Chapter Twenty-One

'MARTIN Atlay's narrative,' Dr. Hinkstone pursued, 'I am perfectly willing to accept apart from one small particular. And his feelings about it all do him credit, no doubt.'

'My feelings,' Dr. Atlay said with dignity, 'are extremely painful: a fact I have been unable to suppress. The claims of truth are paramount, nevertheless.'

'I quite agree, provided one has enough of the truth to flourish around.' Dr. Hinkstone glanced rather wickedly round his auditory, so that a sensitive observer might have felt him to be extracting more amusement from the situation than its awkward nature warranted . 'And enough of the truth means all the truth---about Wyndowes, Gores, and everybody else. But, of course, what one wants are the relevant truths. Rupert and Camilla Wyndowe were legally husband and wife. Rupert and Camilla Wyndowe were not legally husband and wife. One of these statements is true, and the other false. I am myself quite uninterested in which is which, since the point is of no practical concern to anybody now living. Let us agree, however, that the marriage was legally valid. As I have indicated, I am perfectly willing to concede the point.

'Let us now consider what follows. Rupert, at that time Lord Wyndowe and heir to the earldom, has himself acquired an heir. But being a man utterly devoid of principle, and unwilling to acknowledge his marriage, he is content that this child should grow up on the family estate under the name of Abel Gore. This boy does so grow up, marries, and has a son called Ammon Gore. So far, and granting our first hypothesis, we are on what may almost be called firm ground. Whether these two gentlemen were by right successive Earls of Mullion it might, I imagine, take many legal luminaries to determine---if not, indeed, the entire House of Peers into the bargain. But as both these rustic gentlemen are now dead, I think I am right in saying that nothing of all this would affect the present position of Lord Mullion. He would undoubtedly be confirmed in it, as would his son, were the question to be raised in any way.'

'Nothing of the kind!' Cyprian had jumped to his feet, and was again in a condition of considerable excitement. 'It's perfectly plain that Swithin----'

'Ah! I come to Swithin now.' As he said this, Dr. Hinkstone nodded benignly to the late heir of the Gores. 'And the more readily, I may say, because he appears to be a perfectly sensible young man. With Swithin, moreover, I come to that single small particular in what may be termed Atlay's case that I am unable to accept. I have a little authority here, as I brought Swithin into the world. I fear, my dear Atlay, that you are not very likely to see him out of it.' Hinkstone paused on this stroke of wit, in which he seemed to find considerable satisfaction. 'I repeat that I brought Swithin into the world---and, naturally, as being Ammon Gore's son. But this was a deception. It was a deception, no doubt, of a most painful kind, so that when I became aware of the truth I felt it to be far from my business to publicize it. It would, indeed, have been contrary to the ethics of my profession to do so. However, here is the fact now. Swithin is not Ammon Gore's son.'

'How the devil can you know that, Hinkstone?' It was Lord Mullion who asked this question---and then promptly answered it himself. 'Something not quite delicate, eh?'

'You may express it that way, if you please, my dear Mullion. What happened was this. Ammon Gore, whom I had never attended before, fell seriously ill, and in fact died not very long afterwards in the cottage hospital. It was not before I had discovered that he was congenitally incapable of fatherhood. For what the point is worth, this was confirmed by two of my colleagues, and is a matter of verifiable record at need.' Dr. Hinkstone paused briefly. 'So if you accept my word on all this,' he concluded, the entire matter can be dismissed from our minds.'

For some moments nobody had anything to say. And nobody seemed very pleased---least of all the suddenly unfathered Swithin. Then Lady Patience Wyndowe stood up, crossed the room, sat down beside her lover, and spoke for the first time.

'I don't think so, Dr. Hinkstone,' she said.

'My dear child, there is no purpose----'

'Didn't you say, or at least imply, that you were not asserting that Swithin is not a Wyndowe?'

'If I did, it was inadvertent---or, rather, a mere pedantry. Anybody may be anybody, theoretically speaking.'

'Damn it, Hinkstone, that won't do. It won't do at all.' Lord Mullion, as he made this all too obvious point, was suddenly surprisingly formidable. 'Swithin, my dear lad, I hope you agree with me.'

'Yes, sir, I do.' Swithin, after half an hour of mingled embarrassment and acute suffering, looked thoroughly formidable too.

'We're not going to leave this on a note of bloody innuendo,' Cyprian said---violently, yet cogently enough. 'You'll damn well say what you know, you old----'

'Cyprian, dear,' Lady Mullion said.

'You old fool,' Cyprian concluded composedly and on a milder note.

All this was extremely awkward and improper, and in face of it Dr. Hinkstone was obliged to change his tone.

'If I have mishandled this,' he said, 'I apologize. Perhaps it is now unavoidable that more should be said. But it must be with due warning. Lord Mullion. For what remains is something that Atlay would be abundantly justified in calling extremely painful. But I acknowledge that one further fact is due to this young man.'

'If Swithin is a gentleman's son,' Atlay said augustly, 'he is certainly entitled to know the fact.'

At this Swithin made to speak. It is only too probable that he was going to say (or shout) 'To hell with gentlemen's sons!' Patty's hand on his knee, however, restrained him for a moment.

'Very well,' Hinkstone said. 'Eventually the unhappy woman----'

'Don't call my mother the unhappy woman,' Swithin said---but tolerably calmly. 'Just get on.'

'Eventually she confided to me her child's true parentage. The boy christened as Swithin Gore was in fact Mr. Sylvanus Wyndowe's son.'

'By God, I've got a son!' Sylvanus Wyndowe had leapt to his feet, and his complexion was like a beacon suddenly ignited to announce some portentous event. 'Damn it!' he roared, 'it was that little Amy. It all comes back to me. She was married to a Gore. I've got a son, as well as that gaggle of women. Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!' With these astonishing words, Sylvanus ran across the room, hauled the dumbfounded Swithin to his feet, embraced him, and showed every sign of proposing to waltz him round the resplendent scene of this bizarre conference.

It was at this moment that Savine entered, followed by a parlour-maid. His intention was no doubt to remove the tea-things. He gave one glance at the situation, however, and abruptly withdrew, shooing the young woman before him like a straying hen.

'I'll take him into my house!' Sylvanus roared. 'I'll make a man of him. I'll teach him to sit a horse----'

'I can sit a horse!' Swithin shouted indignantly. Father and son glared at one another, each in a high state of emotional confusion.

Not unnaturally, this response to so untoward a sequence of events became general for a time. It was Charles Honeybath RA who eventually a little relieved the tension. He had been silent throughout the protracted éclaircissement, but now felt that something fell to be said.

'My dear Mr. Wyndowe,' he said, 'it is fortunate that making a man of Swithin is unlikely to take you long. For it is improbable that Lady Patience will part from him for more than a month or two.'

'And I am certainly not parting with him now,' Patty said, rising composedly to her feet. 'Swithin and I are going out to dine together.' And Patty, for once in a way indubitably running her lover, took Swithin by the hand, led him up to her mother, presided over a kiss, and left the drawing-room on his arm.

Lady Mullion rang a bell, thereby summoning Savine to restore normal life to Mullion Castle. And then Honeybath turned to her.

'Mary,' he said, 'that young man is very much to be congratulated. And now you and I must get down to thinking about our portrait.'

THE END