A Strange Likeness. Paula Marshall
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he could see that Miss Eleanor was shocked by her great-aunt’s bluntness. The people whom he had met so far had danced around the tricky subject of his origins. He decided to give the straightforward old woman a straightforward answer, however much it might shock her or his hearers.
After all, the Patriarch had never repudiated his origins, nor sought to hide the fact that he had arrived in chains. He was always frank about his past, being neither proud nor ashamed of it.
‘I believe my father lived in London before he was transported to New South Wales.’
It was as much of the truth as he was prepared to give. Later, he was to be grateful for this early reticence.
Eleanor’s face was shocked when her unfortunate gaffe about chains came back to haunt her. Ned would have guffawed had Alan made his answer in male company, but being in his great-aunt’s presence always made his behaviour a trifle more reticent than was habitual with him.
For her part, Almeria Stanton was cool. ‘I collect that he was the architect of your family’s fortunes, Mr Dilhorne. I find that most praiseworthy, given his unfortunate start in life. But you spoke of two reasons for your visit?’
Alan was pleased to hear her ask this question. Now for the second and somewhat different bombshell.
‘My second reason is perhaps why I am here at all. I have come to clear up the business of my mother’s inheritance.’
He paused, watching for—and finding—the twitch of surprise on their faces.
Eleanor, throwing on one side all good manners which prescribed that you did not bombard new acquaintances with personal questions, but fascinated by Ned’s new friend who looked so like him but was really not like him at all, took up the inquisition.
‘Your mother’s inheritance? May we know of it, Mr Dilhorne? It must be substantial to bring you all the way from the Southern hemisphere.’
‘Indeed. My mother happens to be one of the Warings of Essendene Place in Surrey. By chance she has fallen heiress to the entire estate since Sir John Waring, who never married, left it to her. She is the daughter of Sir John’s younger brother, my grandfather, Frederick Waring, who died in Sydney before I was born. I understand that there are some distant cousins of mine in the female line who were unaware of my mother’s existence until her name appeared in Sir John’s will and who had consequently hoped to inherit Essendene. They are rightly demanding proof of her existence and I have come to furnish it.
‘I also understand that Sir John had only lately decided to leave everything to my mother, and that this, too, is causing friction. My mother hopes that if her claim is substantiated I can bring about a reconciliation of sorts, once I have settled the legal situation to the satisfaction of us all.’
Ned was looking fuddled at the end of this precise and exact recital. The two women thought all over again how little the two men really resembled one another.
Almeria’s expression was one of astonishment for another reason. ‘You are saying that your mother is one of the Warings of Essendene? I had understood that it was the Lorings who stood to inherit—through their grandmother.’
‘You mean my friend, Victor Loring?’ Ned offered. ‘I had heard that he’d had a great disappointment recently over a will. They’re as poor as church mice.’
He looked respectfully at Alan, who, despite his apparently dubious origins, had turned out to be related to one of the oldest families in England.
Alan was amused to notice by their changed expressions that his worthless grandfather, Fred, a remittance man who had died of drink, having gambled away what little he had left, leaving Alan’s mother penniless, had given him an introduction into high society which his own father’s sterling qualities could not have achieved for him.
‘Fancy that. Related to Caroline and Victor Loring,’ laughed Ned. ‘You have a whole pack of relatives over here whom you do not know. And plenty more cousins to discover, I’ll be bound. The Warings married into all the best families.’
Unspoken was the question, How did your mama come to marry an ex-felon? Politeness rendered them all silent, but left them bursting with curiosity.
Alan decided to be downright. ‘They can scarcely be expected to wish to know an Australian cousin who has come to dispossess them—for that is how they will see it.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Almeria sharply. ‘If your mother’s claim is a true one, then the laws of succession must hold.’
‘With respect, Lady Stanton, my father would not agree with you. The women in our family have been given the same rights as men. They, and my elder twin brother, Thomas and myself, all have the same legal standing. He does not hold with primogeniture or the subjection of women.’
‘Your twin,’ said Eleanor, sparkling at him. ‘Is he Ned’s double, too?’
‘Fortunately not. Begging your pardon, Ned. He is very much like my mother—and her long dead brother Rowland, she says. Except that Thomas is tall and dark while she is little and dark. Had he gone to the theatre no one would have taken him for Ned.’
Eleanor pursued a point. ‘You said that your sisters were equal in law with you and your brothers. Can that really be true? We women have so many constraints and Mr Dudley, Charles’s tutor, tells me that we have no legal existence at all.’
‘My father had contracts and settlements drawn up for them. One of his sayings is, “In matters of judgement sooner a clever woman than a dull man.”’
‘Is this commonplace in the colony, Mr Dilhorne?’
‘By no means, Lady Stanton. I fear that our women are under even more constraints than they are in England, and are even less regarded. The Patriarch—I mean my father—is, however, very much his own man.’
‘Well, he would be my man,’ said Eleanor decidedly, ‘if he treats women so well.’
‘Eleanor, you forget yourself,’ said Almeria, ever ready to rebuke her great-niece when she showed her old outlaw spirit.
Alan regarded Ned’s radiant sister with approval. There was obviously much more to her than there was to her charmingly lightweight brother.
‘With respect, Lady Stanton, I think that the Patriarch would admire Miss Hatton greatly.’
The look Eleanor gave him was glowing. His smile made her tingle all over in the oddest manner. No man had ever affected her in such a strange way before.
Throughout the dinner which followed, where Alan knew how to use all the right knives and forks—doubtless his mother’s influence being Almeria’s inward comment—the good impression which he had made on the two women grew with each passing moment.
By unspoken agreement Alan was quizzed no further until, sitting over their port, the women having retired into the little drawing room, Ned remarked, a trifle roughly for him, ‘Do you always make such a good impression on the ladies, Dilhorne?’
Alan’s answer was an oblique question. ‘Lady Stanton and Miss Hatton approved of me, then?’
‘You know dam’d well they did.’
‘Excellent. It’s nice to know.’
The contrast between the two men could not have been more marked. Ned drank heavily of the port, Alan drank little, and by the time they rejoined Almeria and Eleanor in the drawing room Ned’s drawl was already blurred. He was not entirely sure that he liked his women approving so much of his new friend—it took a little of his pleasure in him away.
Alan, meantime, contented himself with admiring both Miss Hatton and her great-aunt, for entirely different reasons!
Eleanor Hatton had to admit that she was fascinated by Ned’s new friend. It was not the likeness which intrigued her, but the differences between them. Not only was Alan so much cleverer than Ned, but she also liked Alan’s easy athletic carriage, which