“Never mind me,” he said almost impatiently “Daphne, where do you keep your marriage certificate?”
The question startled her. She treasured this sacred document with her most intimate possessions though she had never looked at it. She had never refused him a request in her life, but something made her hesitate to tell him.
“Do you want to see it, Darling?” she pleaded.
“Yes, please,” he said in the tone she knew meant obedience, and she fetched it for him.
“You will take care of it, Darling, won’t you?”
It was placing her honour in his hands.
She went slowly out of the room, feeling as though he had taken her child from her.
All night Hugh paced the garden. Winnie was going to have a child, and little Roy in his cot upstairs was to be dispossessed of his birthright. The crisis had come at last, which he had refused to meet. Only one course was open to him, and that he would take to the bitter end. The Curse had handed him his poison cup, and he must drink as became a Reckavile.
He would go to England, yes at once, without farewells which he hated, or an explanation which he could not give with those clear eyes on him.
He would produce the marriage certificate, that would be necessary, and proclaim his infamy. He must put Carlotta in her place, and Roy as his heir, and then, of course, follow the path so many of his ancestors had done, with dignity and unfaltering courage. Only in his case it must be swift, he would never suffer arrest.