those nearest and dearest, and old Mr. Dangerfield had long been regarded by those who knew him best as a very eccentric man upon whom there was no depending, so that the relief of the present moment was intense.

Twenty thousand to herself for life, and ten thousand settled absolutely on each of his grandchildren, the London house bought latterly and independent of the estate to her second son Fulk — always as it seemed the old man's favourite — and the estate and the bulk of the large fortune to Monk, as her eldest boy had always been called — what could be more just and thoroughly satisfactory in every way ? The very intensity of her relief told Mrs. Dangerfield how very uncertain she had been all this time as to the old man's intentions towards her and hers. If she had said to herself that he could not in common justice do otherwise, she had felt all the whde that he very possibly might. For there was a hidden skeleton in the cupboard ever present in the mind of this ambitious woman, a secret fear which never let her rest.

Nor was this fear altogether unreasonable : for her husband, Charles Dangerfield — steady, trustworthy, dependable, Charles. was not the eldest son of the cynical old man. The eldest son, the wild scape-grace, Guy, had quarrelled with his father and had left home in a towering rage two years before Mrs. Dangerfield had ever entered it, and his name, so far as she knew had never since passed his father's lips. There had not been the ghost of an attempt at reconciliation all these years. Nobody knew what had become of the run-away, or whether he were ahve or dead. It hardly seemed probable that the silence of years would ever be broken. Yet Mrs. Dangerfield had never felt safe. She had an instinct that her father in-law cared more for his lost eldest son than for Charles, his wife, and children all put together.

Indeed her husband had told her again and again how proud he had always been of Guy, how well those two always seemed to understand one another, how Guy with all his recklessness and insubordination was dearer to the old man's heart than the lad who had never given him an hour's anxiety, and how that heart had been half broken by the quarrel which had darkened his home for him for ever. There must have been something fascinating about the lost Guy, for his brother would kindle into enthusiasm when he spoke of him, and though he had profited from a worldly stand-point through the quarrel, he never ceased to lament it: and up to the very day of his death he hoped to see the recon ciliation, and to yield his place as eldest son to the brother whose right came before his own. It was hardly unnatural that his wife did not share these hopes.

She had never seen Guy, who was nothing but a name to her, and she, not without reason, considered that Charles had won the position he now held by the right of solid merit. It was he who had watched over his father's dechning years, had borne with his trying temper and changing moods, and had played the part of the dutiful son of the house. He had given up all chance of pushing his own way in the world so that his father should not be left alone, and it seemed only common justice that his eldest son should be looked upon as the heir. No objection had been raised to the name of Guy— the regular family name for the eldest son of the house — when it had been suggested for the eldest son of Charles: but it had seemed to grate on the old man's ears when they had begun to call the child NAMESAKES. by it, and so it had gradually dropped into disuse, and his second name had been substituted and his brothers and sisters knew him by no other.

Monkswold was the maiden name of the old man's wife, the mother of Guy and Charles, a loving and lovely woman, idolised both by her husband and sons, in whose lifetime there had been none of the troubles and discords which had led to the final rupture between father and son. It had pleased the old man that her name had been revived in her grandson, and Monk was in better favour with his grandsire after the Guy had been completely dropped. Mrs. Dangerfield's mind had glanced back through the vista of the ten years of her married life, with all its conflicting hopes and fears, whilst the lawyer was finishing the reading of the will. As the sound of his voice ceased she awoke from her reverie, and was as calm and composed as if she had been made aware of its contents long before. The few guests who had been present at the ceremony were already taking their leave, with little formal speeches of mingled condolence and congra tulation.

The short winter's day was drawing to a close and they were anxious to be moving. They were only friends, not relatives, for the Dangerfields were very much alone in the world. The family lawyer, who was joint trustee with Mrs. Dangerfield for the chddren, was the only guest sleeping in the house, and when the room had emptied itself of the visitors and of the old servants who had been admitted to the reading of the will, and who had all been remembered by their late master in a substantial manner, he turned to the lady and said, " I suppose I may congratulate you in the name of your son — on his behalf, I ought to say." " Thank you, Mr. Lumly. I will not pretend that I feel no relief at this certainty. Mr. Dano*erfield was a man upon whose good wdl there was no depending." " Just so, and in this case there was an element of uncertainty independent of idiosyncracy of temperament.

I presume nothing has been heard of or from the lost son?" " Nothing at all. My own impression is that he has been long dead. I think that has been the impression of his father for many years." "There is no suspicion that he ever married?" " Not that I have ever heard. My husband certainly knew nothing in his hfetime, and my father-in-law never mentioned the name of his eldest son in my hearing. You know nothing yourself, I suppose ? " " No. I merely ask as executor to this will : for if Guy had married and had children, each of them would be entitled to the ten thousand pounds Mr. Dangerfield has bequeathed to each of his grandchildren without specifying them by name." " I see. I had not thought of that. If by chance there should be a large famdy in existence somewhere, it would make a large hole in the fortune otherwise coming intact to Monk."

" Well, my dear madam, with a long minority before us, the estate could bear a good drain upon it. Your whole family is amply provided for in all cases. The money accumulating for them whdst they remain minors will in the case of the younger members almost double itself before they have the handling of it, and the two elder boys have property as well. By the by, did you notice one small peculi arity in the wording of the will?" " No, I think not. I am not conversant with legal phraseology. I do not suppose I should be likely to detect anything unusual. I suppose it is nothing of any consequence?" " Under present circumstances it is hardly likely to prove of any material consequence : but we lawyers have a constitutional dislike to looseness and ambiguity in the turning of phrases." "I did not observe any ambiguity."

NAMESAKES. "No? WeU, it is in the expression 'my eldest grandson, Guy Monkswold Dangerfield'. So far as we can tell, Mr. Dangerfield could not have been certain that your eldest son was his eldest grandson." " But that would not make any difference surely even if Guy had married and had a son older than Monk ? * "Possibly not, unless he had chanced to hit upon the same name, but there might be the loophole for a quibble under such circumstances. And it would have been far better if my late client would have mentioned your other chddren by name, instead of lumping them all together in a clause which might include any number of other grandchddren besides. If I had had the drawing of that will I should have taken care that it was less vaguely worded. As it stands it gives the impression that my old friend had some purpose in his mind when he made it — some purpose that does not yet appear.

I do not wish in any way to disturb you. I should say that there was little probabihty of your son's ever being disturbed in his possession of the Dangerfield property: but untd we can find traces of the missing Guy, and ascertain whether he is alive or dead and whether or not he is married, it will be impossible to administer this will in a perfectly satisfactory manner: but that of course will be my business to find out. I will make every inquiry. You need not trouble yourself in the matter. There is no reason as things stand at pre sent for you to feel any uneasiness." Poor Mrs. Dangerfield, it seemed as if she had only escaped from one anxiety to meet with another. When she had heard the terms of the will, she had felt that nothing could now disturb her son in the possession of the family estate : and yet before half an hour had passed new difficulties of which she had not dreamed rose up to confront her.

Could it be possible that after all the old man had known something about his lost son, and had framed a will that should benefit him and his, whdst seemingly omitting him altogether ? Mr. Dangerfield had always been a shrewd hard-headed man, and it seemed scarcely likely that he would have drawn up this vague and ambiguous will by accident : yet if it had been done of set purpose what could that purpose be? But the widow would not pursue the thought too far. She crushed down her rising suspicions and turned to the lawyer. " You see no reason, I presume why I and the children should not remain on here? I am the only guardian they have. I suppose we have the right to this place?" " Certainly, certainly, my dear madam. You must not attach too much importance to the remarks I have just made. I thought it best to mention what struck me, as we are joint executors : but I have not any fear that unpleasantness will arise.

There may be more claims upon the property that we know of as yet, but only the very strangest concatenation of circumstances could disturb your son in his possession of the estate. Indeed I am not certain that anything could really oust him under present circumstances." Mrs. Dangerfield breathed a sigh of relief. The shadow lifted itself from her brow. " I suppose I am prone by nature to fear the worst, and I always had a feeling that my husband was not appreciated by his father, and I am certain Mr. Dangerfield never hked me — . " " 0 do not say so, my dear madam. Who could have done more for him than you did? " " That is hardly the point, " answered the lady with one of those strange smiles of hers, so strongly tinged with bitterness. " I did what I could to be a daughter to him, as Charles was certainly the best of sons, but he never cared for either of us as he had cared for Guy.

I do not know what the attraction was — and certainly the rupture could not have been more com plete, yet he never cared for anyone but his eldest son, and I know in his heart of hearts that he resented NAMESAKES our presence in his house and the position we could not help holding there. " " Do you not think you may exaggerate the matter somewhat? No doubt he was very fond of his elder son— but surely if he had felt towards him as you describe, he would have sent for him at the last, would have made some overture of a conciliatory character. Had he loved him so tenderly he would hardly have let him vanish without keeping some kind of watch upon his movements. Did he betray no longing for his presence as his death drew near ? " " No, not the least. Yet I cannot get rid of the impression that Guy held the first place in his heart.

" " He may have known of his death, " suggested the lawyer musingly. " He may have done so. I cannot tell. Certainly there was no restlessness or craving for his presence when he lay dying. He spoke once or twice of Charles — but of Guy never once. " " Then I think you may set your mind at rest. He could hardly have kept perfect sdence on a point that might affect you so nearly afterwards had he anything to communicate. In any case a few weeks will settle the matter : for if he had private communi cation with his son or his son's heir which he kept a secret from you, we shaU hear from them as soon as this death becomes known. If not and we have to trace for ourselves what has become of Guy, you may be sure that his father knew nothing and cared nothing. Had he done so, he would at least have put him on the scent.

He would not have left it to chance for him to discover what had been done for him. " " Mr. Dangerfield was very peculiar. There is no accounting for what he might or might not have done." " Well, he can hardly have done anything that will very greatly affect you or yours. So set your mind at rest, and look upon things as practically settled. The estate can well bear a few more legacies, and that is the utmost that my researches are hkely to lead to. " "01 am not afraid that Monk will be disturbed in possession of what his grandfather bequeathed to him. But as you say any ambiguity is tiresome on such points, and it would have been more satisfactory for everybody if things had been slightly more precise. " And then the interview terminated. Mr. Lumly had letters to write before the afternoon post went out, and Mrs. Dangerfield went upstairs to her children, whom she had hardly seen that day.

The nurseries and children's quarters were in one of the wings of the house well shut off by themselves, as the late master had a great dishke to any noise or tumult connected with the young life upon the place. He had not been at all the ideal grandfather of either hfe or fiction, and he was sterner towards his grandchddren than he had been to his own sons in their boyish days. Against Monk he had always seemed to bear a grudge, and the boy had never been at ease in his presence. Yolante, who idolised her eldest brother, who was barely a year older than herself, cordially detested the old man who was so harsh and scornful towards lum, and it was only Fulk, the second son who seemed exempt from the general fear inspired by the master of the house. The five-year old twins, Humphrey and Cissy, were still too much in the baby stage to have an opinion either for or against the grandfather they seldom saw.

He was merely one of the elements of existence, to be accepted without any questioning. They did not enter into the stormy disputes that sometimes went on amongst the others as whether or not he was a destestable old man. Yolante always declared that he was, Fulk was as a rule his champion, whilst good-natured, easy-going Monk generally contented himself with laughingat both the combatants, and vowing that he could not see what on earth all the fuss was about. The first death in a house always produces a cer- NAMESAKES. tain effect upon children, and though some of them could remember their father's death they had been sent away from home during his last illness, so that none of the pomp and circumstance of such an event had passed beneath their eyes. But the death of the master of the house had been different, and this very afternoon they had watched with great interest the start and return of the gloomy procession, and had realised better than they had ever done before that they would never see the upright figure, the stern face of the old man again, or start and scutter away into hiding at the sound of his harsh voice.

They none of them really loved him — unless perhaps it was Fulk— yet they felt almost as if they would have called him back if they could, and Yolante repented of some of her hasty speeches, whdst Monk wished he had got on better with the grandfather whom he had really tried to be good and dutiful to, as his father had charged him in a message on his death bed. When the mother entered the large, low, wains cotted room, the chddren were all gathered together about the glowing hearth. Their first words, however, showed that they were not entirely ignorant of what had been passing downstairs. Some gossip had reached them already, for Yolante at once sprang forward crying out, " 0 mamma, is it really true ? Is Monk really the master here — as grandpapa was till he died?" "Why do you ask that, Yolante?"

" Because Patty told us so. She said it was all read out in the library and they all heard it. 0 mamma. Monk says he doesn't care. He would rather be a soldier than live here as papa and grandpapa chd: but I care very much. I always wanted him to be a great man. Please say if it is true." " It is true in one sense of the word, though I wish you would not be so ready to listen to servants' idle gossip. Some day Monk will be the master here. But at present he is a minor, and will have no more power than he had before : and if he is a wise boy, he will work just as hard as if he had his own living to get, and will not be idle and useless on the strength of his prospects." Monk understood the spirit of his mother's words if not the exact words themselves, and looked at her with his frank pleasant smile.

" All right, mamma, I will be a good boy, I don't want to waste my time, for fellows have to know an awful lot now, people say, before they can get into the army." " And, mamma, shall we all be rich, too ? " persisted Yolante, who had a large share of feminine curiosity in her composition, and a good deal more ambition than her brothers. " I don't want to be covetous, but I should like to be rich and great." Mrs. Dangerfield was vexed at finding how quickly the news had spread but was sensible enough to know that what was common property in the servants' hall could not well be kept from reaching the ears of the chddren. She had rather they had heard it from herself, but it seemed that others had been beforehand with her. "My dear chdd, there is no need at your age, to trouble yourself as to whether or not you will ever be rich.

In all probability you will have enough for comfort during your lifetime, and no one need wish for more. Your grandfather has been kind and liberal to us all, and I hope you will think kindly and gratefully of him now that he is taken from us ; but as for the detads, there is no reason why you should trouble your head over them, and I would rather you asked no more questions either of me or from the servants. Do you understand, Yolante ? " "Yes, mamma," answered the girl readily: but in her heart she was still curious, for she felt a love of power unusual in one so young and she already had a strong suspicion that wealth and power were as a rule very closely allied.

Chapter II

A DISCOVERT. " Mamma, mamma, isn't it funny ? There is another fellow at school with exactly the same name as mine — Guy Monkswold Dangerfield : and 0, mamma, he is .so like the picture of the httle boy on the pony that hangs up in the hall at home." Monk and Fulk came rushing up into their mother's drawing-room on their return from their daily attend ance at University College School, open-mouthed with this piece of extraordinary intelligence. This was but their third day at the London school, and as everything was strange to them they came home daily in a state of considerable excitement : but the discovery made that day transcended anything that had gone before, and the intelligence fell upon the ears of Mrs. Dangerfield in a manner little guessed by her children, though she merely looked up with a smde to say, " What a very strange thing.

Are you sure you are right ? " " 0 yes, " answered both boys in a breath, after which Fulk added, " He wasn't there till to-day, though they told us there was another Dangerfield in the school, and asked us if we were relations. But it was only to-day he came back, and then we found out he had got the same names as Monk. Mamma, can he be a relation ? All the fellows say he must be — and he is so like the picture." A DISCOVERY. " The picture of your uncle Guy ? " " Yes, mamma — I thought of it directly I saw him. All the boys say he must be our cousin or something, though he doesn't seem to know anything about it." " He said he hadn't any relations except his mother, " added Monk, " and I fancy they are rather poor — his clothes were shabby, you know and he doesn't have nice books or anything, only shabby old second-hand things, and I don't think he's ever had much fun in his life by what he said : but I hke him awfully, mamma, and I think he likes me.

I wanted him to come home with us, but he said his mother would be expecting him home. I think he is very fond of her. " " Well, if he is a nice boy, you may certainly bring him home with you one of these days. I think there may be a relationship perhaps. The name is a curious coincidence. We must inquire into things. He might turn out to be a cousin." "That would be jolly," said Monk. "I think he would like it too. He hasn't any brothers or sisters, and his father is dead too. He and his mother are all alone. I should think they would like to find some relations of their own." " How old is this boy ? " asked Mrs. Dangerfield, steadying her voice so that neither of her sons guessed how fast her heart was beating. " 0 a httle bit of a chap, " answered Monk. " He's not nearly as big as me. " " But he's in one form higher up in school, " added Fulk, " I don't suppose he is any younger.

You are such a big fellow, Monk." This was true enough as the mother well knew. Monk was often found to be a head taller than many companions of his own, or nearly his own, age. If this namesake of his were higher in the school, it was quite possible that he might be the elder of the pair : and, in that case, and if he should prove to be the son of the missing Guy, who was really the master of Dangerfield Park! NAMESAKES. No one, however, who looked at the mother's calm face would guess at the tempest of anxiety which was stirring within her. She did not even appear preoccupied as she talked to her boys, and presently dismissed them to their own quarters. It w7as only when she was left alone that she suffered the mask to drop, and let the anxious cloud rest upon her features. " Can it be possible, can it be possible, " she mur mured to herself, "and that after these two years of fruitless search, just as I was beginning to settle down comfortably with the conviction that nothing could now arise to trouble us? 0 it will be terribly hard if he should prove to be the elder of the two.

And yet if his grandfather never knew of his existence (as it is plain he did not) he can have no moral right to my boy's inheritance, whatever his legal claim might be. 0 why did I bring them here to be confronted with such a problem? Who could have guessed at such an encounter ? What ought I to do ? How far must I investigate matters? I suppose I shall know no peace untd I have got to the root of the matter. But at least it seems as if they had no suspicions — this boy or his mother. If she hears that her son is entitled to a fortune of ten thousand pounds, surely that will content her. And it is certain the old man could have meant nothing more, even had he been aware of this child's existence — certainly nothing more." Mrs. Dangerfield rose and paced the room in some agitation of mind.

If this thing had happened two years ago it would have been hard enough to bear, though for a time after her father-in-law's death she had tried to prepare herself for disappointment of some kind, and had steeled herself to meet it should it come upon her. But time had passed by bringing to light no news of the lost son. Mr. Lumly's efforts to trace him had proved quite unavailing, and he had told her not many months ago, when he lay on his own death bed, that he beheved the lost Guy to be dead -without A DISCOVERT. heirs, and that she might now feel practical confidence that no claim upon the property of an upsetting character would ever be made. And in this pleasant state of security she had been living ever since. On the death of the good old lawyer all the power had passed into her hands.