At four punctually arrived my friend the famous lawyer. He was not a
handsome man, but possessed a certain distinction, which he owed to a
strong face, well-modelled head, and a neatly powdered wig, the hair
being tied back, after the fashion of the bar, in a black queue-bag
with, at the end, a broad black ribbon. He took the snuff my aunt
offered, carefully dusting the excess off the collar of his brown velvet
coat, and sat down, saying, as he took some papers from a silk bag, that
it was altogether an interesting and curious question, this we had set
before him. And why had we held this deed so long and said nothing?
I told him of my father’s and my grandfather’s disinclination to open
the matter, and why and how the estate had seemed of little worth, but
was now, as I believed, more valuable.
Hearing this he began to question my aunt and me. He learned from our
replies that at the time I got the deed from my father none but my
parent had any clear idea of what this old family compact meant, but
that now we were in possession of such facts as enabled us to understand
it. I then went on to make plain that my aunt was full of the matter,
and eager, but that I had no inclination at any time to enter on a long
and doubtful litigation in another country.
To myself I confessed that I desired no immediate settlement until I saw
what Arthur meant to be at. It was one more hold on a scamp still able
to do me mischief. If it was clearly his father’s estate and not ours,
he should soon or late be relieved of any possible doubt this deed might
still make as to questions of title.
When Mr. Wilson turned to my aunt he found a more warlike witness. She
delighted in the prospect of a legal contest.
“When a child,” she said, “I used to hear of my father’s having
consented to make over or give away to his brother William an
embarrassed estate, and that the crown officers were in some way
consenting parties to the agreement, my father engaging himself to go to
America when let out of jail.
“There is no doubt,” she went on, “that Wyncote was under this
arrangement legally transferred by my father to his next brother. Our
Welsh cousins must have this conveyance. It seems, from the deed you
have examined, that privately a retransfer was made, so as, after all,
to leave my father possessed of his ancestral estate. If ever he chose
to reclaim it he was free to do so. The affair seems to have become more
or less known to the squires in that part of Merionethshire. William
was, we presume, unwilling to take an unfair advantage of his brother’s
misfortune, and hence the arrangement thus made between them.”
“You state the case admirably,” said the lawyer. “And what else is
there?”
“But little. Letters of affection and esteem came and went at long
intervals. I recollect hearing bits of them, but cannot say if
the estate matter were ever mentioned. After William’s death the
correspondence may or may not have ceased. His brother Owen came into
the property without interference, and, dying, left a young son, Owen,
who is still alive. His son Arthur, Captain Wynne, is to be here today.
There are personal matters involved, into which there is no need to go.
The Welsh branch is no doubt desirous in some way to clear the matter;
but having held the estate for a century, they are, we may presume, not
very eager to give it up. In justice to Owen Wynne, I may say that it
is probable that because of a long minority he only began, as I think,
a few years ago to have any doubt as to his title. I may add,” my aunt
went on, “that Captain Wynne came and went during the war, and that only
of late has this deed turned up.”
“And your brother is quite unfit to help us?” said Wilson.
“Yes; and unwilling if he were able.”
“I see, madam, I see; a difficult business.”
“And this deed?” said my aunt; “you were about to speak of it.”
“It is,” he replied, “a simple act of sale for one shilling, a
reconveyance of Wyncote from William to Hugh, the date October 9, 1671.
It is in order, and duly witnessed.”
“Well?”
“As to its present value, Mistress Wynne, there is a consensus of
opinion between the Attorney-General and myself.”
“That is to say, you agree,” said my aunt.
“Precisely, madam. It is our belief that the lapse of time has probably
destroyed the title. There is no annexed trust, on William’s part, to
hold for his brother’s use, and the length of undisputed, or what we
lawyers call adverse, possession--something like an hundred years or
more--_seems_ to make it impossible for my friends to oust the present
holder. Am I clear?”
“Too clear, sir,” said my aunt. “Is that all?”
“No;” I said, “it seems there are other questions, such as the mention
of the matter in letters. If the succeeding brothers in letters or
otherwise from time to time acknowledged the rights of Hugh Wynne, that
might serve to keep alive the claim; if, too, it can be proved that at
any time they paid over to Hugh or his son, your brother, madam, rents
or dues, as belonging to these American claimants, this too would serve
to give some validity to your present claim. It is a question of dates,
letters, and of your possession of evidence in the direction of repeated
admissions on the part of the Welsh holders.”
My Aunt Gainor was at once confident. Search should be made. She had
some remembrance in her childhood of this and that. In fact, my aunt
never admitted the existence of obstacles, and commonly refused to see
them. Mr. Wilson shook his head dubiously. “There seems to have been
negligence or a quite culpable indifference, madam. The time to be
covered by admissions is long, and the statutes of 32 Henry VIII. and
21 James I., 1623, do, I fear, settle the matter. The lapse in the
continuity of evidence will be found after the death of Hugh. Twenty
years will suffice, and I am forced to admit that your claim seems to me
of small value. It was simply an estate given away, owing to want of the
simplest legal advice.”
“Wait until I look through our papers,” said my aunt. “We are not done
with it yet, nor shall be, if I have my way, until the courts have had a
chance to decide.”
“It will be mere waste of money, my dear lady. Now, at least, you can do
nothing. The war is not over, and when it is, none but an English court
can settle the title. I confess it seems to be a case for amicable
compromise.”
“There shall be none--none,” said my aunt.
“And we are just where we began,” said I.
“Not quite,” he returned. “You may have a case, but it seems to me a
weak one, and may lie in chancery a man’s lifetime. I, as a friend as
well as a lawyer, knowing you have no need of the estate, hesitate
to advise you to engage in a suit of ejectment. I should rather
counsel--ah, that may be Mr. Wynne.”
It was a clamorous knock at the hall door, which caused Mr. Wilson
to cut short his advice with the statement that it would need longer
discussion, and that this must be the other party.
It was, in fact, my cousin, who was set down in a chair, as I saw by a
glance through the window. When Jack and I had seen him at his inn he
had been a little in liquor, and wore a sort of long chintz bedgown
wrapper, with his waistcoat buttoned awry--not a very nice figure. He
was now Arthur Wynne at his best. He stood a moment in the doorway, as
beautiful a piece of manhood as ever did the devil’s work. His taste in
all matters of dress and outer conduct was beyond dispute, and for this
family meeting he had apparently made ready with unusual care. Indeed
this, my last remembrance of Arthur Wynne, is of a figure so striking
that I cannot resist to say just how he looked. His raiment was costly
enough to have satisfied Polonius; if it bore any relation to his purse,
I know not. It was not “expressed in fancy,” as was that of the macaroni
dandy of those early days. He knew better. As he stood he carried in
his left hand a dark beaver edged with gold lace. His wig was small, and
with side rolls well powdered, the queue tied with a lace-bordered red
ribbon. In front a full Mechlin lace jabot, with the white wig above,
set his regular features and dark skin in a frame, as it were, his
paleness and a look of melancholy in the eyes helping the natural beauty
and distinction of a face high bred and haughty. The white silk flowered
waistcoat, the bunch of gold seals below it, the claret-tinted velvet
coat and breeches, the black silk clocked hose with gold buckles at
ankle and knee, and a silver-hilted dress-sword in a green shagreen
sheath, complete my picture. I wish you to see him as I saw him, that in
a measure you may comprehend why his mere personal charms were such as
to attract and captivate women.
He came forward with his right hand on his heart and bowed to my aunt,
who swept him a space-filling curtsey, as he said quite pleasantly,
“Good-afternoon, Cousin Gainor; your servant, Mr. Wilson.” To me he bent
slightly, but gave no other greeting. It was all easy, tranquil, and
without sign of embarrassment, As he spoke he moved toward the table, on
which Mr. Wilson had laid his papers and bag. Now, as always, a certain
deliberate feline grace was in all his movements.
“For a truth, he is a beauty,” said my Aunt Gainor after our meeting was
over. “And well-proportioned, but no bit of him Wynne. He has not our
build.” Nor had he.
“Pray be seated,” said my aunt. “I have asked my friend and counsel, Mr.
James Wilson, to be present, that he may impartially set before you a
family matter, in which your father may have interest. My nephew, Hugh
Wynne, is here at my earnest solicitation. I regret that Mr. Chew is
unable, by reason of engagements, to do me a like favour. Mr. Wilson
will have the kindness to set before you the nature of the case.”
Mistress Wynne, sitting straight and tall in a high cap, spoke with
dignified calmness.
“At your service, madam,” said the lawyer, looking Arthur over with the
quick glance of a ready observer. Before he could go on to do as he was
bidden I found my chance to say, “You will be so good, Mr. Wilson, as to
state Mr. Owen Wynne’s case, as well as our own, with entire frankness;
we have no desire to wrong any, and least of all one of our blood.”
“I think I understand you fully,” said Wilson. “A deed has been put in
the hands of Mr. Attorney-General Chew and myself, and as to its value
and present validity an opinion has been asked by Mistress Wynne and her
nephew.”
“Pardon me,” said Arthur; “is not my Cousin John the proper person to
consider this question?”
“Assuredly,” returned Mr. Wilson, “if his state of mind permitted
either his presence or an opinion. No interests will be affected by his
absence, nor can we do more than acquaint those who are now here with
what, as lawyers, we think.”
“I see,” said Arthur. “Pray go on.”
“This deed seems to convey to my client’s grandfather--that is to say,
Mistress Wynne’s father--certain lands situate in Merionethshire, Wales.
I understand that you, sir, represent the present holder.”
“I am,” said Arthur, “the son of the gentleman now in possession of
Wyncote, and have full permission to act for him. If, indeed, you desire
further to learn on what authority--”
“Not at all, not at all,” interposed Wilson. “Your presence suffices; no
more is needed. This meeting commits no one.”
“I was about to ask the date of this document,” said Arthur.
“Certainly; here it is.” And so saying the lawyer spread the deed out on
the table. “It is a conveyance from William Wynne to Hugh of that name;
the date, 1671, October 9; the witnesses are Henry Owen and Thomas ap
Roberts. It is voluminous. Do you desire to hear it?”
“No; oh no! What next?”
“We believe,” continued the lawyer, “that this deed has ceased to
have effect, owing to lapse of time and the appearance--pray note my
words--the _appearance_ of undisputed ownership by the younger branch.
Neither is there any trust to hold the estate for Hugh; it is a mere
conveyance.”
“There can be, of course, no doubt,” returned Arthur--“I mean as to a
century of unquestioned possession.”
“I am not secure as to the point you make,” said Mr. Wilson,
courteously. “I cannot now decide. I am asked to state the matter
impartially. My clients wish justice done to all, and will take no
unfair advantage. It may be you have no case. There may have passed
frequent letters on both sides, admitting the claim or reasserting it,
and thus keeping it alive. Rents may have been paid. Facts like these
may open questions as to the length of undisputed holding. Only your own
courts can decide it, and that with all the evidence before them.”
“I am obliged by your frankness,” said my cousin. “I had hoped to see
the matter fully settled.”
“That will never be,” said my aunt, “until I have carried it through
every court in England.”
“As you please,” replied Arthur.
“Mr. Wynne,” said I, “while my father lives we shall do nothing; nor
even afterward, perhaps. I do not want the money, nor the old home. What
is done may depend much on your own actions, sir.” I had no desire to
lose this hold on him. As I spoke I saw him look up astonished, as was
also, I thought, the lawyer, who knew nothing of our quarrels.
“If,” said I, “you had come to us frankly at first, and stated why you
came, we should have said what I now say. No, I should have said far
more. I believe this ends the matter for the present.” My aunt lifted
her hand, but I added, “I pray you let it rest here, aunt,” and for a
wonder she held her peace.
Arthur, too, seemed about to speak, but his worse or better angel, I
know not which, prevailed, and quietly saluting us all, he rose and took
his leave.
“We shall see when this war is over,” said my aunt, taking the deed.
“Many thanks, Mr. Wilson; I should like to have your opinion in
writing.”
“I shall send it in a week or two. Mr. Arthur Wynne seems to have
come over, as I judge from what he said, with authority to act for his
father. Why he did not at once relate his errand I cannot see. Had you
had no deed it would have closed the matter. If he found you had one he
would have been only in the position he is now in to-day.”
“I fancy he may have been fearful and over-cautious, not comprehending
the nature of those he had to deal with,” said I. “You must have known
him as I do, Mr. Wilson, to understand his actions. I was sorry you did
not let him tell us what powers he really had. I was curious.”
“Yes, yes, I interrupted him. It was a mistake.” And so saying he rose.
“It shall not rest here,” said my aunt. “Something shall be done.” And
on this I too went away, declining further talk.
When Arthur came over to learn what he could as to their title to
Wyncote, he failed to see that we were people whom no prospect of gain
could lead into the taking of an advantage. He thus lost the chance
a little honest directness would have given him. When later my father
threw in his way the opportunity of absolute security as to the title,
the temptation to get secretly from him a legal transfer, or--God
knows--perhaps the power to destroy the deed, was too much for a morally
weak and quite reckless nature. I was the sole obstacle, or I seemed to
be. We loved the same woman; she had begun to doubt her English lover.
If I had died he had become assured, not only of the possession of
Wyncote, but of being ultimately my father’s heir.
Of this Jack writes: “Here was a whole brigade of temptations, and he
could not stand it. He would have broken that tender heart I loved.
God help me! I think I should have killed him before he had the cruel
chance.”
If to the estate and other worldly baits was added the remembrance of
the blow a mere boy gave, I do not know. It is certain that at last he
hated me, and as sure that I had as little love for him.