 | CHAPTER XV. The two admirals |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
Push hard up hill; but at the farthest steep
You trust to gain, and put an end to strife,
Down thunders back the stone with mighty sweep,
And hurls your labours to the valley deep;—”
Thomson.
The sudden, and, in some measure, unlooked-for event,
related in the close of the last chapter, produced a great
change in the condition of things at Wychecombe Hall.
The first step was to make sure that the baronet was actually
dead; a fact that Sir Gervaise Oakes, in particular, was
very unwilling to believe, in the actual state of his feelings.
Men often fainted, and apoplexy required three blows to
kill; the sick man might still revive, and at least be able
to execute his so clearly expressed intentions.
“Ye'll never have act of any sort, testamentary or matrimonial,
legal or illegal, in this life, from the late Sir Wycherly
Wychecombe of Wychecombe Hall, Devonshire,”
coolly observed Magrath, as he collected the different medicines
and instruments he had himself brought forth for the
occasion. “He's far beyond the jurisdiction of My Lord
High Chancellor or the College of Physicians and Surgeons;
and therefore, ye'll be acting prudently to consider him as
deceased; or, in the light in which the human body is placed
by the cessation of all the animal functions.”
This decided the matter, and the necessary orders were
given; all but the proper attendants quitting the chamber
of death. It would be far from true to say that no one
lamented Sir Wycherly Wychecombe. Both Mrs. Dutton
and Mildred grieved for his sudden end, and wept sincerely
for his loss; though totally without a thought of its consequences
to themselves. The daughter did not even once
think how near she had been to the possession of £6000,
and how unfortunately the cup of comparative affluence had
been dashed from her lips; though truth compels us to avow
that the mother did once recall this circumstance, with a
on the manifestations of sorrow that flowed from others.
The domestics, in particular, were too much astounded to
indulge in any very abstracted grief, and Sir Gervaise and
Atwood were both extremely vexed. In short, the feelings
usual to such occasions were but little indulged in, though
there was a strict observance of decorum.
Sir Reginald Wychecombe noted these circumstances
attentively, and he took his measures accordingly. Seizing
a favourable moment to consult with the two admirals, his
decision was soon made; and, within an hour after his kinsman's
death, all the guests and most of the upper servants
were assembled in the room, which it was the usage of the
house to call the library; though the books were few, and
seldom read. Previously, there had been a consultation
between Sir Reginald and the two admirals, to which Atwood
had been admitted, ex officio. As everything, therefore, had
been arranged in advance, there was no time lost unnecessarily,
when the company was collected; the Hertfordshire
baronet coming to the point at once, and that in the clearest
manner.
“Gentlemen, and you, good people, domestics of the late
Sir Wycherly Wychecombe,” he commenced; “you are
all acquainted with the unfortunate state of this household.
By the recent death of its master, it is left without a head;
and the deceased departing this life a bachelor, there is no
child to assume his place, as the natural and legal successor.
In one sense, I might be deemed the next of kin; though,
by a dictum of the common law I have no claim to the succession.
Nevertheless, you all know it was the intention
of our late friend to constitute me his executor, and I conceive
it proper that search should now be made for a will,
which, by being duly executed, must dispose of all in this
house, and let us know who is entitled to command at this
solemn and important moment. It strikes me, Sir Gervaise
Oakes, that the circumstances are so peculiar as to call for
prompt proceedings.”
“I fully agree with you, Sir Reginald,” returned the vice-admiral;
“but before we proceed any further, I would suggest
the propriety of having as many of those present as
possible, who have an interest in the result. Mr. Thomas
see among us.”
On examination, this was found to be true, and the man
of Tom Wychecombe, who had been ordered by his master
to be present as a spy, was immediately sent to the latter, with
a request that he would attend. After a delay of two or
three minutes, the fellow returned with the answer.
“Sir Thomas Wychecombe's compliments, gentlemen,”
he said, “and he desires to know the object of your request.
He is in his room, indulging in natural grief for his recent
loss; and he prefers to be left alone with his sorrows, just
at this moment, if it be agreeable to you.”
This was taking high ground in the commencement; and,
as the man had his cue, and delivered his message with
great distinctness and steadiness, the effect on the dependants
of the household was very evident. Sir Reginald's face
flushed, while Sir Gervaise bit his lip; Bluewater played
with the hilt of his sword, very indifferent to all that was
passing; while Atwood and the surgeons shrugged their
shoulders and smiled. The first of these persons well knew
that Tom had no shadow of a claim to the title he had been
in so much haste to assume, however, and he hoped that
the feebleness of his rights in all particulars, was represented
by the mixed feebleness and impudence connected with this
message. Determined not to be bullied from his present
purpose, therefore, he turned to the servant and sent him
back with a second message, that did not fail of its object.
The man was directed to inform his master, that Sir Reginald
Wychecombe was in possession of facts that, in his
opinion, justified the course he was taking, and if “Mr.
Thomas Wychecombe” did not choose to appear, in order
to look after his own interests, he should proceed without
him. This brought Tom into the room, his face pale with
uncertainty, rather than with grief, and his mind agitated
with such apprehensions as are apt to beset even the most
wicked, when they take their first important step in evil.
He bowed, however, to the company with an air that he
intended to represent the manner of a well-bred man acknowledging
his duties to respected guests.
“If I appear remiss in any of the duties of a host, gentlemen,”
he said, “you will overlook it, I trust, in consideration
elder brother, and was very dear, as he was very near to
me. By this melancholy death, Sir Reginald, I am suddenly
and unexpectedly elevated to be the head of our
ancient and honourable family; but I know my own personal
unworthiness to occupy that distinguished place, and
feel how much better it would be filled by yourself. Although
the law has placed a wide and impassable barrier
between all of your branch of the family and ourselves, I
shall ever be ready to acknowledge the affinity, and to confess
that it does us quite as much honour as it bestows.”
Sir Reginald, by a great effort, commanded himself so
far as to return the bow, and apparently to receive the condescending
admissions of the speech, with a proper degree
of respect.
“Sir, I thank you,” he answered, with formal courtesy;
“no affinity that can be properly and legally established,
will ever be disavowed by me. Under present circumstances,
however, summoned as I have been to the side of his death-bed,
by the late Sir Wycherly, himself, and named by him,
as one might say, with his dying breath, as his executor, I
feel it a duty to inquire into the rights of all parties, and, if
possible, to ascertain who is the successor, and consequently
who has the best claim to command here.”
“You surely do not attach any validity, Sir Reginald, to
the pretended will that was so singularly drawn up in my
dear uncle's presence, an hour before he died! Had that
most extraordinary instrument been duly signed and sealed,
I cannot think that the Doctor's Commons would sustain it;
but unsigned and unsealed, it is no better than so much
waste paper.”
“As respects the real estate, sir, though so great a loser
by the delay of five minutes, I am willing to admit that you
are right. With regard to the personals, a question in
equity—one of clearly-expressed intention—might possibly
arise; though even of that I am by no means certain.”
“No, sir; no—” cried Tom, a glow of triumph colouring
his cheek, in spite of every effort to appear calm; “no
English court would ever disturb the natural succession to
the personals! I am the last man to wish to disturb some
of these legacies—particularly that to Mr. Rotherham, and
of conciliating allies, at such a critical moment, and
his declaration had an instant and strong effect, as was evident
by the countenances of many of the listeners;—
“and I may say, that to Miss Mildred Dutton; all of which
will be duly paid, precisely as if my beloved uncle had been
in his right mind, and had actually made the bequests; for
this mixture of reason and justice, with wild and extraordinary
conceits, is by no means uncommon among men of
great age, and in their last moments. However, Sir Reginald,
I beg you will proceed, and act as in your judgment
the extraordinary circumstances of what may be called a
very peculiar case, require.”
“I conceive it to be our duty, sir, to search for a will.
If Sir Wycherly has actually died intestate, it will be time
enough to inquire into the question of the succession at common
law. I have here the keys of his private secretary;
and Mr. Furlong, the land-steward, who has just arrived,
and whom you see in the room, tells me Sir Wycherly was
accustomed to keep all his valuable papers in this piece of
furniture. I shall now proceed to open it.”
“Do so, Sir Reginald; no one can have a stronger desire
than myself to ascertain my beloved uncle's pleasure. Those
to whom he seemed to wish to give, even, shall not be losers
for the want of his name.”
Tom was greatly raised in the opinions of half in the
room, by this artful declaration, which was effectually securing
just so many friends, in the event of any occurrence
that might render such support necessary. In the mean
time, Sir Reginald, assisted by the steward, opened the
secretary, and found the deposite of papers. The leases
were all in order; the title-deeds were properly arranged;
the books and accounts appeared to be exactly kept; ordinary
bills and receipts were filed with method; two or three
bags of guineas proved that ready cash was not wanting;
and, in short, everything showed that the deceased had left
his affairs in perfect order, and in a very intelligible condition.
Paper after paper, however, was opened, and nothing
like a will, rough draft or copied, was to be found. Disappointment
was strongly painted on the faces of all the gentlemen
present; for, they had ignorantly imbibed the opinion,
defeat the hopes of the soi disant Sir Thomas Wychecombe.
Nor was Tom, himself, altogether without concern;
for, since the recent change in his uncle's feelings towards
himself, he had a secret apprehension that some paper might
be found, to defeat all his hopes. Triumph, however, gradually
assumed the place of fear, in the expression of his
countenance; and when Mr. Furlong, a perfectly honest
man, declared that, from the late baronet's habits, as well as
from the result of this search, he did not believe that any
such instrument existed, his feelings overflowed in language.
“Not so fast, Master Furlong—not so fast,” he cried;
“here is something that possibly even your legal acumen
may be willing to term a will. You perceive, gentlemen, I
have it in my possession on good authority, as it is addressed
to me by name, and that, too, in Sir Wycherly's own hand-writing;
the envelope is sealed with his private seal. You
will pronounce this to be my dear uncle's hand, Furlong,”—
showing the superscription of the letter—“and this to be his
seal?”
“Both are genuine, gentlemen,” returned the steward,
with a sigh. “Thus far, Mr. Thomas is in the right.”
“Mr. Thomas, sirrah! — And why not Sir Thomas?
Are baronets addressed as other men, in England? But, no
matter! There is a time for all things. Sir Gervaise Oakes,
as you are perfectly indifferent in this affair, I ask of you the
favour to break the seal, and to inquire into the contents of
the paper?”
The vice-admiral was not slow in complying; for, by
this time, he began to feel an intense interest in the result.
The reader will readily understand that Tom had handed to
Sir Gervaise the will drawn up by his father, and which,
after inserting his reputed nephew's name, Sir Wycherly
had duly executed, and delivered to the person most interested.
The envelope, address, and outer seal, Tom had obtained
the very day the will was signed, after assuring himself of
the contents of the latter, by six or eight careful perusals.
The vice-admiral read the instrument from beginning to
end, before he put it into the hands of Sir Reginald to examine.
The latter fully expected to meet with a clumsy
forgery; but the instant his eyes fell on the phraseology, he
law. A second look satisfied him that the hand was that
of Mr. Baron Wychecombe. It has already been said, that
in this instrument, Sir Wycherly had bequeathed all he had
on earth, to “his nephew, Thomas Wychecombe, son, &c.
&c.” making his heir, also, his executor.
“This will appears to me to have been drawn up by a
very skilful lawyer; the late Baron Wychecombe,” observed
the baronet.
“It was, Sir Reginald,” answered Tom, endeavouring to
appear unconcerned. “He did it to oblige my respected
uncle, leaving blanks for the name of the devisee, not liking
to make a will so very decidedly in favour of his own son.
The writing in the blanks is by Sir Wycherly himself,
leaving no doubts of his intentions.”
“I do not see but you may claim to be the heir of Wychecombe,
sir, as well as of the personals; though your claims
to the baronetcy shall certainly be contested and defeated.”
“And why defeated?” demanded Wycherly, stepping forward
for the first time, and speaking with a curiosity he
found it difficult to control. “Is not Mr. Thomas — Sir
Thomas, I ought rather to say,—the eldest son of the late
Sir Wycherly's next brother; and, as a matter of course,
heir to the title, as well as to the estate?”
“Not he, as I can answer from a careful examination of
proofs. Mr. Baron Wychecombe was never married, and
thus could have no heir at law.”
“Is this possible!—How have we all been deceived then,
in America!”
“Why do you say this, young gentleman? Can you have
any legal claims here?”
“I am Wycherly, the only son of Wycherly, who was
the eldest son of Gregory, the younger brother of the late
baronet; and if what you say be true, the next in succession
to the baronetcy, at least.”
“This is—” Tom's words stuck in his throat; for the
quiet, stern eye of the young sailor met his look and warned
him to be prudent.—“This is a mistake,” he resumed.
“My uncle Gregory was lost at sea, and died a bachelor.
He can have left no lawful issue.”
“I must say, young gentleman,” added Sir Reginald,
I have had too near an interest in this family, to neglect its
annals.”
“I know, sir, that such has been the opinion here for more
than half a century; but it was founded in error. The facts
are simply these. My grandfather, a warm-hearted but
impetuous young man, struck an older lieutenant, when
ashore and on duty, in one of the West India Islands. The
penalty was death; but, neither the party injured nor the
commander of the vessel, wished to push matters to extremity,
and the offender was advised to absent himself from
the ship, at the moment of sailing. The injured party was
induced to take this course, as in a previous quarrel, my
grandfather had received his fire, without returning it;
frankly admitting his fault. The ship did sail without Mr.
Gregory Wychecombe, and was lost, every soul on board
perishing. My grandfather passed into Virginia, where he
remained a twelvemonth, suppressing his story, lest its narration
might lead to military punishment. Love next sealed
his future fate. He married a woman of fortune, and though
his history was well known in his own retired circle, it
never spread beyond it. No one supposed him near the
succession, and there was no motive for stating the fact, on
account of his interests. Once he wrote to Sir Wycherly,
but he suppressed the letter, as likely to give more pain
than pleasure. That letter I now have, and in his own
hand-writing. I have also his commission, and all the other
proofs of identity that such a person would be apt to possess.
They are as complete as any court in Christendom
would be likely to require, for he never felt a necessity for
changing his name. He has been dead but two years, and
previously to dying he saw that every document necessary
to establish my claim, should a moment for enforcing it ever
arrive, was put in such a legal form as to admit of no cavilling.
He outlived my own father, but none of us thought
there was any motive for presenting ourselves, as all believed
that the sons of Baron Wychecombe were legitimate.
I can only say, sir, that I have complete legal evidence that
I am heir at law of Gregory, the younger brother of the late
Sir Wycherly Wychecombe. Whether the fact will give
me any rights here, you best can say.”
“It will make you heir of entail to this estate, master of
this house, and of most of what it contains, and the present
baronet. You have only to prove what you say, to defeat
every provision of this will, with the exception of that which
refers to the personal estate.”
“Bravo!” cried Sir Gervaise, fairly rubbing his hands
with delight. “Bravo, Dick; if we were aboard the Plantagenet,
by the Lord, I 'd turn the hands up, and have three
cheers. So then, my brave young seaman, you turn out to
be Sir Wycherly Wychecombe, after all!”
“Yes, that's the way we always does, on board ship,”
observed Galleygo, to the group of domestics; “whenever
anything of a hallooing character turns up. Sometimes we
makes a signal to Admiral Blue and the rest on 'em, to
`stand by to cheer,' and all of us sets to, to cheer as if our
stomachs was full of hurrahs, and we wanted to get rid on
'em. If Sir Jarvy would just pass the word now, you 'd
have a taste of that 'ere custom, that would do your ears
good for a twelve-month. It 's a cheering matter when one
of the trade falls heir to an estate.”
“And would this be a proper mode of settling a question
of a right of property, Sir Gervaise Oakes?” asked Tom,
with more of right and reason than he commonly had of his
side; “and that, too, with my uncle lying dead beneath this
roof?”
“I acknowledge the justice of the reproof, young sir, and
will say no more in the matter—at least, nothing as indiscreet
as my last speech. Sir Reginald, you have the affair
in hand, and I recommend it to your serious attention.”
“Fear nothing, Sir Gervaise,” answered he of Hertfordshire.
“Justice shall be done in the premises, if justice rule
in England. Your story, young gentleman, is probable,
and naturally told, and I see a family likeness between you
and the Wychecombes, generally; a likeness that is certainly
not to be traced in the person of the other claimant.
Did the point depend on the legitimacy of Mr. Thomas
Wychecombe, it might be easily determined, as I have his
own mother's declaration to the fact of his illegitimacy, as
well as of one other material circumstance that may possibly
unsettle even the late Baron Wychecombe's will. But this
testamentary devise of Sir Wycherly appears to be perfect,
proofs; where are they? It is all-important to know which
party is entitled to possession.”
“Here they are, sir,” answered Wycherly, removing a
belt from his body, and producing his papers; “not in the
originals, certainly; for most of them are matters of official
record, in Virginia; but in, what the lawyers call `exemplified
copies,' and which I am told are in a fit state to be
read as evidence in any court in England, that can take
cognizance of the matter.”
Sir Reginald took the papers, and began to read them,
one by one, and with deep attention. The evidence of the
identity of the grandfather was full, and of the clearest
nature. He had been recognised as an old schoolfellow, by
one of the governors of the colony, and it was at this gentleman's
suggestion that he had taken so much pains to perpetuate
the evidence of his identity. Both the marriages,
one with Jane Beverly, and the other with Rebecca Randolph,
were fully substantiated, as were the two births.
The personal identity of the young man, and this too as the
only son of Wycherly, the eldest son of Gregory, was well
certified to, and in a way that could leave no doubt as to the
person meant. In a word, the proofs were such as a careful
and experienced lawyer would have prepared, in a case that
admitted of no doubt, and which was liable to be contested in
a court of law. Sir Reginald was quite half an hour in
looking over the papers; and during this time, every eye in
the room was on him, watching the expression of his countenance
with the utmost solicitude. At length, he finished
his task, when he again turned to Wycherly.
“These papers have been prepared with great method,
and an acute knowledge of what might be required,” he
said. “Why have they been so long suppressed, and why
did you permit Sir Wycherly to die in ignorance of your
near affinity to him, and of your claims?”
“Of my claims I was ignorant myself, believing not only
Mr. Thomas Wychecombe, but his two brothers, to stand
before me. This was the opinion of my grandfather, even
when he caused these proofs to be perpetuated. They were
given to me, that I might claim affinity to the family on my
arrival in England; and it was the injunction of my grandfather
arrived when I could use them.”
“This explains your not preferring the claim—why not
prefer the relationship?”
“What for, sir? I found America and Americans looked
down on, in England—colonists spoken of as a race of inferior
beings—of diminished stature, feebler intellects, and a
waning spirit, as compared to those from whom they had
so recently sprung; and I was too proud to confess an
affinity where I saw it was not desired. When wounded,
and expecting to die, I was landed here, at my own request,
with an intention to state the facts; but, falling under the
care of ministering angels,”—here Wycherly glanced his
eye at Mildred and her mother—“I less felt the want of
relatives. Sir Wycherly I honoured; but he too manifestly
regarded us Americans as inferiors, to leave any wish
to tell him I was his great-nephew.”
“I fear we are not altogether free from this reproach, Sir
Gervaise,” observed Sir Reginald, thoughtfully. “We do appear
to think there is something in the air of this part of the
island, that renders us better than common. Nay, if a
claim comes from over water, let it be what it may, it strikes
us as a foreign and inadmissible claim. The fate from which
even princes are not exempt, humbler men must certainly
submit to!”
“I can understand the feeling, and I think it honourable
to the young man. Admiral Bluewater, you and I have had
occasion often to rebuke this very spirit in our young officers;
and you will agree with me when I say that this
gentleman has acted naturally, in acting as he has.”
“I must corroborate what you say, Sir Gervaise,” answered
Bluewater; “and, as one who has seen much of the
colonies, and who is getting to be an old man, I venture to
predict that this very feeling, sooner or later, will draw down
upon England its own consequences, in the shape of condign
punishment.”
“I don't go as far as that, Dick—I don't go as far as
that. But it is unwise and unsound, and we, who know both
hemispheres, ought to set our faces against it. We have
already some gallant fellows from that quarter of the world
among us, and I hope to live to see more.”
This, let it be remembered, was said before the Hallowells,
and Coffins, and Brentons of our own times, were enrolled
in a service that has since become foreign to that of the land
of their birth; but it was prophetic of their appearance,
and of that of many other high names from the colonies,
in the lists of the British marine. Wycherly smiled
proudly, but he made no answer. All this time, Sir Reginald
had been musing on what had passed.
“It would seem, gentlemen,” the latter now observed,
“that, contrary to our belief, there is an heir to the baronetcy,
as well as to the estate of Wychecombe; and all our
regrets that the late incumbent did not live to execute the
will we had drawn at his request, have become useless. Sir
Wycherly Wychecombe, I congratulate you, on thus succeeding
to the honours and estates of your family; and, as
a member of the last, I may be permitted to congratulate all
of the name in being so worthily represented. For one of
that family I cheerfully recognize you as its head and chief.”
Wycherly bowed his acknowledgments, receiving also the
compliments of most of the others present. Tom Wychecombe,
however, formed an exception, and instead of manifesting
any disposition to submit to this summary disposal
of his claims, he was brooding over the means of maintaining
them. Detecting by the countenances of the upper servants
that they were effectually bribed by his promise to pay
the late baronet's legacies, he felt tolerably confident of support
from that quarter. He well knew that possession was
nine points of the law, and his thoughts naturally turned
towards the means necessary to securing this great advantage.
As yet, the two claimants were on a par, in this
respect; for while the executed will might seem to give him
a superior claim, no authority that was derived from an insufficient
source would be deemed available in law; and Sir
Wycherly had clearly no right to devise Wychecombe, so
long as there existed an heir of entail. Both parties, too,
were merely guests in the house; so that neither had any
possession that would require a legal process to eject him.
Tom had been entered at the Temple, and had some knowedge
of the law of the land; more especially as related to
real estate; and he was aware that there existed some quaint
system; but he was ignorant of the precise forms, and had
some reasonable doubts how far they would benefit him,
under the peculiar circumstances of this case. On the whole,
therefore, he was disposed to try the effect of intimidation,
by means of the advantages he clearly possessed, and of
such little reason as the facts connected with his claim,
allowed him to offer.
“Sir Reginald Wychecombe,” he said gravely, and with
as much indifference as he could assume; “you have betrayed
a facility of belief in this American history, that has
surprised me in one with so high a reputation for prudence
and caution. This sudden revival of the dead may answer
for the credulous lovers of marvels, but it would hardly do
for a jury of twelve sober-minded and sworn men. Admitting
the whole of this gentleman's statement to be true, however,
you will not deny the late Sir Wycherly's right to
make a will, if he only devised his old shoes; and, having
this right, that of naming his executor necessarily accompanied
it. Now, sir, I am clearly that executor, and as
such I demand leave to exercise my functions in this house,
as its temporary master at least.”
“Not so fast—not so fast, young sir. Wills must be
proved and executors qualified, before either has any validity.
Then, again, Sir Wycherly could only give authority over
that which was his own. The instant he ceased to breathe,
his brother Gregory's grandson became the life-tenant of
this estate, the house included; and I advise him to assert
that right, trusting to the validity of his claim, for his justification
in law, should it become necessary. In these matters
he who is right is safe; while he who is wrong must take
the consequences of his own acts. Mr. Furlong, your
stewardship ceased with the life of your principal; if you
have any keys or papers to deliver, I advise your placing
them in the hands of this gentleman, whom, beyond all cavil,
I take to be the rightful Sir Wycherly Wychecombe.”
Furlong was a cautious, clear-headed, honest man, and
with every desire to see Tom defeated, he was tenacious of
doing his duty. He led Sir Reginald aside, therefore, and
examined him, at some length, touching the nature of the
proofs that had been offered; until, quite satisfied that there
with the request.
“Certainly, I hold the keys of the late Sir Wycherly's
papers,—those that have just been seen in the search for the
will,” he said, “and have every wish to place them in the
hands of their proper owner. Here they are, Sir Wycherly;
though I would advise you to remove the bags of gold that
are in the secretary, to some other place; as those your
uncle had a right to bequeath to whom he saw fit. Everything
else in the secretary goes with the estate; as do the
plate, furniture, and other heir-looms of the Hall.”
“I thank you, Mr. Furlong, and I will first use these
keys to follow your advice,” answered the new baronet;
“then I will return them to you, with a request that you
will still retain the charge of all your former duties.”
This was no sooner said than done; Wycherly placing
the bags of gold on the floor, until some other place of security
could be provided.
“All that I legally can, Sir Wycherly, will I cheerfully
do, in order to aid you in the assertion of your right;
though I do not see how I can transfer more than I hold.
Qui facit per alium, facit per se, is good law, Sir Reginald;
but the principal must have power to act, before the deputy
can exercise authority. It appears to me that this is a case,
in which each party stands on his own rights, at his own
peril. The possession of the farms is safe enough, for the
time being, with the tenants; but as to the Hall and Park,
there would seem to be no one in the legal occupancy.
This makes a case in which title is immediately available.”
“Such is the law, Mr. Furlong, and I advise Sir Wycherly
to take possession of the key of the outer door at
once, as master of the tenement.”
No sooner was this opinion given, than Wycherly left the
room, followed by all present to the hall. Here he proceeded
alone to the vestibule, locked the great door of the
building, and put the key in his pocket. This act was
steadily performed, and in a way to counteract, in a great
degree, the effect on the domestics, of Tom's promises concerning
the legacies. At the same moment, Furlong whispered
something in the ear of Sir Reginald.
“Now you are quietly in possession, Sir Wycherly,” said
prisoners in order to maintain your claims. David, the
usual porter, Mr. Furlong tells me, is a faithful servant, and
if he will accept of the key as your agent, it may be returned
to him with perfect legal safety.”
As David cheerfully assented to this proposition, the key
was put into his hands again, and the new Sir Wycherly
was generally thought to be in possession. Nor did Tom
dare to raise the contemplated question of his own legitimacy
before Sir Reginald, who, he had discovered, possessed a
clue to the facts; and he consequently suppressed, for the
moment at least, the certificate of marriage he had so recently
forged. Bowing round to the whole company, therefore,
with a sort of sarcastic compliance, he stalked off to
his own room with the air of an injured man. This left our
young hero in possession of the field; but, as the condition
of the house was not one suitable to an unreasonable display
of triumph, the party soon separated; some to consult concerning
the future, some to discourse of the past, and all to
wonder, more or less, of the present.
| CHAPTER XV. The two admirals | |