“What is this about Carlotta here?”
“Ah, yes. 'With this I send her all I had saved and put by. I knew he would ill-treat her; but to take her boy from her,—her one joy and comfort in life,—and to send him away, she knows not whither, his very name changed, is more than I believed possible. She says that Niccolo has been to England, and found means to obtain money from M. B.'”
“Montague Bramleigh,” muttered Sedley; but she read on: “'This is too base; but it explains why he stole all the letters in poor Enrichetta's box, and the papers that told of her marriage.'”
“Are we on the track now?” cried the old lawyer, triumphantly. “This Baldassare was the father of the claimant, clearly enough. Enrichetta's child died, and the sister's husband substituted himself in his place.”
“But this Niccolo who married Carlotta,” said Julia, “must have been many years older than Enrichetta's son would have been had he lived.”
“Who was to detect that? Don't you see that he never made personal application to the Bramleighs? He only addressed them by letter, which, knowing all Enrichetta's story, he could do without risk or danger. Kelson could n't have been aware of this,” muttered he; “but he had some misgivings,—what were they?”
While the lawyer sat in deep thought, his face buried in his hands, Julia hurriedly turned over the papers. There were constant references to Carlotta's boy, whom the old man seemed to have loved tenderly; and different jottings showed how he had kept his birthday, which fell on the 4th of August. He was born at Zurich, where Baldassare worked as a watchmaker, his trade being, however, a mere mask to conceal his real occupation,—that of conspirator.
“No,” said Sedley, raising his head at last, “Kelson knew nothing of it. I'm certain he did not. It was a cleverly planned scheme throughout; and all the more so by suffering a whole generation to lapse before litigating the claim.”
“But what is this here?” cried Julia, eagerly. “It is only a fragment; but listen to it: 'There is no longer a doubt about it. Baldassare's first wife—a certain Marie de Pracontal—is alive, and living with her parents at Aix, in Savoy. Four of the committee have denounced him, and his fate is certain.
“'I had begun a letter to Bramleigh, to expose the fraud this scoundrel would pass upon him; but why should I spare him who killed my child?'”