Old Lattimer's Legacy. A novel

Front matter

Jfl^ObDS' POPULAR JSlOVEIiS. Crown %vo., Cloth, 3/6 each, (Postage $\d.) Uniform with "Old Lattimer's Legacy." EVELINE WELLWOOD. By Major Norris Paul. "Major Paul has written in a simple style a capital book. All good Englishmen and Irishmen may add thanks to Major Paul, and buy his book for the encouragement of youth in the practice of sound loyalty and the reading of good stories.'' — Saturday Review. THE MATD OF LONDON BRIDGE. A Story of the time of Kelt's Rebellion. By Somerville Gibney. "'The Maid of London Bridge' is an historical story. The author has clearly worked hard, and showed a praiseworthy intimacy both with the geozraphy of old London, and with the particulars of Kett's Rebellion and subsequent disturbances." — Athenæum. OLD LATTIMER'S LEGACY. By J. S, Fletcher. LONDON: JARROLD S> SONS, 3, Paternoster Buildings. $. frond.

BY J. S. FLETCHER, Author of " The Winding Way," " Andreiulina," " Mr. Spivey's Cl,rk," "Frank Carisbroke's Stratagem." LONDON: JARROLD & SONS, 3, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C. 189:. [All rights reserved.] CONTENTS. CHAPTER TAGE 1. Waiting for Mr. Wraxall ... ... 11 II. Mr. Wraxall Reads the Will ... 25 III. William Loveday ... ... ... 37 IV. Dr. Debenham Comes Back ... ... 50 V. Miss Priscilla is much Grieved ... 59 VI. Spettifer's Coffee House ... ... 69 VII. Captain Lattimer's Troubles ... 80 VIII. Gladys ... ... ... ... 90 IX. Mrs. Lancaster ... ... ... 100 X. Mr. Wraxall at St. Hilda's ... ... 113 XI. Mrs. Fullalore's Boarding House ... 126 XII. Will's Fellow- Lodgers ... ... 135 XIII. Will's First Success ... ... 144 XIV. Developments ... ... ... 156 XV. A Common Idea ... ... ... CONTENTS.

X CHAPTER PACE XVI. Mr. Keene's Proposition ... ... 176 XVII. The Greenwich Boat ... ... 1S2 XVIII. A Tale of Woe ... ... 194 XIX. Altered Prospects '...!; ... 201 XX. Envy or Pity? ... ... ... 207 XXI. Philip gets to Work ... ... 213 XXII. At Keene's Office ... ... 219 XXIII. Progressions ... ... ... 229 XXIV. Advisers and Petitioners ... ... 235 XXV. Under Compulsion ... ... 243 XXVI. Frank's Doubts ... ... 253 XXVII. Bad News for John Keene ... 264 XXVIII. The Cloven Foot ... ... 273 XXIX. Links in the Chain ... ... 283 XXX. The Iron Safe ... ... ... 296 XXXI. The End of the Legacy ... ... OLD LATTIMER'S LEGACY.

Chapter I. Waiting For Mr

WRAXALL. Ox a certain fine morning in the early spring of 1881, a small party of elderly people were gathered together in the drawing room of a large house in Eaton Square. It was not a particularly pleasant room. The furniture was old-fashioned and gloomy ; the pictures were more suitable for a national collection than a private house ; the paper on the walls, the carpet on the floor, the very hearthrug before the fireplace, were all sober and solid. If there had been a trace of woman anywhere in the room ; if a bit of light-coloured needlework had hung in careless confusion from the back of a chair, or lain unheeded on the floor ; if a piece of music had stood on the open piano, or a book reposed face downwards in one of the easy chairs ; if there had been plants in the windows, and cut flowers on the tables ; if, in short, the eye had met any of those thousand-and-one traces which are naturally associated with the presence of women, the room would have gained in cheerfulness whatever it lost in dignity.

But there was neither music nor flowers, needlework nor open book ; there was not even an unfolded newspaper. Every article of furniture was in its proper place, there was not a speck of dust to be found in any corner. This, of course, betokened excessive zeal on the part of somebody. I have said that the people met together in this room were elderly. When I say elderly, I mean that all, without exception, were past their prime, and already going with more or less speed towards the foot of the hill. Certainly the two ladies, who sat very close together on a straight-laced sofa near the window, had always done their best to retain a youthful appearance. But at fifty-five even art fails to do what nature cannot accomplish ; and in spite of false teeth, Mrs. Allen, and youthful dress, Penelope and Alethea Lattimer were beginning to look old.

Mrs. Allen can certainly do wonders for the hair ; but what is one to do when the hair itself refuses to stay on the head ? And though teeth are now made more beautifully by art than by nature, there is no process, so far as I am aware, which prevents the accumulation of little lines and wrinkles about the lips and eyes, or gets rid of those terrible WALTLNG FOR MR. WRAXALL. 13 crow's-feet, which indicate the approach of decay. Therefore, though they had honestly done their best to be young and playful as long as possible, the Misses Lattimer come rightly under the term elderly. As for the men there was no doubt about their age. Mr. Philip Lattimer, standing at the window and drum ming impatiently on the sash, was sixty if a day. Tall, well-built, with keen grey eyes and a hook-nose, a well brushed head of white hair, and a short and aggressive looking white moustache, he seemed to have preserved a fair share of youthful vigour.

He was scrupulously dressed in black, as were all his companions ; but his clothes and boots had that appearance which comes from capital taste, great care, and an ample purse. His brother, Charles, leaning against the mantelpiece and occasionally speaking to Miss Penelope, was not so handsome a man, nor so careful in dress. His frock coat was good and suitable, but not comparable with Philip's elegant cutaway. Charles certainly had not the appearance of Philip. He had a very broad face, an iron-grey beard and moustache, a rather bulbous nose, and a high forehead. Looked at from a distance, he had an air of benevolence. The mendicant by the wayside expected at least a shilling from so patriarchal looking a gentleman. But as Charles Lattimer was not over well off in the goods of this world, the expectation was all that any mendicant ever got from him.

" Eleven o'clock," said Philip Lattimer, turning from the window with a glance at his watch. " Wraxall is late." " To be late," observed Miss Penelope, speaking slowly and distinctly, "to be late is sinful in any person, but in a lawyer it is positively wicked." " Positively wicked," said Miss Alethea, who had con tracted a habit of repeating much of what her sister said. " A minute or two is nothing," said Charles, walking to the window, " I don't suppose we're in any great hurry, except to hear the will read, eh, Philip ? " Philip muttered something about an appointment, and sat down opposite the ladies. If Charles was in no great hurry, he was. He had been in the throes of expectation and anticipation for a whole week, and he was anxious to have his mind set at rest as quickly as possible.

"Willoughby Mainwaring is coming across the square," announced Charles from the window, " I thought he would turn up." " Willoughby Mainwaring ! " cried Miss Penelope, "are you sure, Charles? Really, I trust he will not be shown into this room ! I — I could not think of remaining." " Don't be a fool, Penelope," said Philip, before Miss Alethea had time to echo her sister, " I daresay you've spent a quarter-of-an-hour in worse company than Mainwaring's." " It's only natural he should want to know how Oliver's left things," said Charles. " No doubt Wil loughby expects something. He and Oliver were always pretty friendly." Philip looked at his finger-nails. He and Oliver Lattimer had generally been pretty friendly too, and yet he did not feel so certain about the way in which the latter had left his money.

He hoped that the bulk of it came to him, for even at sixty he had need of it, and plenty of ways in which to spend it. Certainly he had no family, not even a wife. But he had chambers at the Albany, and an expensive club ; and he was fond of good dinners, and good clothes, and good tobacco, and similar comforts, which can only be secured by those whose purses are deep and well-filled. And he had debts too, debts of long standing, which he would have been obliged to settle long since if his creditors had not known that his cousin, Oliver Lattimer, was a very rich man, whose money was certain sometime or other to go to his only relations — the four people now sitting in the drawing-room in Eaton Square. Philip had made the most of this fact, and had lived a capital life upon it. To be sure, he had been obliged to pro mise large rates of interest to his friends, the money lenders, and to satisfy the tailor, and the cigar merchant, and the wine merchant, by allowing them to add no inconsiderable per centage to his bills.

It did not matter, he said, what the fellows put on ; Oliver was an old man, and sure to die soon ; and even if he divided his wealth among the four of them, he Philip, would be able to pay his debts and have a remarkably handsome sum left over, for Oliver was reckoned a millionaire. He had never had much of his own. There were two branches of the Lattimer family. William Lattimer had gone in for commerce, and founded a house in the City and made a pile, which passed at his death into Oliver's hands. Stephen Lattimer had gone in for the Church, and married and brought four children into the world. He ultimately got a good living, and in due time a Deanery ; but when he died lie left very little. Philip got five thousand pounds and Charles five thousand. They could do what they pleased with their money ; but the girls — Penelope and Alethea — had a hundred and fifty a year settled upon each of them in such a way that they could not interfere with the principal by any means whatever.

Philip purchased a commission with his money, and the half-pay which resulted in after years was all he had to subsist upon, though he did his best to supplement it by means of the turf, billiards, and cards. Charles went in for medicine and was now, after twenty-five years of hard work, struggling in a Midland town with a wife and ten children. Penelope and Alethea had taken a little house at Twickenham on the Dean's death, and still vegetated there on their three hundred a year. Of this branch of the Lattimer family, Charles was unquestion ably the most deserving member. Oliver Lattimer had never been a particularly pleasant or generous man. When his father died he found himself the owner of an immense business in silk. He made up his mind to devote himself heart and soul to it. He took little notice of his cousins.

Once a year he would write them to dine with him at the great gloomy house in Eaton Square. They were not very pleasant repasts, these family dinners. Oliver would sneer at the ladies, give short answers to the men, and go to sleep in his arm-chair immediately after dinner. Once Philip had borrowed a hundred pounds of him, promising to return the money that day six months. When the six months elapsed, Oliver asked for his money. He did not get it, and he did not see Philip for some time. Nor was Philip invited again to the family gathering. The memory of this little mistake rankled in Captain Lattimer's breast as he waited with his brother and sisters for the coming of Mr. Wraxall, who was going to read the will. For Oliver Lattimer was dead at last, and buried. Twelve months previously he had sold the great business to a limited liability company.

It went for an enormous E OLD LAI TIMER'S LEGACY. sum, and people in the City said that old Lattimer must be three times as rich as his father, who was known to be wealthy when lie died. Rich or not, old Oliver did not live long after giving up his business. He spent a considerable amount of time at the offices of Wraxall, Stamp, & Wraxall, in Furnivall's Inn. Possibly he was putting things in order. He had lived a very regular life too. Breakfast at eight, to the City at nine, home at five, a walk in the park till six, dinner at seven, bed at ten. He had kept no company and gone nowhere. Altogether he was a strange man. And now he was dead, and his possessions, great and small, were to fall into the hands of his cousins, Philip, Charles, Penelope, and Alethea. " Mr. Willoughby Mainwaring," announced a solemn butler, opening the door and standing aside to allow a new-comer to enter.

A tall, thin man came gingerly in. He was dressed in a rusty black suit, the seams of which were very shiny, and the trousers very baggy at the knees. He carried a high hat, much the worse for wear, in his hands, together with a blackthorn walking stick, and a pair of black cotton gloves. His linen was scrupulously clean, but very much frayed and worn at the edges. A black satin stock covered his throat ; a black-edged handkerchief peeped out from the tail of his coat. It was easy to see that he was poor, and yet there was something which conveyed the idea that he had once upon a time been a notable party. His face, clean shaven, except for a very thin pair of whiskers, was handsome in its way ; the blue eyes, watery and rather blood-shot at the corners, had a kindly and wistful look ; the forehead, over which depended a lock of grey hair still mixed with brown of beautiful shade, was high and well-developed, and suggestive of brain power ; the mouth, somewhat shrunk, and drooping at the corners, had an expression of sweetness.

Willoughby Main waring, because of his eyes and mouth, looked as though the sixty years of his life had been passed in a patient endeavour to keep his head above water. They were the eyes and mouth of a man who seemed always to be saying that life was terribly hard — and yet rather pleasant, you know. He was the poor member of the family — this shabby gentleman — whose presence was felt by Miss Penelope to be contaminating. Once upon a time, William and Stephen Lattimer had had a sister, Letitia, who had married handsome George Mainwaring, of the 191st Foot. George had nothing but his pay, and Letty had no means whatever. William was then founding the house, Stephen was going into the Church. Therefore, neither could do anything for the sister when her husband was ruined — as ruined he was within five years of the marriage.

Then George Mainwaring died, and Letty followed him before long, leaving her boy Willoughby to the tender mercies of William and Stephen. It was impossible that the latter could do anything for him, because he was then but a curate and had a small income. William, however, took the lad in, sent him to school with his own son, Oliver, and sub sequently to Cambridge, whither Oliver did not repair. William died just after Willoughby Mainwaring left Cambridge, and it was found that he had been good enough to leave Letty 's boy the handsome sum of six thousand pounds. With that six thousand pounds Willoughby might have done well. He might, for instance, have put it into his cousin Oliver's business and doubled it. He might have gone into the Army, or the Navy, or the Church, or the Stage, and made a man of himself.

But Willoughby had something of the wild man in him. Probably it was in the blood, for George, his father, had been a rake before he married Letty Lattimer. Anyway, young Willoughby proceeded to go the pace. He ran about the town a good deal, was exceedingly intimate with persons at whose names his cousins, Penelope and Alethea, shuddered ; and mixed in circles which were not looked upon with favour by Stephen and his family, who by that time were climbing towards the Deanery. Oliver Lattimer used to warn Willoughby that he was steering to ruin, and hinted bluntly that his father's legacy was being put to foolish uses. But Willoughby went on undaunted. He was always going to do something. He was collecting materials for a novel or a poem ; he was going to paint a great historical picture, or chisel a new Venus.

He had an unfinished play in his desk, and he had once spoken to Mr. Murray about publishing a great satirical poem after the fashion of Don fuan. It was in fact to be a continuation of Don fttan. Certainly there were few young men about town who knew as much of the shady side of life as Willoughby, and he was, therefore, quite convinced in his own mind that he could assume the mantle of the deceased poet in a fitting manner. But this, like all his other schemes, came to nothing, or was interrupted. All his life, Willoughby said, he had suffered from interruptions. Perhaps his greatest inter ruption was when he had a row at Epsom with young Lord Skyrakcr, about a pretty actress. Willoughby, no doubt, acted in that little matter with much promptitude. He slapped Lord Skyraker's face in the afternoon, and put a bullet through him (though not in a mortal part) early the next morning, as they faced each other in a quiet spot near Richmond.

After this of course Willoughby took himself away. He had been about the town (and over to the Continent at odd intervals) for two years, and his uncle William's six thousand was nearly finished. Those who knew him best wondered how Willoughby had contrived to make so small a sum last such a long time. However, it was gone at last, and Willoughby himself was forced to go too. He spent some years in France — sometimes as usher in scholastic establishments, sometimes acting as banker at one of the gaming institutions. When the Skyrakcr affair had fairly blown over, and Lord Skyraker had blossomed into the Earl of Mudborough and forgiven his antagonist, Willoughby ventured back to England and began his career as a literary free-lance. He had a ready pen and a quick eye, and his only weakness was a love of wines which none but a millionaire can really afford to buy.

Hence, though he had a fair clientele amongst a certain class of publishers, Willoughby was always poor and shabby. Of course he had long been cut by the Stephen Lattimer part of the family, so far as the females were concerned. He came into the drawing room now with a quick glance of enquiry. When he caught sight of the maiden ladies sitting primly on their sofa, he quailed a little. Miss Penelope was a veritable dragon in Wil loughby's opinion. Then he saw Philip and smiled. He knew enough of Philip Lattimer to feel that he was not the only black sheep present. " Good morning, Willoughby," said Philip, extending a hand without rising from the chair, " I didn't know you were to be present." " I — I — you see," replied Willoughby, bending over Philip and whispering, "I didn't know it myself, but Wraxall sent me a note this morning telling me to come.

Most unfortunate, for I am very busy with a paper on political jobbery for the Bunkumville Monitor, which really must go off by to-night's post. Interrup tions, Philip—" " Do you think he's remembered you, Willoughby?"' " I really don't know what to think," said Willoughby, shaking his head. "Not that I expect anything, Philip. Oliver's father did what was to be done for me, you know, and I suppose I have no right to expect more. Perhaps a little remembrance, you know — twenty pounds to buy a ring, or something of that sort." Here Willoughby caught sight of the ladies again, and bowed profoundly. He had nodded cordially to Charles on entering the room. " I haven't an idea how it is left," said Philip. " Naturally one expects it will be divided amongst the four of us — or five of us, since you are a cousin too.

But Oliver was such a queer fish altogether. I say, Willoughby, you don't think he'd leave it to a Home for Dogs or Cats, eh ? " " I should think not — I should think not," replied Willoughby. " No — it always appeared to me that our cousin Oliver was a man who thought a good deal of his family." " He didn't show it then ! " said Philip with a smile. " How long is it since you saw him, Willoughby? " " I called here one evening when he was ill," answered Willoughby, " but he was asleep in his chair, so I only saw him. We had no speech together. Have you seen him lately, Philip ? " " Not for five years ! " said Philip ruefully. " Not since — I say, Willoughby, did you ever, did you — er, ever borrow a trifle of him, eh ? " Willoughby blushed and stroked the fur of his hat the wrong way. " M — well," he said, " once I did.

He was not a good hand at lending, Philip." How much was it, Willoughby? " It was twenty-five pounds, cousin.'1 I say, Willoughby, did you pay it back ? '• Yes — I did, for a wonder. I was pretty successful just about that time, and I happened to be in Basinghall Street one morning with thirty or forty pounds in my pockets. I thought it might be well to return the loan, and I did." Philip stroked his moustache. Perhaps he was thinking it would have been better if he had refunded the hundred pounds which Oliver had once lent him. It might be that — " Here's Wraxall at last," said Charles Lattimer, coming from the window. " Now for the Will."

Chapter II. Mr

WRAXALL READS THE WILL. I WONDER what dead men think, if their spirits arc allowed to return to earth, when they come silently into the room where their friends and relations are met together to hear their last Will and Testament. Spirits, of course, are keener of sight than mortals, and can see through the mask of indifference which visual eyes can net penetrate. What do they think as they watch the various faces all turned with more or less eagerness of expression, on the man of law, as he slowly unfolds the important document? Do they grieve over the almost indecent haste with which their relations crowd to pick the gold away from their icy fingers? Do they laugh as one swallows his disappointment with a scarce-smothered curse, or smile when another blushes to find that some thing has come where nothing was expected ?

And do they not have their eyes opened as to the real feelings of the people among whom their earthly life was cast, and into whose hands their perishable goods now descend ? The five persons in Oliver Lattimer's gloomy drawing room awaited Mr. Wraxall's entry with various feelings. Penelope and Alethea were thinking how delightful it would be to take a larger house, have a maid apiece, visit Mentone every year, and pay an extra subscription to Mudie's. Alethea, being of a devotional turn of mind, was also resolved to spend part of cousin Oliver's money in the erection of a new church, where everything should be done on the latest pattern, and the clergy all vowed to lives of mortification and celibacy. Penelope was wondering what she should do with her money when she died. Of course there were Charles's children — ten of them.

But Penelope did not like Mrs. Charles Lattimer, and so she decided that her money should go to some useful society or association, where it would really do good. Charles, meanwhile, was wondering what sort of news he would be able to carry to his wife. He had experi enced plenty of hard knocks in his time, and had a few debts even now. Everybody who knows anything of life knows quite well that a man who has debts is as badly off as a convict. Better be an agricultural labourer with sixteen shillings a week, and half-a-score of wide mouths to fill, than carry a load of debt on a broadcloth coat. Philip, too, had debts — debts with a big D — but they were not like his brother's. And yet, though Philip's debts ran to thousands, and Charles's to hundreds, the doctor probably felt his most keenly, because he was really anxious to pay his creditors ; whereas Philip had no inherent desires in that direction.

As for Willoughby Mainwaring, he was filled with a gentle curiosity as to how Oliver had left his money. He certainly expected nothing more than a k\v pounds. Perhaps it might be a hundred. That would be very pleasant. What should he do with it? Ah ! a little dinner ; such a dinner as he used to give long ago, before the Skyraker affair. That would be exceedingly plea sant. He would give it at the Criterion, and it must be on some night when himself and his cronies would be quite free from interruptions. Interruptions — " Mr. Wraxall." Mr. Wraxall, attended by a clerk carrying a bag, came at a quick pace into the room. He was a portly gentle man of fifty-two or three, with a smiling rosy face, mutton-chop whiskers, a diamond pin in a black scarf, and generally jovial manners. He took in the whole scene with one comprehensive glance, set his hat down on the table, motioned the clerk to take a seat, and then smiled affably on the expectant five.

"Good morning, Captain Lattimer; good morning, Doctor. Miss Lattimer, I hope you are quite well? Yesterday at the funeral I thought you looked a little pale. And you, Miss Alethea, are well, I trust? That's right, that's right. Ah ! Mr. Mainwaring, so you got my note? Well, Captain Lattimer, I think we may get to work, eh ? " Philip felt re-assured. The lawyer addressed him so naturally as the head of the family, that his spirits rose several degrees. " Whenever you please," he said. " Is it necessary that any of the servants should be called in ? " " Um, well, let's see. Jinks, give me paper No. I. Ah ! yes, there are some of the servants mentioned here. In fact, we'd better have all of them in. They have all been remembered, I think, by my old friend." Willoughby thought this delightful.

To remember all the servants. Really, now, this was exceedingly pleasant. If the servants were remembered, why, of course, the friends would certainly not be forgotten. Captain Lattimer rang the bell and requested the attendance of the entire domestic staff. Presently, led by Mr. Jimes, the butler, they entered. First, Mr. Jimes himself, very erect and solemn, as befitted the occasion ; then Mrs. Broughtlow, the housekeeper, who had once been in different circumstances ; then Mrs. Brown, the cook ; Mary, the housemaid ; Jane, the parlour-maid ; Betsy, the scullery-maid ; and William, the boy in buttons. They wheeled into line, with many nods and winks from Mr. Jimes, and stood with expectant faces, and in the case of William and Betsy, with wide-open mouths. MR. WRAXALL READS THE 1VILL 29 " I think we are ready, Mr. Wraxall," said Philip quietly.

" Oh, yes," said the lawyer, who had been conversing in low tones with Charles Lattimer. "Just so. Jinks, the Will." Mr. Jinks opened his bag and drew forth a document tied up with red tape. Mr. Wraxall seated himself at the table, cleared his voice two or three times, brought forth a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, and fitted them on his nose. Then he looked round with a beaming air on all present, and proceeded to untie the red tape. "Captain Lattimer," he began, addressing himself again to Philip only, " this Will, the only one which your late cousin, my deceased client, Mr. Oliver Lattimer, ever made, to my knowledge, was signed and witnessed on the twenty-first of June, in last year. Nothing in the nature of a codicil has been appended. Mr. Lattimer, therefore, in this Will, gives us his mature views as to the disposal of his property.

I will now read the Will, with your permission." He commenced reading in a clear voice, which some how sounded far away to some of his listeners. The Will began in the ordinary fashion. It set forth that it was the last Will and Testament of Oliver Lattimer, late merchant, of 591, Eaton Square, etc., etc., and that it was made in sound mind. Then began the legacies. OLD LATTLMER'S LEGACY. 30 " To Thomas Jimes, butler, the sum of five hundred pounds." Whereupon Mr. Jimes assumed an air of deep thank fulness, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and then closed them, as if he was saying grace after meat. " To Susan Broughtlow, a like sum." Mrs. Broughtlow raised her handkerchief, which she had kept handy for the purpose, to her face, and wiped away some imaginary tears. " To Jemima Brown, two hundred and fifty pounds."