THE SOLICITOR-GENERAL MAKES A PROPOSITION.
When Mr. Flick returned from Sicily he was very strongly in favour
of some compromise. He had seen the so-called Italian Countess,--who
certainly was now called Contessa by everybody around her,--and he
did not believe that she had ever been married to the old Earl. That
an Italian lady had been married to the old lord now twenty-five
years ago, he did believe,--probably the younger sister of this
woman,--and he also believed that this wife had been dead before the
marriage at Applethwaite. That was his private opinion. Mr. Flick
was, in his way, an honest man,--one who certainly would have taken
no conscious part in getting up an unjust claim; but he was now
acting as legal agent for the young Earl, and it was not his business
to get up evidence for the Earl's opponents. He did think that were
he to use all his ingenuity and the funds at his disposal he would
be able to reach the real truth in such a manner that it should be
made clear and indubitable to an English jury; but if the real truth
were adverse to his side, why search for it? He understood that
the English Countess would stand her ground on the legality of the
Applethwaite marriage, and on the acquittal of the old Earl as to the
charge of bigamy. The English Countess being firm, so far as that
ground would make her firm, it would in reality be for the other
side--for the young Earl--to prove a former marriage. The burden of
the proof would be with him, and not with the English Countess to
disprove it. Disingenuous lawyers--Mr. Flick, who though fairly
honest could be disingenuous, among the number--had declared the
contrary. But such was the case; and, as money was scarce with the
Countess and her friends, no attempt had been made on their part to
bring home evidence from Sicily. All this Mr. Flick knew, and doubted
how far it might be wise for him further to disturb that Sicilian
romance. The Italian Countess, who was a hideous, worn-out old woman,
professing to be forty-four, probably fifty-five, and looking as
though she were seventy-seven, would not stir a step towards England.
She would swear and had sworn any number of oaths. Documentary
evidence from herself, from various priests, from servants, and
from neighbours there was in plenty. Mr. Flick learned through his
interpreter that a certain old priest ridiculed the idea of there
being a doubt. And there were letters,--letters alleged to have been
written by the Earl to the living wife in the old days, which were
shown to Mr. Flick. Mr. Flick was an educated man, and knew many
things. He knew something of the manufacture of paper, and would not
look at the letters after the first touch. It was not for him to get
up evidence for the other side. The hideous old woman was clamorous
for money. The priests were clamorous for money. The neighbours were
clamorous for money. Had not they all sworn anything that was wanted,
and were they not to be paid? Some moderate payment was made to the
hideous, screeching, greedy old woman; some trivial payment--as to
which Mr. Flick was heartily ashamed of himself--was made to the
old priest; and then Mr. Flick hurried home, fully convinced that
a compromise should be made as to the money, and that the legality
of the titles claimed by the two English ladies should be allowed.
It might be that that hideous hag had once been the Countess Lovel.
It certainly was the case that the old Earl in latter years had
so called her, though he had never once seen her during his last
residence in Sicily. It might be that the clumsy fiction of the
letters had been perpetrated with the view of bolstering up a true
case with false evidence. But Mr. Flick thought that there should be
a compromise, and expressed his opinion very plainly to Sir William
Patterson. "You mean a marriage," said the Solicitor-General. At this
time Mr. Hardy, Q.C., the second counsel acting on behalf of the
Earl, was also present.
"Not necessarily by a marriage, Sir William. They could divide the
money."
"The girl is not of age," said Mr. Hardy.
"She is barely twenty as yet," said Sir William.
"I think it might be managed on her behalf," said the attorney.
"Who could be empowered to sacrifice her rights?" said Mr. Hardy, who
was a gruff man.
"We might perhaps contrive to tide it over till she is of age," said
the Solicitor-General, who was a sweet-mannered, mild man among his
friends, though he could cross-examine a witness off his legs,--or
hers, if the necessity of the case required him to do so.
"Of course we could do that, Sir William. What is a year in such a
case as this?"
"Not much among lawyers, is it, Mr. Flick? You think that we
shouldn't bring our case into court."
"It is a good case, Sir William, no doubt. There's the
woman,--Countess, we will call her,--ready to swear, and has sworn,
that she was the old Earl's wife. All the people round call her the
Countess. The Earl undoubtedly used to speak of her as the Countess,
and send her little dribbles of money, as being his Countess, during
the ten years and more after he left Lovel Grange. There is the old
priest who married them."
"The devil's in it if that is not a good case," said Mr. Hardy.
"Go on, Mr. Flick," said the Solicitor-General.
"I've got all the documentary evidence of course, Sir William."
"Go on, Mr. Flick."
Mr. Flick scratched his head. "It's a very heavy interest, Sir
William."
"No doubt it is. Go on."
"I don't know that I've anything further to say, except that I'd
arrange it if I could. Our client, Sir William, would be in a very
pretty position if he got half the income which is at stake."
"Or the whole with the wife," said the Solicitor-General.
"Or the whole with the wife, Sir William. If he were to lose it all,
he'd be,--so to say, nowhere."
"Nowhere at all," said the Solicitor-General. "The entailed property
isn't worth above a thousand a year."
"I'd make some arrangement," said Mr. Flick, whose mind may perhaps
have had a not unnatural bend towards his own very large venture
in this concern. That his bill, including the honorarium of the
barristers, would sooner or later be paid out of the estate, he did
not doubt;--but a compromise would make the settlement easy and
pleasant.
Mr. Hardy was in favour of continued fighting. A keener, honester,
more enlightened lawyer than Mr. Hardy did not wear silk at that
moment, but he had not the gift of seeing through darkness which
belonged to the Solicitor-General. When Mr. Flick told them of the
strength of their case, as based on various heads of evidence in
their favour, Mr. Hardy believed Mr. Flick's words and rejected Mr.
Flick's opinion. He believed in his heart that the English Countess
was an impostor, not herself believing in her own claim; and it
would be gall and wormwood to him to give to such a one a moiety
of the wealth which should go to support the ancient dignity and
aristocratic grace of the house of Lovel. He hated compromise and
desired justice,--and was a great rather than a successful lawyer.
Sir William had at once perceived that there was something in the
background on which it was his duty to calculate, which he was bound
to consider,--but with which at the same time it was inexpedient
that he should form a closer or more accurate acquaintance. He must
do the best he could for his client. Earl Lovel with a thousand
a year, and that probably already embarrassed, would be a poor,
wretched creature, a mock lord, an earl without the very essence of
an earldom. But Earl Lovel with fifteen or twenty thousand a year
would be as good as most other earls. It would be but the difference
between two powdered footmen and four, between four hunters and
eight, between Belgrave Square and Eaton Place. Sir William, had he
felt confident, would of course have preferred the four footmen for
his client, and the eight hunters, and Belgrave Square; even though
the poor English Countess should have starved, or been fed by the
tailor's bounty. But he was not confident. He began to think that
that wicked old Earl had been too wicked for them all. "They say
she's a very nice girl," said Sir William.
"Very handsome indeed, I'm told," said Mr. Flick.
"And in love with the son of the old tailor from Keswick," said Mr.
Hardy.
"She'll prefer the lord to the tailor for a guinea," said Sir
William.
And thus it was decided, after some indecisive fashion, that their
client should be sounded as to the expedience of a compromise. It
was certain to them that the poor woman would be glad to accept, for
herself and her daughter, half of the wealth at stake, which half
would be to her almost unlimited riches, on the condition that their
rank was secured to them,--their rank and all the privileges of
honest legitimacy. But as to such an arrangement the necessary delay
offered no doubt a serious impediment, and it was considered that
the wisest course would be to propose the marriage. But who should
propose it, and how should it be proposed? Sir William was quite
willing to make the suggestion to the young Lord or the young Lord's
family, whose consent must of course be first obtained; but who
should then break the ice to the Countess? "I suppose we must ask our
friend, the Serjeant," said Mr. Flick. Serjeant Bluestone was the
leading counsel for our Countess, and was vehemently energetic in
this case. He swore everywhere that the Solicitor-General hadn't a
leg to stand upon, and that the Solicitor-General knew that he hadn't
a leg. Let them bring that Italian Countess over if they dared. He'd
countess her, and discountess her too! Since he had first known the
English courts of law there had been no case hard as this was hard.
Had not the old Earl been acquitted of the charge of bigamy, when
the unfortunate woman had done her best to free herself from her
position? Serjeant Bluestone, who was a very violent man, taking up
all his cases as though the very holding of a brief opposite to him
was an insult to himself, had never before been so violent. "The
Serjeant will take it as a surrender," said Mr. Flick.
"We must get round the Serjeant," said Sir William. "There are ladies
in the Lovel family; we must manage it through them." And so it was
arranged by the young Lord's lawyers that an attempt should be made
to marry him to the heiress.
The two cousins had never seen each other. Lady Anna had hardly heard
of Frederic Lovel before her father's death; but, since that, had
been brought up to regard the young Lord as her natural enemy. The
young Lord had been taught from his youth upwards to look upon the
soi-disant Countess and her daughter as impostors who would some day
strive to rob him of his birthright;--and, in these latter days, as
impostors who were hard at work upon their project. And he had been
told of the intimacy between the Countess and the old tailor,--and
also of that between the so-called Lady Anna and the young tailor. To
these distant Lovels,--to Frederic Lovel who had been brought up with
the knowledge that he must be the Earl, and to his uncle and aunt
by whom he had been brought up,--the women down at Keswick had been
represented as vulgar, odious, and disreputable. We all know how
firm can be the faith of a family in such matters. The Lovels were
not without fear as to the result of the attempt that was being
made. They understood quite as well as did Mr. Flick the glory of
the position which would attend upon success, and the wretchedness
attendant upon a pauper earldom. They were nervous enough, and in
some moods frightened. But their trust in the justice of their cause
was unbounded. The old Earl, whose memory was horrible to them, had
purposely left two enemies in their way. There had been the Italian
mistress backed up by the will; and there had been this illegitimate
child. The one was vanquished; but the other--! Ah,--it would be bad
with them indeed if that enemy could not be vanquished too! They had
offered £30,000 to the enemy; but the enemy would not accept the
bribe. The idea of ending all their troubles by a marriage had never
occurred to them. Had Mrs. Lovel been asked about it, she would have
said that Anna Murray,--as she always studiously called the Lady
Anna, was not fit to be married.
The young Lord, who a few months after his cousin's death had been
old enough to take his seat in the House of Peers, was a gayhearted,
kindly young man, who had been brought home from sea at the age of
twenty on the death of an elder brother. Some of the family had
wished that he should go on with his profession in spite of the
earldom; but it had been thought unfit that he should be an earl and
a midshipman at the same time, and his cousin's death while he was
still on shore settled the question. He was a fair-haired, well-made
young lad, looking like a sailor, and every inch a gentleman.
Had he believed that the Lady Anna was the Lady Anna, no earthly
consideration would have induced him to meddle with the money. Since
the old Lord's death, he had lived chiefly with his uncle Charles
Lovel, having passed some two or three months at Lovel Grange with
his uncle and aunt. Charles Lovel was a clergyman, with a good living
at Yoxham, in Yorkshire, who had married a rich wife, a woman with
some two thousand a year of her own, and was therefore well to do in
the world. His two sons were at Harrow, and he had one other child,
a daughter. With them also lived a Miss Lovel, Aunt Julia,--who was
supposed of all the Lovels to be the wisest and most strong-minded.
The parson, though a popular man, was not strong-minded. He was
passionate, loud, generous, affectionate and indiscreet. He was very
proud of his nephew's position as head of the family,--and very full
of his nephew's wrongs arising from the fraud of those Murray women.
He was a violent Tory, and had heard much of the Keswick Radical. He
never doubted for a moment that both old Thwaite and young Thwaite
were busy in concocting an enormous scheme of plunder by which to
enrich themselves. To hear that they had both been convicted and
transported was the hope of his life. That a Radical should not be
worthy of transportation was to him impossible. That a Radical should
be honest was to him incredible. But he was a thoroughly humane and
charitable man, whose good qualities were as little intelligible to
old Thomas Thwaite, as were those of Thomas Thwaite to him.
To whom should the Solicitor-General first break the matter? He
had already had some intercourse with the Lovels, and had not
been impressed with a sense of the parson's wisdom. He was a Whig
Solicitor-General, for there were still Whigs in those days, and
Mr. Lovel had not much liked him. Mr. Flick had seen much of the
family,--having had many interviews with the young lord, with the
parson, and with Aunt Julia. It was at last settled by Sir William's
advice that a letter should be written to Aunt Julia by Mr. Flick,
suggesting that she should come up to town.
"Mr. Lovel will be very angry," said Mr. Flick.
"We must do the best we can for our client," said Sir William. The
letter was written, and Miss Lovel was informed in Mr. Flick's most
discreet style, that as Sir William Patterson was anxious to discuss
a matter concerning Lord Lovel's case in which a woman's voice would
probably be of more service than that of a man, perhaps Miss Lovel
would not object to the trouble of a journey to London. Miss Lovel
did come up, and her brother came with her.
The interview took place in Sir William's chambers, and no one was
present but Sir William, Miss Lovel, and Mr. Flick. Mr. Flick had
been instructed to sit still and say nothing, unless he were asked
a question; and he obeyed his instructions. After some apologies,
which were perhaps too soft and sweet,--and which were by no means
needed, as Miss Lovel herself, though very wise, was neither soft nor
sweet,--the great man thus opened his case. "This is a very serious
matter, Miss Lovel."
"Very serious indeed."
"You can hardly perhaps conceive how great a load of responsibility
lies upon a lawyer's shoulders, when he has to give advice in such a
case as this, when perhaps the prosperity of a whole family may turn
upon his words."
"He can only do his best."
"Ah yes, Miss Lovel. That is easy to say; but how shall he know what
is the best?"
"I suppose the truth will prevail at last. It is impossible to think
that a young man such as my nephew should be swindled out of a noble
fortune by the intrigues of two such women as these. I can't believe
it, and I won't believe it. Of course I am only a woman, but I always
thought it wrong to offer them even a shilling." Sir William smiled
and rubbed his head, fixing his eyes on those of the lady. Though he
smiled she could see that there was real sadness in his face. "You
don't mean to say you doubt?" she said.
"Indeed I do."
"You think that a wicked scheme like this can succeed before an
English judge?"
"But if the scheme be not wicked? Let me tell you one or two things,
Miss Lovel;--or rather my own private opinion on one or two points.
I do not believe that these two ladies are swindlers."
"They are not ladies, and I feel sure that they are swindlers,"
said Miss Lovel very firmly, turning her face as she spoke to the
attorney.
"I am telling you, of course, merely my own opinion, and I will
beg you to believe of me that in forming it I have used all the
experience and all the caution which a long course of practice in
these matters has taught me. Your nephew is entitled to my best
services, and at the present moment I can perhaps do my duty to him
most thoroughly by asking you to listen to me." The lady closed her
lips together, and sat silent. "Whether Mrs. Murray, as we have
hitherto called her, was or was not the legal wife of the late Earl,
I will not just now express an opinion; but I am sure that she thinks
that she was. The marriage was formal and accurate. The Earl was
tried for bigamy, and acquitted. The people with whom we have to
do across the water, in Sicily, are not respectable. They cannot
be induced to come here to give evidence. An English jury will be
naturally averse to them. The question is one simply of facts for
a jury, and we cannot go beyond a jury. Had the daughter been a
son, it would have been in the House of Lords to decide which young
man should be the peer;--but, as it is, it is simply a question of
property, and of facts as to the ownership of the property. Should we
lose the case, your nephew would be--a very poor man."
"A very poor man, indeed, Sir William."
"His position would be distressing. I am bound to say that we should
go into court to try the case with very great distrust. Mr. Flick
quite agrees with me."
"Quite so, Sir William," said Mr. Flick.
Miss Lovel again looked at the attorney, closed her lips tighter than
ever, but did not say a word.
"In such cases as this prejudices will arise, Miss Lovel. It is
natural that you and your family should be prejudiced against these
ladies. For myself, I am not aware that anything true can be alleged
against them."
"The girl has disgraced herself with a tailor's son," almost screamed
Miss Lovel.
"You have been told so, but I do not believe it to be true. They
were, no doubt, brought up as children together; and Mr. Thwaite has
been most kind to both the ladies." It at once occurred to Miss Lovel
that Sir William was a Whig, and that there was in truth but little
difference between a Whig and a Radical. To be at heart a gentleman,
or at heart a lady, it was, to her thinking, necessary to be a Tory.
"It would be a thousand pities that so noble a property should pass
out of a family which, by its very splendour and ancient nobility,
is placed in need of ample means." On hearing this sentiment, which
might have become even a Tory, Miss Lovel relaxed somewhat the
muscles of her face. "Were the Earl to marry his cousin--"
"She is not his cousin."
"Were the Earl to marry the young lady who, it may be, will be proved
to be his cousin, the whole difficulty would be cleared away."
"Marry her!"
"I am told that she is very lovely, and that pains have been taken
with her education. Her mother was well born and well bred. If you
would get at the truth, Miss Lovel, you must teach yourself to
believe that they are not swindlers. They are no more swindlers than
I am a swindler. I will go further,--though perhaps you, and the
young Earl, and Mr. Flick, may think me unfit to be intrusted any
longer with this case, after such a declaration,--I believe, though
it is with a doubting belief, that the elder lady is the Countess
Lovel, and that her daughter is the legitimate child and the heir of
the late Earl."
Mr. Flick sat with his mouth open as he heard this,--beating his
breast almost with despair. His opinion tallied exactly with Sir
William's. Indeed, it was by his opinion, hardly expressed, but
perfectly understood, that Sir William had been led. But he had not
thought that Sir William would be so bold and candid.
"You believe that Anna Murray is the real heir?" gasped Miss Lovel.
"I do,--with a doubting belief. I am inclined that way,--having to
form my opinion on very conflicting evidence." Mr. Flick was by this
time quite sure that Sir William was right, in his opinion,--though
perhaps wrong in declaring it,--having been corroborated in his own
belief by the reflex of it on a mind more powerful than his own.
"Thinking as I do," continued Sir William,--"with a natural bias
towards my own client,--what will a jury think, who will have no such
bias? If they are cousins,--distant cousins,--why should they not
marry and be happy, one bringing the title, and the other the wealth?
There could be no more rational union, Miss Lovel."
Then there was a long pause before any one spoke a word. Mr. Flick
had been forbidden to speak, and Sir William, having made his
proposition, was determined to await the lady's reply. The lady was
aghast, and for awhile could neither think nor utter a word. At last
she opened her mouth. "I must speak to my brother about this."
"Quite right, Miss Lovel."
"Now I may go, Sir William?"
"Good morning, Miss Lovel." And Miss Lovel went.
"You have gone farther than I thought you would, Sir William," said
Mr. Flick.
"I hardly went far enough, Mr. Flick. We must go farther yet if we
mean to save any part of the property for the young man. What should
we gain, even if we succeeded in proving that the Earl was married
in early life to the old Sicilian hag that still lives? She would
inherit the property then;--not the Earl."