CHAPTER LXIV. A FIRST GLEAM OF LIGHT.
After a sleepless, anxious night, in which he canvassed all that Sedley had told him, Bramleigh presented himself at Jack's bedside as the day was breaking. Though the sailor was not worldly wise, nor endowed with much knowledge of life, he had, as Augustus knew, a rough-and-ready judgment which, allied to a spirit of high honor, rarely failed in detecting that course which in the long run proved best. Jack, too, was no casuist, no hair-splitter; he took wide, commonplace views, and in this way was sure to do what nine out of ten ordinary men would approve of, and this was the sort of counsel that Bramleigh now desired to set side by side with his own deeply considered opinion.
Jack listened attentively to his brother's explanation, not once interrupting him by a word or a question till he had finished, and then, laying his hand gently on the other's, said, “You know well, Gusty, that you could n't do this.”
“I thought you would say so, Jack.”
“You'd be a fool to part with what you owned, or a knave to sell what did not belong to you.”
“My own judgment precisely.”
“I'd not bother myself then with Sedley's pros and cons, nor entertain the question about saving what one could out of the wreck. If you have n't a right to a plank in the ship, you have no right to her because she is on the rocks. Say 'No,' Gusty: say 'No' at once.”
“It would be at best a compromise on the life of one man, for Pracontal's son, if he should leave one, could revive the claim.”
“Don't let us go so far, Gusty. Let us deal with the case as it stands before us. Say 'No,' and have done with the matter at once.”
Augustus leaned his head between his hands, and fell into a deep vein of thought.
“You 've had your trial of humble fortune now, Gusty,” continued Jack, “and I don't see that it has soured you; I see no signs of fretting or irritability about you, old fellow; I'll even say that I never remember you jollier or heartier. Isn't it true, this sort of life has no terror for you?”
“Think of Nelly, Jack.”
“Nelly is better able to brave hard fortune than either of us. She never was spoiled when we were rich, and she had no pretensions to lay down when we became poor.”
“And yourself, my poor fellow? I 've had many a plan of what I meant by you.”
“Never waste a thought about me. I 'll buy a trabaccolo. They 're the handiest coasting craft that ever sailed; and I 'll see if the fruit-trade in the Levant won't feed me, and we 'll live here, Gusty, all together. Come now, tell me frankly, would you exchange that for Castello, if you had to go back there and live alone—eh?”
“I 'll not say I would; but—”
“There's no 'but;' the thing is clear and plain enough. This place would n't suit, Marion or Temple; but they'll not try it. Take my word for it, of all our fine acquaintances, not one will ever come down here to see how we bear our reduced lot in life. We 'll start fresh in the race, and we 'll talk of long ago and our grand times without a touch of repining.”
“I'm quite ready to try it, Jack.”
“That's well said,” said he, grasping his hand, and pressing it affectionately. “And you'll say 'No' to this offer? I knew you would. Not but the Frenchman is a fine fellow, Gusty. I did n't believe it was in his nation to behave as nobly; for, mark you, I have no doubts, no misgivings about his motives. I 'd say all was honest and above board in his offer.”
“I join you in that opinion, Jack; and one of these days I hope to tell him so.”
“That's the way to fight the battle of life,” cried the sailor, enthusiastically. “Stand by your guns manfully, and, if you 're beaten, haul down your flag in all honor to the fellow who has been able to thrash you. The more you respect him, the higher you esteem yourself. Get rid of that old lawyer as soon as you can, Gusty; he's not a pleasant fellow, and we all want Cutty back again.”
“Sedley will only be too glad to escape; he's not in love with our barbarism.”
“I'm to breakfast with Cutty this morning. I was nigh forgetting it. I hope I may tell him that his term of banishment is nearly over.”
“I imagine Sedley will not remain beyond to-morrow.”
“That will be grand news for Cutty, for he can't bear solitude. He says himself he 'd rather be in the Marshalsea with plenty of companions, than be a king and have no associates. By the way, am I at liberty to tell him about this offer of Pracontal's? He knows the whole history, and the man too.”
“Tell him if you like. The Frenchman is a favorite with him, and this will be another reason for thinking well of him.”
“That's the way to live, Gusty. Keep the ship's company in good humor, and the voyage will be all the happier.”
After a few words they parted, Augustus to prepare a formal reply to his lawyer, and Jack to keep his engagement with Cutbill. Though it was something of a long walk, Jack never felt it so; his mind was full of pleasant thoughts of the future. To feel that Julia loved him, and to know that a life of personal effort and enterprise was before him, were thoughts of overwhelming delight. He was now to show himself worthy of her love, and he would do this. With what resolution he would address himself to the stern work of life! It was not enough to say affluence had not spoiled him, he ought to be able to prove that the gentleman element was a source of energy and perseverance which no reverses could discourage. Julia was a girl to value this. She herself had learned how to meet a fallen condition and had sacrificed nothing that graced or adorned her nature in the struggle. Nay, she was more lovable now than he had ever known her. Was it not downright luck that had taught them both to bear an altered lot before the trial of their married life began? It was thus he reasoned as he went, canvassing his condition in every way, and contented with it in all.
“What good news have you got this morning?” cried Cutbill, as he entered. “I never saw you look so jolly in my life.”
“Well, I did find half-a-crown in the pocket of an old letter-case this morning; but it's the only piece of unexpected luck that has befallen me.”
“Is the lawyer gone?”
“No.”
“Nor thinking of going?”
“I won't say that. I suspect he 'll not make a long halt after he has a talk with Gusty to-day.”
And now Jack told in a few words the object of Sedley's coming, what Pracontal had offered, and what Augustus had resolved to send for answer.
“I'd have said the Frenchman was the biggest fool in Europe if I had n't heard of your brother,” said Cutbill, puffing out a long column of smoke, and giving a deep sigh.
“That's not exactly how I read each of them,” said Jack, sternly.
“Possibly; but it's the true rendering after all. Consider for one moment—”
“Not for half a moment, Master Cutbill. That my brother might make a very good bargain, by simply bartering such an insignificant thing as his honor as a gentleman, is easy to see; and that scores of people would n't understand that such a compromise was in question, or was of much consequence if it were, is also easy to see; and we need waste no time in discussing this. I say Gusty's right, and I maintain it; and if you like to hold a different opinion, do so in Heaven's name, but don't disparage motives simply because you can't feel them.”
“Are you better after all that?” said Cutbill, dryly, as he filled Jack's glass with water, and pushed it towards him. “Do you feel refreshed?”
“Much better—considerably relieved.”
“Could I offer you anything cooling or calming?”
“Nothing half as cool as yourself, Cutty. And now let's change the subject, for it's one I'll not stand any chaff about.”
“Am I safe in recommending you that grilled chicken, or is it indiscreet in me to say you 'll find those sardines good?”
Jack helped himself, and ate on without a word. At last he lifted his head, and, looking around him, said, “You 've very nice quarters here, Cutbill.”
“As neat as paint. I was thinking this morning whether I 'd not ask your brother to rent me this little place. I feel quite romantic since I 've come up here, with the nightingales, and the cicalas, and the rest of them.”
“If there were only a few more rooms like this, I 'd dispute the tenancy with you.”
“There 's a sea-view for you!” said he, throwing wide the jalousies. “The whole Bocca di Cattaro and the islands in the distance. Naples is nothing to it! And when you have feasted your eye with worldly beauty, and want a touch of celestial beatitude, you've only to do this.” And he arose, and walking over to one side of the room, drew back a small curtain of green silk, disclosing behind it an ornamental screen or “grille” of iron-work.
“What does that mean?” asked Jack.
“That means that the occupant of this room, when devoutly disposed, could be able to hear mass without the trouble of going for it. This little grating here looks into the chapel; and there are evidences about that members of the family who lived at the villa were accustomed to come up here at times to pass days of solitude, and perhaps penance, which, after all, judging from the indulgent character of this little provision here, were probably not over severe.”
“Nelly has told me of this chapel. Can we see it?”
“No; it's locked and barred like a jail. I 've tried to peep in through this grating; but it's too dark to see anything.”
“But this grating is on a hinge,” said Jack. “Don't you see, it was meant to open, though it appears not to have done so for some years back? Here 's the secret of it.” And pressing a small knob in the wall, the framework became at once movable, and opened like a window.
“I hope it's not sacrilege, but I mean to go in,” said Jack, who, mounting on a chair, with a sailor's agility insinuated himself through the aperture, and invited Cutbill to follow.
“No, no; I wasn't brought up a rope-dancer,” said he, gruffly. “If you can't manage to open the door for me—”
“But it's what I can. I can push back every bolt. Come round now, and I'll admit you.”
By the time Cutbill had reached the entrance, Jack had succeeded in opening the massive doors; and as he flung them wide, a flood of light poured into the little crypt, with its splendid altar and its silver lamps; its floor of tessellated marble, and its ceiling a mass of gilded tracery almost too bright to look on: but it was not at the glittering splendor of gold or gems that they now stood enraptured. It was in speechless wonderment of the picture that formed the altar-piece, which was a Madonna,—a perfect copy, in every lineament and line, of the Flora at Castello. Save that an expression of ecstatic rapture had replaced the look of joyous delight, they were the same, and unquestionably were derived from the same original.
“Do you know that?” cried Cutbill.
“Know it! Why, it's our own fresco at Castello.”
“And by the same hand, too,” cried Cutbill. “Here are the initials in the corner,—G. L.! Of all the strange things that I have ever met in life, this is the strangest!” And he leaned on the railing of the altar, and gazed on the picture with intense interest.
“I can make nothing of it,” muttered Jack.
“And yet there 's a great story in it,” said Cutbill, in a low, serious tone. “That picture was a portrait,—a portrait of the painter's daughter; and that painter's daughter was the wife of your grandfather, Montague Bramleigh; and it is her grandchild now, the man called Pracontal, who claims your estates.”
“How do you pretend to know all this?”
“I know it, chapter and verse. I have gone over the whole history with that old painter's journal before me. I have seen several studies of that girl's face,—'Enrichetta Lami,' she was called,—and I have read the entry of her marriage with your grandfather in the parish register. A terrible fact for your poor brother, for it clenches his ruin. Was there ever as singular a chance in life as the reappearance of this face here?”
“Coming as though to taunt us with our downfall; though certainly that lovely brow and those tearful eyes have no scorn in them. She must have been a great beauty.”
“Pracontal raves of her beauty, and says that none of these pictures do her justice, except one at Urbino. At least, he gathers this from the journal, which he swears by as if it were gospel.”
“I 'd call her handsomer in that picture than in our fresco. I wonder if this were painted earlier or later?”
“I can answer that question, for the old sacristan who came up here yesterday, and fell to talking about the chapel, mentioned how the painter—a gran' maestro he called him—bargained to be buried at the foot of the altar, and the Marchese had not kept his word, not liking to break up the marble pavement, and had him interred outside the walls, with the prior's grave and a monk at either side of him. His brushes and colors, and his tools for fresco-work, were all buried in the chapel; for they had been blessed by the Pope's Nuncio, after the completion of the basilica at Udine. Have n't I remembered my story well, and the old fellow didn't tell it above nine times over? This was old Lami's last work, and here his last resting-place.”
“What is it seems so familiar to me in that name? Every time you have uttered it I am ready to say I have heard it before.”
“What so likely, from Augustus or your sister.”
“No. I can answer for it that neither of them ever spoke of him to me. I know it was not from them I heard it.”
“But how tell the story of this suit without naming him?”
“They never did tell me the story of the suit, beyond the fact that my grandfather had been married privately in early life, and left a son whom he had not seen nor recognized, but took every means to disavow and disown. Wait now a moment; my mind is coming to it. I think I have the clew to this old fellow's name. I must go back to the villa, however, to be certain.”
“Not a word of our discovery here to any one,” cried Cutbill. “We must arrange to bring them all here, and let them be surprised as we were.”
“I 'll be back with you within an hour,” said Jack. “My head is full of this, and I 'll tell you why when I return.”
And they parted.
Before Cutbill could believe it possible, Jack, flushed and heated, re-entered the room. He had run at top-speed, found what he sought for, and came back in intense eagerness to declare the result.
“You 've lost no time, Jack; nor have I, either. I took up the flags under the altar-steps, and came upon this oak box. I suppose it was sacrilege, but I carried it off here to examine at our leisure.”
“Look here,” cried Jack, “look at this scrap of paper. It was given to me at the galleys at Ischia by the fellow I was chained to. Read these names: Giacomo Lami,—whose daughter was Enrichetta,—I was to trace him out, and communicate, if I could, with this other man, Tonino Baldassare or Pracontal,—he was called by both names. Bolton of Naples could trace him.”
A long low whistle was Cutbill's only reply as he took the paper and studied it long and attentively.
“Why, this is the whole story,” cried he at last. “This old galley-slave is the real claimant, and Pracontal has no right, while Niccolo, or whatever his name be, lives. This may turn out glorious news for your brother, but I 'm not lawyer enough to say whether it may not be the Crown that will benefit, if his estates be confiscated for felony.”
“I don't think that this was the sort of service Old Nick asked me to render him when we parted,” said Jack, dryly.
“Probably not. He only asked you to help his son to take away your brother's estate.”
“Old Nick knew nothing about whose brother I was. He trusted me to do him a service, and I told him I would.”
Though Cutbill paid but little attention to him, Jack talked on for some time of his old comrade, recounting the strange traits of his nature, and remembering with gratitude such little kindness as it was in his power to show.
“I 'd have gone clean out of my mind but for him,” said he, at last.
“And we have all believed that this fellow was lost at sea,” muttered Cutbill. “Bolton gave up all his papers and the remnant of his property to his son in that belief.”
“Nor does he wish to be thought living now. He charged me to give no clew to him. He even said I was to speak of him as one I had met at Monte Video years ago.”
“These are things for a 'cuter head than yours or mine, Jack,” said Cutbill, with a cunning look. “We 're not the men to see our way through this tangle. Go and show that scrap of paper to Sedley, and take this box with you. Tell him how you came by each. That old fox will soon see whether they confirm the case against your brother or disclose a flaw in it.”
“And is that the way I'm to keep my word to Old Nick?” said Jack, doggedly.
“I don't suppose you ever bound yourself to injure your own flesh and blood by a blank promise. I don't believe there 's a family in Europe with as many scruples, and as little sense how to deal with them.”
“Civil that, certainly.”
“Not a bit civil, only true; but let us not squabble. Go and tell Sedley what we have chanced upon. These men have a way of looking at the commonest events—and this is no common event—that you nor I have never dreamed of. If Pracontal's father be alive, Pracontal cannot be the claimant to your estates; that much, I take it, is certain. At all events, Sedley's the man to answer this.”
Half pushing Jack out of the room while he deposited the box in his hands, Cutbill at last sent him off, not very willingly indeed, or concurringly, but like one who, in spite of himself, saw he was obliged to take a particular course, and travel a road without the slightest suspicion of where it led to.