“What a queer coincidence. Well, I am delighted to meet you. Where are you staying? My boy and I have just come over from Australia, and your friend, my dear wife, she is gone, Rachel. It was an awful blow; we won’t speak of it. I should like to see more of you. Where shall we meet?”
Mrs. Lovel gave the address of the very humble lodgings which she occupied when in London.
“The boy and I will look you up, then, this evening. I fear our time now belongs to the lawyer. Good-by—good-by. I am delighted to have met you.”
Mr. Baring prided himself on being an astute reader of character, but even he was somewhat amazed when these fresh claimants for the Avonsyde property occupied quite half an hour of his valuable time by asking him numerous and sundry questions with regard to that pale and somewhat insignificant client of his, Mrs. Lovel. Mr. Baring was a cautious man, and he let out as little as he could; but the Lovels, both father and son, were furnished with at least a few clews to a very painful story. So excited and interested was Rupert Lovel, senior, that he even forgot the important business that had brought him all the way from Australia, and the lawyer had himself gently to divert his client’s thoughts into the necessary channel.
Finally the father and son left the Barings’ office a good deal perturbed and excited and with no very definite information to guide them.
“Look here, Rupert, lad,” said the elder Lovel. “It’s about the saddest thing in all the world, that poor soul depriving herself of her children and then hoping against hope that the heir won’t turn up. “Why, of course, lad, you are the heir; not a doubt of that. Poor Rachel! and she was your mother’s friend.”
“But we won’t set up our claim until we are certain about everything—will we, father?” asked young Lovel. “Did you not hear Mr. Baring say that many false heirs had laid claim to Avonsyde? The old ladies want some one who can prove his descent, and we have not got all the papers—have we, father?”
“No. It is an extraordinary thing about those letters being lost, and also the old tankard. But they are safe to turn up. Who could have stolen them? Perhaps Gabrielle has already written with news of their safety. We might have a cab now to the General Post-office. I have no doubt a budget of letters awaits me there. Why, Rupert, what are you looking so melancholy about? The tankard and the letters may even now be found. What’s the matter, lad? It doesn’t do for a hearty young chap like you to wear such a dismal face. I tell you your claim is as good as established.”
“But I don’t know that I want it to be established,” said young Rupert Lovel. “It is not nice to think of breaking that lady’s heart. I don’t know what Gabrielle would say to doing anything so cruel to our mother’s friend.”
“Tut, lad, what a lot of rubbish you talk! If you are the heir you are, and you can’t shirk your responsibility, even if you don’t quite like it. Well, we’ll have a long talk with Rachel and get to the bottom of everything to-night.”