Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

LONDON

C olonel Brandon's arrival in Town did not take its usual form; calling upon old friends the next morning and leaving his calling card in anticipation of jolly visits and pleasurable company, could not be his first action. He must conduct his business, and be done, before he saw his friends and even his wife.

Having arrived very late the previous evening, and worn out after his long ride, he had settled himself in his usual lodgings at Bond-street. The next morning, shortly after ten ‘o clock, he stepped out with a great eagerness to settle his business and then to go to Marianne. Had she been already arrived, his very first inclination would have been to go to her immediately, for their situation weighed upon him heavily. But she would still be on the road, for it was a three-day journey in a carriage, and Sir John liked to make a merry time of anything. Several days on the road was an opportunity to indulge his good lady with lengthy stops for refreshments. They would not be expected before noon today and perhaps even later.

It made better sense, he thought, to go to Chester-street, to the Widow's Arms, and discover whatever it was that this anonymous writer, "Mr Edouard B" wished to say to him. He knew Chester-street, although not very well, and recalled it to be in an area of town which was not as illustrious as his own friends preferred. He wondered again, very much, at the business which this gentleman had with him, to summon him to London, instead of calling in person at Delaford. Once he had finished his business with this "Mr B" he would then be at leisure to call in Hanover-square, make his civilities to Mrs Jennings and Mrs Palmer, and make all things right again with his wife. Dear Marianne, whom he did not deserve!

It was most unfortunate, then, that just as he had stepped out the door of his lodgings on Bond-street and was standing on the road awaiting a chair to take him to Chester-street, when none other than Mr Palmer, his wife and their oldest child stepped over from the other side of the road in order to waylay him.

Mr Palmer, a tall, broad personage with a gentlemanly air, was most civil, and shook his hand like an old friend, but Mrs Palmer lost no chance to tease him as was her way. ‘Ah, Colonel Brandon! How good it is to see you! You sly thing, you have come ahead of your wife in order to meet her, I suppose! How delighted she will be! She wrote us saying you were at Whitwell! I suppose you have come to surprise her! But you cannot keep away, not from such a beautiful creature as she is—why, that is true love, is it not, Mr Palmer?'

‘I hardly know!' muttered Mr Palmer darkly.

His wife did not hear him, however for she talked straight over him. ‘No doubt you are positively dying to see Miss Marianne, Colonel,' she said happily. ‘Oh dear, I always forget to call her Mrs Brandon—how silly of me, isn't it Mr Palmer? I shall not mind confessing I am as silly a woman as ever lived when it comes to remembering all the married names of the ladies—and Mrs Brandon such a dear creature, too!'

‘The silliest woman as ever lived, period!' replied her husband in undertones loud enough for his wife to hear.

But Mrs Palmer only laughed in glee. ‘Oh Mr Palmer, you always have such lively spirits! It does me good hear your little jokes! But we must not keep you standing here, Colonel! You are on your way, I daresay, to see Mama at Berkely-square—well, and she will be mighty glad to see you, you know! You are always a favourite with her! But we must not keep you—how long have you been in town, Colonel? Do tell me you are planning a long stay! We shall be happy to see you in Hanover-square once Mrs Brandon arrives—and she will be here after noon today, by my calculation—and you come early so as to surprise her perhaps? Just like a doting husband! I shall not tell her we have seen you, for I perceive it is to be a surprise!'

She cast a look of mischief at the Colonel to which he declined to reply, and merely inclined his head. But she had not concluded her train of thought and continued, despite the glaring looks of her husband.

‘Only think of Mrs Brandon going up to town with Sir John and Lady Middleton! As terrible a driver of carriages as I ever saw, although I daresay his groom will drive most of the way, and then he does like to dawdle at stops! Poor Mrs Brandon! She will be ever so tired when she arrives! And the dear children! But seeing you will soon cheer her! When shall you call on us, Colonel? We are always happy to see you!'

The Colonel had hardly a reply to make to such prattle. However, he said very civilly, ‘I am just arrived a few hours ago, Mrs Palmer. I shall certainly make myself present at Hanover-square, and Berkely-square too, just as soon as my business here in London is concluded. But for now I must bid you both a good day for I have an urgent appointment that must not be delayed. You will excuse me. '

Mr Palmer, giving his wife a look of the barest disdain, and their friend one of embarrassed apology, shook the Colonel's hand again and turned his wife around almost forcibly, ushering her away down the street.

Chester-street was a rather dirty road frequented by indifferent persons, and in an older part of town, and the Widow's Arms itself looked as if it had seen better days. Colonel Brandon entered the building amid a rabble of dogs and drunken old men, and when he asked for a "Mr Edouard" was shown to a salon which over-looked the street. The furniture was shabby and worn, and the dirty lamp barely gave out enough light to see well.

Presently, in the dimness of the salon, he heard footsteps and shortly afterward the door opened and to Colonel Brandon's astonishment, there stood a young gentleman, not more than perhaps one or two and twenty. Although the room was half dimmed from lack of windows, he could see that the fellow was not unhandsome. His garb was not new, his jacket being old and slightly torn, and his boots well-scuffed. But there was something familiar about him which Brandon could not place.

The gentleman came into the room, still saying nothing, and Colonel Brandon was not sure if he was more irritated by the unnecessary mysteriousness of the young man's silence or surprised by it.

The young fellow seemed to be looking at Brandon with great curiosity and after a moment more, he addressed Brandon in accents which the Colonel knew at once to be French.

‘Colonel Brandon? I am most grateful to you for coming.'

‘Then please enlighten me as to the contents of the note you were so good as to send me.'

‘I must apologize, Sir. You will find that I have very good reasons for not presenting myself at Delaford, and I am sure you will be most eager to hear them, and the reason for my letter.'

‘Indeed, I am,' replied the Colonel. ‘Will you not tell me your name?'

‘I shall,' replied the young man. ‘But first, I must warn you, my name may come as a shock to you. Prepare yourself, Sir!'

The Colonel, now even more astonished than ever, shook his head. ‘Whatever it is, I am sure it cannot astonish me more than your insistence on my visiting you here, and these mysterious proceedings!'

‘Ah! I shall at once reveal myself to you, Sir. You remember in my letter I introduced myself as a friend of your late brother, Mr Richard Brandon.'

‘Yes, and I must confess myself quite mystified as to how I can have anything to do with a friend of my brother. He has been gone many years—three and twenty years, in fact.'

‘Are you aware, Colonel,' continued the young man, walking idly to the window and turning to face the Colonel again, ‘that your brother went abroad to France, after he divorced a young lady whom was his wife for a short time?'

Colonel Brandon frowned. ‘My brother divorced Miss Eliza Williams, yes, and afterward he left Delaford, his estate, of which I am now custodian, to go abroad for some months. I believe it was almost a year, in fact, after the divorce, and he intended to return to Delaford after a period of travel. Since he died at sea, on a ship that sank in the channel just after it left the French shores, we assumed that he had been in France for that year.'

‘Then it may not surprise you so very much, Sir, to discover that while he spent some months in France before deciding to return to his home, he married again.'

‘Married? What do you mean, Sir?' The Colonel gaped.

‘Just as I have said, Colonel. There was a young woman—Marie-Eva Toulouse, whom he met just after arriving on the continent, and he fell in love with her. She came from a good family, a genteel family with money, although she spoke very little English. Unfortunately, the family disapproved the match because your brother was an Englishman and not a Catholic, and her father forbade them to marry. But she was in love with your brother and married him anyway. This was shortly before he set sail for England again. He intended, I believe, to make his home ready for her, and send for her a few weeks later. He never made the journey, as you know, and died before he could inform his friends in England of his new arrangement.'

‘This is preposterous!' The Colonel was astonished to the degree that he had paled considerably. ‘And if it is so, how can it affect me? Why do you seek an audience with me?' He asked the questions, but in his heart he already knew the answer. The face who stared at him, even in the dimness of the room, was familiar to him in a strange way, and when the fellow next spoke, his suspicions were confirmed.

‘I am,' continued the young man, ‘the product of that marriage—I am Edouard Richard Brandon, your nephew.' He pronounced it the French way.

The Colonel was silent for some moments. Never had they ever heard of a son, let alone a second wife! ‘But—there were no heirs—we were never informed of there being a child when my brother died. Do you have any proof you are who you claim to be? A certificate of birth? A marriage certificate perhaps?'

The young man was grave. ‘I see that I have shocked you and I am very sorry for it, Uncle. But I do indeed hold proof of my birth. I have my papers—they are, of course, in French—but here, please, you must look at it for yourself!' He took from his coat a folded paper and handed it to Brandon.

Brandon opened it out and studied it in the gloom of the room. ‘I—this is beyond my comprehension,' he said at length. ‘I must have the document looked at by my own man here in town.

I cannot say I don't believe you, for I can see the resemblance now that you have revealed yourself—you have the look of my brother—his eyes and nose certainly. And yet—how can this be? How can such a fact have been hidden for twenty years? Why did you not approach me sooner?'

The young man indicated a seat to Brandon and both men sat, Brandon with his tall hat in his hands, waiting for the young man's explanation.

‘I never knew my father,' he began. ‘He died before I was born, of course. My mother told me about him when I was old enough to ask about him. When he died, she had no way to contact his family since she could not speak English and had not the means to travel to England to look for them. When my father died, she waited for his return, then after inquiring, heard that his ship had been lost. She confessed all to her family and they took her back in and looked after her, but she never married again. She lived at the home of my grandparents, and raised me there. When I came of age, last year, she urged me to seek my father's family.'

‘I see.' The Colonel was thoughtful and grave. ‘I must, of course, be permitted to have some time to ascertain the truth of this story. I will have to have my legal man look into it. But if all that you say is true, then this is a very serious matter.'

‘Of course, Uncle! You must ensure yourself that my story is—how do you say the word?—credible—the truth.' He paused, and said gravely, ‘I cannot say how much I regret giving you this news. You must be aware that, once my story is proven, there will be…other difficulties. Other matters to settle.'

The Colonel observed the face looking back at him through the dimness of the salon and after a moment he nodded. ‘Yes, I am no fool. And yet, I have a family to consider. A wife. A son whom this will impact even more than it will myself.'

‘Yes. That is so.' The young man eyed him back. ‘If what I tell you is true, then you must be prepared. For Richard Brandon was my father, and that makes me the rightful heir of Delaford. I wish to claim Delaford as my own inheritance!'