A Strange Likeness (15 page)

Alan, on hearing this, swung round, and Sir Hart saw his face for the first time.

He had hoped to spring a surprise, but even Ned could not have anticipated the powerful effect which their meeting had on both his friend and his grandfather. Sir Hart's face turned grey. He staggered and put out his hand, as though to ward Alan off. For the first time he looked all of his nearly eighty years.

Stacy, who had been watching closely, almost fear
fully, sprang forward and took the old man's arm. ‘Lean on me, sir.'

Alan was equally affected. His face was as white as paper. He moved forward to help Stacy with Sir Hart.

Sir Hart stood erect again and waved them both away.

‘I'm sorry, sir,' he said to Alan, with the punctilious courtesy which was so much a part of him. ‘Forgive me for being so discomposed. Age sometimes has its penalties. I can only say that my home is always open to Ned's friends.'

He added, almost in a whisper, ‘You are very like him. I hope to offer you a better welcome later.'

Uncharacteristically Alan did not speak, merely bowed. Sir Hart refused all offers to help him from the room. After the door had closed behind him Alan turned furiously on Ned.

‘You did not inform him of the likeness! You are even more stupidly tactless than I thought you were. I hope that you told him that I am from Australia.'

‘No need to be huffy, old fellow!' began Ned.

Alan ignored him and rounded on Eleanor. ‘I am surprised that you didn't think to forewarn the old man, but I suppose that Ned suborned you.'

Stacy's eyes widened. Had the occasion not been so serious he would have laughed. He could quite see why Eleanor's friend frightened her. He radiated a strength and power missing from most of the young men in their circle.

Ned continued to defend himself until the butler's arrival to arrange the disposal of Alan's belongings lightened the situation a little. Alan was taken upstairs to his room, leaving Ned to try to justify his failed prank to a shocked Stacy and a remorseful Eleanor.

When he had run down, Stacy said severely, ‘Your
friend was quite right, Ned. You should have warned Sir Hart. Tactless is a kind word. Do you never think what you are doing?'

‘Oh, nobody's happy these days until they've had a go at me,' exclaimed Ned ungraciously. ‘How was I to know that the old man would take it like that? He knows Alan comes from Australia, so there's nothing in it. Dead bores, the lot of you.'

He stalked away from them both to sulk in his room.

 

Alan had left London with all his affairs in order. He brought Gurney with him to be his valet, driver and friend.

The journey from the agrarian south to the harsh, industrial Midlands and the North had interested him profoundly. He'd wanted to leave the train and explore the exciting new world which ran alongside the track, but which his fellow passengers had dismissed without so much as a glance.

His passion for everything mechanical, which worked and moved, and which had taken him on to the railway line in London, had made him want to visit the clanging workshops where the future was being forged. The half-formed desire to settle in England and become involved in these developments had been reinforced by every mile he travelled.

South Yorkshire was different again, once he had left Bradford and its mills behind. He'd made a mental note to explore them once he was settled at Temple Hatton, which he knew was in the wild country north of the new mill towns. Though Temple Hatton village, a mile or so beyond Brinkley—another new mill town—was tiny and untouched by time.

Temple Hatton House had been a shock. Its size and
splendour were beyond his wildest expectations and its magnificence was enhanced by the untamed beauty of the moors among which it was set. It was quite different from his mother's inheritance of Essendene which was a charmingly small Palladian villa surrounded by manicured lawns and gardens. Temple Hatton had been built in the sixteenth century and obviously needed an army of servants to run it.

He had wondered that Ned could be so indifferent to its charms, and so reluctant to return to it from London. Eleanor's feelings were different. She had told him that she possessed no real wish to live permanently in London and had been longing to return home ever since she had left it two years earlier.

Not even her enthusiasm had prepared him for the reality of it. He could, for the first time, understand why Frank and his friends, for all their love of London, were tied to the country, and neglected the wider world of industry and commerce. If he possessed this, why would he ever want anything else?

In an odd way it had almost been like coming home to see it.

He had ordered Gurney to stop the chaise when the House came into view. He had alighted and stood for a time admiring it. The air was keener and sharper than in the South, and when he had re-entered the chaise he'd lowered the window panel to give him a better view of the changing beauty of the moors, bright under the golden sun.

This happy mood had stayed with him until he'd reached the house and seen Eleanor, who had never been out of his thoughts, standing by a sturdy young man who must be the Stacy Trent of whom she had spoken. Ned had run at him, pleasure at his arrival shining on his face.
Eleanor had smiled a welcome and introduced the boy beside her. He had greeted Alan with wary eyes, but with genuine pleasure. They had gone arm-in-arm into the House, Gurney behind, carrying his luggage.

Once inside the House he had seen more glories. He had drawn in his breath at the splendour of it, from the great table to the glorious ceiling—and then everything had changed, and the day had darkened in a trice.

The big door at the far end of the room had opened to let in an old man. He had turned and seen the old man—and the old man had seen him.

He had known at once that his appearance had shocked the old man beyond belief—but that was not all. The old man had shocked him. For it was his father grown very old whom he saw before him. He possessed the same bright blue eyes, the same silver hair, and even the expression on Sir Hart's face, before shock changed it, had been his father's.

Had it not been for the presence of Eleanor and Stacy he would have struck Ned for not telling his grandfather of the likeness. His own shock was nothing: he was young and resilient. He had thought that his resemblance to Ned was a mere accident, but he could think that no longer. There must be a link, but what that link might be he dared not conjecture.

Briefly he had remembered Frank Gresham's hidden warning of what a visit to Temple Hatton might bring. A warning which he had airily dismissed. He could no longer dismiss it.

Now he followed the butler upstairs, his mind whirling, his memory providing the possibility of a link. His own face looked down on him from the family portraits on the walls of the long gallery at the top of the stairs—and he knew why he had frequently found Almeria watching
him closely, and he half wished that he had never come to this place of secrets—until he thought of Eleanor.

 

Sir Hart did not come down for tea. Before that Stacy and Eleanor took Alan on a tour of the House. Ned sulked in his room. Alan liked Stacy; he thought that he had sense. He obviously cared for Eleanor, but made it plain to Alan that his affections were fixed elsewhere.

‘I have met this young lady,' he told him. ‘Her name is Jane Chalmers and she will be visiting Temple Hatton shortly. I hope that you will still be here so that I may introduce you to her.'

Ned came in for tea. ‘I've news for you,' he told Alan brightly, in a bid to mend bridges. ‘Sir Hart has already assigned two of his best horses for your use. After tea we ought to visit the stables so that you can judge whether they are suitable.'

Eleanor's relief was plain. Alan took her arm when, tea over, Ned walked them to the stables, near to the forge where a blacksmith was working on a shoe. To Ned's surprise—and delight—Alan threw off his splendid coat, saying, ‘I really need some exercise; I have been sitting too long at a desk.'

To the astonished smith he said, ‘May I help?' before borrowing a leather apron from him and finishing the shoe. Nat Swain glowered at him from the background: kitchen gossip already had it that this upstart from Australia was sweet on Miss Eleanor and that she was sweet on him.

‘I worked for some months in the forge belonging to my father,' Alan explained, once he had finished with the shoe and was putting on his fine coat again. ‘We had horses to care for, as well as bullocks which we used for draught.'

Stacy could see why he had captivated Eleanor: his mixture of intellect and athleticism was rare and exciting. There was also an unselfconsciousness about him, as though he cared little for what others thought of him so long as he was true to himself.

Sir Hart reappeared for dinner. Alan had already met Eleanor's mother. A large company sat down at table—which was commonplace for Temple Hatton, Sir Hart sat at the head, and, as well as the Hatton family, Robert Harshaw and two other Yorkshire landowners and their wives were present.

Robert Harshaw glared at Alan, partly because he had Ned's face and partly because he immediately sensed a rival for Eleanor, over whom he had long mooned.

The dinner table was as splendid as the Great Hall itself. Ned pointed out to Alan the initials of the Hall's builder, Sir Osgarthorpe Hatton, which appeared everywhere.

‘We Hattons used to go in for the most splendid names,' he whispered. ‘Mine's a bit of a comedown, I must say.'

The dinner service was matchless in green and gold. It had been made for Catherine the Great but had never been paid for, and had been purchased by Sir Beauchamp Hatton, Sir Hart's father, for a song—or a relative song, as Stacy would say later. The silver wine cooler was big enough to bath a small calf in.

Dinner began silently, until Sir Hart turned to Ned and said coldly, ‘You at least had the grace, Ned, to tell me that your friend is of similar height and build to yourself. You also said that he was a good horseman and kind to his cattle. Meeting him, however, I find that he is broader and heavier than you are, and accordingly one of the two horses I have assigned to him is not suitable. I have there
fore instructed Hargreaves to make Abdul ready for you, Mr Dilhorne, whenever you wish to use him—which I hope will be soon.'

When Sir Hart finished speaking everyone stopped eating to stare at him. Artless Ned exclaimed, ‘Why, sir, no one rides Abdul—except yourself, of course!'

Sir Hart favoured Ned with a basilisk stare. ‘Do I understand that you are instructing me in the disposal of my cattle, Ned? Any young man whom the blacksmith informs me can finish a shoe as well as, if not better than he can, is more than welcome to ride the pick of my stable.'

‘Finish a shoe?' queried Robert Harshaw loftily. ‘You mean that you are a blacksmith by trade, Dilhorne?' His sneer was palpable.

‘Oh, I wouldn't make that claim,' replied Alan cheerfully. ‘But I spent some time in the smithy when I cared for the horses which hauled my father's wagons in Sydney. It was expected of me, sir,' he explained to Sir Hart. ‘My father made my twin brother and myself work through many of the junior positions in his various business ventures.'

‘A wise decision,' said Sir Hart heavily. ‘And a practice which I wish had followed with your father and yourself, Ned.'

‘Well, I don't,' said Ned frankly. ‘It's bad enough trying to follow Shotton about without trying to be a stable-hand and a smith as well. I don't know how you stood it, Alan, as I've said before.'

‘Oh, with my father easier to stand it than not. Besides, I've often found the knowledge I gained useful. Few people can put you down if they know that you've been through the mill yourself. Better than that, it's harder to cheat someone who knows exactly what it is he's dealing with from practice rather than theory.'

Several of the older hands nodded at this. Ned's disbelief was palpable. Stacy, who was sitting beside Eleanor, said, ‘I've decided to save your new friend from Jane's mama. He may look like Ned, but good gracious, he could not be more different!'

Eleanor rewarded him with a happy smile. Her delight that her grandfather, and the general company, approved of Alan made her feel warm all over. Sir Hart continued to draw Alan out. He had seldom before shown such interest in a guest.

‘So, you are a man of action, sir, as I suppose your father was?'

‘Well, as to that, Sir Hart, my father has many gifts. He is quite my despair in the variety of his interests, both of the mind and the body. My brother Tom and I decided long ago that while we might try to emulate him we could not equal him—but at least we could give him a run for his money.'

His smile embraced the table. ‘The Patriarch is a great man,' he finished simply.

Sir Hart nodded and spoke of other things. After the women had left he called Alan over to sit by him, Stacy on his other side.

‘Ned tells me that my sister Almeria thinks that you may be good for him, and, meeting you, I think that she may be right. He also tells me that your mother is the late Sir John Waring's niece. I knew him a little when we were both in government. I never knew your grandfather, Frederick, though. He lost his money, I understand, and took up a government clerkship in New South Wales, and died quite soon after that.'

Alan bowed. No need to tell Sir Hart of Fred Waring's dreadful end. ‘A lesson in not letting drink take you by the throat,' his father had said once. He was amused that
Sir Hart was being so delicate about his father, and who or what he had been.

The old man deserved to be told the truth—or a little of it. He must wish to know how a Waring of Essendene had come to be the wife and mother of Australian businessmen, and exactly who, and what, Mr Alan Dilhorne's father was—and had been.

He looked the assembled men in the eye, for they were listening avidly while Sir Hart questioned him.