A LAWYER’S LETTER.
Farrington Hall was an excellent specimen of our sixteenth century
domestic architecture. It was a long low red-bricked building, with
white stone mullions, and it stood on a gentle eminence, which
dominated the far-reaching, low-lying fat lands of the Farrington
estate. It had all the conventional surroundings which confer
dignity on an old place; magnificent trees, in which lived a
prosperous colony of rooks; a great park of velvety grass; a broad,
slow stream at the foot of the slope on which stood the Hall.
There had been Farringtons of Farrington from time immemorial.
The transmission of the title and estates had long been direct
from father to son; only at rare intervals, as in the case of the
present baronet, Sir Rupert, did distant relatives succeed. But now
at last the race was nearly run. There were no males left, not even
a far-off cousin twenty times removed, and after Sir Rupert’s death
the title would be extinct. There was an heir for the property
certainly, but only through the female branch. Letitia Diggle would
come into everything of course, and after her, her children; but
although her eldest boy, under Sir Rupert’s will, would probably
assume the Farrington name and arms, the baronetcy could not be
his, and in consequence Mrs. Diggle was very much aggrieved.
The Cavendish-Diggles had by this time taken up their residence
at the Hall. They came, in the first instance, by invitation,
but remained afterwards as a matter of course. The old people
liked to hear the patter of their grandchildren’s feet and their
merry shrill trebles as they played about the place. This had
to some extent dispelled the fixed gloom which had settled on
Lady Farrington after her son’s death. Even black Sir Rupert was
softened, and seemed to take a pleasure in their prattle and merry
ways. But then Letitia had always been an especial favourite of
his. Her cast of character was in harmony with his. She reproduced
many of his own peculiar traits; she was as unforgiving, as
determined, and as hard. She showed pretty plainly what she would
be if she lived to inherit the estates, and already exercised
a kind of second-hand authority, such as heirs-apparent often
usurp when allowed. She knew the estate by heart, every inch,
every tenant. She had her own views as to the rentals and the
outgoings. She kept a sharp look-out on the bailiff, and gave him
to understand that she was up to every move. Sir Rupert, to a great
extent, let her have her own way. It pleased him to think that the
property would fall into good hands, and Letitia’s ideas were so
much in accord with his own that they seldom fell out or disagreed.
It was amusing to see how the great Diggle comported himself at
Farrington Hall. He was a curious example of how low the once
mighty may fall. From having been a tremendous personage he had
sunk to the position of a mere hanger-on. He was not even prince
consort to a reigning queen. His wife looked upon him as an
appendage, a person useful in his way, but not entitled to have
any voice in the management of affairs, or, indeed, any opinions
of his own. He might have resented this, and refused the rather
ignominious _rôle_, but for two reasons. The first was that his
health was very indifferent, and he had no spirit to battle for his
rights; the second, that Mrs. Diggle had made certain discoveries
as to his family and antecedents which left him very much in her
power. The fact was that Cavendish really belonged to the great
tea firm trading and largely advertising under the name of Diggle;
and what was more, the firm was in a very bad way. To have married
a Diggle at all was in itself a condescension, but to have become
the wife of a pauper Diggle was something like a ‘sell.’ There had
been settlements, of course, but not to a large amount, as Diggle
declared he had but little ready cash, although his prospects were
excellent. Moreover, his hopes, undoubtedly well-grounded at the
time, of professional advancement, which had been not the least
potent inducement to the match, were now fading into nothingness,
and there seemed every reason to fear that, owing to his wretched
health, Colonel Diggle would continue a half-pay officer for the
rest of his life. A _parvenu_ who is poor and without any chances
of obtaining social distinction has no _raison d’être_ at all, and
Diggle was fast degenerating into a mere cipher, a poor creature
who had no other claims to respect but that of being father to the
Diggle-Farrington who would some day be the master of Farrington
Hall.
They were at breakfast at Farrington Hall one morning, when the
post-bag arrived, and, as usual, was opened at the table. The
letters were served out like alms, grudgingly given, by Sir Rupert
to each, but he still kept the lion’s share to himself. All were
soon deep in their correspondence. Lady Farrington’s were gossipy
letters, filling several sheets; Letitia’s the same, with a large
sprinkling of tradesmen’s circulars and bills. The colonel heard
only from old soldier friends, short but often pithy notes, having
mostly the same refrain--the writer’s grievances or his forcibly
expressed conviction that the service was going to the dogs. These
last were the soonest read, and Diggle was therefore the only one
free to notice what passed among the others at table.
It was quite clear that Sir Rupert was very much put out by his
morning’s news. Although little given to betray what was passing
in his mind, his demeanour after he had opened and read the
first few lines of one of his letters, was that of a man in
whom indignation, excitement, and ill-concealed rage combined to
considerably disturb. His black eyebrows contracted, his hard mouth
was drawn down at the corners; he looked up and around with fierce
bloodshot eyes, and as quickly looked down again when he saw that
he was observed by Diggle. After that he ‘took a pull on himself,’
so to speak, and folding up the evidently offensive missive, put it
with the others, then lapsed into moody, preoccupied silence until
the breakfast was over.
‘I should like to speak to you, Letitia, in the justice room, as
soon as you conveniently can come.’
He often consulted her, and there was nothing strange, therefore,
in this request, except in the abrupt and peremptory tone in which
it was made.
The justice room, in which Sir Rupert gave audience to constables
and administered the law when urgently required, was also his
library, study, and place of business. It was a cheerless, formal,
barely-furnished room, which took, as rooms usually do, the
colour and temper of its occupant, and was, like him, cold and
uncompromising.
Sir Rupert seated himself at his official table, in his high
magisterial chair, and sorting his letters carefully, selected that
which had so evidently disturbed him, read and re-read it several
times.
Then Letitia joined him--
‘Yes, father?’
‘Sit down please. What I have to say will take some time.’ He
paused--
‘A letter has reached me this morning from Lady Farrington’s--the
dowager’s--lawyer. It may be all a hoax; let us hope that it is;
but I confess I am greatly disturbed by what it says.’
Letitia looked at him, keenly interrogative, but said nothing.
‘You remember, no doubt, the circumstances of the old dowager’s
craze? It was no secret in the family. She pretended that a
grandchild of hers was in existence, who was the rightful heir to
the title and estates; all that you knew, of course?’
‘I had heard the absurd story. Idiotic old woman! I cannot
understand why you ever let her out,’ said Letitia, as though
her father had full powers to commit to durance indefinite every
individual likely to injure the Farrington family or whose brain
was touched, the two being synonymous terms.
‘I did not wish to let her out, I assure you. It was done in spite
of me, and by the person who is, I believe, at the bottom of the
newest attempt to defraud us of our rights.’
‘Are they threatened?--by whom?’ Letitia was like a lioness who,
with her whelps, was about to be robbed of her prey.
‘The old lady, you must know, did not fabricate her story without
something to go upon. There was some semblance of probability. She
produced the rightful heir--not quite at the right time, perhaps,
but there he was.’
‘Did you meet him?’
‘I did; so did you; you knew him, well.’
‘I, father? Preposterous; where, pray, did we meet?’
‘He served as a private in the Duke’s Own. His name--the name he
went by, at least--was Larkins.’
‘Larkins! the sergeant? Poor Ernest’s champion? Never!’
‘This Mr. Larkins whom I received here at your mother’s express
desire, whom I treated with the utmost consideration, proved a
snake in the grass. He first thwarted me with regard to old Lady
Farrington’s release from confinement; then, with her, concocted
a scheme of which I have only to-day learnt the real intent. This
letter from the lawyers is nothing more or less than a notice
to quit--a regular notice of ejectment, in favour of Herbert
Farrington, son of Herbert of the same name, and grandson of the
last baronet.’
‘It’s a swindle, of course, from beginning to end; a trumped-up
story. You won’t submit, father, I trust, to such a barefaced
imposition?’
Letitia was in arms at once; for the threatened action struck at
her more, perhaps, than any one else.
‘I shall defend myself and you, you may depend upon it. I shall not
submit tamely to any attempt at extortion. It is really life and
death to me.’
‘Is it not the same to me, and to my children--to my Rupert, who
some day will be your heir? Are we to be robbed with impunity?
Certainly not.’
‘They have not told me much of their case, of course; a mere
outline, nothing more. But it is evidently a strong one. They have
discovered, so they say, old Herbert Farrington’s marriage--if
it’s a _bonâ fide_ discovery we are bound to accept it, after due
verification, at least.’
‘What do they pretend?’
‘That the real Herbert Farrington, when serving in the 12th Lancers
as Corporal Smith, married Ann Orde, and had issue.’
‘This Larkins? Sergeant Larkins of the Duke’s Own? I’ll never
believe it; not if I live to a hundred. But, father, what do you
mean to do? You will resist, surely; for my sake--for that of my
children, you will not give in?’
‘If we could effect a compromise--’
‘Never!’ cried Letitia. ‘Never, with my consent. I protest against
any compromise at all.’
‘It might be wise.’
Was it possible that Sir Rupert had reasons for dreading a
law-suit? No one knew more about the case than himself. Was he in
possession of any information--damaging facts--which he had so far
kept secret, but which would be certain to come out on a trial?
‘But a long law-suit! It would eat up the whole estate. No doubt
this pretender, this Mr. Larkins, would gladly come to terms. A few
thousands paid on the nail would silence him for good.’
‘Don’t, father; don’t dream of making such concessions,’ Letitia
almost shrieked. The idea of parting thus coolly with thousands out
of the future heritage of her children! ‘No, no; better to fight it
out, to resist to the bitter end.’
‘I think I must consult your mother and Conrad.’
‘What have they to say to it? I am the person principally
concerned--I and mine--we shall be the greatest sufferers.’
‘Letitia,’ said her father very gravely to her, ‘it was not only
to speak to you concerning this letter that I asked you to come
here; it was to break some worse news.’
‘Affecting us?’
‘Us all, but more particularly you.’
‘Go on; quick, father.’
‘Till very lately I had thought that after me there would be an
end of the Farringtons. You would be sole heiress to the estates,
to which your children would succeed, but the title would become
extinct, and the name, unless specially assumed. Within the last
month or two I have discovered that I have a lawful male heir,
who must inevitably come between you in the entail. Ernest, poor
Ernest, left a son.’
‘By that person, that woman? Father, how dare you mention her name
in my presence? What claims can such a creature as her offspring
have upon you?’
‘Poor Ernest married her, Letitia. There is not a shadow of a doubt
of it. The whole of the proofs are in my possession. The child I
have not seen, and will not see. But your mother has; indeed, the
whole thing has come out through her.’
‘Ernest was always her favourite,’ said Letitia bitterly. It was
being borne into her gradually how much she was about to lose. ‘But
I shall not surrender my rights except upon compulsion, father. We
have lawyers too, you must remember; and where a large property is
at stake, people must look out for themselves.’
‘I wish, for your sake, the case was not so clear.’
‘I am not at all satisfied as yet, father. There will be two
law-suits, perhaps; and I shall not accept any compromise, you may
depend.’
There was now a prospect of much discord in the family at
Farrington Hall.