The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly

“And how so, if he died in boyhood?” muttered he; “read on.”

“‘Now, Carlotta has deserted me! and for whom? For the man who betrayed me! for that Niccolo Baldassare who denounced five of us at Verona, and whose fault it is not that I have not died by the hangman.’”

“This is very important; a light is breaking on me through this cloud, too, that gives me hope.”

“I see what you mean. You think that probably – ”

“No matter what I think; search on through the papers. What is this? here is a drawing. Is it a mausoleum?”

“Yes; and the memorandum says, ‘If I ever be rich enough, I shall place this over Enrichetta’s remains at Louvain, and have her boy’s body laid beside her. Poor child, that if spared might have inherited a princely state and fortune, he lies now in the pauper burial-ground at St. Michel. They let me, in consideration of what I had done in repairing their frescos, place a wooden cross over him. I cut the inscription with my own hands, – G. L. B., aged four years; the last hope of a shattered heart.’

“Does not this strengthen your impression?” asked Julia, turning and confronting him.

“Aged four years: he was born, I think, in ‘99, – the year after the rebellion in Ireland; this brings us nigh the date of his death. One moment. Let me note this.” He hurriedly scratched off a few lines. “St. Michel; where is St. Michel? It may be a church in some town.”

“Or it may be that village in Savoy, at the foot of the Alps.”

“True! We shall try there.”

“These are without interest; they are notes of sums paid on the road, or received for his labor. All were evidently leaves of a book and torn out.”

“What is this about Carlotta here?”

“Ah, yes. ‘With this I send her all I had saved and put by. I knew he would ill-treat her; but to take her boy from her, – her one joy and comfort in life, – and to send him away, she knows not whither, his very name changed, is more than I believed possible. She says that Niccolo has been to England, and found means to obtain money from M. B.’”

“Montague Bramleigh,” muttered Sedley; but she read on: “‘This is too base; but it explains why he stole all the letters in poor Enrichetta’s box, and the papers that told of her marriage.’”

“Are we on the track now?” cried the old lawyer, triumphantly. “This Baldassare was the father of the claimant, clearly enough. Enrichetta’s child died, and the sister’s husband substituted himself in his place.”

“But this Niccolo who married Carlotta,” said Julia, “must have been many years older than Enrichetta’s son would have been had he lived.”

“Who was to detect that? Don’t you see that he never made personal application to the Bramleighs? He only addressed them by letter, which, knowing all Enrichetta’s story, he could do without risk or danger. Kelson could n’t have been aware of this,” muttered he; “but he had some misgivings, – what were they?”

While the lawyer sat in deep thought, his face buried in his hands, Julia hurriedly turned over the papers. There were constant references to Carlotta’s boy, whom the old man seemed to have loved tenderly; and different jottings showed how he had kept his birthday, which fell on the 4th of August. He was born at Zurich, where Baldassare worked as a watchmaker, his trade being, however, a mere mask to conceal his real occupation, – that of conspirator.

“No,” said Sedley, raising his head at last, “Kelson knew nothing of it. I’m certain he did not. It was a cleverly planned scheme throughout; and all the more so by suffering a whole generation to lapse before litigating the claim.”

“But what is this here?” cried Julia, eagerly. “It is only a fragment; but listen to it: ‘There is no longer a doubt about it. Baldassare’s first wife – a certain Marie de Pracontal – is alive, and living with her parents at Aix, in Savoy. Four of the committee have denounced him, and his fate is certain.

“‘I had begun a letter to Bramleigh, to expose the fraud this scoundrel would pass upon him; but why should I spare him who killed my child?’”

“First of all,” said Sedley, reading from his notes, “we have the place and date of Enrichetta’s death; secondly, the burial-place of Godfrey Lami Bramleigh set down as St. Michel, perhaps in Savoy. We have then the fact of the stolen papers, the copies of registries, and other documents. The marriage of Carlotta is not specified, but it is clearly evident, and we can even fix the time; and, last of all, we have this second wife, whose name, Pracontal, was always borne by the present claimant.”

“And are you of opinion that this same Pracontal was a party to the fraud?” asked Julia.

“I am not certain,” muttered he. “It is not too clear; the point is doubtful.”

“But what have we here? It is a letter, with a postmark on it.” She read, “Leghorn, February 8, 1812.” It was addressed to the Illustrissimo Maestro Lami, Porta Rossa, Florence, and signed N. Baldassare. It was but a few lines, and ran thus: —

“Seeing that Carlotta and her child now sleep at Pisa, why deny me your interest for my boy Anatole? You know well to what he might succeed, and how. Be unforgiving to me if you will. I have borne as hard things even as your hatred, but the child that has never wronged you deserves no part of this hate. I want but little from you; some dates, a few names, – that I know you remember, – and, last of all, my mind refreshed on a few events which I have heard you talk of again and again. Nor is it for me that you will do this; for I leave Europe within a week, – I shall return to it no more. Answer this Yes or No at once, as I am about to quit this place. You know me well enough to know that I never threaten, though I sometimes counsel; and my counsel now is, consent to the demand of – N. Baldassare.”

Underneath was written, in Lami’s hand, “I will carry this to my grave, that I may curse him who wrote it, here and hereafter.”

“Now the story stands out complete,” said Julia, “and this Pracontal belonged to neither Bramleigh nor Lami.”

“Make me a literal translation of that letter,” said Sedley. “It is of more moment than almost all we have yet read. I do not mean now, Miss Julia,” said he, seeing she had already commenced to write, “for we have these fragments still to look over.”

While the lawyer occupied himself with drawing up a memorandum for his own guidance, Julia, by his directions, went carefully over the remaining papers. Few were of any interest; but these she docketed accurately, and with such brevity and clearness combined, that Sedley, little given to compliments, could not but praise her skill. It was not till the day began to decline that their labors drew to a close. It was a day of intense attention and great work; but only when it was over did she feel the exhaustion of overwrought powers.

“You are very, very tired,” said Sedley. “It was too thoughtless of me. I ought to have remembered how unused you must be to fatigue like this.”

“But I couldn’t have left it; the interest was intense, and nothing would have persuaded me to leave the case without seeing how it ended.”

“It will be necessary to authenticate these,” said he, laying his hand on the papers; “and then we must show how we came by them.”

“Jack can tell you this,” said she; and now her strength failed her outright, and she lay back, overcome, and almost fainting. Sedley hurriedly rang for help; but before any one arrived Julia rallied, and with a faint smile, said, “Don’t make a fuss about me. You have what is really important to occupy you. I will go and lie down till evening;” and so she left him.

CHAPTER LXVI. SEDLEY’S NOTES

Julia found herself unable to come down to dinner, and Mr. Sedley had to confess that he had overtaxed her strength and imposed too far upon her zeal. “To tell truth,” added he, “I forgot she was not a colleague. So shrewd and purpose-like were all her remarks, such aptitude she displayed in rejecting what was valueless, and such acuteness in retaining all that was really important, it went clean out of my head that I was not dealing with a brother of the craft, instead of a very charming and beautiful young lady.”

“And you really have fallen upon papers of importance?” asked Nelly, eagerly; for Julia had already, in answer to the same question, said, “Mr. Sedley has pledged me to silence.”

“Of the last importance, Miss Bramleigh.” He paused for an instant, and then added, “I am well aware that I see nothing but friends, almost members of one family, around this table, but the habits of my calling impose reserve; and, besides, I am unwilling to make revelations until, by certain inquiries, I can affirm that they may be relied on.”

“Oh, Mr. Sedley, if you have a gleam – even a gleam – of hope, do give it us. Don’t you think our long-suffering and patience have made us worthy of it?”

“Stop, Nelly,” cried Augustus, “I will have no appeals of this kind. Mr. Sedley knows our anxieties, and if he does not yield to them he has his own good reasons.”

“I don’t see that,” broke in Jack. “We are not asking to hear our neighbor’s secrets, and I take it we are of an age to be intrusted with our own.”

“You speak sharply, sir,” said Sedley, “but you speak well. I would only observe that the most careful and cautious people have been known to write letters, very confidential letters, which somehow get bruited about, so that clews are discovered and inferences traced which not unfrequently have given the most serious difficulties to those engaged in inquiry.”

“Have no fears on that score, Mr. Sedley,” said Jack. “There are no four people in Europe at this moment with fewer correspondents. I believe I might say that the roof of this house covers our whole world.”

“Jack is right, there,” added Augustus. “If we don’t write to the ‘Times’ or the ‘Post,’ I don’t see to whom we are to tell our news.”

“George has n’t even a pulpit here to expound us from,” cried Jack, laughingly.

“You have an undoubted right to know what is strictly your own concern. The only question is, shall I be best consulting your interests by telling it?”

“Out with it, by all means,” said Jack. “The servants have left the room now, and here we are in close committee.”

Sedley looked towards Augustus, who replied by a gesture of assent; and the lawyer, taking his spectacles from his pocket, said, “I shall simply read you the entry of my notebook. Much of it will surprise, and much more gratify you; but let me entreat that if you have any doubts to resolve or questions to put, you will reserve them till I have finished. I will only say that for everything I shall state as fact there appears to me to be abundant proofs, and where I mention what is simply conjecture I will say so. You remember my condition, then? I am not to be interrupted.”

“Agreed,” cried Jack, as though replying for the most probable defaulter. “I ‘ll not utter a word, and the others are all discretion.”

“The case is this,” said Sedley. “Montague Bramleigh, of Cossenden Manor, married Enrichetta, daughter of Giacomo Lami, the painter. The marriage was celebrated at the village church of Portshandon, and duly registered. They separated soon after, – she retiring to Holland with her father, who had compromised himself in the Irish rebellion of ‘98. A son was born to this marriage, christened and registered in the Protestant church at Louvain as Godfrey Lami Bramleigh. To his christening Bramleigh was entreated to come; but under various pretexts he excused himself, and sent a costly present for the occasion. His letters, however, breathed nothing but affection, and fully recognized the boy as his son and his heir. Captain Bramleigh is, I know, impatient at the length of these details, but I can’t help it. Indignant at the treatment of his daughter, Lami sent back the gift with a letter of insulting meaning. Several letters were interchanged of anger and recrimination; and Enrichetta, whose health had long been failing, sunk under the suffering of her desertion, and died. Lami left Holland, and repaired to Germany, carrying the child with him. He was also accompanied by a younger daughter, Carlotta, who, at the time I refer to, might have been sixteen or seventeen years of age. Lami held no intercourse with Bramleigh from this date, nor, so far as we know, did Bramleigh take measures to learn about the child, – how he grew up, or where he was. Amongst the intimates of Lami’s family was a man whose name is not unfamiliar to newspaper readers of some thirty or forty years back, – a man who had figured in various conspiracies, and contrived to escape scathless where his associates had paid the last penalty of their crimes. This man became the suitor of Carlotta, and won her affections, although Giacomo neither liked nor trusted Niccolo Baldassare – ”