“Is it anything serious?” she said, in an awed voice, for she was really shocked by his appearance, and did not want him to die at this moment of his succession.
“It’s skull and cross-bones business; that’s what it is,” said her husband with a groan. “Rascally east wind did it. Don’t come here; you can’t do me any good.”
A famous London physician, who had probably killed more people than any other doctor living, and was esteemed proportionately, was summoned by telegraph; and by the sick man’s own desire the chief solicitor of the county town, who had been legal adviser and agent to the late duke, was sent for, to return in all haste to Staghurst and take down his instructions. Left alone with this person on his arrival, by his own express desire, Cocky, who had scarcely any voice left, whispered to him:
“Would it keep ’em out of the succession if I declare they aren’t my children?”
The solicitor hesitated; he felt his own position a most delicate and embarrassing one.
“Your Grace must not entertain such suspicions,” he said, with some confusion. “The duchess enjoys the esteem and respect of every——”
“Stow your gab!” hissed Cocky. “All I want to know is—if I made a formal declaration, would it stand?”
“No, sir—it would not.”
The lawyer thought the dying man’s mind wandered, being himself a country person to whose ears the gossip of smart society did not come. “Oh, your Grace, you must not think of such a thing,” he added, greatly embarrassed. “Dear me, dear me, I do not know what to say, sir.”
“Would it keep her brats out?” said Cocky, as savagely as his failing breath allowed.