Tansor’s will, by the addition of a codicil. The baronial title, of course, is a separate matter; it must go whither the law dictates, to the next heir in line of succession, whether direct or collateral; which of course means that Mr Paul Carteret, through his Duport mother, may, as things presently stand, become the 26th Baron Tansor. I hope I am not being too abstruse?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Good. I wish you to be aware of the situation, as it pertains to his Lordship’s present intentions. You do understand, don’t you, Edward?’
It was such a curious question that I did not well know how to answer, but simply nodded mutely.
‘Good again. The title, then, is not in Lord Tansor’s gift. But what his Lordship possesses materially – including Evenwood, the greatest and noblest of all his possessions – is his to bestow, subject to certain legal procedures, on whomsoever he wishes – as is, in a specific sense, the Duport name. He has therefore taken a decision of great consequence. He has separated the baronial dignity, conferred by the writ that summoned Lord Maldwin Duport to Parliament in 1264, from the material interests that the family has subsequently garnered to itself, resolving that the future title-holder will inherit little but the dignity. His Lordship desires that all the entailed property that he himself inherited, as well as those possessions specifically bequeathed to him by his father, should be left to his nominated heir.’
‘And has Lord Tansor made his nomination?’
‘He has.’
Mr Tredgold paused. His china-blue eyes met mine.
‘It is to be Mr Phoebus Rainsford Daunt, the poet. You may have seen the reviews of his new volume.* It has, I believe, been very well received.’
A terrible helplessness began to grip me, such as those must feel who see their doom approaching, but are powerless to resist it. This moment I shall always count as one of the most significant of my life; for now I became absolutely convinced that I had been driven forwards, and was still being driven, by a fatality from which I could never escape. In his recollections of how we had first met, in School Yard at Eton, Daunt had likened me to some messenger of Fate, as if he knew, as I now did, that our destinies were inextricably entwined. Had the consequences of his youthful treachery been merely the precursor of this greater loss, of which he had been made the agent? This terrible possibility was like a knife of ice to my heart. But, once again, I was saved from despair by the thought that neither of us could know the end towards which we were being impelled. Who was fated to receive the final prize? The true heir, or the false? Until that question could be answered beyond all doubt, I must continue to hope and believe that I would come at last into the life that I had been born to live. Yet I remained mesmerized by the bitter humour of it all, and could not suppress a mirthless smile.
‘Is something amusing you, Edward?’ asked Mr Tredgold.
‘By no means,’ I replied, quickly assuming an expression of concern, which, indeed, I did not need to manufacture.
‘As I was saying, Lord Tansor intends, by breaking the entail, that Mr Daunt will succeed to the possession of Evenwood, and of all the other property that his Lordship inherited from his father, on condition of Mr Daunt’s assuming the Duport name and arms on his Lordship’s death.’
‘And is it in Lord Tansor’s power to do all this?’
‘Assuredly. The property he inherited from his father is his to dispose of as he wishes. It will be be necessary for his Lordship to sign a deed of recovery for the entailed property, and to enrol it in Chancery, before he can bequeath this portion of his inheritance to Mr Daunt; but this is a relatively straightforward procedure, and is, indeed, already in hand.’*
The air had taken on a slight chill as the mid-afternoon sun began to wane.
We had been nearly an hour in the Gardens – an hour that had changed my life for ever.
‘Mr Phoebus Daunt’s prospects are rosy indeed,’ I said, as carelessly as I could, though I was burning inside. ‘A most fortunate young man. Already a distinguished poet, and with expectations before too long of succeeding to Lord Tansor’s wealth and possessions, and to Evenwood itself.’
‘Expectations, yes,’ said Mr Tredgold, ‘though one might perhaps wish to qualify them.
For a moment or two we sat looking at each other in awkward silence. Then he stood up and smiled.
‘But you are right, of course. As things presently stand, you may say that Mr Phoebus Daunt is certainly a most fortunate young man. He has already received ample demonstrations of Lord Tansor’s regard for him, and soon he is to be formally anointed, if I may so put it, as his Lordship’s legal heir. When the day comes, Mr Phoebus Daunt, or should I say Mr Phoebus Duport, though he will not be the 26th Baron Tansor, will be a very powerful man indeed.’
We left the Gardens, and began to make our way back to Paternoster-row.
‘Forgive me, Mr Tredgold,’ I said, after we had walked some way in silence, ‘I am unclear as to what part in the proceedings that you have outlined you expect me to play. This is a legal matter, but I am no lawyer. The case is far removed from the Abode of Beauty.’
Mr Tredgold smiled at the reference to my first success for the firm.
‘Indeed it is,’ he said, taking my arm. ‘Well, Edward, here it is. There is what I may call an additional element, of which Lord Tansor is as yet unaware, and which must remain strictly confidential for the time being. I have received a communication – a private communication – from his Lordship’s secretary, Mr Paul Carteret. The circumstances whereby he has come to be employed by his relative are interesting, but need not concern us now. It appears that Mr Carteret – whom I have known and liked for many years – has been troubled for some time by a little discovery that he has made. He has not seen fit to vouchsafe its full nature to me, but his letter appears to suggest that it has a direct and fundamental bearing on the matters that we have just been discussing. In short, Mr Carteret seems to raise the possibility, if my inference is correct, that, unknown to his Lordship, a legitimate and direct heir of the blood exists. This, then, is the little problem that I would like your assistance in resolving. And now, I think I should like some tea. Will you join me?’
