WHEELER, instead of being thunder-stricken, said quietly, “Oh, is he? Well?”
“Sir Charles is lighter than I am: Lady Bassett has a skin like satin, and red hair.”
“Red! say auburn gilt. I never saw such lovely hair.”
“Well,” said Richard, impatiently, “then the boy has eyes like sloes, and a brown skin, like an Italian, and black hair almost; it will be quite.”
“Well,” said Wheeler, “it is not so very uncommon for a dark child to be born of fair parents, or vice versa. I once saw an urchin that was like neither father nor mother, but the image of his father's grandfather, that died eighty years before he was born. They used to hold him up to the portrait.”
Said Bassett, “Will you admit that it is uncommon?”
“Not so uncommon as for a high-bred lady, living in the country, and adored by her husband, to trifle with her marriage vow, for that is what you are driving at.”
“Then we have to decide between two improbabilities: will you grant me that, Mr. Wheeler?”
“Yes.”
“Then suppose I can prove fact upon fact, and coincidence upon coincidence, all tending one way! Are you so prejudiced that nothing will convince you?”
“No. But it will take a great deal: that lady's face is full of purity, and she fought us like one who loved her husband.”
“Fronti nulla fides: and as for her fighting, her infidelity was the weapon she defeated us with. Will you hear me?”
“Yes, yes; but pray stick to facts, and not conjectures.”
“Then don't interrupt me with childish arguments:
“Fact 1.—Both reputed parents fair; the boy as black as the ace of spades.
“Fact 2.—A handsome young fellow was always buzzing about her ladyship, and he was a parson, and ladies are remarkably fond of parsons.
“Fact 3.—This parson was of Italian breed, dark, like the boy.
“Fact 4.—This dark young man left Huntercombe one week, and my lady left it the next, and they were both in the city of Bath at one time.
“Fact 5.—The lady went from Bath to London. The dark young man went from Bath to London.”
“None of this is new to me,” said Wheeler, quietly.
“No; but it is the rule, in estimating coincidences, that each fresh one multiplies the value of the others. Now the boy looking so Italian is a new coincidence, and so is what I am going to tell you—at last I have found the medical man who attended Lady Bassett in London.”
“Ah!”
“Yes, sir; and I have learned Fact 6.—Her ladyship rented a house, but hired no servants, and engaged no nurse. She had no attendant but a lady's maid, no servant but a sort of charwoman.
“Fact 7.—She dismissed this doctor unusually soon, and gave him a very large fee.
“Fact 8.—She concealed her address from her husband.”
“Oh! can you prove that?”
“Certainly. Sir Charles came up to town, and had to hunt for her, came to this very medical man, and asked for the address his wife had not given him; but lo! when he got there the bird was flown.
“Fact 9.—Following the same system of concealment, my lady levanted from London within ten days of her confinement.
“Now put all these coincidences together. Don't you see that she had a lover, and that he was about her in London and other places? Stop! Fact 10.—Those two were married for years, and had no child but this equivocal one; and now four years and a half have passed, during all which time they have had none, and the young parson has been abroad during that period.”
Wheeler was staggered and perplexed by this artful array of coincidences.
“Now advise me,” said Bassett.
“It is not so easy. Of course if Sir Charles was to die, you could claim the estate, and give them a great deal of pain and annoyance; but the burden of proof would always rest on you. My advice is not to breathe a syllable of this; but get a good detective, and push your inquiries a little further among house agents, and the women they put into houses; find that charwoman, and see if you can pick up anything more.”
“Do you know such a thing as an able detective?”
“I know one that will work if I instruct him.”
“Instruct him, then.”
“I will.”
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