A Strange Likeness. Paula Marshall
tease gently, and he wanted to see how this poised and pretty girl would react to similar treatment.
Eleanor took the bait.
‘The chains? Took them off?’
‘Yes, when we boarded the ship for England. They said that if we wore them during the journey they’d slow us down too much. The weight again.’
‘They did?’ said Eleanor, fascinated by this young man who looked so like Ned but who was yet utterly unlike him when he teased her. On closer inspection he looked very much more severe than Ned, but there was a gentleness in his manner to her which her wild brother had never possessed.
‘Yes. Sorry to disappoint you by not having ’em on.’
‘I’m not disappointed,’ said Eleanor truthfully.
‘I can see that. The Patriarch says—’
‘The Patriarch?’ Eleanor was fascinated all over again.
‘M’father. We call him the Patriarch occasionally—he does come on rather patriarchal at times. He also says that they slow you down when you’re working. So they took them off him soon after he arrived in New South Wales. More trouble than they were worth, he said.’
‘Do stop,’ said Eleanor faintly, trying not to laugh. Great-Aunt Almeria insisted that young ladies never laughed. Lord Chesterfield wouldn’t have liked it, she said. ‘You’re not a bit like Ned now that I’ve got to know you.’
‘No, I’m not,’ agreed Alan cheerfully.
‘But you do look very like him.’
‘Yes—but it was a naughty trick to play on you—and so I shall tell Ned.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have said all that to you about chains if I hadn’t thought you were Ned.’
He agreed with her, head on one side judiciously, adding, ‘Not to my face, perhaps, but afterwards.’
‘Yes, no. Oh, dear.’ She laughed out loud this time, but was saved further embarrassment by the arrival of a grinning Ned.
‘I see you’ve found one another,’ he offered carelessly.
‘Too bad of you, Ned,’ Eleanor began.
‘Miss Hatton found me,’ said Alan. ‘I didn’t do any finding. Our resemblance confused her somewhat.’
Ned’s grin was wider than ever. ‘Thought it might. Bit of a shock was it, Nell?’
‘My name is Eleanor,’ she said repressively. ‘You are quite disgraceful, Ned. I behaved very badly as a consequence of your silly trick and Mr—?’ She looked at Alan.
‘Dilhorne, Alan Dilhorne,’ he told her. ‘But then I behaved badly, too. I was a dreadful tease, I fear.’
‘Indeed you were,’ she agreed, captivated by his charm. No, he was not really very like Ned, despite the resemblance.
‘So, we are quits,’ he said to Eleanor, ignoring the grinning Ned, who was beginning to annoy him.
‘Quits,’ she agreed, and put out her hand to take his and shake it, which pleased Alan mightily.
There was no false affectation about her, despite her overwhelming air of fashion and consequence. He looked at Ned and said, only half-jokingly, ‘Beg both our pardons, Ned, and introduce me properly to your sister, there’s a good fellow.’
The note of command in his voice was such that Ned had begun to obey him when the doors opened again, and Almeria Stanton entered. Her eyebrows rose alarmingly when she saw Ned and Alan standing side by side, their two faces and figures so alike. Yet she thought that there was no doubt which was Ned. The face on the right possessed a power and a strength missing in her great-nephew’s.
Almeria sighed. Inconvenient likeness were the bane of the aristocracy’s life, but if this were the Australian visitor of whom Ned had spoken then the likeness had to be put down to chance.
But she would still like to know more of the origins of Ned’s new friend…
‘I understand that you are taking Mr Dilhorne to Cremorne Gardens tonight, Ned. I must remind you that you were out late this morning. I’m not sure that your grandfather would approve of your way of life.’
‘I’m well of age,’ said Ned sulkily.
Watching him, Alan thought that Ned Hatton was strangely juvenile, for all that he had reached his mid-twenties.
So, apparently, did his formidable great-aunt.
‘You must remember, Ned, that you are dependent upon Sir Hartley for your income—and that you do little in return for it. You make no attempt to begin to learn the management of the estate which you will one day inherit. Besides, if you are living in my home you must respect my wishes. No, I propose that you ask Mr Dilhorne to dine with us instead. Should you like that, Mr Dilhorne?’
Alan looked from Ned’s scarlet and embarrassed face to Almeria Stanton, so serene and sure of herself.
‘If Ned does not mind forgoing our entertainment this evening—and I’m sure that Cremorne Gardens will be there for another time—I should be honoured to dine with you. Although, as you see, I am not properly dressed for it.’
‘No matter. I will ring for Staines and tell him to see that another place is laid at table.’
Having done so, she sat down and began to draw out this young man who so improbably possessed her nephew’s face.
‘Since Ned has been as mannerless as usual and has failed to introduce us, I must introduce myself. I am Almeria, Lady Stanton, Ned and Eleanor’s great-aunt, and you, I believe, are Mr Alan Dilhorne. I seem to remember, from my childhood in Yorkshire, that it is a surname commonly found there, but I have not come across it in the south.’
‘It is not common where I come from, either,’ Alan told her. ‘I have no knowledge of any relatives of that name in England.’
‘I presume that you are in England on pleasure, then?’
‘Not at all,’ said Alan. He was beginning to admire this forthright old lady. He thought that Eleanor Hatton might grow to be like her in time. ‘I am here on two pieces of business. My first relates to the London branch of the family firm.’
Ned was struck by this. ‘Of course, Dilhorne and Sons! What a forgetful ass I am. My friend, George Johnstone, is manager there.’
‘Yes,’ said Alan with a small smile. ‘I know.’ He thought that the friendship revealed a great deal about Johnstone.
Almeria Stanton knew that one should not ask someone from New South Wales about his family’s origins, but she cared little for society’s rules and regulations. Besides, the resemblance was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable, and the more she could discover about this self-controlled young man—so unlike Ned in that—the better.
‘You must be a member of the Dilhorne family which, I understand from my brother-in-law, who is at the Board of Trade, runs something of an empire in Sydney and district. Pray where did your father originate from, Mr Dilhorne?’
Alan was amused, although 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