Show Dog The Charmed Life And Trying Times Of A

Nearperfect Purebred Josh Dean download

https://ebookbell.com/product/show-dog-the-charmed-life-and-
trying-times-of-a-nearperfect-purebred-josh-dean-46778068

Explore and download more ebooks at ebookbell.com

Here are some recommended products that we believe you will be
interested in. You can click the link to download.

Fizz And The Show Dog Jewel Thief Gibbes Lesley

https://ebookbell.com/product/fizz-and-the-show-dog-jewel-thief-
gibbes-lesley-9366764

The Dog Show

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-dog-show-2572456

Death And The Dog Show College Town Cozy Mystery 4 Susan Harper

https://ebookbell.com/product/death-and-the-dog-show-college-town-
cozy-mystery-4-susan-harper-36319676

If I Ran The Dog Show Tish Rabe Aristides Ruiz Joe Mathieu

https://ebookbell.com/product/if-i-ran-the-dog-show-tish-rabe-
aristides-ruiz-joe-mathieu-43273600
If I Ran The Dog Show Dr Seuss Tish Rabe Seuss Rabe Tish

https://ebookbell.com/product/if-i-ran-the-dog-show-dr-seuss-tish-
rabe-seuss-rabe-tish-33387474

The Mystery At The Dog Show Gertrude Chandler Warner

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-mystery-at-the-dog-show-gertrude-
chandler-warner-37610234

Clifford The Big Red Dog The Showandtell Surprise

https://ebookbell.com/product/clifford-the-big-red-dog-the-
showandtell-surprise-2574774

The Mystery At The Dog Show Gertrude Chandler Warner

https://ebookbell.com/product/the-mystery-at-the-dog-show-gertrude-
chandler-warner-230763230

Boxcar Children 035 The Mystery At The Dog Show Gertrude Chandler
Warner

https://ebookbell.com/product/boxcar-children-035-the-mystery-at-the-
dog-show-gertrude-chandler-warner-50737750
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
unfortunately happened to sprain his wrist so severely that it would
be impossible for him to hold a pen for some time to come.
The note made no mention of Ethel, purposely leaving it an open
question whether, before quitting home, Launce had, or had not,
confided to his father the fact of his engagement.
Later in the day Mr. Keymer senior made it his business to call on
his cousin, the lawyer’s clerk. To him he said: “I have reason to
believe that the Miss Thursbys of Vale View have lost the greater
part, if not the whole, of their fortune. What I want you to do is, to
keep your eyes and ears open and pick up whatever scraps of
information may come in your way tending to prove either the truth
or falsity of the rumour which has reached me.”
The brewer argued with himself that if the news conveyed by the
letter which Launce had read should prove to be correct, the sisters
would go to his cousin’s employer, as their local man of business,
and seek his advice in the matter—which, some few days later, was
precisely what they did.
 CHAPTER XIII.
CAPTAIN VERINDER AND HIS VISITOR

While the events bearing on the life-story of Ethel Thursby, as

narrated in the last few chapters, were duly working themselves out,
certain other events destined to exercise an important influence on
her future, the chief factors in which were two people of whose very
existence she was unaware, were in process of evolution.
It was eleven o’clock on a bright May morning, and Captain
Verinder, who had only lately risen and had but just finished his
breakfast, which this morning had consisted of nothing more
substantial than a tumbler of rum and milk, was engaged in a rueful
examination of the pockets of the suit of clothes he had been
wearing the previous evening.
“Not a stiver more,” he said, with a grimace, as he tossed his
waistcoat across the room; and with that he turned and counted for
the second time the little pile of silver and coppers which he had
previously extracted from his pockets and placed on the chimney-
piece. “Seven shillings and elevenpence-ha’penny, all told,” he
muttered; “and there’s seventeen days yet to be got through before
the end of the month.”
It was not the first time by many that he had found himself
“cornered,” but the process became none the pleasanter through
repetition.
He turned away with a shrug, and began to charge his
meerschaum with the strong tobacco he was in the habit of
smoking.
 “When we find ourselves in a hole of our own digging, or in a
scrape, the result of our own folly, we have a way of telling
ourselves that the truest philosophy is to grin and bear it. Of course
there’s nothing else to be done, but it’s only cold pudding at the
best.” He spoke aloud as he had a way of doing when alone.
“Verinder, my dear boy, if there was ever any man who sold himself
cheap, you were that one last night. Let us hope you will take the
lesson to heart, and not carry your nose quite so high in the air in
time to come.”
Having lighted his pipe, he drew his shabby dressing-gown about
him and seated himself in a somewhat dilapidated easy-chair by his
open window in Tilney Street, Soho—a narrow thoroughfare of tall,
old-fashioned houses that had seen better days.
For anything beyond a small assured income of eighty pounds a
year, Captain Verinder had to trust to the exercise of his wits. At this
time he was a man of sixty, rather below the medium height, but still
slim and upright for his years, and with something that might be
termed semi-military in his appearance and carriage. The mental
exercise in question took the form of billiards. Although far from
being a fine player, his natural aptitude for the game had been
cultivated by long practice, till he had attained a degree of
proficiency at it which he found to answer his purpose very well
indeed. That purpose was neither more nor less than to haunt the
public rooms within a wide radius of his lodgings, on the lookout for
those simpletons with more money than sense, of whom there is an
unfailing supply in big cities, who can only be convinced at the
expense of their pocket that in the art of billiard-playing they have
not yet got beyond their apprenticeship. The Captain regarded it as
a very poor week indeed at the end of which he did not find himself
in pocket to the extent of fifty shillings, or three pounds—or rather,
would have found himself that sum in pocket but for his ineradicable
propensity for treating himself and others to innumerable “drinks”
and cigars. When perfectly sober, he was one of the stingiest of
mortals, but after his third glass he began to thaw, and, a little later,
the veriest stranger would have been welcome to share his last
shilling. It is a by no means uncommon trait.
On the evening of the day prior to the one with which we are now
concerned, the Captain, in the course of his rounds, had
encountered a sheep-faced, but gentlemanly-looking young fellow, in
whom he thought he saw an easy prey.
What, then, was his rage and amazement when at the end of the
evening the Captain’s eyes opened to the fact that it was a case of
the biter being bitten, and that the sheep-faced provincial, instead of
being the greenhorn he looked, was, in reality, a graduate in the
same school as himself.
Small wonder, then, was it that his thoughts this morning were
bitter, when, after emptying his pockets, he realised that the
absurdly inadequate sum of seven and elevenpence-halfpenny was
all that was left him to exist on till the next quarterly payment of his
income should fall due, which would not be till between a fortnight
and three weeks hence.

He was still smoking moodily when he heard his landlady’s

shuffling footsteps on the stairs, and, a moment later, her head was
protruded into the room. “If you please, Captain, here’s a lady
asking for you,” said Mrs. Rapp, a Londoner born and bred.
“A lady asking for me? Impossible!” exclaimed the Captain as he
started to his feet.
“Not at all impossible, Uncle Augustus,” said a full rich voice, and
thereupon, following close upon the heels of Mrs. Rapp, there
advanced into the room a tall and stately female figure, attired in
black. Pausing in the middle of the floor, she raised the veil which
had hitherto partially shrouded her features.
The captain stared for a moment or two, and then from his lips
broke the one word, “Giovanna!”
“Yes, it is I—your niece Giovanna—come all the way from Italy to
see you.”
 Mrs. Rapp discreetly withdrew.
Notwithstanding her years, which now numbered not far short of
forty, Giovanna was still a very handsome woman, with a large and
generous style of beauty which would have made her a striking
figure anywhere. Although she called the Captain uncle, there was
no blood relationship between the two, her mother having been
merely Augustus Verinder’s stepsister by a previous marriage. They
had never met but once before, when the Captain had spent a
month at the osteria of Giuseppe Rispani, Giovanna being at that
time a girl of sixteen. Ever since her desertion of her husband in
America she had passed as a widow—la Signora Alessandro. She had
not been without offers of marriage meanwhile, but had not seen
her way to accept any of them. As to whether her husband was alive
or dead, she had no knowledge.
Giuseppe Rispani had recently died, and Vanna, having realised
the small fortune bequeathed her by him, had now come to England,
which she had long wished to visit.
In the course of the confidential talk that ensued between Vanna
and her uncle she was induced by the latter to relate to him all
about her marriage, the details of which were quite new to him.
She began by telling him of the arrival of the young Englishman,
Mr. Alexander, at Catanzaro; of his long stay at the osteria of the
Golden Fig; of the coming of two other Englishmen, one of whom
proved to be the father of Mr. Alexander, and of their departure next
day. Then she proceeded to recount how the young Englishman
proposed to her, how she accepted him, and how she did not learn
till her marriage-day that her husband’s full name was John
Alexander Clare. She made no mention of her father’s discovery by
means of the peephole in the ceiling, but simply said, “I knew before
my marriage that my husband’s father, on the occasion of his visit,
had given him six thousand pounds in English money.” Then she
went on to tell of the departure of her husband and herself for
America, of the death of their child; and of their subsequent
separation, which she made out to have been a matter of mutual
arrangement; and wound up by saying, “From that day to this I have
heard no tidings of my husband.”
“Neither, I’ll wager, have you ever made any effort to find out who
the father was that could afford to give his son six thousand pounds
in order to get rid of him,” remarked the Captain when she had
come to the end of her narrative.
“No. What business was it of mine?” demanded Vanna with a
stare.
“Ah, that’s just the point which you have never thought it worth
your while to test. Yet, who can say that it might not have proved to
be very much your business indeed?”
Then to himself he added: “This seems to me a little matter which
may be worth inquiring into. But, good gracious! to think that there
should be such imbeciles in the world as this niece of mine!”
 CHAPTER XIV.
THE CAPTAIN TAKES A LITTLE JOURNEY

The more Captain Verinder turned over in his mind the chief points
of the story told him by his niece, the more convinced he became
that it was indeed, as he had remarked to himself at the time, a
matter worth inquiring into.
The Captain, when once he had made up his mind to any
particular course of action, was not a man to let the grass grow
under his feet. His first proceeding was to seek out a certain billiard-
room acquaintance of the name of Tring—a man who had got
through two fortunes in his time and was now reduced to earning a
scanty livelihood by literary hackwork at the British Museum. Having
given him the particulars of the information he required, the Captain
met him by appointment a couple of days later.
“The only person I can find,” said Tring, “of the name specified by
you that seems likely to answer to your requirements, is a certain Sir
Gilbert Clare, of Withington Chase, Hertfordshire, the representative
of one of the oldest titles in the kingdom.”
Captain Verinder, having taken a note of the name and address in
his pocket-book and paid the other for his trouble, went his way. His
next step, the following morning, was to call on Giovanna with a
request for the loan of ten pounds.
“’Tis not for myself I ask it,” he said with one of the grandiloquent
airs in which he sometimes indulged. “It will be expended to the last
farthing in your service, my dear. I refrain from saying more at
present, save that in the course of a few days I hope to be the
bearer of news that will—well, that will astonish you very
considerably.”
Vanna raised no objection to lending her uncle the amount he
asked for, although by this time she had seen enough of him to feel
pretty sure that she would never see a shilling of it back.
In the course of the following day Captain Verinder booked himself
by train to Mapleford, which station he had ascertained to be the
nearest to the point he was bound for. His object was to try to
discover whether the John Alexander Clare whom his niece had
married so many years before was in any way related to, or
connected with, Sir Gilbert Clare of Withington Chase.
The Captain having located himself at the best hotel, and partaken
of a dinner such as had been altogether beyond his means for a long
time past, proceeded to take a quiet stroll about the little town,
which, however, had nothing of interest to offer for his inspection.
Later on he found his way into the coffee-room of the hotel, which
place, as he had expected it would, drew to itself in the course of
the evening a round dozen or more of the better class of
tradespeople and others, all of whom, it was evident, were in the
habit of frequently meeting there. Here he found no difficulty in
ascertaining everything about Sir Gilbert that it concerned him to
know. Thus, he learnt that Sir Gilbert’s son by his first marriage had
left England, after a quarrel with his father, more than twenty years
before, and that, a few years later, news had come to hand that he
had lost his life through some accident abroad, only, nobody seemed
to know either the nature of the accident in question, or where it
had happened. Further, the Captain learnt that the second Lady
Clare and her three sons were all dead, and that Sir Gilbert, a
broken, childless old man of seventy-four, was living at the Chase in
a seclusion that was rarely broken by any visitor from the outside
world.
It was on a Friday that the Captain went down to Mapleford, and
the following Monday saw him back in town. He had stayed in the
country over Sunday in order that he might be present at morning
service at the church, just beyond the precincts of the Chase, which
Sir Gilbert made a point of attending, and where several generations
of his progenitors were buried.
The Captain wanted to see for himself what kind of man Sir Gilbert
was. The latter arrived in due course, alone and on foot, and from
the place where he sat Verinder had an unimpeded view of him.
When service was over the Captain took a stroll round the church,
pausing to look at every monument and to read every inscription
commemorative of dead and gone members of the Clare family. One
inscription, and one only, had any special interest for him. It was
that which recorded the death of “John Alexander Clare, eldest son
of Sir Gilbert Clare, who was accidentally killed abroad” on such and
such a date. “I would wager a hundred pound note to a fiver—if I
had one,” said the Captain with emphasis, “that this tablet refers to
Vanna’s husband and to no one else. It’s altogether out of the
question that there should have been two John Alexander Clares
living at the same time. And to think that the young man has been
dead for seventeen years and that his widow has known nothing
about it? What a fortunate thing it is for her that she has got a man
of the world like me at her back! From this day forward her interests
and mine are identical.”
A jubilant man was Captain Verinder when he went back to
London next day.
About midday on Tuesday he called on Giovanna at the boarding-
house—one largely frequented by foreigners—at which she had
located herself for the time being. That the news of which he was
the bearer was a great surprise to her hardly needs to be stated. It
was both a surprise and a shock, for although she had never really
cared for Alec as a wife should care for her husband, and had left
him of her own accord and under most cruel circumstances, through
all the years which had intervened since then his image had been
often in her thoughts, but it was as a man still living and in the
prime of life that he had dwelt in her memory. Consequently, to be
told suddenly that he had met with a violent death seventeen years
before, which pointed to a time almost immediately after her
desertion of him, was enough to thrill her through every fibre of her
being.
Well, whatever uncertainty she might heretofore have felt with
regard to her husband’s fate had no longer any room for existence.
She had been a widow all these years without knowing it.
Before long the Captain went on to speak of Sir Gilbert, and to
detail all that he had heard in reference to him. He had always been
rather clever as an amateur sketcher, and could catch a likeness
better than most people, and he now took pencil and paper and with
a few bold strokes drew an outline portrait of the baronet. Pushing it
across the table to Vanna, he said: “Does that in any way resemble
the English milor who travelled all the way to Catanzaro to see the
Mr. John Alexander who became your husband a little later?”
“Yes, that is the man,” said Vanna quietly when she had examined
the sketch.
“Ah; I thought as much,” remarked her uncle drily.
“And now that you have found out all this about Sir Gilbert Clare,
in what way does it, or can it, affect me?” queried Vanna presently.
The Captain regarded her with a pitying smile, as he might a child
who had asked him some utterly preposterous question.
“Cannot you see that the fact of your father-in-law being a rich
and childless man may be made—I say made—to affect your
fortunes very materially—very materially indeed? That is,” he added
a moment after, “if you only know how to put the knowledge thus
acquired to a practical use.”
Giovanna shook her head. It was evident that she could not in the
least comprehend what her uncle was driving at.
The Captain’s shoulders went up nearly to his ears. “What a very
fortunate thing it is, my dear, that at such an important crisis of your
life you have by your side a thorough man of the world like myself—
and one so completely devoted to your interests! Were you my own
child I could not entertain a greater regard and affection for you
than I do.”
 Vanna sat grandly unmoved, her statuesque features betraying no
slightest trace of emotion.
“As cold as a marble goddess,” muttered the Captain under his
breath as he produced his cigar case, for he was a man who
regarded smoking as one of the necessaries of existence.
For a little space he smoked in silence; then all at once he said, as
if it were an echo of some thought he had been revolving in his
mind: “What a pity, what an enormous pity it is, that your child did
not live till now!”
A sudden spasm, gone almost as soon as it had come, contracted
the muscles of Vanna’s face; her teeth bit hard into her underlip; but
never a word answered she.
“Come,” said the Captain a few minutes later; “put on your things
and let us go for a stroll in the Park. It’s a lovely afternoon, and
there will be no end of swells in the Row.”
Nothing loth was Giovanna to comply. As yet she had seen hardly
anything of London, and what she had seen had not impressed her
over favourably. It had been one of the dreams of her life to see
Hyde Park in the height of the season, and now her dream was
about to be fulfilled. In ten minutes she was ready to set out.
The Captain chartered a hansom—it was the first time his niece
had been in one—telling the driver to take his time and go by way of
Regent Street and Piccadilly. Here at length was London as Vanna
had imagined it to be.
As the Captain had prophesied, the Row was crowded. They
strolled about for a while in the warm sunshine, and then found a
couple of chairs whence they could take in the varied features of the
passing show at their leisure. A proud man was Captain Verinder
that day. In all that gay and fashionable throng there were not, in
his opinion, more than three or four women who in point of looks
were fit to be matched with the one by his side—that is to say (to
compare one thing with another), if a rose may be considered to be
in the perfection of its beauty when it is fully blown, and not when it
is merely a blushing bud of undeveloped possibilities. Although
nearing her fortieth birthday, Giovanna—unlike the majority of her
countrywomen, who age early—was remarkably young-looking for
her years. But then she was English on her mother’s side, and that
may have had something to do with the matter. She was wearing a
charming half-mourning costume, with bonnet to match, which she
had bought since her arrival in London. Many were the glances of
admiration of which she was the recipient, many the heads that
were turned for a second look at her tall figure, so stately and yet so
graceful, with her pale classic features, clear-cut as some antique
gem, as she threaded her way through the crowd with the proud
composed air of one “to the manner born.” Well might Captain
Verinder feel proud of his charge.
“Do you see that blasé-looking man driving that pair of splendid
chestnuts?” he said to Vanna a few minutes after they had sat down.
“He is Lord Elvaston, one of the greatest roués about town. He used
to know me well enough before he came into his fortune a score of
years ago, when he was not above borrowing a five-pound note
from anybody who would lend him one. Now, of course, he passes
me as if he had never set eyes on me in his life. But such is the way
of the world, more especially of the world of fashion.”
Then a few minutes later, “Note that painted woman in the too
palpable wig being driven slowly past in her yellow chariot. That is
Lady Anne Baxendale. Her father was only a country rector on three
hundred a year. The rectory grounds adjoined those of the house
where I was born. Your mother, when a girl, and little Nan Cotsmore
were great friends. I’ve seen them play skipping-rope by the hour
together.”
But Verinder had another motive in view in thus introducing his
niece to one of the most striking spectacles which the metropolis has
to offer for the delectation of the strangers within its gates. He
wanted to excite in her bosom a feeling which should be
compounded in about equal measure of envy and discontent—envy
of those who, although, for the passing hour, she seemed as one of
themselves, were yet as far removed from her by their wealth and
position as if she and they were inhabitants of two totally different
spheres (which, indeed, in one sense, they were); and discontent
with the humble and prosaic surroundings of her own obscure
existence. If he had read Giovanna aright, it seemed to him that it
ought not to be a difficult matter to foment within her the very
undesirable sentiments in question.
“Are you sorry, my dear, that I brought you here this afternoon?”
he asked, after a longer pause than common.
“Sorry! oh no, how could I be? It is a beautiful sight. Nay, it is
more than beautiful, it is magnificent. This is London as I used to
dream of it.”
“But never, I’ll wager, with any thought that it might possibly one
day become a reality to you.”
“A reality, you mean, as far as it can become such to one who, like
myself, is a mere looker-on.”
“When I spoke of its becoming a reality to you, I did not mean
merely as a spectator, but as an actor in the show—a recognised
actor in it and acknowledged as one of themselves by the ‘smartest’
people here.”
Giovanna turned two deep wondering eyes on the Captain.
“You talk in riddles, Uncle,” she said quietly.
“You seem to forget, my dear—or rather, perhaps, I ought to say
that you fail sufficiently to realise in your thoughts—the position
which is, or ought to be, yours by right of your marriage with the
late John Alexander Clare. You are the widow of the heir of
Withington Chase, the daughter-in-law of a wealthy baronet of
ancient family. As such, your proper position is there—there, as one
of the glittering throng passing and repassing before our eyes. You
ought to be riding in your own brougham or barouche, with your
own coachman and footman. You ought to be wearing the family
diamonds—who has so much right to them as you?—and where is
there another woman who would show them off to better
advantage? You ought to have your own little establishment in town,
with your own servants—say, a flat of six or seven rooms
somewhere in Belgravia, where you could invite your old uncle to
come and see you as often as you might feel inclined for his
company. I repeat, that all these things ought of right to be yours.”
Giovanna’s nostrils dilated, a hard cold glitter came into her eyes,
her bosom began to rise and fall more quickly than it was wont to
do; there was a chord in her somewhat lymphatic nature which
responded to her uncle’s words. Her own diamonds, her own
carriage, her own establishment in London, and, above all, to be
transformed from a nobody into a Somebody, and to have the great
world of rank and fashion recognise her as one of themselves! Oh, it
was too much! The vision was too dazzling. A low cry, half of pain,
half of pleasure, broke from her. The Captain was watching her out
of a corner of his eye. But presently a chill struck her and her face
blanched a little. Turning to Verinder, she said:
“But you seem to have forgotten, Uncle, that Sir Gilbert Clare does
not so much as know of my existence—nay, the chances are that he
was not even aware that his son was ever married.”
“But I mean him to be made aware both of one fact and the other
before he is very much older,” responded the Captain with a sinister
smile. “Ah! a spot or two of rain. We had better be moving.” Then,
as they rose: “There is only one course open to us, Vanna mia,” he
whispered meaningly, “and that is, to find Sir Gilbert an heir.”
 CHAPTER XV.
CONSPIRATORS THREE

When Captain Verinder enunciated the startling statement with

which the last chapter concludes, he had already conceived a certain
scheme in his brain, which, in the course of next day, he took the
first steps towards reducing to practice, but without saying a word to
his niece of his intentions.
Many years before, Giovanna’s only brother, Luigi Rispani, had
come to London by way of advancing his fortunes. He was energetic
and persevering, with a gift for languages, and after a time he
obtained the post of foreign correspondent in a city house of
business. A little later he married a country-woman of his own, and
then, after a few years, both he and his wife died, leaving one son
behind them who was named after his father. This son was now
about twenty years old, a dark-eyed, good-looking, quick-witted
young fellow, but having within him the germs of certain scampish
propensities, which, up till now, had only been able to develop
themselves after a weak and tentative fashion. Luigi earned his living
in part as drawing-master to a number of cheap suburban boarding-
schools, and in part, when his other duties were over for the day, by
acting as check-taker at one of the West End theatres.
The Captain and the elder Rispani had been on fairly intimate
terms, and after the latter’s death he had never altogether lost sight
of the lad. Sometimes, when he had been more than usually lucky at
billiards, he would look up young Luigi and treat him to a dinner of
four or five courses at some foreign restaurant in the neighbourhood
of Leicester Square, and at parting press a couple of half-crowns into
his unreluctant palm. Verinder, who by long habit had become a
tolerably shrewd reader of character, had long ago summed up in his
mind the most salient characteristics of Luigi Rispani, and he now
said to himself, with a pleasant sense of elation: “Here is the very
tool I need ready to my hand. If I were to search London round I
could not find one that would suit my purpose better.”
This evening he sought out Luigi at the theatre where the young
man was engaged, and after shaking hands with him, said: “I wish
to see you most particularly. Come to my den after you have finished
here and I will tell you what I want you for.”
Luigi went straight from the theatre to his uncle’s rooms. (As long
as he could remember he had been used to calling the Captain
“uncle”). The ghostly light of dawn was in the eastern sky before the
two separated. The nature of the business discussed by them will be
made clear by a conversation which took place next day between
the Captain and his niece.
“You have not forgotten our talk in the Park the day before
yesterday?” said the former.
“There was much in it which I am not likely readily to forget. All
the same, you said certain things which, the more I think of them,
the more extravagant and incapable of ever being realised they
seem to me.”
“That is just what I am here to-day to endeavour to disprove,”
remarked the Captain in his dryest tones. “You don’t object to my
smoking, I know. Thanks.”
As soon as he had selected and lighted a cigar, he resumed:
“You already know my views as to the position which, in my
opinion, you ought to occupy as daughter-in-law to Sir Gilbert Clare
of Withington Chase. That you have an undoubted claim on the old
baronet I think very few people would be found to dispute, and the
question we have now to consider is the most desirable mode of
urging that claim upon his notice in order that the utmost possible
advantage may accrue to you therefrom. As you justly remarked the
other day, the probability is that Sir Gilbert was never made aware of
his son’s marriage, and, consequently, cannot have the remotest
suspicion that the young man left a widow to mourn his loss. Now,
from all I heard of the baronet when I was in the country last week,
I take him to be a hardfisted, penurious curmudgeon, who, to judge
from his style of living, must be laying by several thousands a year—
though, why he should care to do so, goodness only knows, seeing
that he has nobody he cares about to leave his savings to—the next
heir being a half-cousin with whom he has been at outs for the last
thirty years. Now, it seems to me, taking into account the kind of
man he is, that if you were to introduce yourself to his notice merely
on the ground of being the widow of his son—who died nearly
twenty years ago—and a person of whom probably he has never
heard before, he might perhaps, without wholly ignoring your claim
upon him, not merely satisfy his conscience, but persuade himself
into the belief that he was acting a most generous part by you, if he
were to allow you a paltry hundred, or, at the most, a couple of
hundred pounds a year as long as he lives. But, Giovanna, my dear,
it is more—much more—than that that I want to help you to secure
for yourself. I want to see you in the position which would have been
yours at your husband’s death had you married John Alexander Clare
with his father’s full knowledge and consent. In that case you would
undoubtedly have had a jointure of not less than seven or eight
hundred a year, and I want us two to try whether we cannot see our
way to secure something like an equivalent settlement for you, even
after all this length of time.”
Vanna was staring straight before her with an introspective
expression in her midnight orbs. When the silence had lasted some
time, she said very quietly:
“You are working out some scheme in your brain, Uncle, I feel
sure of it; you have something more to tell me—something to
propose. Is it not so?”
He considered the ash of his cigar for a moment or two, then,
lifting his eyes to her face, he said:
“What a pity—what a very great pity it is that your boy did not live
to be here to-day!”
 As before, when he spoke of the loss of her child, an indescribable
expression flitted across Giovanna’s face.
“That is precisely what you said the other day,” she remarked,
coldly. “Where is the use of referring a second time to a misfortune
which happened so long ago?”
“Because I cannot help contrasting your position to-day with what
it would have been could you but have taken your boy by the hand,
and have said to Sir Gilbert: ‘You lost your son and heir long years
ago: but to-day I bring you a grandson to take his place. Here is the
new heir of Withington Chase.’ In that case, how the old man would
have welcomed you!—nothing would have seemed too good for you,
so overjoyed would he have been. The position which ought to have
been yours from the first would then be accorded you, and you
would take your place in society as the daughter-in-law of Sir Gilbert
Clare, and the mother of the next heir. And then, a little later, my
Vanna, you would marry again. Oh, yes, you would! Marry money—
and perhaps a title to boot. Why not? You are one of the
handsomest women in London, or else I don’t know a handsome
woman when I see one!”
Vanna rose abruptly from her chair, and then sat down again. For
once she was profoundly moved.
“Oh, Uncle, this is the merest folly!” she cried. “Why talk of
impossibilities? Let us keep to realities. I thought you had something
to propose—something, perhaps, that would——”
“So I have, my dear; so I have something to propose,” responded
the Captain, with a chuckle. “What I said to you the other day was,
‘There is only one course open to us, and that is to find Sir Gilbert
an heir.’”
“Well?” demanded Vanna with wide-open eyes. “I failed to
understand your meaning then and I am not a bit the wiser now.”
“Listen then. Although, owing to circumstances to which I need
not further refer, we are not in a position to go before Sir Gilbert and
produce the real heir, is that any reason why we should not find a
substitute who would answer both his purpose and ours just as well
as the genuine article?” His cunning eyes were watching her eagerly.
Vanna’s face expressed a growing wonder, but it was a wonder
largely compounded of bewilderment.
“Ecoutez,” resumed her uncle. “Let us assume for the moment
that you agree with me what a very desirable thing it would be to
provide Sir Gilbert with an heir, even though it would, of necessity,
have to be a fictitious one. Being, then, so far in accord, naturally
the first question would be, ‘But where are we to find the heir in
question—or rather, someone by whom he could be personated?’ To
which I should reply that I am prepared at any moment to lay my
finger on the one person out of all the hundreds and thousands of
people in this big city best suited to our purpose. That person is
none other than your own nephew (whom I believe you have never
yet set eyes on), the son of your only brother, Luigi Rispani.”
Sheer amazement kept Giovanna silent.
“I have already seen Luigi and sounded him in the matter,”
resumed the Captain. “He fully agrees with me that the idea is a
most admirable one, and one which, if carried out in all its details
with that care and foresight which I should not fail to bestow on it,
could not prove otherwise than brilliantly successful. In short, Luigi
places himself unreservedly in my hands. So now, my dear Vanna, it
only remains for you to follow your nephew’s excellent example.”
It is not needful that we should recount in detail what further
passed between uncle and niece either at this or subsequent
interviews. Enough to say that when once she had been talked over
into giving her consent, and had thoroughly mastered the details of
the scheme as proposed to be carried out by her uncle, she entered
fully into the affair, and seemed to have thrown whatever moral
scruples might at one time have feebly held her back completely to
the winds. But before all this came about Luigi Rispani and his aunt
had been brought together. Although English blood on the female
side ran in the veins of both, they might have been pure Italians for
anything in their looks which proclaimed the contrary. In point of
fact, there was a very marked family likeness between the two, so
much so, indeed, that the Captain could not help saying to himself
with a chuckle, “Nobody seeing them together, would take them for
other than mother and son.”
At length all the details of the scheme were so far elaborated and
agreed upon by our three conspirators that Verinder felt the time
had come for him to make his first important move, which was, to
seek an interview with Sir Gilbert Clare, or, as he preferred to
express it, to “beard the lion in his den.”
 CHAPTER XVI.
HOW SIR GILBERT RECEIVED THE
NEWS

It is to be hoped that the reader has not quite forgotten the

existence of Everard Lisle.
After Ethel Thursby’s refusal of him on her eighteenth birthday he
went back with a sad heart to his duties at Withington Chase. There
he had rooms in the house of Mr. Kinaby, the land steward, an old
red brick house situated a little way outside the precincts of the
park. Mr. Kinaby’s health had been failing for some time, and Everard
was gradually taking over the greater part of his duties. Every
morning he went to the Chase to see to Sir Gilbert’s correspondence
and take his instructions in reference to the estate and other
matters. But he had still other duties to attend to. In addition to
being a numismatist of some note and a collector of curios, Sir
Gilbert of late years had developed into an antiquarian and
archæologist, and for some time past had been engaged in putting
together the framework of what he intended ultimately to elaborate
into an exhaustive history of the “hundred” of the county in which
the Chase was situated, as natives of which his ancestors for three
centuries back had played more or less conspicuous parts. In
furtherance of this labour of love, for such it was to him, he found
Everard very useful in the way of hunting up authorities, making
extracts and transcribing his notes into a calligraphy which it would
be possible for a compositor to set up—when, at some as yet
Welcome to our website – the perfect destination for book lovers and
knowledge seekers. We believe that every book holds a new world,
offering opportunities for learning, discovery, and personal growth.
That’s why we are dedicated to bringing you a diverse collection of
books, ranging from classic literature and specialized publications to
self-development guides and children's books.

More than just a book-buying platform, we strive to be a bridge

connecting you with timeless cultural and intellectual values. With an
elegant, user-friendly interface and a smart search system, you can
quickly find the books that best suit your interests. Additionally,
our special promotions and home delivery services help you save time
and fully enjoy the joy of reading.

Join us on a journey of knowledge exploration, passion nurturing, and

personal growth every day!

ebookbell.com