The lord then jumped from his seat and took a shotgun from a cupboard.

  “I’ve been very proud of you for some time,” he said, “and this is a sign of my pride. The gamekeeper bought you a hunting dog yesterday. Hunt as much as you like. As you cannot go around without money in your pocket, take this, but be careful.”

  The son paid no more heed to his father’s words. He was too astonished by the six twenty shilling pieces, which his father handed over to him.

  “Remember, son, that extravagance on your part will delay the day on which your grandsons will resume their proper place in this world.”

  His son stayed silent.

  “At a moment like this,” said the lord at last in anger, “you should have the common decency to thank me.”

  “I’m not ungrateful, father,” mumbled Philip, aroused by his father’s tone of voice.

  The old man walked away impatiently.

  “What’s the matter with this boy now?” he mumbled.

  It was owing to the advice of his solicitor in Nottingham that he had acted as he had done. This indulgence, however, came too late, because Philip’s hate of his father was now too deeply ingrained in his heart to be easily eradicated.

  Philip took advantage of the leeway he was accorded to ramble every day over the estate with his shotgun and his dog Luke, to which he became attached. As he walked around, he had time to think. His thoughts often wandered to Newton. He had made inquiries and had heard that the Weasel was a dangerous man, who would stop at nothing. Still, slowly, consciously and decidedly, he made up his mind to see him again to seek his advice.

  Newton was expecting a visit from the young man and had been waiting for him with the cold expectation of a bird-watcher, who, having arranged all his hooks and snares, patiently waited in the bushes with folded arms, until his twittering victim falls in his trap. The prize that he had shown the young man was personal liberty. Newton had spies everywhere and he knew exactly what was going on at Swaffham Manor. He knew the exact words said by the lord in his conversations with his son. He was also aware of the increased responsibility that had been given to Philip and he was certain that this small concession would only hasten the rebellion of the young viscount.

  He often took his evening stroll in the direction of Swaffham Manor and cigar in mouth, he would think over his schemes. Standing under a tree that looked out on the manor, he would shake his fist and say, “You will get yours!”

  He was right. After a week spent trying to come to a decision, Philip at last knocked on the door of his father’s worst enemy. Newton hid behind the window curtain and watched him approach. With the same air of deference that he had shown the young man before, he opened the door. This time, however, he affected surprise. He seemed to be so overcome by the honor of the visit that he could only mumble.

  “Viscount, too much honor. I’m your most humble servant.”

  Philip, who had expected to be greeted like an old friend and not a business associate of a different rank, was unnerved. For a moment he thought of leaving immediately, but his stubbornness didn’t permit him to do so. He had decided that it would be a foolish thing to do, to leave without having accomplished anything.

  “I’m here, because I want to have some advice from you, Mr. Newton,” he said. “I have only little experience in legal matters, so I would like to avail myself of your knowledge.”

  “You expect too much from me, Viscount,” murmured the Weasel with a low bow. “I’m but a poor merchant.”

  “But surely,” said the young nobleman, “you must feel some responsibility to help me after all the things you said to me a couple of days ago.”

  The Weasel was silent.

  Philip continued, “You mentioned two options by which I could gain my liberty from my father and you hinted that there was a third one. I’m here, Mr. Newton to ask you to tell me what it is.”

  Newton assumed an air of astonishment at this moment.

  “What?” he said. “You remember those words, which I uttered deeply influenced by the gin we were drinking together then?”

  “Yes, very much so.”

  The villain’s heart was filled with delight. His reply didn’t betray any of his emotions, however.

  “My dear Viscount, you must know that people say a lot of things that really have no meaning whatsoever. Remember that between intention and action there is a huge gulf. I often speak too freely, son, and that has more than once caused me trouble.”

  Philip was not to be turned away, however. His hot blood pumped through his veins and found his face, which turned red. He struck the shoulder-end of his shotgun on the floor.

  “You treat me like a nobody, it appears?” he said angrily.

  “My dear Viscount, can you believe that I would act so mean spiritedly?”

  “What else is there to think?”

  Newton thought for a moment. He replied, “You force me to talk. Please do not do that! Please allow me to keep my thoughts my thoughts.”

  The older gentleman looked in the eyes of the younger gentleman.

  “Out with it,” the young man said.

  The Weasel shrugged.

  “You will be furious, when you hear what I have to say, but you are forcing me to speak the truth.”

  “I won’t be angry and you can speak freely,” pledged Philip solemnly.

  “I’m a very poor and humble man, sir. What have I to gain by encouraging you to go against your father’s wishes? Just think what will happen to me, if he finds out I assisted you in your endeavor. If I oppose Lord Swaffham, I might find myself in prison without delay.”

  “And for what reason, pray do tell me?” asked Philip.

  “Have you never studied, Viscount? Dear me, how neglectful your father has been. Laws can be so explained that a humble creature like me could be locked up for years, without ever finding out why. The law is prone to deal very harshly with persons of my class, especially when the opponent is a man of tremendous wealth. If your father ever discovers…”

  “But how could he ever discover anything?”

  Newton didn’t answer. His silence showed Philip that the Weasel didn’t trust him.

  Philip repeated the question full of anger, “You believe that I will tell everything to my father?”

  “Your blind subservience to your father is well known.”

  Philip’s anger slowly died away, as he replied in a tone of intense bitterness, “I may be hardly more than a savage, but I’m not a traitor. If I promise to keep a secret, no torture will tear it from me. I may fear my father, but I’m a Swaffham and I fear no other mortal man. Do you understand me?”

  “But, Viscount…”

  “No other mortal man,” Philip interrupted him sternly, “will ever know from me that we have talked about this.”

  The expression on the Weasel’s face changed a little. This change cast a ray of hope on the young nobleman’s heart.

  “Believe me,” Newton said, “you might judge from my hesitation that I had some base motive in saying what I’m saying. Believe me, I never give bad advice and anyone will tell you that.”

  As he spoke, he took a book from his desk and waved it in the air.

  Philip looked puzzled.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “Nothing, Viscount, nothing at all. Please, have patience with your humble servant.”

  The Weasel took his cup of tea and drank from it, all the time keeping an eye on the young man seated opposite him.

  “You will be twenty-one soon. You have one year to wait. Your father is an old man. Why don’t you let him have his way and carry out his plan for a few years more?”

  Philip struck his fist angrily on the desk.

  He cried out, “Is that all you have to say? It is not worth my coming here.” and whistling to Luke, the young man stood up to leave the room.

  “Viscount! Please! Don’t be so quick to leave,” said the Weasel humbly.

  Philip stopped.

  “Talk, then!” he exclaimed roughly.

  In a low, impressive voice, Newton went on.

  “Remember, my dear Viscount, that though I would like to see you have a better understanding with your father, at the same time, I would like to work for your happiness. I’m like a judge in a court, who tries to come up with a compromise between the warring parties. Can you not, while behaving like the perfect son, live in a mode more suited to you? There are a lot of young men of your age, who find themselves in a similar situation.”

  Philip took a step forward, sat down and began to listen carefully.

  “You have more freedom now,” continued Newton. “Your father doesn’t know how you use your time.”

  “He knows that I can’t do anything with my time except hunt.”

  “Well, I know many things to do, if I were your age again.”

  “What would that be?”

  “First of all, stay at home often enough as not to arouse your father’s suspicions. The rest of the time you can spend in Nottingham. If you know where to go, you’ll find it a very pleasant town to spend time in. Rent some nice rooms there, so you could be your own master. At Swaffham Manor keep to your old clothes, but in Nottingham get dressed by the best tailors you can find. If you need friends, pick up a few companions amongst the students. Dance, sing and drink and do anything you like. First though…”

  He halted for a second and then said, “You need a fast car. I don’t think you have one. You need one. If you have a fast car you can be everywhere in no time. At night, when you’re supposed to be asleep on your pillow, you can creep down to the garage and within half an hour you’re in Nottingham. Put on clothes suitable to the handsome young aristocrat you are and have a delightful time with your friends. Then next day, because that is more prudent, next morning, go back home and the servants will only be able to tell your father that you were out early, apparently, shooting, apparently.”

  Philip once had been a strong, honest young man and the idea of telling lies and being duplicitous were very repugnant to his feelings. Yet he listened eagerly to the advice he received. A life of pleasure proposed so masterfully by Newton clouded and at the same time dazzled his imagination and his eyes began to sparkle.

  “Tell me,” the Weasel asked conspiratorially, “what is there to stop you from doing what your heart desires to do?”

  “I know of a few reasons,” answered Philip, with a deep sigh. “A lack of funds is one. A big one, I would say. I’m in need of a lot, but I have hardly any. If I were to ask my father for money, he would refuse to give me any.”

  “You must have friends. Can’t you ask them for a small loan, until you come of age?”

  “I have no friends!” Overwhelmed by a sense of complete helplessness, Philip sank back in his chair.

  There was silence. Newton seemed to think hard. When he spoke, he seemed hesitant.

  “Viscount, I will do anything in my power to help you seeing you so unhappy. I do not want to interfere between your father and you, but I can not sit idly by and allow him to ruin your life. I will find the money to lend to you. No matter how much you require.”

  “Will you do that for me, Mr. Newton?”

  “Unfortunately I don’t have any money myself, I’m only a poor man, but some of the well-to-do farmers around here entrusted me with their savings for investment. Should I not use that money to make your life more comfortable and happy?”

  The selfish young man was almost choked with emotion.

  “Can this be done?” he asked eagerly.

  “Yes, Viscount, but you must understand that you will have to pay interest on this loan. It’s not my money. It belongs to the farmers and they deserve their interest. High enough to keep them from asking any questions, you will understand. Believe me, if I were in your place, I wouldn’t borrow money, but ask my friends to help me.”

  “I have no friends,” answered the young man again.

  Newton shrugged his shoulders.

  “I did my best, but I suppose I must give in. You have made up your mind, I can see that. But at any rate I’ve tried.”

  Philip nodded, more confidently now.

  “I know, my dear Viscount, that considering the wealth that one day will be yours, this loan is dust in the wind.”

  He took a few papers from a drawer and with pencil in hand he then went on to enumerate the conditions of the loan and at each clause he would stop and say, “Do you understand what is meant by this?”

  Philip nodded time and again. He understood the Weasel so well that at the end of the conversation, in exchange for a thousand shilling in crisp bank notes, he handed the Weasel a promissory note for four thousand shilling, which was made payable to two farmers, who were beholden to Newton. The young man was also asked to pledge his word of honor that he would never reveal to anyone, be it father or judge that Newton had anything to do with the transaction.

  “Remember, Viscount, that you are a man of the world now. You must act carefully. Only come here to see me after dark.”

  Newton stood up and shook hands with his client. He smiled. His client looked pale, but relieved. When Newton was alone, he leafed through the contract, which Philip had signed with feelings of intense joy. It was an entirely legal and binding contract and it was drawn up in proper legal form by a friendly, although often litigious solicitor. He had made up his mind to let the young man have all his savings. They were not as huge as some thought them to be. They were limited by his desire to see them grow on the sunny side of a jail cell wall. At that moment his savings amounted to some forty thousand shilling. He wouldn’t press the young and foolish aristocrat for payment, until he had been able to secure his fortune.

  Newton feared the old lord, but he trusted Philip to be silent and discreet. He had dealt with young aristocrats before, in London. This time he knew their game.

  As Philip walked home, followed by his trusty dog, he couldn’t resist putting his hands in his pockets and touching the alluring banknotes. He was dazed and confused and wished to make sure that they were a reality and not a dream.

  The night seemed endless. At last, early the following morning, with his rifle on his shoulder and Luke at his heels, he walked briskly along the road to Nottingham. He thought and thought and decided to follow Newton’s advice. He would rent suitable rooms and then make the acquaintance of some of the jolly students, he would no doubt find in the pubs.

  On his arrival in Nottingham, Philip felt like a small bird, recently hatched from an egg, who didn’t know how to use its wings yet. He wandered around the streets. He didn’t know where to begin his new life. Finally he decided to go to the hotel where he had breakfasted with his father on his previous visit to the town. After an unsatisfactory meal, he went home to Swaffham Manor. Delight had been replaced with disillusionment. Hope had been exchanged for despair.

  He waited till sunset then he paid Newton a visit. Newton was not surprised. He put Philip in contact with a tailor, who for a small commission took the naive aristocrat around town. He rented furnished rooms for him and showed him where to find the best lads in town. Philip in return ordered clothes to the tune of five hundred shilling from him. The tailor told him that he was on the high road to the full gratification of his desires. Reality, as compared to his imagination, however, seemed bland and unfulfilling. The Weasel suggested that his shyness kept him from enjoying his money to the fullest. He needed an intimate friend, one he could share his adventures with, one he could trust to keep his secrets.

  One evening he entered the Bell Inn. He found a large group of students gathered there and was rather disgusted by their rambunctiousness. He beat a hasty retreat and spent the rest of the evening in his own rooms with Luke, who much preferred the open countryside to the noisy city. His new freedoms didn’t make up for the web of lies in which he had enmeshed himself or the every day dread of being found out by either his father or anyone else, who knew him.

  His father had noticed the changes in his son, but his suspicions of the causes were incorrect. One morning he laughed at Philip for the lack of game he had brought home after being away for many hours.

  “Better do your best today, my boy,” he said. “Try and bring home some game, because we will have a guest for dinner.”

  “A guest for dinner?”

  “Yes,” answered the lord. “Mr. Harcourt is coming and the dining room must be open and in proper order.”

  “I promise to shoot some game,” answered Philip and began on his errand.

  His promise was more easily given than acted on. It seemed all game had decided to hide for the day. He had walked for two hours when at last he caught sight of a brazen hare near some bushes. Philip raised his rifle and fired. A scream of anguish followed the shot and Luke ran into the bushes, barking furiously.

  Miss Jane Worrall had not yet given up on her design. Under her appearance of artful simplicity she hid an iron will. Her firm resolve was to become Lady Jane of Swaffham. Her rambles in the district to meet her future husband had turned out to be for naught. The weather had become uncertain. She knew her long strolls on the country roads and fields would soon have to come to an end.

  “Still,” she whispered to herself, “the day will come that he will show himself to me.”

  She was right. The long expected day did come. It was in autumn. The weather was very soft and warm for that time of year. The sky was blue. The few staying yellow, brown and red leaves rustled on the trees. A hawk flew high in the sky. Jane was walking slowly along the path leading to Swaffham Manor, when all at once she heard a rustling of branches. She turned around quickly. The blood in her body suddenly rushed to her heart. Through an opening in the bushes she caught sight of the young aristocrat, who for the past few months had been the object of her plans. Philip was patiently waiting for something. He stood erect, his finger on the trigger of his rifle.

  She saw the opportunity for which she had been waiting so long with such impatience. She thought quickly. When Philip saw her, he would bow to her and she would reply with a slight inclination of her head. Then two months would pass before she met him again. She had to do something, something bold and decisive to catch his attention, but more importantly to keep it. Then she saw Philip raise his shotgun and point it at her. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but her voice failed her. In another instant the shot rang out and she felt a sharp pain in her ankle. It felt like as if she had been touched by a hot, glowing iron on her ankle. With a wild scream she threw up her hands and sprang on the pathway. She fell, but didn’t lose her senses, because she heard a cry in response to her own and the sound of someone forcing his way through the bushes. She felt hot breathing on her face. Something warm and wet touched her mouth. She opened her eyes quickly and saw Luke licking her face.