The Finger of Fate: A Romance

Chapter Sixty Three

“Something to his Advantage.”

The entertainments provided for me by my old college acquaintance were far from being dull, and I kept his company for nearly a week. At the end of this time I was on my way back to Rosario, intending to stop, as promised, at the estancia of Mr Henry Harding; who, if he should prove to be the son of the old Indian General, I could no longer look upon in the light of a stranger.

As proposed, my friend accompanied me, and I had the pleasure of promoting an intimacy between two of my countrymen who were worthy to know one another better than they had hitherto done.

The Signora Lucetta was beautiful and amiable as ever; and we had soon assembled under one roof the two kindred families. For several days we were entertained with a hospitality that became rather difficult to escape from; and my bachelor friend, I believe, went back to his own solitary estancia with strong resolutions of not letting much time elapse before becoming a Benedict.

For my part, I was no longer treated as a stranger. My South American host was the son of General Harding, of Beechwood Park – the very man who had been advertised for; and, as I now learnt, up to that hour in vain.

In a conversation that occurred during my second visit I was made acquainted with his whole history, as detailed in these pages.

“And this?” I said, pointing to the advertisement in the Times– the paper lying upon the table before us.

“Never saw it; never heard of it till now!” was his reply.

“You heard of your father’s death, I suppose?”

“Oh yes; I saw that in the papers shortly after it occurred. My poor father! Perhaps I acted rashly and wrongly. But it is too late to talk of it now.”

I saw that it pained him to speak of his father, and I passed on to another subject.

“Your brother’s marriage – you heard also of that, I suppose?”

“No!” he answered, to my surprise. “Is he married?”

“Long since. It was also in the papers; and somewhat conspicuously. Strange you didn’t see it.”

“Oh! the papers! I never looked at an English newspaper since that containing the account of my father’s death. I hated the sight of them, and everything else that was English. I have not even associated with my own countrymen here, as you may have learnt. And upon whom has Mr Nigel Harding bestowed his name? You know the lady, I suppose?”

“He married a Miss Belle Mainwaring,” I answered, with a counterfeit air of innocence, and not without some fear that the communication might give pain.

I watched his countenance for the effect, but could discover no indication of the sort.

“I knew something of the lady,” he said, with just the shadow of a sneer; “she and my brother ought to make each other very happy. Their dispositions, I think, were suitable.”

I did not say how thoroughly I understood the meaning of his remark.

“But,” I said, returning to the subject of the advertisement, “what do you intend doing about this? You see, it speaks of something to your advantage?”

“Not much, I fancy. I think I know all about it. It is a question of a thousand pounds, which my father promised to leave me at his death. It was so stated in his will – that will – ” Here a bitter expression came quickly over his features. “Well,” he continued, his countenance as suddenly clearing again, “I ought rather to rejoice at it, though it did disinherit me. But for that, signore,” he said, forgetting that he was talking to a countryman, “I might never have seen my dear Lucetta; and I think you will say, that never to have seen her would be the greatest misfortune a man could have.”

It was an odd appeal to me – a stranger; but I could not help responding to it.

He would have gone on conversing upon this pleasant theme; but the time was drawing nigh for us to join the ladies – Lucetta herself being one; and I re-directed his attention to the subject that had taken us apart.

“Even a thousand pounds,” I said, “it is worth looking after.”

“Quite true,” he replied, “and I had several times thoughts of doing so – that is, lately. At first, I was too angry with all that had happened at home; and had made up my mind to refuse even the paltry pittance that had been left for me. But to tell the truth, I have not made much money here; and I begin to feel myself rather a pensioner upon my worthy father-in-law. With a thousand pounds of my own money, I should stand a little higher in my own estimation.”

“What will you do then? Come with me to England and get it?”

“Not for ten thousand! No; I wouldn’t leave this happy home, and forsake my free South American life, for ten times the amount! It will not be necessary to go to England. If there be a thousand pounds lying for me in the hands of Messrs Lawson and Son, which I suppose there is, I must extract it from them by a lawyer’s letter or something of the sort. By the way, you are soon going home, are you not?”

“I intend taking this next steamer for England.”

“Well then, why – But I am asking too much. You have your own affairs to attend to.”

“My affairs are not so very onerous. I can find time to attend to any business you may choose to entrust me with; if you will only allow me to consider as my commission the hospitality, for which I feel myself your debtor.”

“Oh, don’t talk of hospitality! Besides, it is not mine. It was Lucetta who first received you. If I’d been at home myself, seeing you were an Englishman, I should, perhaps, have lent you a horse and let you ride on. And, being myself an Englishman, in all likelihood I should have jockeyed you out of that fine steed of yours, and given you a screw in exchange! Ha! ha! ha!”

I joined him in the laugh, well knowing that his sardonism was but slightly felt.

“But to be serious,” he continued; “you can do me this service, better than any scamp of a lawyer! Go to Mr Lawson, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields – I know something of the old fellow, and his son, too. They are not a bad sort – that is, for solicitors. If there be money left for me, in their hands, I shall likely get it. Let me give you a letter to receive it, and you can send it to some bank in Buenos Ayres. Then it may reach me through the bank agency at Rosario. You can do this for me, and will?”

“With pleasure.”

“Enough! The ladies are longing for us to rejoin them. You are fond of the guitar, I believe. I hear Lucetta tuning the strings. Luigi can sing like a second Mario; and the señorita, as he calls his South American wife, is a perfect nightingale. Hear! They are calling for us! Come!”

It needed no pressing on his part. I was but too eager to respond to the silvery voices commanding our presence in the adjoining apartment.

Chapter Sixty Four

A Hundred Thousand Pounds

Two months later, and I was under a sky unlike to that which canopies the region of Parana as lead to shining sapphires – in a room as different from that pleasant quarto in the South American estancia, as a Newgate cell to an apartment in Aladdin’s palace. I stood in the dingy office of a Lincoln’s Inn lawyer, by name Lawson, the firm Lawson and Son. It was the senior partner who received me; a gentleman with all the appearance, and, as I afterwards discovered, all the claims to respectability in his profession.

“What is the nature of your business?” he politely asked, after examining the card which I handed him to introduce myself.

“You will find it there,” I answered, placing before him an old Times newspaper, and pointing to an advertisement marked in pencil. “I presume it is your firm, Mr Lawson, to which this application is to be made?”

“It is,” he said, starting up from his office chair, as if I had presented a pistol at his head. “It is very long ago, but no matter for that. Do you know anything of the gentleman to whom it refers?”

“Yes, something,” I replied, cautiously – not knowing how far I might be committing the interests of my South American friend.

“He is still alive, then? I mean Mr Henry Harding?”

“I have reason to think so. He was alive two months ago.”

“By – !” exclaimed the lawyer, using a phrase evidently forced from him by the importance of the occasion. “This is serious, indeed. But, sir, are you quite sure? You will excuse me if I ask on which side you come. I know your name, sir. I believe I can trust you to speak candidly. Are you here as a friend of Mr Nigel Harding?”

“If I had been, Mr Lawson, it is not likely I should have given you the information it has just been my pleasure to impart. From all I’ve heard, Mr Nigel Harding would be the last man to be gratified by learning that his brother is alive.”

My speech had a magical effect on Mr Lawson. I could see at once he was upon our side, as he saw that I was upon his. Out of doors I had already heard, that he was no longer the trusted attorney of the Beechwood estate.

“And you assure me he is alive?” was the question again put with an emphasis that showed its importance.

“The best proof I can give you is this.”

I handed over the letter written by Henry Harding, containing a requisition upon him for the legacy of a thousand pounds.

“A thousand pounds!” exclaimed the lawyer, as soon as he had read. “A thousand pounds! A hundred thousand, every shilling of it! Yes! and the accumulated interest, and the mortgage already obtained, and the waste by that scoundrel Woolet! Ah! here’s a penalty for Mr Nigel Harding to pay, and his sweet spendthrift of a wife!”

I was not prepared for this explosion; and as soon as it had to some extent subsided, I asked Mr Lawson to explain.

“Explain!” he said, putting on his spectacles, and turning towards me with a businesslike air. “To you, sir, I shall have much pleasure in explaining. This letter tells me I can trust you. Thank God, the lad still lives! – the true son of my old friend Harding: as he told me on his dying-bed, and with his last breath. Thank God, he is still alive; and we shall yet be able to punish the usurpers, and that pettifogging Woolet as well! Oh, this is good news – a glorious revelation – a resurrection, one may call it!”

“But what does it all mean, Mr Lawson? I came to you at the request of my friend, Mr Henry Harding, whom by chance I met while travelling in South America, on the Parana – as you will see by his letter. He has commissioned me, as you will also perceive, to call upon you, and make certain inquiries. He is under the impression that you hold in your hands a legacy of one thousand pounds left him by his father. If so, he has given me the authority to receive it.”

“A thousand pounds! A thousand pence! Is Beechwood estate worth only a thousand pounds? Read this, sir – just run your eye over that document!”

A grand sheet of parchment, pulled from out a tin case, was flung before me. I saw it was lettered as a will. I took it up, and spreading it upon the table, read what was written. I need not give its contents in detail. It stated that General Harding had revoked the terms of a former will, which left the whole of his estate to his eldest son, Nigel, with a legacy of one thousand pounds to his youngest, Henry; that this second will exactly transposed the conditions, leaving the estate to Henry, and the thousand-pound legacy to Nigel! It also contained ample instructions for the administration, Mr Lawson and his son being the appointed administrators. It was not to be made known to Nigel Harding himself, unless it should be ascertained that Henry was still alive. To determine this point, all due diligence was to be used, by advertisements in the papers, and such other means as the administrators should see fit. Meanwhile, Nigel was to retain possession of the estate, as by the terms of the former testament; and in the event of Henry’s death being proved, he was not only to be left undisturbed, but kept ignorant of the existence of the second will – which would then be null and void. There was a codicil – similar to one in the former will – by which the General’s sister was to have a life-interest out of the estate, amounting to two hundred pounds per annum. Such were the terms of the testament which the solicitor had laid before me.

It is scarce necessary to say, that I perused the document containing these singular conditions with no slight astonishment, and certainly with a feeling of gratification. My hospitable host – the young estanciero on the Parana – need no longer feel under any obligation to his worthy father-in-law; and, little as he professed to love England, I could not help thinking that possession of this fine paternal estate would do much to modify his prejudices against his native land.

“By this will,” I said, addressing myself to the solicitor, “it appears that Henry Harding becomes the sole inheritor of the Beechwood property?”

“It is certain,” answered he; “all but the thousand-pound legacy, and the life-annuity.”

“It will be a surprise for Mr Nigel.”

“Ah! and Mr Woolet too. They did all they could to keep me from advertising for the lost legatee. Of course, they supposed I did so in order to pay him the paltry thousand pounds. Mr Nigel may now have that, and see how far it will cover Woolet’s costs. My word! it will be an explosion! And now for the first steps towards bringing it about.”

“How do you intend to proceed?”

The lawyer looked at me, as if hesitating to answer the question.

“Excuse me,” I said; “I asked rather out of curiosity than otherwise.”

“There you are wrong, good sir. Pardon me for being plain with you. You have the legal authority to act for him.”

“That,” I said, “was only under the supposition that he was to receive a legacy of a thousand pounds. With an estate, as you say, worth a hundred thousand pounds, the affair takes a different shape, and clearly goes beyond my discretionary powers. Though I cannot act as a principal in the matter, I am willing to help you every way I can. I feel sufficiently indebted to your client to do so.”

“And that is just what I intended asking you. Hence my hesitation in replying to your question. I am glad to know that we can count on your assistance. No doubt, we shall need it. Men don’t yield up possession of a hundred thousand without showing fight. We may expect all that, and some questionable strategy besides, from such a fellow as Woolet – a thorough scoundrel – without one jot of principle!”

“But how can they dispute this will?” I asked. “It seems clear enough, and of course you know it to have been the latest and last.”

“Signed by General Harding the day before he died. Regularly and carefully attested – you see the names upon it. They cannot dispute the document.”

“What then?”

“Ah! what then? That is just the point I think it will turn upon the identity of our claimant. By the way, what does the young fellow look like? Is he much altered in appearance since he left England?”

“That question I cannot answer.”

“Indeed! It is but two months since you have seen him.”

“True; but I may almost say I then saw him for the first time. I had met him six years before, but only on one or two occasions, and had lost all remembrance of his looks.”

“He was very young,” pursued the solicitor in soliloquy, – “a mere boy when that unfortunate affair occurred. After all, perhaps, not so unfortunate! No doubt, he will be much changed. A captivity among brigands – fighting on barricades – a beard – the tan of a South American sun – to say nothing of getting married – no doubt, the Henry Harding of to-day is entirely unlike the Henry Harding who left home six years ago. My word! there might be a difficulty in identifying him, and we may dread the worst. People nowadays can be had to swear anything – that black’s blue, or even white, if it’s wanted – and money enough to pay for the perjury. In this case there will be both money and a determination to use it. Woolet won’t stick at anything; nor will Mr Nigel Harding either – to say nothing of Mrs Nigel and her amiable mother. We’re sure to have a fight, sir – sure of it.”

“You don’t appear to have much fear about the result?”

I said this, noticing that the lawyer talked with an air of triumphant confidence, besides having used the conditional tense when speaking of the chances of his client being identified.

“Not the slightest – not the slightest. I don’t apprehend any difficulty. There might have been; but I fancy I have a scheme to set all right. Never mind, sir; you shall be told of it in good time. And now for citing all parties into Court.”

“But do you mean to do that now?”

“Of course not; oh no. I was only speaking figuratively. The first thing is to get Mr Henry Harding here, – he must be sent for immediately. Let me see: Estancia Torreani, Rosario. Up the Parana River, you say. With your kind directions, sir, my own son shall start for South America at once. It’s a long way, but no matter for that. A hundred thousand pounds is worth going round the world for more than once. And now, sir, I will make request for two favours: one, that you will write to your friend, Mr Henry Harding, telling him what you have learnt. My son can carry your letter along with other instructions. The other favour I would ask is, that you give your word to keep this affair a secret until – well, until Mr Henry Harding himself appears upon the ground.”

Of course the promise was given – as also the directions to serve Lawson junior on his Transatlantic itinerary; and leaving my address, so that Lawson senior could at any time communicate with me, I took my departure from Lincoln’s Inn Fields, rejoiced, as well as surprised, at the discovery I had made.

Chapter Sixty Five

The Finger of Fate

In less than six months from the date of my interview with the Lincoln’s Inn lawyer, there occurred in the London courts a trial of more than usual interest.

It was a case of contested will – no very uncommon thing. But in that to which I refer, there were circumstances of a peculiar, I might say very peculiar, kind. These, with the position of the parties concerned, rendered the suit worthy of being placed among the records of causes célèbres.

It was the case of “Harding versus Harding;” the defendant being Nigel Harding, Esq, of Beechwood Park, Buckinghamshire; the plaintiff, a Mr Henry Harding, who claimed to be his half-brother.

The matter in dispute was an estate, valued at one hundred thousand pounds, of which defendant was in possession. He held it by a will – that of General Harding, his father, and former owner of the property – made some twelve months before the General’s death, and at the same time duly signed and attested.

It had been drawn up by a country attorney, named Woolet; and signed by himself and his clerk, acting as witnesses to the testator.

It gave the whole of General Harding’s estate to his elder son, Nigel, with the exception of one thousand pounds, to his other and younger son, Henry, and an annuity of two hundred to the General’s sister.

So far the document seemed quite correct – except in the strangeness of the unequal distribution. But there were reasons for this; and no one disputed the genuineness of the instrument. The question was one of an alleged later testament; which, if also proved genuine, would have the effect of setting aside Woolet’s will, by a complete change of terms. By the second will, the estate was bestowed on the younger son, and the one thousand pounds given to the elder!

The strange transposal was, however, coupled with a condition also strange. It appeared, by the citing of the second will, that the younger brother was abroad when it was made, and not only abroad, but supposed to be dead.

A doubt of his death must have been in the testator’s mind, leading him to insert the condition: which was to the effect, that in the event of his younger son’s return he was to enter upon quiet possession of the property – all of it, excepting the aforesaid legacy of one thousand pounds!

He had returned; at least, so alleged the plaintiff, who claimed to be Henry Harding, the legatee of the second will.

But he was not admitted into “quiet possession,” according to the words of the will. On the contrary the case was going to be contested with all the legal strength and strategy that on both aides could be brought to bear upon it.

On the part of the defence, there was no attempt to disprove the genuineness of the second will. It had been made by a lawyer of the highest respectability, who was ready to prove it.

The point turned upon the question of identity; the defendant denying that the plaintiff was his half-brother, or in any way entitled to relationship.

There was no proof that Henry Harding was dead – only the presumption; and to strengthen this, the defendant’s counsel – imprudently, as it afterwards turned out – exhibited certain letters written by the real Henry Harding as he called him – showing that he had been captive to a band of Italian brigands, who threatened to take his life, unless a ransom should be paid for him.

It was proved that this ransom was not paid; that it had been sent; but, as the defence alleged, too late. The plaintiff’s own witnesses were compelled to testify to this.

The presumption, therefore, was that the bandits, speaking through their chief, Corvino, had carried out their threat.

This was the impression produced upon “twelve men, good and true,” after an eloquent speech made by an eminent counsel, to whom the defendant’s solicitors had entrusted the conduct of their case.

On the plaintiff’s side, a story had been told that appeared altogether incredible. It was preposterous to suppose – as thought twelve English tradesmen – that the son of an English gentleman of wealth and standing should voluntarily take to the profession of painting pictures, and afterwards exile himself to such a country as South America: there to stay, forgetting his fine estate at home, till the merest accident gave him cause to remember it! They could have believed in such self-banishment in one of their own sons; but the son of a general, a county squire, the owner of a large landed estate – the thing was not to be credited!

They could give credence to the brigand part of the tale, though that too seemed queer to them. But the story of the self-exile – leaving an estate unclaimed! The plaintiff’s counsel might tell that to the marines!

So stood the case, after several days spent in the questioning and cross-questioning of witnesses, and the trial was approaching its termination.

All the testimony which the plaintiff’s counsel could produce was not sufficient to establish his identity. It could not convince a British jury, that the sun-embrowned and bearded young man, set forth as the claimant of Beechwood Park, was the son of its former proprietor; while the pale, silent gentleman, who now held possession of it, undoubtedly was.