Quincunx

  “Who is that?” Henrietta and I both asked.

  “Wait,” she said, glancing down for a moment. “I will tell you everything. It all goes back many many years to when I was about the age of you children. And that is nearly seventy years ago.” Seeing my surprise she said: “Yes, I am as old as that. (Why, I am almost as old as this house, which was built for my father.) I have never told you this story, Henrietta, for it is too painful. But you should know it. You are old enough now.” She paused for a moment with her head lowered again, then raised it and went on: “When my grandfather, Jeoffrey Huffam, added the codicil to his earlier will in 1768 he was on bad terms with almost all of his kin. He was not on any sort of terms then with my parents nor with his niece, my Aunt Amelia. George Maliphant was the only member of his family he was still speaking to. But then he quarrelled with him over this business that I have never had the courage to admit to you, Henrietta.” She hesitated. “I fear I was the unwitting cause of the quarrel between my grandfather and my parents, for he had agreed to name their heir as his own since at that date he had no son. But because I was not a boy and therefore would not inherit my father’s title, he refused to do this.”

  As she went on, Mr Escreet’s account of these same events came back to me.

  “Then a little later his own son, James, was born,” she continued. “The rift was not healed and he never became fond of me as I grew older. I was believed to be ‘queer’. And that reminded him of … There was madness in our family, you see. It angered him that I befriended my aunt.”

  “You mean your great-aunt Louisa?” Henrietta asked.

  “No,” the old lady said with distaste. “I never loved her. But when I was about fifteen I grew to be very fond of my aunt Anna who was my father’s younger sister. She was considered somewhat odd. She had had an unhappy life and at that time lived at Hougham where I used to spend the summers. The Fortisquinces were living in another part of the Old Hall.”

  “I remember,” I said. “Martin Fortisquince and my grandfather were brought up there.”

  “My dear child, this was long before either of them was even born. I am speaking of his parents, his wicked mother and his poor father.”

  She seemed to be looking into the distance at something that Henrietta and I could not see. Then she began to speak in a soft rapid undertone:

  “There was a young man whom I wanted to marry called John Umphraville. He was in holy orders. His sister, Eliza, was your great-grandmother, John, and your grandfather was named for his uncle. (That is why I took a particular interest in the poor boy.) So you, too, are really named for John Umphraville. The Umphravilles were an ancient land-owning family who had held property in Yorkshire for almost as long as the Huffams, and certainly much longer than the Mompessons, for we are quite upstarts compared with you, John. But they had lost most of their lands and all of their money, for the father of John and Eliza was a drunkard and a spendthrift who, having driven their mother to an early death, himself died while they were still children. I met John in Town — in fact, in this very house. But my grandfather, Jeoffrey Huffam, and therefore my parents, opposed the match. There was a great to-do about it and it was involved with the business of your great-grandparents’ marriage, too, John. So you see, both John and Eliza were rejected by my parents and grandfather. But John was strongly in favour of James marrying his sister, and since Jeoffrey was opposed to this match he was even more furious with John.”

  “I know about this,” I said. “Mr Escreet explained to me that Jeoffrey Huffam believed that Eliza was not rich or well-born enough to be allied with his family.”

  She hesitated and then said: “Yes, that is part of the truth. But there were other obstacles.” Her hands were moving restlessly across her lap. “Although he was the only son and the family very old and respectable, he had the most meagre expectations. And there were … other difficulties.”

  Here she glanced at me timidly.

  “His sister … that is to say. My father. In short …”

  She faltered and for several moments tried to speak but failed.

  “In short, my parents prevented our marriage.”

  She broke off and, remembering that she had mentioned on an earlier occasion that the man she had wanted to marry had died, I did not dare to ask her more.

  “On the other hand,” she went on, “the marriage of James and Eliza went ahead.”

  “Can you be so sure?” I asked. “For that marriage has been disputed by the Clothiers.”

  “I am quite sure. One day you must hear the full story, but the long and the short of it was that my great-aunt Louisa turned against me in order to make favour with Jeoffrey on behalf of her daughter, Amelia. The only person who supported John and me was my uncle George, and this was because he had a particular affection for me and also for John who was a protégé of his. And that cost him his place in Jeoffrey’s last will, for whereas in the codicil the entail passed to him and his heirs, in the new will it passed to Amelia and hers.”

  She ended as if her point was made but Henrietta and I looked at each other in bewilderment.

  The old lady resumed: “I see you do not know your own ancestry, Henrietta. Do you not know that your great-grandmother’s name was Amelia? She was Jeoffrey’s niece and she married a gentleman called Mr Roger Palphramond.”

  Henrietta grew pale.

  “Yes,” said Miss Lydia. “You, my dear, are the Palphramond heir and will become the owner of the Hougham property on the failure of the Huffam succession.” She continued gently: “I am afraid that it was for that reason and no other that my nevy and his wife adopted you and became your legal guardians.”

  “I don’t understand,” Henrietta muttered.

  “I do,” I cried. “They wanted to be able to produce the purloined will, and the heir that it created as well!”

  “Precisely,” the old lady said and then, addressing herself to Henrietta, she continued: “Have you never wondered why they left you in poverty and neglect with your uncle’s widow for the first few years after your parents’ death?”

  “Yes, often and often.”

  “You see, it was only after John’s mother had confirmed that the codicil really existed by sending them a copy, that they sought you out and took you into their family.”

  How strange that my mother’s action should have had such profound consequences for a child of whose existence she surely knew nothing!

  “But why?” Henrietta asked. “What could they gain by it?”

  The old lady shook her head gravely: “If it ever became necessary, they would marry you to one of their sons.”

  “Marry my cousin!” Henrietta cried.

  I scrutinised her face. She had flushed. Was she dismayed at the prospect?

  The old lady reached across to Henrietta’s chair and gently took her hand: “My dear, I’m afraid that they have begun to execute this design.”

  “But he wishes to marry that ugly heiress!” Henrietta gasped. “He does not care for me.”

  “But my dear,” Miss Lydia said, still holding Henrietta’s hand; “you have leapt to the wrong conclusion. The bridegroom intended for you is not David but his brother.”

  Henrietta drew back with a cry of horror and covered her face.

  Now this was real horror!

  “That is, I believe,” Miss Lydia went on, “why he has been ordered back here in the last few days. That, and his father’s recent attack.”

  “But surely,” I said as I gazed from one to the other, “if Henrietta were to inherit the estate while still unmarried, she would be rich and independent. How could they force her to marry?”

  Henrietta looked expectantly towards Miss Lydia who smiled sadly, still watching her great-niece: “They will not produce the will until you have been forced into this marriage. And since Chancery some years ago appointed them as your guardians (together with Mr Barbellion), you will be completely under their control until you attain your majority; and remember that in the
case of real property, the age of majority for a woman is twenty-five. You will find them very persuasive. And they will make it clear that it will be a marriage only in name. That will be as much in their interests as in yours, Henrietta.”

  Henrietta looked down blushing.

  “There is division amongst them about how to proceed,” Miss Lydia went on. “It is Lady Mompesson and Mr Barbellion who, together with David, are anxious to implement this design, but Sir Perceval has been holding out against it. Oh, only because he believes marriage to David would be a surer means of safeguarding the family’s interests, and he objects to the young woman David has chosen for his bride. (He says he could not abide another such marriage in the family after his great-aunt Sophia marrying Nicholas Clothier!) He has not been permitted to know how deeply in debt David is, and therefore how desperately he needs money, for David and his mother have kept this from him. But this is why they are determined that he will marry the heiress, and now that my nevy is so ill I believe they will have their way.”

  “But what advantage would such a hideous marriage afford them?” I asked, and Henrietta removed her hands from her face to listen.

  “Nothing less than continued possession of the estate,” Miss Lydia replied. “For as you know, when a woman marries, her property becomes vested in her husband.”

  “But then,” I objected, “Tom would have the title to the property!”

  “Tom will be declared non compos mentis immediately after the marriage and his property will be vested in a trust controlled by his parents and his brother. Mr Barbellion is a past-master in the design of such arrangements whose sole purpose is to deprive one member of a family of his property in favour of the others on the pretext of lunacy. It is a flourishing branch of Chancery business. In effect, they will continue to own and enjoy the estate as before. Tom will either be sent abroad or, more likely, be confined to a madhouse — and there will be no heirs. Consequently the entail will cease at your death, Henrietta, and the property will pass by the terms of the trust to David or his heir.”

  “Then that explains,” I exclaimed, “why my mother’s request for help when she came to this house was refused by Sir Perceval: knowing by then that the codicil had been laid before Chancery, he had already decided to implement this hideous project and therefore had no need for my mother to remain alive.”

  “No,” Miss Lydia said. “That is wrong. He did not turn her away. It was always in my family’s interests that your mother and yourself should remain alive to block the effect of the codicil.”

  Remembering my mother’s account, I knew she was wrong but did not pursue the point. I reflected that if they had decided to produce the will, then they actually needed my mother and myself to be dead since under its terms our claim took priority over Henrietta’s.

  “I will never consent to such a marriage!” Henrietta exclaimed.

  “And this project assumes that I have been declared dead!” I cried. “But if I come forward now and declare myself to the Court after all, then there is no danger of the estate passing to Silas Clothier.”

  Miss Lydia said nothing but Henrietta shook her head and said: “No, for you have already said that this would put you in danger. I will not buy my own safety at that price.”

  So she did accept that my enemies had tried to kill me! Or was she mocking me? I was in a quandary for if I played down the danger now she would think I had been melodramatising earlier.

  As I tried to find an answer Miss Lydia said: “You will never be safe, Henrietta. Now that the codicil is in force, Isabella and David will not stake everything on John’s surviving since they know how determined his enemies are to kill him. They will persevere with their plan to force you into this marriage so that they can produce the will if it becomes necessary.” She turned to me: “So by coming forward you would merely put yourself in danger without helping Henrietta.”

  “There is only one way for you to be completely safe,” Henrietta said to me. “You must die.”

  I started and she flushed and said: “I mean, of course, that you must let yourself be declared dead.”

  “But then you’ll be forced into this marriage!” I exclaimed. She shook her head and I said angrily: “In that event the Clothiers will inherit! I can’t let that happen.” Another implication occurred to me: “Your guardians will be ruined and you will be left penniless!”

  “Is poverty so terrible?” Henrietta asked.

  “Yes,” I answered. “And you are at least young. Can you ask your great-aunt to be evicted from the house in which she has spent all her life?”

  “I have a little annuity left me by my father, and it is yours to dispose of, my dear,” the old lady said to her. “Unfortunately, it is only fifty pounds a year and it dies with me, but I might be able to sell it.”

  “I forbid it!” Henrietta cried.

  “You see how powerless we are without money!” I exclaimed, and the bitterness of my outburst took me by surprise. “All my life the lack of money has robbed me of my freedom. Think what we could do if only we had money.”

  Both of them were watching me intently, Miss Lydia nodding her head vigorously and Henrietta gazing at me thoughtfully.

  As far as I was concerned, the decision was clear: “Then if I can neither come forward nor let myself be declared dead,” I said, “I must get the will back myself.”

  Henrietta flushed but the old lady cried out with delight: “Yes! Heaven be thanked! There’s the Huffam spirit! I hoped you would say that.”

  “If I succeed, Henrietta, then your guardians lose everything to me and there would be no advantage in forcing you into this marriage. You would be free to marry whom you chose.”

  We gazed at each other for a long moment.

  “So it comes back to that, does it?” she said slowly. “Well, I wonder what your motive really is or if you understand it yourself. If your purpose is to help me, then I am all the more opposed to your stealing the will. It is not necessary, for I can resist being forced into marriage.”

  “So you say now,” Miss Lydia cried, “but my dear child, I have heard that before. I know only too well what can be done.”

  She spoke with such force that we both looked at her curiously.

  “What can they do to me?” Henrietta asked. “They cannot beat me or starve me. Or if they do I can run away.”

  “My child,” Miss Lydia cried, “I know what they can do. They can do terrible things. Don’t believe you can withstand them. I believed that once and I was not as young as you are now.”

  “Dear Great-aunt, pray don’t distress yourself.”

  “You must let John get the will back. That is the only way you will be safe.”

  “Yes, for I will be rich,” I said. “And so we will all be safe.”

  Henrietta looked at me mournfully: “When you say that you make me worried,” she said. “I can accept poverty for myself but by advising you to give up the idea of stealing the will and to pretend to be dead, I am suggesting that you renounce the chance of great wealth. Am I asking too much of you?”

  I could not answer for I was in a dilemma. If I said I cared nothing for the inheritance I would earn her good opinion but leave her to her fate, whereas if I said I wanted the estate for itself she would despise me but allow me to steal the will and thereby save her. In this torment of indecision I wondered what truly I did feel about my claim to the property? Was it greed and nothing better that motivated me? Surely not. I had such plans for it. And yet I now began to feel unsure of what I should do.

  At this moment Miss Lydia, looking suddenly much older, rose from the sopha, crossed to Henrietta’s chair and knelt at her side. Looking earnestly up into her face she said:

  “You must go away from this house. Immediately. This very night.”

  “My dear Great-aunt, you are alarming me. There is no necessity for that.”

  “You will need money,” she cried. “It always comes back to money, doesn’t it? Just as the boy says.”

/>   Henrietta glanced reproachfully towards me.

  Miss Lydia took the girl’s hands in both her own and began playing restlessly with them: “I only wish I could give you some, but you know I have never had any.”

  “Dear Great-aunt, I am not going away. Please rise.”

  “All I’ve ever had is the annuity on the estate, but I have some good things that I can sell or — what is the right word? — pawn. Things people have given me.” She began looking distractedly around the room. “Look, that piece of china was left me by my poor aunt, Anna. It might be worth a few guineas. And there is that clock on the mantelpiece. And I have some jewels. Oh, only paste, I’m afraid. I was so plain and so queer when I was a girl that nobody gave me anything much. Only dear John.”

  “Don’t distress yourself, Great-aunt,” Henrietta begged, trying to stand up and pull the old lady to her feet.

  “It’s all to do with money!” Miss Lydia cried, gripping Henrietta’s gown and gazing passionately up at her. “That was why they wouldn’t let John marry me. My darling girl, I can’t bear to see your life blighted too.”

  At that moment there came a knock at the door. It was instantly thrown open and a strange man stood on the threshold. I quickly stood up, but the new arrival must have seen that I had been seated on the sopha. However, his gaze was drawn to the even stranger sight of Miss Lydia still on her knees before Henrietta’s chair.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said softly.

  The old lady started at this and slowly began to get to her feet with Henrietta’s assistance. Meanwhile I had realized that the newcomer was not an entire stranger to me.

  He withdrew his gaze from the other two and, while Miss Lydia smoothed down the rumpled folds of her gown and rearranged herself on the sopha, kept his eyes on me with a thin smile that was not intended for my benefit.