A woman's debt

by William Le Queux

This set the talkative Dobbs off at full tilt; he indulged in a reminiscent chuckle. Was there any family he did not know everything about within a twenty-mile radius? And Brinkstone Park lay close to his doors; you could see its chimneys from the hotel door across the swelling upland.

“I knew the father, old Sir George, and his lady, and of course the three boys; there were no girls. The old man was very popular and, at one time, had plenty of money. It was a fine estate when he came into it, for his father was as thrifty as the son was lavish. He harked back to some of his forbears—raced, gambled and spent money like water. The boys were all a wild lot, but they hadn’t their father’s good nature or kind heart. There were three of ’em, Charles the eldest, George, now the Baronet, and Archibald. Most people thought Charles was a bit wanting in the upper storey. Archibald was the wildest and the maddest of the lot; they had to pack him out of the country to Australia, where he died. George was pretty wild too, but he wasn’t a fool; far and away the cleverest of the three.”

Sellars of course drank in all this information with greedy ears; he would be sure to learn something of importance if he listened long enough. He encouraged the flow of reminiscence with appropriate and judicious remarks, with the result that Dobbs launched forth into a full and exhaustive history of the Brookes family.

Charles, who was suspected of not being quite right in the upper storey, pre-deceased his father. Lady Brookes died a couple of years later, her death having been hastened, according to general rumour, by the recklessness of her husband, and the excesses of her children. Archibald, a young man of a rather common type, a frequenter of the Brinkstone Arms, a village Don Juan whose scandals affronted the countryside, who was looked down upon by his equals in station, had been sent out of the country in the hope that he might lead a new life when removed from his evil associations. George by the death of the eldest brother had become the heir to the title and estates.

Then came the death of old Sir George, as Dobbs called him to differentiate him from the present Baronet. He left little behind him save debts, and what had once been a fine property was found to be mortgaged up to the hilt. There was very little left for his successor.

“For the last few years of the old man’s life, during which he was compelled to live in a rather shabby sort of way on account of the heavy interest on the mortgages, the present Sir George was very seldom at the Park,” Dobbs explained. “He lived in London chiefly; I suppose he had some small allowance from his father, but the general impression was he lived on his wits. When affairs were gone into, he saw it was impossible to take his rightful place. And I don’t suppose, if it had been possible, he would have found it very pleasant. From being one of the most highly respected families in the neighbourhood, they had incurred the contempt and ill-will of their neighbours, and he had always been unpopular from a boy. We heard very little of him here for some years till the news came that he had inherited a fortune from a distant relative, and added the name of Clayton to his own. I presume he could have afforded to come back here, but I don’t expect he had any fondness for the old place, and in my opinion, sir, it is better without him. The present tenant is a liberal, open-handed gentleman and does a lot of good round about.”

“He has a nephew in London, Archie Brookes, I presume a son of the man who went to Australia. Do you know anything about him, Dobbs?” queried the amateur investigator.

The respectable-looking waiter paused before replying, searching no doubt in the caverns of his retentive memory. “No, sir, absolutely nothing. I think there did come a report that Mr. Archibald married and had children, or at any rate a child. But I cannot be positive. You see, interest in them died out very quickly after the old man’s death, and we are a very stay-at-home lot of folk about here, only odds and ends of news, as it were, get to us at long intervals.”

This conversation took place about a couple of days before the arrival of Lane’s letter, and Sellars was of course assuming the accuracy of the history of the Australian brother as told him by his club acquaintance, who was an intimate friend of Sir George. Old Dobbs was not so sure of his facts as usual in this particular case, but he thought news had reached him of Archibald’s marriage. As far as it went it was a confirmation of what he had been told.

Having heard pretty well all there was to hear about the Brookes family, Sellars was about to play his trump card on the garrulous waiter, and inquire if he had ever known a Miss Lettice Larchester. But a small incident frustrated him.