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155 pages

English

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Justin, Viscount Wade-Orrington has never felt like much of a gentleman's son, he's always been different from those high-falutin' aristocrats. His father doesn't seem to worry about any of that, instead he sets about arranging for him to marry Helene, Marchioness of Dorincourt.
Having no desire to do so he leaves London and his father sends him to fix up the ancestral home, where he meets Samatha Dudeney, an American. Is she the breath of fresh air he's looking for?

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Romance historique

Historical

Victorian

Romance

Fiction

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Publié par	Rare Treasure Editions
Date de parution	09 novembre 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781774643792
Langue	English

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The 'Piping Times'
by Jeffery Farnol

First published in 1946
This edition published by Rare Treasures
Victoria, BC Canada with branch offices in the Czech Republic and Germany
Trava2909@gmail.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, except in the case of excerpts by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
The ‘Piping Times’

A
Sentimental Romance
of
Those days when there was
less Heroism
but
more of everything else
than
in these death-filled, deathless years
of
Grace, Grief and Glory

by JEFFERY FARNOL

To
DUDLEY SEYMOUR-NICHOLS
‘ Our Smiling Philosopher ’
THIS ROMANCE
IS
DEDICATED

CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES THE SON AND HIS SIRE
I T was in those halcyon days before the invention of the infernalinternal combustion engine and consequently before war haddarkened the skies or scarred the earth; when masculine collars werehigh, wages correspondingly low, and silk hats went bobbing Citywardswith umbrella and newspaper to the routine of train and office;when Woman, called The Fair or Weaker Sex, not content with thecharming amplitude bestowed by nature, wore monstrosities called‘bustles’, and laced in their tender sides to a twelve-or-fourteen-inchwaist; when Parliament, for lack of more important affairs, rampagedover Home Rule . . . In such carefree time upon an early Junemorning, to be precise,—at exactly four and a half minutes past nineo’clock, Justin Hereward Wade-Orrington, known by express commandto his familiars as ‘Tom’, indited the following, extremelyfateful letter:

“Respected and dear (up to a point) Sir,
“That you are my father and progenitor is a misfortune beyondmy powers to repair. However, since early boyhood I have done mybest to put up with you, and, to my own astonishment, have succeededpassably well until to-day, this June 2nd, 18——. For this morning, byletter, upon the hitherto uncomplaining back of the patient camel(myself) you laid the ultimate straw in the form of Helena Marchionessof Dorincourt. Wherefore now the filial soul rebels at last,your only son and heir (again myself, alas) makes his exit from thesehoary ancestral walls of cloistered and silken ease to front Destinyunaided and alone. In thus taking leave of Abbey-Merivale andyourself, I would humbly submit that, esteeming you as a PublicCharacter and Society Ornament, I deplore you as a parent, in whichcapacity I must regard you as a very Positive Mistake.
“With which, sir, pray know me for
“your abused, disabused, perfectly assured son
“Justin Hereward Wade-Orrington,
“TOM.”
Having perused this missive heedfully, and added a comma hereand there, Justin (known henceforth as Tom) folded, enveloped,superscribed it, and went to be rid of it.
Across a wide and lofty hall against whose aged walls ancientweapons gleamed, with knightly figures ranked below in burnished,glittering splendour; along a broad, arched passage, arras-hung anddeep-carpeted, and so to a certain door. Here Tom paused, for thiswas the door of his father’s study, sanctum sanctorum , which fromearliest boyhood had inspired trepidation and awed discomfort. SoTom paused, then opening this door, found himself looking into thedeep-set, quizzical eyes of one whose sombre though well-cut garmentsmoulded a lithely powerful form as he rose from the great desk wherehe had been writing.
“Oh,” said Tom, hesitating on the threshold, “how do? You areMr. Timkins, of course, the Governor’s man of affairs and so on—what?”
“His private secretary, my lord. Were you looking for the Earl?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, no. I rather thought he was away.”
“He returned late last night, my lord.”
“Did he though, b’George! Then I suppose he’ll be hovering inthe vicinity,—knocking about in the immediate neighbourhood?”
“In the library, my lord. Shall I inform him you desire to see him?”
“Thanks—no! Oh no, rather not! What I mean to say is, absolutelyno! The August Sire and myself are not exactly at one just at present,we don’t see precisely eye to eye, and so forth. Therefore, calling tomind the jolly old maxim ‘least said’ and what not, I have performedwith the pen—this letter, which pray be good enough to deliver toHis High Nobility in—say half an hour.”
“Certainly, my lord. You are home for good, I believe?”
“Yes. But this great place, garrisoned with hosts of servants andwhat-nots, most of ’em strange faces, is scarcely a nest of cosy, heart-warmingdomesticity, too dashed ancestral and so forth, loads toomuch of what doesn’t matter and nothing of what does, if you knowwhat I mean?”
“My lord, of course I do.”
“Oh?” enquired Tom, struck by the speaker’s change of tone andlook. “Do you? I wonder!”
“Shall I tell your lordship?”
“If you can.”
“You have never had—a home, my lord.”
“Ex—actly!” quoth Tom, fervently. “By Jingo, that’s the fact!Timkins, you become such an understanding sort of bloke I wishwe’d known each other better. For though I’ve seen you about, offand on, since I was a somewhat scaly urchin, we’ve never got together,you were always such a bird of passage, hither and yon,—here to-dayand gone to-morrow.”
“Yes, my lord. I have always been much occupied——”
“Like my Right Honourable, Lordly Sire!” said Tom, almostbitterly. “While I grew up the best I might, into what I am. Ohwell——”
“Quite well!” murmured his hearer. “You won the Inter-UniversityBoxing Championship.”
“Just about,—though I took a bit of a hammering,” sighed Tom,feeling ear and nose reminiscently. “I have at least acquired a prettystraight left, and in my right a perfectly good punch—when it lands.Well, now, I’ll be toddling, leaving this epistle to be handed to TheLordly One in half an hour—no, we’d better make it three-quarters.”
“Is your lordship going out?”
“Somewhat. A stroll or spin on my newest bicycle,—sixty-two inch,ball instead of roller bearings, nine-inch cranks, and marvelloussprung saddle—all built to my own designs.”
“I wish you an enjoyable ride.”
“Thanks, and ta-ta!”
So saying, away strode Tom, back across echoing hall, up vast,wide stairway and so to his own many-windowed room, here to preparefor the road.
Thus presently, Justin, Viscount Merivale, stood equipped, andin the then prevailing mode; that is to say he wore a cap peaked foreand aft, with ear-flaps tied in a bow across the crown, a belted Norfolkjacket, knickerbockers, stockings, highland gaiters of box-cloth, andbrown, sharp-toed shoes.
Thus attired, he descended the great stairway with a certain nimblestealth—only to see his father in the act of reading his letter.
Gawain Wade-Orrington, Earl of Abbey-Merivale, contrived tolook all that Imagination could possibly expect,—tall, of commandingpresence and immaculately correct from satin four-in-hand cravat togleaming patent-leathers; a morning coat (cutaway) fitted his slendernesswith scarcely a wrinkle, his ‘inexpressibles’ of chastely minuteshepherd’s plaid, cut fashionably narrow, gave restrained expressionto ‘limbs’ sufficiently muscular, while his leanly-handsome face,monocled and moustached, was of a placid, plain serenity thatbetrayed no expression whatever.
“Oh now confound it!” murmured Tom.
The Earl glanced at his son beneath slightly-cocked eyebrow and,beckoning with slim finger, led him into the library, a stately chamberas austere and correct as himself.
“Merivale,” said he, in voice pleasantly modulated, “you mayclose the door and be seated.”
“Why, sir, as a matter of fact I’d rather not, if you know what Imean. I had hoped to avoid all or any explanations and what not.”
“Nor is there the least need, my dear Merivale; your letter issufficiently eloquent, quite remarkably so. I would merely ask a fewquestions excusable under the circumstances, I dare to think. As, forinstance—just how do you propose to—ah—‘front Destiny unaided andalone’?”
“As best I may, sir.”
“Then you will probably starve.”
“Rather that, sir, than remain a pampered do-nothing, a dutifulslave and what not, subservient to a father’s arrogant will.”
“An admirable sentiment, Merivale, quite heroic! ConsequentlyI am happy to accord you my permission to starve yourself into ado-something, if possible. For indeed you have never achieved anythinghitherto, either scholastically or in the field of sport. How doyou explain this?”
“I don’t, sir, except perhaps by the handicap of a father whoseachievements in both—overwhelm me.”
The Earl’s slender brows twitched, he made a slight, thoughdeprecating, gesture with one slender hand.
“A quite unworthy excuse!” he murmured.
“Oh quite, sir!” Tom agreed. “But I could think of none better.”
“Which argues a singular barrenness of invention, Merivale.”
“Sir, it grieves me to admit to such gifted parent that I am notclever.”
“Nor do your looks favour you, Merivale.”
“Alas, no, sir! But if anyone is to blame for my tow-colouredhair and eyelashes and too craggy person, it is my begetter, surely.However, my twenty-odd years have made me quite familiar with mytoo-evident paucity of charm—which must naturally strike you veryforcibly since you have noticed me so seldom, being my father, thatwe are scarcely acquainted.”
“Which, my dear Merivale, sounds quite preposterous, and yethas a measure of truth. For indeed, what with your schools, collegeand university and my own very many duties, we certainly know lessof each other than our relationship presupposes, though, even as achild, you manifested no least filial affection towards me—yourfather.”
“Perhaps, sir, because I had no mother to teach——” Tom checked,and opened his pale lashes wider than usual—for the Earl, placid nolonger, was afoot, had crossed to the nearest window and was leaningthere to gaze out at the sunny prospect of wide, richly-timbered park,though Tom noticed that his hands were clenched as in some painfulspasm; yet when he s