[Mrs Bradley 50] - Late, Late in the Evening

this estate is entailed in the male line, Ward was entitled to inherit. The lawyers made efforts to trace him, but without success. More time went by and then a letter came from New York State to say that Ward had spent fifteen years in an American prison, was released, but destitute, and wanted his fare paid so that he could come home. He promised to behave himself if my parents would have him back. Of course, by that time both were dead and my husband, too. I was living here in my old home and the very last thing I wanted was to have Ward on my hands, so I did not answer the letter. This was several years ago.

The next thing was another letter, this from an unknown woman in New York, to say that she had heard from a reliable source that my wretched brother was dead. She said that she had been living with him and keeping him before he quarrelled with her and left her, but she had found my address among some effects he had left behind him when they parted. In view of this, I saw no reason for not staying on in this house, which, after all, was my girlhood home, looking after the place and acting (since his parents were abroad) as caretaker for little Lionel who, so far as I knew, would inherit as soon as he came of age. The woman made no mention in her letter of marriage or of children, so, naturally, I assumed that, with Ward dead, Lionel would be the heir.

Imagine my horror, therefore, dear Mrs Bradley, when, a year later, I received a visit from an individual who claimed to be my brother. I was writing a letter to my daughter at the time, I remember, when Barker announced that a person named Ward had called and was asking to see me.

'Ward?' I said. 'Surely not!'

That, madam, is the name the individual gave.'

'What kind of person is he?'

'I could not take it upon myself to say, madam.'

I knew, by this answer, that, in Barker's opinion, the caller was not what he would have described as a gentleman and yet was someone of indeterminate status who might, after all, warrant being shown into my presence.

'Very well,' I said. 'I will see him.'

'In here, madam?'

'No. Show him into the library.' I finished my letter before I went down and then I made as impressive an entrance as I could. A middle-aged man in a suit which was obviously readymade came towards me with the intention, it seemed, of embracing me. I noticed that he was wearing gloves, I suppose to hide his prison-calloused hands, and was also wearing pince-nez.

'Good afternoon,' I said, in my most formal tones. 'You wish to speak to me? Are you one of the tenants?' (I knew, of course, that he was not.)

'I'm the one and only tenant, my dear sister,' he replied. 'I'm your brother. The black sheep returns to the fold.'

'I have no brother,' I said. 'My only brother died in New York more than a year ago.'

'I can produce proofs of my identity, you know,' he said, 'proofs which I think a lawyer would accept, even if you will not.' He smirked and brushed his untidy moustache.

'Produce them, then,' I said. 'Meanwhile, perhaps you will be good enough to leave my house.'

'Your house?' he said. I rang for Barker to show him out. He went without any fuss and the next thing was a letter from our family lawyers. A man had been to see them claiming that he was my brother and heir to the estate.

'As you will know,' the letter said, 'the estate was entailed several generations ago and the entail has never been revoked. The man we interviewed has produced certain proofs of identity which could form the basis of long and expensive litigation should you decide to contest his claim in favour of your grandson, the apparent heir to the estate. We are of the opinion that in all likelihood the man is an impudent impostor, but proving this might be a matter of extreme difficulty in view of the papers in his possession and what appears to be his extensive knowledge of the family history. We await your further instructions.'

I was in a quandary, so I wrote back to the lawyers and asked their advice, but they merely reiterated that, in their opinion, I might find litigation both lengthy and expensive, with no certainty at the end that I should win my case. Then Ward came to see me again. I told him that he could not prove he was my brother. He replied that I would have infinite trouble proving that he was not.

'Look,' he said, 'I have reformed, I can assure you of that. I shan't be any trouble to you. All I want is an allowance and a home. I need not live here. You would not want that. If you will find me somewhere respectable and quiet and give the ten pounds a week, I'll trouble you no further and I won't even visit you any more. Come, Emilia, what do you say?'

'If you really are my brother, go ahead and claim your inheritance,' I said.

'Oh, the estate brings in little or nothing. I know that,' he said. 'Even if I had it, I could not afford to keep up the house and pay the servants. Why not make the best of a bad job and do as I suggest? It will save both of us trouble and you a great deal of money. You don't really want to go to law, you know.'

'What makes you think I can afford to pay you ten pounds a