“The Admiralty, sir, is now in control of the coast blockade, and the force patrolling the Channel is under the command of a very able and zealous officer. I am happy to say that running the blockade is becoming every night a more dangerous enterprise.”

“Lord, yes!” said Richmond. “It’s getting to be dangerous to put out to sea at all! I was overhauled myself last week by one of the sloops. What the commander thought I was doing, God knows! For two pins, I daresay, he’d have fired a shot across my bows. He wanted to know who I was, where I came from, where I was bound for, why I didn’t heave-to at once—which I thought I had done, but it turned out that I hadn’t obeyed his signal. The only wonder is I wasn’t put in irons.”

“A strict watch is being kept on all vessels, sir, and it is the duty of those engaged on the coastal guard to pay particular heed to any vessel that appears to be behaving suspiciously. Failing to obey a naval signal would naturally give rise to grave suspicion—though in your case, as I collect the officer soon realized, this was groundless.”

Having uttered this severe speech, the Lieutenant took his leave, punctiliously saluting, and then riding off without a word or a smile.

“Did you ever see such a pompous whipstraw?” said Richmond scornfully.

The Major looked meditatively at him. “Happen he’s nattered,” he drawled. “Seemingly, he doesn’t like you, lad.”

“I don’t think he likes any of us,” said Anthea. “That’s Grandpapa’s fault! He was odiously haughty to the poor man—and you may depend upon it that the Preventives have a pretty shrewd notion that all the brandy we have at the Place is run.”

“It is, is it?” said Hugo. “That would account for it, then.”

Chapter 8

There was not very much time left for as minute an inspection of Richmond’s boat as its owner would have liked. He would certainly have made the whole party late for dinner had he found a kindred spirit in Hugo; but Hugo, although he uttered suitable comments when the vessel’s various perfections were pointed out to him, knew little about boats or sailing, and was quite ready to leave the shore as soon as Anthea grew impatient. Richmond was again disappointed. It would have been unreasonable to have expected a man brought up in an inland town to be as knowledgeable as he was himself, but he detected a lack of enthusiasm in his cousin which was hard to understand, until Hugo disclosed that whenever he went to sea he was sick. Richmond, like most excellent sailors, was much inclined to think seasickness largely imaginative: no one need be ill who did not think he would be. He responded with a sympathy as spurious as Hugo’s admiration of the Seamew’s lines, and tried not to think the worse of him.

Hugo was not deceived. When he set off for home with Anthea, Richmond having left them to visit his boatman in Camber, he shook his head, saying sadly: “I’ve sunk myself beneath reproach.”

Anthea laughed. “Yes, but you may easily make a recover, you know! You have only to unbutton a trifle, and tell him about your adventures in the Peninsula, to win his worship,”

“Nay, I’m no figure for worship!”

“You are a soldier, however, and he’s army-mad. Do you dislike talking about your campaigns? I wished you would have told us more, but it seemed as if you didn’t care to.”

“I’ll tell him anything he wants to know, but it wouldn’t be the right thing for me to do, when your mother and his lordship don’t wish it.”

“I wondered if that was why you said so little. Grandpapa you need not heed; and Mama—well, I think you shouldn’t heed her either! Poor love, she would be quite dismayed if Richmond should succeed in winning Grandpapa over, but she would soon become reconciled, I promise you. She has the happiest disposition! For myself, I believe nothing else will do for Richmond. I wish it were not so, but we have none of us the right to push him into some occupation he doesn’t care for! You said that yourself, cousin!”

“Ay, so I did, but that’s just my opinion. If his lordship asked me for it, I’d give it to him, but he won’t, and I’ve no business to encourage Richmond to go against him, nor to offer advice that’s not wanted.” He smiled ruefully, and added: “It’s bad enough for him to have me foisted on to him without my meddling in what’s no concern of mine! A fine trimming he would give me, if I was to be so presumptuous, and small blame to him! From what I can see, Vincent is the only one he might listen to. If the lad wants someone to help him, why doesn’t he ask Vincent? Seemingly Vincent’s fond of him, so it’s likely he’d be willing to try what he could do.”

“Nothing is more unlikely!” replied Anthea. “Vincent, my dear Hugo, is fond of no one but himself. As for thinking that he would run the risk of offending Grandpapa, merely to oblige Richmond, he would stare at such a notion!”

He offered no comment on this, but said, after a short pause: “It queers me to know why Richmond’s so set on the army. I should have thought he’d be mad for the navy, with his liking for sailing.”

“Yes, so should I,” she agreed. “But it has always been the army with him, and if you ask him why he doesn’t wish to become a sailor he says that it’s a nonsensical question, and that being partial to sailing is not at all the same as wishing to embrace the navy as a profession.”

“Happen he’s right. Though to hear him talk about that boat of his—What did he call it? a yawl?”

“Yes, or a yacht, though she’s too big for a yacht, I think.”

“What did he want with a boat that size?” asked Hugo curiously. “I should have thought a little one he could handle himself would have been more to his taste.”

“I daresay it would, in some ways, but it wouldn’t have been to: Grandpapa’s taste,” she explained. “And I must do him the justice to own that if he gave Richmond a yacht at all he was right to give him one he couldn’t handle alone! I don’t mean he doesn’t know how, but you can never tell when he will take it into his head to run some foolish risk. You see, he enjoys doing dangerous things. You can’t think what agonies of apprehension we have had to suffer!”

“Ay, no doubt he’d be prime for any lark, and the more risk the better. It would be well if he were put into harness.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Yet sometimes I wonder—you see, he has never been in harness, as you call it. Papa died when he was very young, and Grandpapa has always indulged him so much that there has never been anyone to say him nay. He had two tutors, but only the first of them tried to make him obedient. His reign was consequently short, and his successor, speedily perceiving how things were, prudently acquiesced in all Grandpapa’s ideas. It was a fortunate circumstance that Richmond liked him well enough not to wish for another in his place, so he was never so naughty with him as he had been with Mr. Crewe. I’m afraid he didn’t learn very much, however!”

“Well, I was never bookish myself,” Hugo said. “It’s a pity the lad wasn’t bridled when he was a little chap, but there’s no need that I can see for you to be much worried. His lordship may indulge him, but he snaps out his orders to him just as he does to everyone else. I’d say myself that the lad is remarkably docile: there’s many that would kick in his shoes.”

“Richmond never argues with Grandpapa. He—yes, I suppose he is docile. He always does what Grandpapa wishes, and it is perfectly true, what Mama says: that he is sweet-tempered, never gets into a miff, or the sulks! Only—you may think he has yielded, but all the time, I believe, he means to have his own way, and, in general, he gets it!”

“Then maybe he’ll get his way, over this business of a pair of colours,” said Hugo, in a comfortably matter-of-fact voice.

She shook her head, “Not over that. He told me so himself. He said that there was nothing he could do or say to make Grandpapa change his mind. I wish—” She stopped, surprised and a little vexed to find herself talking so unguardedly to one who was a stranger. “But I must not run on! If we don’t make haste, cousin, we shall have a peal rung over us for being late for dinner!”

She urged her mare into a canter, and the Major followed suit, saying, however: “Ay, so we shall. What’s more, there’s no knowing but what I might repeat what you say to me.”

She blushed vividly. “Oh—! No, I’m persuaded you would not!”

“You can’t tell that. If I was to have a fit of gabbing—”

“I should be much astonished!” she retorted. “You are not precisely garrulous, you know!”

“The thing is that I have to mind my tongue,” he explained. “It’s what you might call a handicap to conversation.”

“Ah, to be sure! How stupid of me! But you have been minding it so well that I must be forgiven for not remembering how hard it is for you to speak the King’s English!”

“Ay!” he said, with simple pride. “I have and-all, haven’t I? I was taking pains, you see.”

They had reached one of the gates that led into the park, and she waited for him to open it for her, eyeing him with a little speculation and a good deal of amusement. “Just as you did when you first arrived! You managed beautifully, and for such a long time, too! You deserve the greatest credit, for, I assure you, no one would have guessed you came from Yorkshire until we were halfway through dinner, when you suffered a sudden relapse—and grew rapidly worse.”

He heaved a dejected sigh. “Came all-a-bits, didn’t I? It’s that road with me when I’m scared.”

“But you contrived to conceal that from us,” said Anthea encouragingly. “You didn’t look to be in the least scared.”