The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly

“Stop, there,” cried Jack, rising, and leaning eagerly across the table. “Say that name again.”

“Niccolo Baldassare.”

“My old companion, – my comrade at the galleys,” exclaimed Jack; “we were locked to each other, wrist and ankle, for eight months.”

“He lives, then?”

“I should think he does. The old beggar is as stout and hale as any one here. I can’t guess his age; but I’ll answer for his vigor.”

“This will be all important hereafter,” said Sedley, making a note. “Now to my narrative. From Lami, Baldassare learned the story of Enrichetta’s unhappy marriage and death, and heard how the child, then a playful little boy of three years or so, was the rightful heir of a vast fortune, – a claim the grandfather firmly resolved to prosecute at some future day. The hope was, however, not destined to sustain him, for the boy caught a fever and died. His burial-place is mentioned, and his age, four years.”

“So that,” cried Augustus, “the claim became extinct with him?”

“Of course; for though Montague Bramleigh re-married, it was not till six years after his first wife’s death.”

“And our rights are unassailable?” cried Nelly, wildly.

“Your estates are safe; at least, they will be safe.”

“And who is Pracontal de Bramleigh?” asked Jack.

“I will tell you. Baldassare succeeded in winning Carlotta’ s heart, and persuaded her to elope with him. She did so, carrying with her all the presents Bramleigh had formerly given to her sister, – some rings of great price, and an old watch with the Bramleigh arms in brilliants, among the number. But these were not all. She also took the letters and documents that established her marriage, and a copy of the registration. I must hasten on, for I see impatience on every side. He broke the heart of this poor girl, who died, and was buried with her little boy, in the same grave, leaving old Lami desolate and childless. By another marriage, and by a wife still living, Marie Pracontal, Baldassare had a son; and he bethought him, armed as he was with papers and documents, to prefer the claim to the Bramleigh estates for this youth; and had even the audacity to ask Lami’s assistance to the fraud, and to threaten him with his vengeance if he betrayed him.

“So perfectly propped was the pretension by circumstances of actual events, – Niccolo knew everything, – that Bramleigh not only sent several sums of money to stifle the demand, but actually despatched a confidential person abroad to see the claimant, and make some compromise with him; for it is abundantly evident that Montague Bramleigh only dreaded the scandal and the éclat such a story would create, and had no fears for the title to his estates, he all along believing that there were circumstances in the marriage with Enrichetta which would show it to be illegal, and the issue consequently illegitimate.”

“I must say, I think our respected grandfather,” said Augustus, gravely, “does not figure handsomely in this story.”

“With the single exception of old Lami,” cried Jack, “they were a set of rascals, – every man of them.”

“And is this the way you speak of your dear friend Niccolo Baldassare?” asked Nelly.

“He was a capital fellow at the galleys; but I suspect he ‘d prove a very shady acquaintance in more correct company.”

“And, Mr. Sedley, do you really say that all this can be proven?” cried Nelly. “Do you believe it all yourself?”

“Every word of it. I shall test most of it within a few days. I have already telegraphed to London for one of the clever investigators of registries and records. I have ample means of tracing most of the events I need. These papers of old Lami’s are full of small details; they form a closer biography than most men leave behind them.”

“There was, however, a marriage of my grandfather with Enrichetta Lami?” asked Augustus.

“We give them that,” cried the lawyer, who fancied himself already instructing counsel. “We contest nothing, – notice, registry, witnesses, all are as legal as they could wish. The girl was Mrs. Bramleigh, and her son, Montague Bramleigh’s heir. Death, however, carried away both, and the claim fell with them. That these people will risk a trial now is more than I can believe; but if they should, we will be prepared for them. They shall be indicted before they leave the court, and Count Pracontal de Bramleigh be put in the dock for forgery.”

“No such thing, Sedley!” broke in Bramleigh, with an energy very rare with him. “I am well inclined to believe that this young man was no party to the fraud, – he has been duped throughout; nor can I forget the handsome terms he extended to us when our fortune looked darkest.”

“A generosity on which late events have thrown a very ugly light,” muttered Sedley.

“My brother is right. I ‘ll be sworn he is,” cried Jack. “We should be utterly unworthy of the good luck that has befallen us, if the first use we made of it was to crush another.”

“If your doctrines were to prevail, sir, it would be a very puzzling world to live in,” said Sedley, sharply.

“We ‘d manage to get on with fewer lawyers, anyway.”

“Mr. Sedley,” said Nelly, mildly, “we are all too happy and too gratified for this unlooked-for deliverance to have a thought for what is to cause suffering anywhere. Let us, I entreat you, have the full enjoyment of this great happiness.”

“Then we are probably to include the notable Mr. Cutbill in this act of indemnity?” said Sedley, sneeringly.

“I should think we would, sir,” replied Jack. “Without the notable Mr. Cutbill’s aid we should never have chanced on those papers you have just quoted to us.”

“Has he been housebreaking again?” asked Sedley, with a grin.

“I protest,” interposed Bramleigh, “if the good fairy who has been so beneficent to us were only to see us sparring and wrangling in this fashion, she might well think fit to withdraw her gift.”

“Oh, here’s Julia,” cried Nelly; “and all will go right now.”

“Well,” said Julia, “has any one moved the thanks of the house to Mr. Sedley; for if not, I ‘m quite ready to do it. I have my speech prepared.”

“Move! move!” cried several, together.

“I first intend to have a little dinner,” said she; “but I have ordered it in the small dining-room; and you are perfectly welcome, any or all of you, to keep me company, if you like.”

To follow the conversation that ensued would be little more than again to go over a story which we feel has been already impressed with tiresome reiteration on the reader. Whatever had failed in Sedley’s narrative, Julia’s ready wit and quick intelligence had supplied by conjecture, and they talked on till late into the night, bright gleams of future projects shooting like meteors across the placid heaven of their enjoyment, and making all bright around them.

Before they parted it was arranged that each should take his separate share of the inquiry; for there were registries to be searched, dates confirmed in several places; and while L’Estrange was to set out for Louvain, and Jack for Savoy, Sedley himself took charge of the weightier question to discover St. Michel, and prove the burial of Godfrey Bramleigh.

CHAPTER LXVII. A WAYFARER

When the time came for the several members of the family at the villa to set out on the search after evidence, Jack, whose reluctance to leave home – he called it “home” – increased with every day, induced Cutbill to go in his stead, a change which even Mr. Sedley himself was forced to admit was not detrimental to the public service.

Cutbill’s mission was to Aix, in Savoy, to see and confer with Marie Pracontal, the first wife of Baldassare. He arrived in the nick of time; for only on that same morning had Baldassare himself entered the town, in his galley-slave uniform, to claim his wife and ask recognition amongst his fellow-townsmen. The house where she lived was besieged by a crowd, all more or less eager in asserting the woman’s cause, and denouncing the pretensions of a fellow covered with crimes, and pronounced dead to all civil rights. Amid execrations and insults, with threats of even worse, Baldassare stood on a chair in the street, in the act of addressing the multitude, as Cutbill drew nigh. The imperturbable self-possession, the cool courage of the man – who dared to brave public opinion in this fashion, and demand a hearing for what in reality was nothing but a deliberate insult to the people around him whose lives he knew, and whose various social derelictions he was all familiar with – was positively astounding. “I have often thought of you, good people,” said he, “while at the galleys; and I made a vow to myself that the first act of my escape, if ever I should escape, should be to visit this place and thank you for every great lesson I have learned in life. It was here, in this place, I committed my first theft. It was yonder in that church I first essayed sacrilege. It was you, amiable and gentle people, who gave me four associates who betrayed each other, and who died on the drop or by the guillotine, with the courage worthy of Aix; and it was from you I received that pearl of wives who is now married to a third husband, and denies the decent rights of hospitality to her first.”

This outrage was now unbearable; a rush was made at him, and he fell amongst the crowd, who had torn him limb from limb but for the intervention of the police, who were driven to defend him with fixed bayonets. “A warm reception, I must say,” cried the fellow, as they led him away, bleeding and bruised, to the jail.

It was not a difficult task for Cutbill to obtain from Marie Pracontal the details he sought for. Smarting under the insults and scandal she had been exposed to on the day before, she revealed everything, and signed in due form a procès verbal drawn up by a notary of the place, of her marriage with Baldassare, the birth of her son Anatole with the dates of his birth and baptism, and gave up, besides, some letters which he had written while at the naval school of Genoa. What became of him afterwards she knew not, nor, indeed, seemed to care. The cruelties of the father had poisoned her mind against the son, and she showed no interest in his fate, and wished not to hear of him.

Cutbill left Aix on the third day, and was slowly strolling up the Mont Cenis pass in front of his horses, when he overtook the very galley-slave he had seen addressing the crowd at Aix. “I thought they had sent you over the frontier into France, my friend,” said Cutbill, accosting him like an old acquaintance.

“So they did; but I gave them the slip at Culoz, and doubled back. I have business at Rome, and could n’t endure that roundabout way by Marseilles.”

“Will you smoke? May I offer you a cigar?”

“My best thanks,” said he, touching his cap politely. “They smashed my pipe, those good people down there. Like all villagers, they resent free speech, but they ‘d have learned something had they listened to me.”

“Perhaps your frankness was excessive.”

“Ha! you were there, then? Well, it was what Diderot calls self-sacrificing sincerity; but all men who travel much and mix with varied classes of mankind, fall into this habit. In becoming cosmopolitan you lose in politeness.”

“Signor Baldassare, your conversation interests me much. Will you accept a seat in my carriage over the mountain, and give me the benefit of your society?”

“It is I that am honored, sir,” said he, removing his cap, and bowing low. “There is nothing so distinctively well bred as the courtesy of a man in your condition to one in mine.”