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“I suppose the reappearance of his elder brother is to blame?”Burton suggested.
“Absolutely. Well, that's my theory, anyway. I should warn youthat he'll tell you a cock-and-bull story about a ghost.”
“A ghost, by Gad!” Burton exclaimed, startled by the occurrenceof yet another coincidence. Tichborne and Brundleweed, bothhaunted?
“Absolute rot, of course,” Lushington added. “Unless it's true.Who knows? I hear there's great enthusiasm for table-tapping inLondon these days, so maybe there's something in all thatlife-after-death nonsense, but I'm inclined to think otherwise.Have you ever been to a seance? I haven't. Don't see the need forthem.”
Burton leaned forward. “So you haven't witnessed anythingyourself?”
Lushington hesitated, took a gulp from his glass, and answered:“I haven't seen anything, no… Well, that is to say, not with myeyes. But I must admit, I might have spotted something with myears. Spotted? No. Hah! Obviously a man doesn't see with his ears.Ahem! I mean I heard something. But then there's an awful lot tohear in a big old house like this, so it was probably nothing.Perhaps mice, except they don't knock, that's the thing of it.”
“You heard knocking?” Burton was begi
Lushington shook his head, coughed, and nodded. “That's right, Idid. Knocking, these two nights past, as if someone were walkingthrough the house banging on the walls. Not mice, then. I don'tknow why I said mice.”
“Did you investigate?”
“Of course, military instinct. Seek out the enemy. On bothoccasions, as I approached the noise, it stopped.”
“The enemy mice ran away?” put in Swinburne, mischievously.
“Quite so, if it was mice, which it obviously wasn't.”
“So what was it then?” Burton asked.
“Not a clue. Haven't the remotest idea. Completely at a loss.The foundations settling as the day's heat dissipated, perhaps? Ah!There you have it! Mystery solved!”
Over the course of the next two hours, they reviewed the historyof the Tichborne family and the circumstances leading up to theClaimant's imminent arrival. He was due at the house the day aftertomorrow, and Lushington was eager to see the individual who'dcaused such a furore.
“Bogle, the butler, the Jamaican fellow-at least I think he'sJamaican. West Indian, anyway-has been with the family for manyyears. He knew Roger Tichborne and will be sure to recognise him onsight. Then there's the resident physician, or doctor-what's thedifference?-Jankyn, and the groundsman, er-er-er-”
“Guilfoyle,” Swinburne offered.
“Ah!” Lushington responded. “Is he, indeed? And your name,sir?”
“Algernon Swinburne. We were introduced earlier, if youremember. Are you really in charge of the estate's finances?”
“What of Sir Alfred's opinion?” Burton interrupted hastily.“Surely you aren't discounting that? He is, after all, thebrother.”
“True, but he also has a vested interest. I'm sure he'd muchrather this fellow was exposed as an outright crook. If not, heloses the estate.”
Burton looked surprised. “Surely you don't mean to suggest thathe might purposely deny his brother simply to keep hold of thetitle?”
“Good lord, of course not!”
A gong sounded and echoed through the house.
“That's the summons to supper or di
The king's agent frowned and pulled out his pocket watch.
“It's half-past six. What do you mean, clocks don't work?”
“Simply that. Every timepiece in this house stopped a month orso ago. I daresay yours will, too, if you stay here long enough.Perhaps it's something to do with the position of the building andthe Earth's magnetics. I wouldn't know. I'm a soldier, not aTechnologist! Anyway, Bogle will take you and your luggage up tothe guest rooms so you can change into your evening wear. Just aformality. Observing the rituals. The mark of civilisation. A manshould always dress for whatever it is, don't you think? We'llreconvene in the dining room in fifteen minutes. You'll meet SirAlfred there. If he comes. He may not.”
A quarter of an hour later, wearing their formal attire, Burtonand Swinburne descended the grand staircase. The poet giggled,remembering that his friend had, a few weeks ago, come down asimilar staircase in a far less controlled fashion. He wonderedwhether Sir Roderick Murchison would ever forgive Burton.
They passed along the hall, in which polished suits of armourstood silent guard, and entered the long dining room. A grand tabledominated its centre, and all around it the walls were hung withportraits.
Bogle bowed as they entered. Colonel Lushington greetedthem.
“That's the young Roger Tichborne,” he said, pointing at one ofthe paintings. “While that-” he turned and indicated another “-ishis ancestor, the notorious Roger de Tichborne. The same name,you'll note, except for the de. It means of, I believe. Roger ofTichborne, on account of the fact that he was-”
He cleared his throat and fell silent.
“He was what?” Swinburne asked.
“Of Tichborne, man!”
“Ah. I see. Rather a nasty-looking cove!”
“Oh, I wouldn't say so,” came a voice from the door. “Butperhaps that's because I bear a distinct resemblance!”
They turned their heads and saw two men crossing thethreshold.
“May I introduce Sir Alfred Tichborne?” the colonel said. “SirAlfred, this is Sir Richard Burton and his assistant,um-um-um-”
“Algernon Swinburne,” said Swinburne.
“Welcome, gentlemen, and thank God you're here!” Tichbornestepped forward with his hand outstretched. “You've got to helpme!”
Burton was taken aback by Sir Alfred's appearance, for thoughthe baronet was young, his hair was completely white and there weredeep lines scoring the skin around his eyes.
Tichborne stood about five foot nine and was of a large build.He did, indeed, resemble the man in the portrait-facially, atleast-but where his ancestor's features were cruel, Sir Alfred'swere weak. His lips possessed an unpleasantly loose and dampappearance; his chin was too receded; his eyes too widely set. Inattire, he was foppish to the point of effeminacy, and the handthat Burton shook felt boneless.
The baronet's eyes moved restlessly, fearfully.
Before he could say anything else, the second man interrupted:“I'm sure Sir Richard will do all he can to assist, Sir Alfred, butlet's not ask him to do so on an empty stomach? What!”
“Gentlemen, this is Doctor Jankyn, our resident physician,” saidLushington. “Or Physician Jankyn, our resident doctor. I don't knowhow it works. One way or the other, I would think.”
“Pleased to meet you, what!” said Jankyn.
He was a tall and lanky fellow, with big hands and feet, and along jaw. His grey hair was brushed back and fell in curls to thenape of his neck. His ears stuck out and his close-set eyes were ofthe palest blue.
The five men sat at the table, wine was served by Bogle, andmaids brought platters of food.
Sir Alfred twitched and fidgeted, outdoing even Swinburne'shabitual nervous agitation.
“So how may I be of service?” Burton asked him. “Do you seek myopinion of the Claimant?”
“Fiddlesticks!” Tichborne cried passionately. “He's nothing buta cheap swindler! No, Burton, I want you to get rid of the damnedwitch before she gets rid of me!”
“Witch?”
“The Lady Mabella! The foul sorceress who wishes me, the last ofthe Tichbornes, dead!”
Jankyn spoke: “Sir Alfred is under the impression that thishouse is being haunted by that man's-” he pointed at the portraitof Roger de Tichborne “-wife.”
“You've actually seen the ghost, Sir Alfred?” Swinburneasked.
“Three times!”
“The human mind can play very convincing tricks when in a stateof high anxiety,” Doctor Jankyn offered.