"Do, sir?" exclaimed old Matt, pausing in his occupation of pulling the
string to make a lathen figure throw out arms and legs for the
delectation of little Tom,--"do, sir? Why, what I've always told you,
and you say the parson's told you,--go in for it, you've nothing to
lose; so if anything happens, you must win. A year last spring now
since I come running in here with that para thinking I'd made your
fortune for you, sir; and now--Look there, what you've done, you've
pulled one of his legs off!"--This in a parenthesis to the little boy
between his knees.--"And where are you? Certainly, you get on a bit
with the writing, sir; but if it was me I couldn't have settled down
without making him prove his words."
"But, you see," said Septimus, looking up from his copying, "I'm not
clever, I'm not a business man; and what could I do without money for
legal advice? It's a sad life this; and ours is, and always was, a
miserable family, and my uncle's too. Look at him: his children are
always away, while Agnes came to us through some love-affair with the
assistant, and soon after I came away she disappeared, and has never
been heard of since. Did you speak?"
"No," said Matt, whose face was puckered up, while he had been trying to
catch the eye of Lucy, who sat at the window busily preparing some work
for a bright new sewing-machine which had lately been supplied to her
from the warehouse where she was employed.
"He has the money," continued Septimus, "but that can't compensate for
the loss of his child. Poor Agnes!"
"Don't speak of her," exclaimed Mrs Septimus angrily, "she was a very
weak, bad woman, and--"
"Hush!" said Septimus sternly, "we are all weak; and who made us
judges?"
Mrs Septimus fidgeted about in her easy-chair, looking nettled and
angry as she sat near the window, while with flushed cheek Lucy bent
lower and lower over her work, once only catching Matt's eye, when the
old man looked so alarmingly mysterious that the flush upon her face
deepened, and she rose and left the room.
"You see, sir," said Matt, continuing a conversation that had evidently
been broken off, "it's been let go by so long now, when steps ought to
have been taken at once. No offence meant--you won't be put out if I
speak plain?"
Septimus shook his head, and went on copying.
"You see," said Matt, "you ought to have gone to Doctors' Commons, and
entered a something against your uncle, and done a something else, and
had a lawyer to engage counsel, and then this precious uncle of yours
couldn't have touched the property till the matter had been tried in the
Court of Probate; when, of course, you must have come out with flying
colours. But here, you see, you do nothing; first letting one month
slip away, and then another, and all the while he goes to work, gets
uninterrupted possession, sticks tighter and tighter to it, and for
aught you know, he's spent it all by this time. You ought, you know, to
have carried on the war at once."
"And about the sinews?" said Septimus drearily, without raising his
head.
"Blame them sinews!" cried the old man; "they're about the tightest, and
hardest, and toughest things in the whole world. It seems to me, you
know, sir, thinking it over--and I've had it in bed with me scores of
nights--it seems to me that your uncle rather reckoned on his meeting no
opposition; and on your--snuff, snuff, snuff," muttered the old man in a
confused way, as he fumbled about in his pockets.
"Say it out, Matt," said Septimus with a sad smile, "my weakness--no
doubt of it, for he could never have believed his own words."
"Well, that was the word, certainly, sir," said Matt; "and after all
your fuss, I don't know that a man's any the better for being strong,
mind you. I wasn't going to say weakness, for I was hanging fire for a
word that meant the same with the corners rubbed off a bit; but there
wasn't letter enough in the case to make it up."
"Can't help it, Matt," said Septimus, removing a hair from his pen by
wiping it upon his coat-tail, and then smearing his forehead with his
inky fingers, ready for Lucy, who entered the room directly after, to
take his careworn head upon her arm, wet a corner of her handkerchief
between her rosy lips, and then wipe away the obstinate smear--Septimus
the while as still and patient as possible, till the fair girl concluded
her performance with a kiss, when he went on with his task. "Exors--
ecutors--and assigns," muttered Septimus, writing. "Can't help it,
Matt, I suppose it's my nature to be weak."
"And let everyone kick you," said Matt to himself.--"Well, sir," he
continued aloud, "it's my belief that this uncle of yours, not to put
too fine a point upon it, is a rogue. He's a deep one, that's what he
is; but then, you know, he isn't the only deep one in the world, and if
you'd begun when you should have done--there, I won't say so any more,"
he exclaimed hastily, for Septimus made an impatient movement. "Now,
you see, you've taken this sudden whim--very well, sir, all right--we've
talked you into it, say then--and you mean now to see if you can't go on
with the matter. Better late than never, say I; so now, how does it
stand? He has possession, and that's what they call nine points of the
law; and he's had possession for above a year, and you haven't taken a
step to dispute his right.--Well, I can't go into the thing without
speaking of the rights and wrongs of it, can I?" exclaimed the old man
in an injured tone, for Septimus shuffled nervously in his seat.
"There, go on!" said Septimus.
"But, there, p'raps I'm making too free," said the old man, snatching at
the string so angrily that he broke the other leg of the figure he had
brought the child.--"Never mind, my man," he whispered; "I'll bring you
such a good un next time I come."
"Go on, Matt," said Septimus quietly; "you ought to make allowances for
me."
"So I do, sir, so I do--heaps," cried the old man eagerly.
"We have not so many friends," continued Septimus, laying down his pen
and stretching out his hand, "that we can afford to behave slightingly
to their advice, even if it is unpalatable."
Old Matt took the proffered hand, and shook it warmly, before going on
with his subject.
"Well, sir," said Matt, "you say he told you out flat that you were a--
a--well, you know what I mean."
"Yes, yes," said Septimus drearily, for he had so familiarised himself
in thought with the word, that it had ceased to bring up an indignant
flush to his cheek.
"Well," said Matt, "then the whole of our work--I say `our,' you know--"
Septimus nodded.
"The whole of our work consists in proving him false."
"Exactly," said Septimus, sticking his pen behind his ear; "but how?"
"Documentary evidence," said the old man, "that's it; documentary
evidence," and he took snuff loudly. "Marriage stiffikits, baptism
registers, and so on. Let's see; I don't think there was any regular
registration in those days. Now then, to begin with, sir. Where were
your father and mother married?--that is, if they were," muttered the
old man in what was meant for an undertone, but Septimus heard the
words.
"O yes," he said quietly, "they were married in the City."
"Very good," said Matt. "Then suppose we get a copy of the marriage
stiffikit, sworn to and witnessed, how then?"
"Well, that proves the marriage," said Septimus.
"To be sure," said Matt; "but then you'll find he bases his claim upon
your being born before. You don't think he denies that your father and
mother were married? He don't, does he?"
"No," said Septimus wearily, as he opened a pocket-book and drew out a
frayed and broken letter, which had separated here and there in the
folds from frequent reference. "You are right, Matt," he said, after
reading a few lines. "The marriage register would be no good."
"Yes, it would," said Matt; "it's documentary evidence, and it will be
one brick in the tower we want to build up; so don't you get sneezing at
it because it ain't everything. It will be one thing; and so far so
good, when we get it. You see it's a ticklish thing, and before you put
it in a solicitor's hands--a respectable solicitor's hands, for cheap
law's the dearest thing in Lincoln's-inn--you must have something to
show him. Now, so far so good, only recollect your uncle's on firm
ground, while as yet you're nowhere. Now say we go to a good solicitor.
`Were you born in wedlock?' says he. `Yes,' says you. `Now then,'
says he, `prove it.'"
Septimus sighed, and began to wonder whether his uncle was right.
"Now, then," said Matt, "family Bible with birth in, eh?"
"We had one, full of plates," said Septimus, recalling the old Sunday
afternoons, when he had leaned over the table, amusing himself with the
engravings; "but there were no entries in it, only my grandfather's
name. I fancy, though, now you mention it, my father had a little
pocket-Bible with some entries in, but I never took particular notice."
"Rotten reed--a rotten reed," said the old man. "You are not sure; and
even if you were, your uncle's been foxy enough to hunt the place over
and over, and that book's gone up the chimney in smoke, or under the
grate in ashes, long enough ago. No will, you say?"
"Not that I could hear of," said Septimus.
"We might, p'r'aps, find the nurse, or doctor, or some old friend; but
then, unless they can bring up documentary evidence, 'tain't much good.
You know, when old folks are made to swear about things that took place
fifty years ago, people shake their heads and think about failing
memories, and so on. You see we must have something strong to work
upon. If we could get the date of your birth, and the marriage
stiffikit, we should be all right, shouldn't we?"
"Yes, they would prove all we want," said Septimus.
"Exactly so," said Matt; "and if we couldn't get the date of your birth,
how about date of baptism?"
"That would do just as well," exclaimed Septimus.
"No, it wouldn't," said the old man, "without it's got in how old you
were when the parson made a cross on your forehead--eh?"
Septimus was damped directly.
"It's no use to be sanguine, you know, sir. What we've got to do is to
expect nothing, and then all we do get is clear profit. Now, where were
you baptised--do you know that?"
"Yes," said Septimus.
"Well, that's all right, if it contains the entry of your age at the
time, but we won't be sure; and if it does, you see if your uncle don't
bring someone to swear it's false, and that they nursed you a
twelvemonth before you really were born. Most likely, you know, there'd
be half-a-score done at the same time as yours, and they never asked
your age. I don't say so, you know, only that perhaps it was so. Now,
what do you call your birthday, sir?"
"Tenth of January 17--," said Septimus.
"Very good, sir; but then, that's only what you say, mind, and a bare
word's not worth much in a court of law when a case is being tried.
`'Tis,' says you. `'Tisn't,' says your uncle, who's rich, and
prosperous, and respectable, and has the money, and lives in a big
house, with plenty of well-to-do friends round him. `Prove your case,'
says the judge to you; and mind you, sir, this is the ticklish point; it
ain't a question of who's to have your father's money. He's got it, and
it's a question of your turning him out. So, `Prove your case,' says
the judge. `You've left this man in possession for a year, and now you
say he does not hold the property lawfully. Prove your case.' `Can't
my lord,' says you--`no documentary evidence.' And now do you know what
the judge would say?"
Septimus shook his head dismally.
"`Judgment for the defendant'--that's your uncle, you know." And then,
as if highly satisfied with his logical mode of putting the case. Matt
snapped his fingers loudly after a large pinch of snuff.
"But," said Mrs Septimus, "my doctor told me that he always kept a
register of all the births he attended."
Mrs Septimus said no more, for old Matt's fist went down upon the table
with a bang that made some of the ink leap from the stand, but
fortunately not upon Septimus Hardon's clean sheets of paper.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am!" cried Matt, hurriedly sopping up the ink
with his wisp of a handkerchief; "but blame me if I don't wish I'd been
born a woman! trust them for getting to the bottom of everything. Why,
Lord bless you, sir, there you are--there's the case in a nutshell!--
that's the matter hit right in the bull's-eye! Why didn't you begin
about it before? You're right as a trivet. There's the date of the
marriage, and there's the doctor's book--such-and-such a day,
such-and-such a time; medicine and attendance, two pound twelve
shillings and sixpence. Hallo!" exclaimed Matt, scratching his head,
"that comes very pat; where did I hear those words before? But there,
look here, sir; I think we've got hold of the right end of the tangle,
and here it is. You go down to Somesham and tell nunky how it stands.
`Here we are,' says you, `and now give up peaceable and quiet, and I'll
say nothing at all about what's gone by.' Of course he won't, and
begins to talk big about kicking out of the house, and all that sort of
thing. `Two can play at that,' says you; and as he won't be civil, he
must have it hot. Back you come; put it in a decent solicitor's hands;
with your good documentary evidence out he goes--in you go; and my
di'mond has a pony with a long silky tail; Miss Lucy a carriage, and
missis here an invalid chair, and old Matt to push it--eh, ma'am?"
"But about finding the doctor," said Septimus sadly.
"Well, yes--true, to be sure," said Matt, over a fresh pinch of snuff;
"but I think we can manage that part, sir. Don't you see, we can tell
our road now we've got our line cut out; and we've only got it to do.
There's some pye in the case, of course, but we can correct as we go on,
eh? There's a doctors' directory, and we can soon find him."
"There's a hitch directly," said Septimus. "I don't know his name."
"Phillips!" exclaimed Mrs Hardon excitedly.
"There we are again," cried Matt; "who'd be without a good partner?"
"But how do you know?" said Septimus.
"I remember in your mother's last illness," said Mrs Septimus, "that
she told me how she longed for her old doctor, for she felt sure Mr
Thomas Hardon did not understand her complaint; and that was the first
cause of disagreement between your father and Dr Hardon. I heard your
father tell him afterwards that he had killed his Sister, and to leave
the house."
"But the name?" said Septimus, anxious to change the conversation.
"Phillips--the same as my own; and that was why it made an impression
upon my memory."
"Talk about cards to play, sir!" cried Matt, "why, that's winning: your
partner has played the leading trump."
Septimus Hardon rose from his seat to begin anxiously pacing up and down
the room. He could see plainly enough the value of the position he was
nerving himself to fight for, but he shrank, as he had shrunk again and
again, from the exposure certain, whether he succeeded or not.
Vacillating in the extreme, he was at one time telling himself that it
was his duty to try and clear his mother's fame, though the next moment
would find him shrinking from the task, while his brow wrinkled up as he
sighed and looked from face to face, lastly on that of old Matt, who,
having relieved himself of the child, was taking snuff extravagantly,
and chuckling and rubbing his hands in anticipation of the coming
triumph.
"Now, sir," he said upon catching the troubled man's eye, "about this
doctor."
"Dead before now," said Septimus. "Allowing him to have been quite
young for a doctor, he would be eighty now, and how few men reach that
age!"
"Pooh! nonsense!" cried Matt; "scores do--hundreds do--ninety either.
Eighty? Pooh! nothing! youth, sir. Why, I'm past sixty, and see what a
boy I look, eh? Why, I believe Miss Lucy would pick me out from scores
to take care of her,--wouldn't you, miss?"
Lucy looked up from her work, nodded and smiled.
"But now business," said the old man.--"Where did you live, sir, before
you went down in the country?"
"Finsbury," said Septimus.
"And you were born there, eh?"
"I believe so," said Septimus, wondering in his own mind whether it was
worth all this trouble, perhaps to gain nothing.
"To be sure," cried Matt; "and now we shall soon find it out. Brass
plate on the door--`Mr Phillips, Surgeon;' big lamp sticking out, red
bull's-eye one side, green t'other, like railway signals; `danger' and
`all right' to the people in the street."
Old Matt rose to go, after appointing to meet Septimus on the following
morning to take the first steps for obtaining the "documentary evidence"
so necessary for their future plans.
"Ten to the moment, you'll see me, sir," said Matt. "Good afternoon,
ma'am, and--Ah, Miss Lucy's gone!"
But Septimus only sighed, and sat down once more to his weary copying,
sheets of which he so often spoiled by letting his thoughts wander from
the task in hand.
"No more business in him, sir," said Matt as he descended the stairs,
"than--Ah, here we are, then! Thought I was going away without seeing
you again, miss;" for he had encountered Lucy upon the stairs.
"Hush!" she whispered, "I only wanted to ask you to please be careful.
I was so frightened this afternoon."
Old Matt buttoned up his coat as tightly as if his honour were inside
it, pursed up his lips, nodded his head seriously, and then laying one
finger upon the side of his nose he shuffled off, looking as mysterious
as if he were the repository of state secrets, and ready to bid defiance
to all the racks and thumbscrews of the good old times.
Lucy Grey stood for a minute gazing after the shabby figure, and then,
turning to ascend, she coloured slightly upon finding herself face to
face with the old Frenchwoman who occupied the attic floor, and who now,
with a sneering smile upon her thin lips and an inquisitive light
peering from her half-closed eyes, looked at her, and then passed softly
and silently as a cat down the stairs without saying a word.
Volume Two, Chapter V.