Sybil by Benjamin Disraeli (book recommendations website TXT) 📕

“Very remarkable!” said Mr. Hatton.

“Is it not!” said Lord de Mowbray.

“And your Lordship received this yesterday?”

“Yesterday. I lost no time in communicating with you.”

“Jubb and Jinks,” continued Mr. Hatton, musingly, surveying the signature of the letter. “A very respectable firm.”

“That makes it more strange,” said his Lordship.

“It does,” said Mr. Hatton.

“A respectable firm would hardly embark in such a proceeding without some show of pretext,” said Lord de Mowbray.

“Hardly,” said Mr. Hatton.

“But what can they have?” urged his Lordship.

“What indeed!” said Mr. Hatton. “Mr. Walter Gerard without his pedigree is a mere flash in the pan; and I defy him to prove anything without the deed of ’77.”

“Well, he has not got that,” said Lord de Mowbray.

“Safe, of course?” said Mr. Hatton.

“Certain. I almost wish I had burnt it as well as the whole box-full.”

“Destroy that deed and the other muniments, and the Earl de Mowbray will never be Baron Valence,” said Mr. Hatton.

“But what use are these deeds now?” said his lordship. “If we produce them, we may give a colour to this fellow’s claim.”

“Time will settle his claim,” said Mr. Hatton; “it will mature yours. You can wait.”

“Alas! since the death of my poor boy⁠—”

“It has become doubly important. Substantiate the barony, it will descend to your eldest daughter, who, even if married, will retain your name. Your family will live, and ennobled. The Fitz-Warenes Lords Valence will yield to none in antiquity; and as to rank, as long as Mowbray Castle belongs to them, the revival of the earldom is safe at the first coronation, or the first ministry that exists with a balanced state of parties.”

“That is the right view of the case,” said Lord de Mowbray; “and what do you advise?”

“Be calm, and you have nothing to fear. This is the mere revival of an old claim, too vast to be allowed to lapse from desuetude. Your documents you say are all secure?”

“Be sure of that. They are at this moment in the muniment room of the great tower of Mowbray Castle; in the same iron box and in the same cabinet they were deposited⁠—”

“When, by placing them in your hands,” said Mr. Hatton, finishing a sentence which might have been awkward, “I had the extreme satisfaction of confirming the rights and calming the anxieties of one of our ancient houses. I would recommend your lordship to instruct your lawyers to appear to this writ as a matter of course. But enter into no details, no unnecessary confidence with them. They are needless. Treat the matter lightly, especially to them. You will hear no more of it.”

“You feel confidence?”

“Perfect. Walter Gerard has no documents of any kind. Whatever his claim might be, good or bad, the only evidence that can prove his pedigree is in your possession and the only use to which it ever will be put, will be in due time to seat your grandson in the House of Lords.”

“I am glad I called upon you,” said Lord Mowbray.

“To be sure. Your lordship can speak to me without reserve, and I am used to these startups. It is part of the trade; but an old soldier is not to be deceived by such feints.”

“Clearly a feint, you think?”

“A feint! a feint.”

“Good morning. I am glad I have called. How goes on my friend Sir Vavasour?”

“Oh! I shall land him at last.”

“Well, he is an excellent, neighbourly, man. I have a great respect for Sir Vavasour. Would you dine with me, Mr. Hatton, on Thursday? It would give me and Lady de Mowbray great pleasure.”

“Your lordship is extremely kind,” said Mr. Hatton bowing with a slight sarcastic smile, “but I am an hermit.”

“But your friends should see you sometimes,” said Lord de Mowbray.

“Your lordship is too good, but I am a mere man of business and know my position. I feel I am not at home in ladies’ society.”

“Well then come tomorrow: I am alone, and I will ask some persons to meet you whom you know and like⁠—Sir Vavasour and Lord Shaftesbury and a most learned Frenchman who is over here⁠—a Vicomte de Narbonne, who is very anxious to make your acquaintance. Your name is current I can tell you at Paris.”

“Your lordship is too good; another day: I have a great pressure of affairs at present.”

“Well, well; so be it. Good morning, Mr. Hatton.”

Hatton bowed lowly. The moment the door was shut, rubbing his hands, he said, “In the same box and in the same cabinet: the muniment room in the great tower of Mowbray Castle! They exist and I know their whereabouts. I’ll have ’em.”

Two and even three days had rolled over since Mr. Tadpole had reported Sir Robert on his way to the palace, and marvellously little had transpired. It was of course known that a cabinet was in formation, and the daily papers reported to the public the diurnal visits of certain noble lords and right honourable gentlemen to the new first minister. But the world of high politics had suddenly become so cautious that nothing leaked out. Even gossip was at fault. Lord Marney had not received the Buckhounds, though he never quitted his house for ride or lounge without leaving precise instructions with Captain Grouse as to the identical time he should return home, so that his acceptance should not be delayed. Ireland was not yet governed by the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine, and the Earl de Mowbray was still ungartered. These three distinguished noblemen were all of them anxious⁠—a little fidgety; but at the same time it was not even whispered that Lord Rambrooke or any other lord had received the post which Lord Marney had appropriated to himself; nor had Lord Killcroppy had a suspicious interview with the Prime Minister, which kept the Duke of Fitz-Aquitaine quiet though not easy; while not a shadow of coming events had glanced over the vacant stall of Lord Ribbonville in St. George’s Chapel, and this made Lord de Mowbray tranquil, though scarcely content. In the meantime, daily and hourly they all pumped Mr. Tadpole, who did not find it