“First of all,” said Sedley, reading from his notes, “we have the place and date of Enrichetta's death; secondly, the burial-place of Godfrey Lami Bramleigh set down as St. Michel, perhaps in Savoy. We have then the fact of the stolen papers, the copies of registries, and other documents. The marriage of Carlotta is not specified, but it is clearly evident, and we can even fix the time; and, last of all, we have this second wife, whose name, Pracontal, was always borne by the present claimant.”
“And are you of opinion that this same Pracontal was a party to the fraud?” asked Julia.
“I am not certain,” muttered he. “It is not too clear; the point is doubtful.”
“But what have we here? It is a letter, with a postmark on it.” She read, “Leghorn, February 8, 1812.” It was addressed to the Illustrissimo Maestro Lami, Porta Rossa, Florence, and signed N. Baldassare. It was but a few lines, and ran thus:—
“Seeing that Carlotta and her child now sleep at Pisa, why deny me your interest for my boy Anatole? You know well to what he might succeed, and how. Be unforgiving to me if you will. I have borne as hard things even as your hatred, but the child that has never wronged you deserves no part of this hate. I want but little from you; some dates, a few names,—that I know you remember,—and, last of all, my mind refreshed on a few events which I have heard you talk of again and again. Nor is it for me that you will do this; for I leave Europe within a week,—I shall return to it no more. Answer this Yes or No at once, as I am about to quit this place. You know me well enough to know that I never threaten, though I sometimes counsel; and my counsel now is, consent to the demand of—N. Baldassare.”
Underneath was written, in Lami's hand, “I will carry this to my grave, that I may curse him who wrote it, here and hereafter.”
“Now the story stands out complete,” said Julia, “and this Pracontal belonged to neither Bramleigh nor Lami.”
“Make me a literal translation of that letter,” said Sedley. “It is of more moment than almost all we have yet read. I do not mean now, Miss Julia,” said he, seeing she had already commenced to write, “for we have these fragments still to look over.”
While the lawyer occupied himself with drawing up a memorandum for his own guidance, Julia, by his directions, went carefully over the remaining papers. Few were of any interest; but these she docketed accurately, and with such brevity and clearness combined, that Sedley, little given to compliments, could not but praise her skill. It was not till the day began to decline that their labors drew to a close. It was a day of intense attention and great work; but only when it was over did she feel the exhaustion of overwrought powers.
“You are very, very tired,” said Sedley. “It was too thoughtless of me. I ought to have remembered how unused you must be to fatigue like this.”