The Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly Part 95

"Is the lawyer gone?"

"No."

"Nor thinking of going?"

"I won't say that. I suspect he 'll not make a long halt after he has a talk with Gusty to-day."

And now Jack told in a few words the object of Sedley's coming, what Pracontal had offered, and what Augustus had resolved to send for answer.

"I'd have said the Frenchman was the biggest fool in Europe if I had n't heard of your brother," said Cutbill, puffing out a long column of smoke, and giving a deep sigh.

"That's not exactly how I read each of them," said Jack, sternly.

"Possibly; but it's the true rendering after all. Consider for one moment--"

"Not for half a moment, Master Cutbill. That my brother might make a very good bargain, by simply bartering such an insignificant thing as his honor as a gentleman, is easy to see; and that scores of people would n't understand that such a compromise was in question, or was of much consequence if it were, is also easy to see; and we need waste no time in discussing this. I say Gusty's right, and I maintain it; and if you like to hold a different opinion, do so in Heaven's name, but don't disparage motives simply because you can't feel them."

"Are you better after all that?" said Cutbill, dryly, as he filled Jack's gla.s.s with water, and pushed it towards him. "Do you feel refreshed?"

"Much better--considerably relieved."

"Could I offer you anything cooling or calming?"

"Nothing half as cool as yourself, Cutty. And now let's change the subject, for it's one I'll not stand any chaff about."

"Am I safe in recommending you that grilled chicken, or is it indiscreet in me to say you 'll find those sardines good?"

Jack helped himself, and ate on without a word. At last he lifted his head, and, looking around him, said, "You 've very nice quarters here, Cutbill."

"As neat as paint. I was thinking this morning whether I 'd not ask your brother to rent me this little place. I feel quite romantic since I 've come up here, with the nightingales, and the cicalas, and the rest of them."

"If there were only a few more rooms like this, I 'd dispute the tenancy with you."

"There 's a sea-view for you!" said he, throwing wide the jalousies.

"The whole Bocca di Cattaro and the islands in the distance. Naples is nothing to it! And when you have feasted your eye with worldly beauty, and want a touch of celestial beat.i.tude, you've only to do this." And he arose, and walking over to one side of the room, drew back a small curtain of green silk, disclosing behind it an ornamental screen or "grille" of iron-work.

"What does that mean?" asked Jack.

"That means that the occupant of this room, when devoutly disposed, could be able to hear ma.s.s without the trouble of going for it. This little grating here looks into the chapel; and there are evidences about that members of the family who lived at the villa were accustomed to come up here at times to pa.s.s days of solitude, and perhaps penance, which, after all, judging from the indulgent character of this little provision here, were probably not over severe."

"Nelly has told me of this chapel. Can we see it?"

"No; it's locked and barred like a jail. I 've tried to peep in through this grating; but it's too dark to see anything."

"But this grating is on a hinge," said Jack. "Don't you see, it was meant to open, though it appears not to have done so for some years back? Here 's the secret of it." And pressing a small k.n.o.b in the wall, the framework became at once movable, and opened like a window.

"I hope it's not sacrilege, but I mean to go in," said Jack, who, mounting on a chair, with a sailor's agility insinuated himself through the aperture, and invited Cutbill to follow.

"No, no; I wasn't brought up a rope-dancer," said he, gruffly. "If you can't manage to open the door for me--"

"But it's what I can. I can push back every bolt. Come round now, and I'll admit you."

By the time Cutbill had reached the entrance, Jack had succeeded in opening the ma.s.sive doors; and as he flung them wide, a flood of light poured into the little crypt, with its splendid altar and its silver lamps; its floor of tessellated marble, and its ceiling a ma.s.s of gilded tracery almost too bright to look on: but it was not at the glittering splendor of gold or gems that they now stood enraptured. It was in speechless wonderment of the picture that formed the altar-piece, which was a Madonna,--a perfect copy, in every lineament and line, of the Flora at Castello. Save that an expression of ecstatic rapture had replaced the look of joyous delight, they were the same, and unquestionably were derived from the same original.

"Do you know that?" cried Cutbill.

"Know it! Why, it's our own fresco at Castello."

"And by the same hand, too," cried Cutbill. "Here are the initials in the corner,--G. L.! Of all the strange things that I have ever met in life, this is the strangest!" And he leaned on the railing of the altar, and gazed on the picture with intense interest.

"I can make nothing of it," muttered Jack.

"And yet there 's a great story in it," said Cutbill, in a low, serious tone. "That picture was a portrait,--a portrait of the painter's daughter; and that painter's daughter was the wife of your grandfather, Montague Bramleigh; and it is her grandchild now, the man called Pracontal, who claims your estates."

"How do you pretend to know all this?"

"I know it, chapter and verse. I have gone over the whole history with that old painter's journal before me. I have seen several studies of that girl's face,--'Enrichetta Lami,' she was called,--and I have read the entry of her marriage with your grandfather in the parish register.

A terrible fact for your poor brother, for it clenches his ruin. Was there ever as singular a chance in life as the reappearance of this face here?"

"Coming as though to taunt us with our downfall; though certainly that lovely brow and those tearful eyes have no scorn in them. She must have been a great beauty."

"Pracontal raves of her beauty, and says that none of these pictures do her justice, except one at Urbino. At least, he gathers this from the journal, which he swears by as if it were gospel."

"I 'd call her handsomer in that picture than in our fresco. I wonder if this were painted earlier or later?"

"I can answer that question, for the old sacristan who came up here yesterday, and fell to talking about the chapel, mentioned how the painter--a gran' maestro he called him--bargained to be buried at the foot of the altar, and the Marchese had not kept his word, not liking to break up the marble pavement, and had him interred outside the walls, with the prior's grave and a monk at either side of him. His brushes and colors, and his tools for fresco-work, were all buried in the chapel; for they had been blessed by the Pope's Nuncio, after the completion of the basilica at Udine. Have n't I remembered my story well, and the old fellow didn't tell it above nine times over? This was old Lami's last work, and here his last resting-place."

"What is it seems so familiar to me in that name? Every time you have uttered it I am ready to say I have heard it before."

"What so likely, from Augustus or your sister."

"No. I can answer for it that neither of them ever spoke of him to me. I know it was not from _them_ I heard it."

"But how tell the story of this suit without naming him?"

"They never did tell me the story of the suit, beyond the fact that my grandfather had been married privately in early life, and left a son whom he had not seen nor recognized, but took every means to disavow and disown. Wait now a moment; my mind is coming to it. I think I have the clew to this old fellow's name. I must go back to the villa, however, to be certain."

"Not a word of our discovery here to any one," cried Cutbill. "We must arrange to bring them all here, and let them be surprised as we were."

"I 'll be back with you within an hour," said Jack. "My head is full of this, and I 'll tell you why when I return."

And they parted.

Before Cutbill could believe it possible, Jack, flushed and heated, re-entered the room. He had run at top-speed, found what he sought for, and came back in intense eager-ness to declare the result.

"You 've lost no time, Jack; nor have I, either. I took up the flags under the altar-steps, and came upon this oak box. I suppose it was sacrilege, but I carried it off here to examine at our leisure."

"Look here," cried Jack, "look at this sc.r.a.p of paper. It was given to me at the galleys at Ischia by the fellow I was chained to. Read these names: Giacomo Lami,--whose daughter was Enrichetta,--I was to trace him out, and communicate, if I could, with this other man, Tonino Balda.s.sare or Pracontal,--he was called by both names. Bolton of Naples could trace him."