CHAPTER XII A FIRESIDE TYRANT

Lord Derrington should have been born Emperor of Ancient Rome or of Modern Russia. He would have made an admirable despot, as he was fairly good-humored when all about him were on their knees serving him. Even then his temper was none of the best. Those who held their own he hated, while the many who gave in to his domineering will received unmerited contempt as their reward. Even at seventy-five the old man's temper had not cooled, and the majority of people avoided him as they would the plague.

Originally he had started life with a sufficiently imperious will, and, thanks to his position as a titled and wealthy orphan, he had been enabled to exercise it at a very early age. The habit of seeing every one terrified of his mere glance grew upon him, and he became unbearable, not only to live with, but even to meet. His wife, after presenting him with two sons, had died gladly, seeing no other way of escaping her tyrant, and the report went that he had browbeaten her out of existence. Derrington would have married again for the sake of his boys, but like Henry VIII., whom he greatly resembled, he could find no one willing to endure his yoke. Consequently he became something of a woman-hater, and entered the political world. In this he met with a certain amount of opposition, which did him good, and might have been trained into a moderately decent member of society but that his reformation was cut short by his being appointed ambassador to a prominent European power. Here his temper had full swing, and he bullied everybody for three years. At the end of that time he nearly caused a war and was recalled. There was some talk of his being appointed Viceroy for India, but those in power had sufficient pity on the country not to send him. Derrington, in India, would have been on "his native heath" for tyrannizing.

Failing, from his reputation, to get another appointment, Derrington took to quarreling with his sons. Percy, the elder, had a spice of the paternal temper and refused to submit. Consequently he was forbidden the house, and crowned his iniquities in the old man's eyes by marrying Rosina Lockwood. This was a severe blow to Derrington, who had the pride as well as the temper of Lucifer. He refused to hold any communication with Percy, and thus the son remained abroad, living on an income inherited from his mother until he was murdered at San Remo. As his income ceased on his death (for it reverted to his mother's relatives), George, the boy, was left dependent on the charity of his two grandfathers. Derrington denied the marriage and refused to acknowledge the infant. Lockwood took the child to his home and brought him up. Then the lad disappeared when Lockwood died, and reappeared under the name of Brendon. Derrington had discovered his grandson's identity in the way described by Bawdsey. The younger Vane was a fool, meek as Moses, and completely cowed by his terrible father. He married an equally meek lady, and the two were crushed by the old tyrant. Finally, both died, as gladly as the late Lady Derrington had done, and left Walter Vane to carry on the title. The old lord detested Walter as a milksop, but he refused to acknowledge George, preferring the fool to the clever man, from sheer hatred of Brendon's father.

Derrington House, in St. Giles Square, was an immense palatial mansion which cost no end of money to keep up, and as its lord was not over-rich he would have done better to remove to a more modest residence. But Derrington's pride would not permit him to scrimp his living, and he dwelt alone in the big house. When Walter's parents were alive they had occupied a corner, so that Derrington could bully them at his leisure, and now Walter himself remained as a whipping-boy. But he was cunning enough to keep out of his grandfather's way, and contrived to be more independent than his parents had been. Perhaps Derrington was too old to carry on an active war, but he certainly gave Walter more license than he had ever accorded to any human being. A good deal of contempt for the weak little dandy had to do with this permitting him to act as he pleased. There is no excitement in whipping a sheep.

The meeting with George at Mrs. Ward's had touched the old man nearly. He had never set eyes on Percy's son before, and had no idea that the young fellow was so handsome and clever. Derrington felt that he could take some pride in George, as a man who would not permit himself to be bullied. He had as strong a will as his grandfather, and the older man respected him. Moreover, George's refusal to accept an income when he took a feigned name, and his determined fight for his birthright, pleased the despot. But for his pride and hatred of the father, Derrington might have acknowledged the marriage. He knew in his own mind that such a marriage had taken place, and that George was legitimate, but he did not know where the ceremony had been celebrated. The sole evidence he possessed was a letter, written by Percy from Paris, stating that he had married Rosina Lockwood. Derrington at the time accepted the fact, and had never thought of inquiring about details from his son, and of course when Percy died it was too late. Mrs. Jersey knew, and Mrs. Jersey had made use of her knowledge, but she never told Derrington anything. Had she done so, her hold over him might have waxed feeble, although, owing to her knowledge, and to the old man's determination not to acknowledge George, it could not be done away with altogether.

The library in Derrington House was a vast and splendid apartment with a magnificent collection of books. Its owner, driven back on himself by his misanthropic detestation of his species, and the dislike his fellow-men had for him, read a great deal. Sometimes he wrote articles for the quarterlies, principally on political questions. He went out into society in spite of his age, out of sheer contrariety and not because he enjoyed himself. Like Vespasian, he was determined to die standing, and showed himself at several great houses, at race-meetings, at Hurlingham, and sometimes in the House. His movements were carefully chronicled in the Morning Post, and he took care to let his friends know that he was still alive. For the rest, he sat in his library reading, or writing his memoirs. These he had arranged to have published after his death, and there were many families who would have given much money to have seen them behind the fire. Derrington had known every one worth knowing for the last half-century, and had as bitter a pen as he had a tongue. Also, he knew many secrets of diplomacy. So it may be guessed that many great families did not look forward to the publication of these memoirs with particular pleasure. Derrington knew this, and chuckled grimly, much as Heine did in the like case.

One afternoon he was adding a chapter to the book, when a card was brought to him. Derrington nearly jumped from his seat when he read the name of George Brendon. At first he was inclined to tear up the card and send the pieces out to the insolent young man who thus dared to trespass on his privacy. But on second thoughts he decided to accord him an interview. He knew that by this time Mr. Bawdsey must have informed George that his grandfather knew him as Brendon, and the old autocrat wished to see if George would behave as pluckily at their second interview as he had done at the first. Moreover, he could not forget the good looks and clever conversation of the young man. It would be absurd to say that Derrington's heart yearned over this unacknowledged twig of the family tree, for according to common report he had no heart. But he certainly felt an unwonted emotion when Brendon, tall and handsome, composed and ready for battle, stepped into the room. Derrington knew that the young man was ready for battle, for he saw the light of war in his eyes.

When the door was closed and the two were alone, Derrington took his station on the hearth-rug with an impassive expression of countenance. He waited for George to open the war of words, and after a polite greeting he waited in silence. George was not at all embarrassed. He knew perfectly well that he had a difficult task before him, and did not choose to shirk it. With the family obstinacy he was determined on obtaining his birthright, and if he set all London alight with scandal he was bent upon gaining his end. The two men stared coolly at one another like two fencers, but at the outset the buttons were off the foils.

"I am sure you are not surprised to see me, Lord Derrington," said Brendon with his eyes fixed on the old man's grim face.

"Not half so surprised as you were at seeing Bawdsey," said Derrington, not to be outdone in coolness.

George smiled. "I was not at all surprised at seeing the man," he said calmly. "It was my happy lot to rescue him from an accident, and it was my intention to call on him."

"For what reason?" asked Derrington, who could not help betraying astonishment, in spite of his self-control.

"You must excuse my not answering that question."

"Oh, certainly," replied Lord Derrington, with ironical politeness; "but you are not so diplomatic as I thought."

"Because I decline a reply?"

"Because you allow me to see that you are on good terms with the man I employ. A clever diplomatist would have allowed me to think that Bawdsey was hostile and so have used the man against me."

"There is no need for me to stoop to such crooked ways," said Brendon, with some scorn, "and I always find the truth tells in the long run."

"Ah! You've never been an ambassador."

"When I am, I shall still tell the truth."

Derrington smiled grimly. "Oh, then, it is your intention to enter political life?"

"I think we discussed that fully the other evening."

Derrington sat down and leaned his elbows on the table. His temper was rising, as he was not accustomed to be treated in this off-hand way. "Come, sir, let us understand one another. State the situation so as to clear the ground for a proper argument."

"Certainly," said George, with frigid politeness. "You know who I am, I understand."

"No, I don't. So far as I know you are George Brendon. I met you at Mrs. Ward's, and----"

"And were good enough to hold a long conversation with me," finished George, smartly. "I see, sir, it is necessary for me to be explicit."

"It's the best course," rejoined Derrington, looking at him with hard eyes and secretly admiring his self-control.

"Then I have to state that my name is George Vane, and that I am the son of Percy Vane and Rosina Lockwood."

"Indeed! What proof have you of this?"

"The evidence of my nurse, Jane Fraser, who attended to me when my father, your eldest son, was alive. The testimony of my former guardian, Mr. Ireland, who took charge of me after the death of my mother's father. Finally, my certificate of birth, which I will show you whenever you choose."

Derrington was confounded by this calm answer. He would have blustered, but George's politeness gave him no chance of losing his temper, and without fuel it would not blaze up. "You seem to be well provided with proofs," said he, grimly. "Let us admit, for the sake of argument, that you are my grandson. But the marriage----"

"Ah, that is the difficult point! And it is unpleasant for me to talk of the subject. In justice to the memory of my mother I hold that there was a marriage."

"And in justice to my family I hold that there was none."

"In that case, Lord Derrington, we join issue."

"You are quite a lawyer, sir," sneered the old man.

"I thought of studying for the bar at one time."

"Indeed, and why did you not?"

"I had no money to pay my fees," said George, coldly.

The old lord winced. He could not but admire his pluck, and, aware that the young fellow was his own flesh and blood, regretted that he should lack any chance of embarking on what promised to be a brilliant career. "You could have had money had you chosen," said he, roughly.

"I know. For that reason I changed my name to Brendon."

"Well," said Derrington, irritably, "let us come to the point. You say you are my grandson. I admit that, as I am aware of what evidence you can bring forward. But I decline to admit that you are my heir. The onus of proof lies with you."

"I am prepared to discover the proof if your lordship will behave in an honorable manner."

"What!" roared Derrington, rising with a fierce look. "Do you mean to say, you jackanapes, that I am behaving dishonorably?"

"Extremely so," said Brendon, coldly. "You have had me watched by a detective; you threaten, through him, to have me arrested for a crime of which I am innocent, if I do not give up my attempts to gain my birthright and--" here George leaned forward--"Dorothy Ward. Do you call these actions honorable?"

"How dare you?--how dare you?" was all that Derrington could say.

"You should know how I dare, sir, considering I am your grandson."

"I'll have you thrown out of the house."

George rose. "I am willing to leave you, sir, if that is the tone you take. But as to being thrown out, that is quite another question."

"Do you know who I am?" questioned the other, blustering.

"Very well. You are the man who is keeping me out of my rights."

"I am not!"

"I say you are."

The two faced one another without blenching. Derrington tried to cow George, and George refused to be cowed. It was the old lord's eyes which fell first. Brendon had youth as well as will on his side, and these dominated Derrington. For the first time in his tyrannical life he gave way.

"There is no need for you to go yet," he grunted, flinging himself into a seat. "I am willing to hear what you have to say."

Brendon sat down also. "I don't think I have any more to say."

"Then why did you come here?"

"To ask you if you consider it honorable to threaten me. I have already done so. There is no more to be said on my part."

Derrington dug a pen viciously into the blotting-pad. He did not know very well what to say. Had George sworn and blustered he might have been able to talk him down and to bully him into giving way. But Brendon was perfectly calm and polite. He was not to be intimidated in any way, and the ordinary methods would not do in this case. Derrington was reduced to reason. "What is it you wish?"

"I wish you to recognize my mother's marriage and to state that I am your heir."

"Anything else?" sneered Derrington.

"Yes. You will publicly recognize me; you will allow me an income sufficient to maintain the dignity of my real name of George Vane, and you will order Mrs. Ward to keep silent."

"Mrs. Ward? What have I to do with her?"

"A great deal, apparently. You told her my story, and as she does not want me to marry her daughter she will move heaven and earth to ruin me by using her knowledge."

"How can she ruin you?"

"I think you understand, sir. The story told by my friend Train----"

"Friend! Judas, rather."

"No. He is only a weak man who is as wax in the hands of a clever and pretty woman. But Mrs. Ward got sufficient out of him to place me in a somewhat perilous position."

"Were you in the room where the woman was murdered? Speak plainly."

"I came on here purposely to speak plainly," rejoined Brendon, dryly, "for your safety as well as for my own."

"Safety, sir!" Derrington grew crimson. "What the devil do you mean?"

"I mean that I can speak freely to you, as I know perfectly well that for the honor of our family----"

"Our family--confound you!"

"Our family," repeated George, "of which some day I hope to be the head. For its honor, I say, you will not take these matters into court. I was in the room of Mrs. Jersey. I saw her dead!"

"And you know who killed her?"

"No. I can't say that for certain." George looked keenly at his grandfather. The old man appeared uneasy. Suddenly Brendon spoke. "I should like to know what you were doing in Mrs. Jersey's house on the night she was murdered?"

Derrington dashed down his pen furiously and rose. "You go too far, sir; you go too far!" he roared.

"Not any further than you intended to go. If you threaten me I have a right to protect myself."

"In what way?"

"By telling you that if I am in a perilous position, you are also."

"Do you mean to say that I murdered the woman?"

"By no means," said Brendon, quickly. "I should not think of doing such a thing. But I do say you were in that house after eleven."

"I was not," panted the old nobleman, savagely, and glared at his grandson with bloodshot eyes.

"You were," insisted Brendon; "there is no need to tell you how I got out of my bedroom unbeknown to Train, but I did. I came downstairs to see Mrs. Jersey at half-past eleven or thereabouts. I crept down the stairs and saw you standing in the light of the hall lamp. You had on a fur coat, and I recognized you by your unusual height. Also by the color of your coat. Some months before you wore that coat--it is a claret-colored one trimmed with sable--at a race-meeting. You were pointed out to me, and it was the first time I had set eyes on you. It was you in the hall."

"Did you see my face?" asked Derrington.

"No. But the coat and the height, and my knowledge that you were connected with Mrs. Jersey----"

"I wasn't connected with the jade," flashed out Derrington. "She came to me years ago and said she could prove the marriage. I tried to get out of her the name of the church where it took place. She refused to give it, and said if I did not pension her off she would go to your guardian, Ireland, and get him to help her to prove that you were legitimate. I hated your father, sir, and as to your mother----"

"No," cried Brendon, rising, "not a word against my mother."

"Only this, that she was not well-born. The daughter of a music-master. Not the wife for my son."

"She was his wife, however. Leave my mother's name out of it and go on, sir. You say that Mrs. Jersey could have proved the marriage."

"Yes," growled Derrington, rather cowed by Brendon's manner. "I did not wish her to do so, for the reasons I have stated."

"Very unworthy reasons," said George, coldly.

"You know nothing about it, sir," flamed out the old man, slapping his hand on the table. "My family is as old as the Conquest."

"As the future head of it I am glad to hear that."

Derrington looked as though he could have struck George, who simply made the remark to punish him for his insolence. "Never mind that," said he, controlling his temper. "I bought that house from your mother's father--the music-master," he sneered, "and gave it to Mrs. Jersey rent free. I also allowed her an annuity. She held her tongue for many years. Then she saw that confounded advertisement in the papers and threatened to tell you the truth on the chance of getting more money out of you when I was dead. I refused, and she then told me that she had written out a confession----"

"I thought as much," interrupted George. "But that has been stolen."

"By whom?"

"By the assassin."

"And who is the assassin?"

"I can't say. But if use is made of that confession either you or I will learn who killed Mrs. Jersey."

"Why you or I?"

"Because we alone can make use of the confession and pay money for it. The thing would be no use to any one else. But I now understand Mrs. Jersey's possession of the house. Were you in it on that night?"

Derrington looked at Brendon and hesitated. Then in strange contradiction to his usual manner, he turned away his face. "I decline to answer that question," he growled.

"But I saw you," insisted George.

"You saw--there is nothing more to be said. Hold your tongue."

"Willingly," said George, politely, "if you will silence Mrs. Ward."

"I have no influence with the woman."

"Oh, I think so. She wishes Dorothy to marry my cousin."

"Your cousin!"

"Can you deny the relationship?"

Derrington shirked the question by assenting to Brendon's request. "I may be able to make Mrs. Ward hold her tongue," he growled.

"I am quite sure she will do anything you tell her, in the hope that you will approve of a match between my cousin and her daughter."

"And you wish me to approve?" sneered the old man.

"As to that, it matters little. Mrs. Ward wishes Dorothy to be Lady Derrington and to have your very excellent income. Whether she marries me or Vane it comes to the same thing. I can't understand Mrs. Ward's dislike and mischief-making since that is the case."

"I can," snapped Derrington. "You are too clever for her, and Walter is a fool."

"Perhaps so. However, as I shall marry Dorothy it doesn't much matter."

"How can you marry her situated as you are?"

"I shall be George Vane some day, sir, and then Dorothy will be my wife."

"I believe she will," muttered Derrington, looking at the firm face of the young man. "Humph! So you intend to look for the certificate of marriage?"

"No, for the confession of Mrs. Jersey; afterward for the church which will be mentioned in that confession. The register will prove the marriage without the necessity of the certificate. I shouldn't wonder, though," added Brendon, "if Mrs. Jersey had stolen that from my mother when she died."

"Mrs. Jersey was jade enough for anything," said Derrington.

"Well, she is dead, and there is no use saying bad about her."

"How will you set to work to get that certificate?"

George wrinkled his brows. "There is only one way, sir. I must find out who killed Mrs. Jersey. If you can help me----"

"I can't. I know no more who murdered the woman than you do."

"Yet you were in the house on that night."

Derrington grew wrathful. "Don't talk rubbish, sir. If I was, I should not mind admitting the fact. As it is----" He broke off, gnawing his lip and avoiding Brendon's eyes.

That the old man knew something vital to the case Brendon was certain; that he would never confess what it was George felt perfectly sure. He abandoned the point, as he did not wish to make Lord Derrington incriminate himself, and he might do so. Brendon was satisfied that he had seen him in the house on the night when Mrs. Jersey was murdered.

"There is no more to be said," he remarked, taking up his hat.

"No. Except that I'll give you a fair chance of finding the church. Bawdsey shall watch you no more."

"Thank you. And Mrs. Ward?"

"She shall be made to hold her tongue."

George bowed. "I am obliged to you, sir. I now see that you intend to fight fairly. Good-day," and he departed.

Derrington stood where he was, in deep thought. Suddenly he struck a mighty blow on the desk. "By Heaven, he's a man after my own heart!" said the old scamp. "He shall be my heir, he shall marry that girl; but to exercise his wits he shall fight every inch of the way to attain his ambition."