At the time of my story there was a certain Mr Green, a worthy attorney, who held chambers in Stone Buildings, Lincoln’s Inn, much to the profit of himself and family and to the profit and comfort also of a numerous body of clients a man much respected in the neighbourhood of Chancery Lane, and beloved, I do not doubt, in the neighbourhood of Bushey, in which delightfully rural parish he was possessed of a genteel villa and ornamental garden. With Mr Green’s private residence we shall, I believe, have no further concern; but to him at his chambers in Stone Buildings I must now introduce the reader of these memoirs. He was a man not yet forty years of age, with still much of the salt of youth about him, a pleasant companion as well as a good lawyer, and one who knew men and things in London, as it is given to pleasant clever fellows, such as Joseph Green, to know them. Now Mr Green and his father before him had been the legal advisers of the Amedroz family, and our Mr Joseph Green had had but a bad time of it with Charles Amedroz in the last years of that unfortunate young man’s life. But lawyers endure these troubles, submitting themselves to the extravagances, embarrassments, and even villainy of the bad subjects among their clients’ families, with a good-humoured patience that is truly wonderful. That, however, was all over now as regarded Mr Green and the Amedrozes, and he had nothing further to do but to save for the father what relics of the property he might secure. And he was also legal adviser to our friend Will Belton, there having been some old family connexion among them, and had often endeavoured to impress upon his old client at Belton Castle his own strong conviction that the heir was a generous fellow, who might be trusted in everything. But this had been taken amiss by the old squire, who, indeed, was too much disposed to take all things amiss and to suspect everybody. ‘I understand,’ he had said to his daughter. ‘I know all about it. Belton and Mr Green have been dear friends always. I can’t trust my own lawyer any longer.’ In all which the old squire showed much ingratitude. It will, however, be understood that these suspicions were rife before the time of Belton’s visit to the family estate.

Some four or five days before Christmas there came a visitor to Mr Green with whom the reader is acquainted, and who was no less a man than the Member for Perivale. Captain Aylmer, when Clara parted from him on the morning of her return to Belton Castle, had resolved that he would repeat his offer of marriage by letter. A month had passed by since then, and he had not as yet repeated it. But his intention was not altered. He was a deliberate man, who did not do such things quite as quickly as his rival, and who upon this occasion had thought it prudent to turn over more than once in his mind all that he proposed to do. Nor had he as yet taken any definite steps as to that fifteen hundred pounds which he had promised to Clara in her aunt’s name, and which Clara had been, and was, so unwilling to receive. He had now actually paid it over, having purchased government stock in Clara’s name for the amount, and had called upon Mr Green, in order that that gentleman, as Clara’s lawyer, might make the necessary communication to her.

‘I suppose there’s nothing further to be done?’ asked Captain Aylmer.

‘Nothing further by me,’ said the lawyer. ‘Of course I shall write to her, and explain that she must make arrangements as to the interest. I am very glad that her aunt thought of her in her last moments.’

‘Mrs Winterfield would have provided for her before, had she known that everything had been swallowed up by that unfortunate young man.’

‘All’s well that ends well. Fifteen hundred pounds are better than nothing.’

‘Is it not enough?’ said the captain, blushing.

‘It isn’t for me to have an opinion about that, Captain Aylmer. It depends on the nature of her claim; and that again depends on the relative position of the aunt and niece when they were alive together.’

‘You are aware that Miss Amedroz was not Mrs Winterfield’s niece?’

‘Do not think for a moment that I am criticizing the amount of the legacy. I am very glad of it, as, without it, there was literally no provision no provision at all.’

‘You will write to herself?’

‘Oh yes, certainly to herself. She is a better man of business than her father and then this is her own, to do as she likes with it.’

‘She can’t refuse it, I suppose?’

‘Refuse it!’

‘Even though she did not wish to take it, it would be legally her property, just as though it had been really left by the will?’

‘Well; I don’t know. I dare say you could have resisted the payment. But that has been made now, and there seems to be an end of it.’

At this moment a clerk entered the room and handed a card to his employer. ‘Here’s the heir himself,’ said Mr Green.

‘What heir?

‘Will Belton the heir of the property which Mr Amedroz holds.’ Captain Aylmer had soon explained that he was not personally acquainted with Mr William Belton; but, having heard much about him, declared himself anxious to make the acquaintance. Our friend Will, therefore, was ushered into the room, and the two rivals for Clara’s favour were introduced to each other. Each had heard much of the other, and each had heard of the other from the same person. But Captain Aylmer knew much more as to Belton than Belton knew in respect to him. Aylmer knew that Belton had proposed to Clara and had been rejected; and he knew also that Belton was now again going down to Somersetshire.

‘You are to spend your Christmas, I believe, with our friends at Belton Castle?’ said the captain.

‘Yes and am now on my way there. I believe you know them also intimately.’ Then there was some explanation as to the Winterfield connexion, a few remarks as to the precarious state of the old squire’s health, a message or two from Captain Aylmer, which of course were of no importance, and the captain took his leave.

Then Green and Briton became very comfortably intimate in their conversation, calling each other Will and Joe for they were old and close friends. And they discussed matters in that cozy tone of confidential intercourse which is so directly at variance with the tones used by men when they ordinarily talk of business. ‘He has brought me good news for your friend, Miss Amedroz,’ said the lawyer.

‘What good news?’

‘That aunt of hers left her fifteen hundred pounds, after all. Or rather, she did not leave it, but desired on her death-bed that it might be given.’

‘That’s the same thing, I suppose?’

‘Oh quite that is to say, it’s the same thing if the person who has to hand over the money does not dispute the legacy. But it shows how the old lady’s conscience pricked her at last. And after all it was a shabby sum, and should have been three times as much.’

‘Fifteen hundred pounds! And that is all she will have when her father dies 7’

‘Every farthing, Will. You’ll take all the rest.’

‘I wish she wasn’t going to have that.’

‘Why? Why on earth should you of all men grudge her such a moderate maintenance, seeing that you have not got to pay it?’

‘It isn’t a maintenance. How could it be a maintenance for such as her? What sort of maintenance would it be?’

‘Much better than nothing. And so you would feel if she were your daughter.’

‘She shall be my daughter, or my sister, or whatever you like to call her. You don’t think that I’ll take the whole estate and leave her to starve on the interest of fifteen hundred pounds a year!’

‘You’d better make her your wife at once, Will.’

Will Belton blushed as he answered, ‘That, perhaps, would be easier said than done. That is not in my power even if I should wish it. But the other is in my power.’

‘Will, take my advice, and don’t make any romantic promises when you are down at Belton. You’ll be sure to regret them if you do. And you should remember that in truth Miss Amedroz has no greater claim on you than any other lady in the land.’

‘Isn’t she my cousin?’

‘Well yes. She is your cousin, but a distant one only; and I’m not aware that cousinship gives any claim.’

‘Who is she to have a claim on? I’m the nearest she has got. Besides, am not I going to take all the property which ought to be hers?’

‘That’s just it. There’s no such ought in the case. The property is as much your own as this poker is mine. That’s exactly the mistake I want you to guard against. If you liked her, and chose to marry her, that would be all very well; presuming that you don’t want to get money in marriage.’

‘I hate the idea of marrying for money.’

‘All right. Then marry Miss Amedroz if you please. But don’t make any rash undertakings to be her father, or her brother, or her uncle, or her aunt. Such romance always leads a man into trouble.’

‘But I’ve done it already.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve told her that I would be her brother, and that as long as I had a shilling she should never want sixpence. And I mean it. And as for what you say about romance and repenting it, that simply comes from your being a lawyer.’

‘Thank ye, Will.’

‘If one goes to a chemist, of course one gets physic, and has to put up with the bad smells.’

‘Thank you again.’

‘But the chemist may be a very good sort of fellow at home all the same, and have a cupboard full of sweetmeats and a garden full of flowers. However, the thing is done as far as I am concerned, and I can almost find it in my heart to be sorry that Clara has got this driblet of money. Fifteen hundred pounds I It would keep her out of the workhouse, and that is about all.’

‘If you knew how many ladies in her position would think that the heavens had rained wealth upon them if some one would give them fifteen hundred pounds!’

‘Very well. At any rate I won’t take it away from her. And now I want you to tell me something else. Do you remember a fellow we used to know named Berdmore?’

‘Philip Berdmore?’

‘He may have been Philip, or Daniel, or Jeremiah, for anything I know. But the man I mean was very much given to taking his liquor freely.’

‘That was Jack Berdmore, Philip’s brother. Oh yes, I remember him. He’s dead now. He drank himself to death at last, out in India.’

‘He was in the army?’

‘Yes and what a pleasant fellow he was at times! I see Phil constantly, and Phil’s wife, but they never speak of Jack.’

‘He got married, didn’t he, after we used to see him?’

Oh yes he and Phil married sisters. It was a sad affair, that.’

‘I remember being with him and her and the sister too, after they were engaged, and he got so drunk that we were obliged to take him away. There was a large party of us at Richmond, but I don’t think you were there.’

‘But I heard of it’

‘And she was a Miss Vigo?’

‘Exactly. I see the younger sister constantly. Phil isn’t very rich, and he’s got a lot of children but he’s very happy.’

‘What became of the other sister?

‘Of Jack’s wife?’

‘Yes. What became of her?’

‘I haven’t an idea. Something bad, I suppose, as they never speak of her.’

‘And how long is he dead?’

‘He died about three years since. I only knew it from Phil’s telling me that he was in mourning for him. Then he did speak of him for a moment or two, and I came to know that he had carried on to the end in the same way. If a fellow takes to drink in this country, he’ll never get cured in India.’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Never.’

‘And now I want to find out something about his widow.’

‘And why?’

‘Ah I’m not sure that I can tell you why. Indeed I’m sure that I cannot. But still you might be able to assist me.’

‘There were heaps of people who used to know the Vigos,’ said the lawyer.

‘No end of people though I couldn’t for the life of me say who any of them were.’

‘They used to come out in London with an aunt, but nobody knew much about her. I fancy they had neither father nor mother.’

‘They were very pretty.’

‘And how well they danced. I don’t think I ever knew a girl who danced so pleasantly giving herself no airs, you know as Mary Vigo.’

‘Her name was Mary,’ said Belton, remembering that Mrs Askerton’s name was also Mary.

‘Jack Berdmore married Mary.’

‘Well now, Joe, you must find out for me what became of her. Was she with her husband when he died?’

‘Nobody was with him. Phil told me so. No one, that is, but a young lieutenant and his own servant. It was very sad. He had D.T., and all that sort of thing.’

‘And where was she?’

‘At Jericho, for anything that I know.’

‘Will you find out?’ Then Mr Joseph Green thought for a moment of his capabilities in that line, and having made an engagement to dine with his friend at his club on the evening before Will left London, said at last that he thought he could find out through certain mutual friends who had known the Berdmores in the old days. ‘But the fact is,’ said the lawyer, ‘that the world is so good — natured instead of being ill-natured, as people say that it always forgets those who want to be forgotten.’

We must now go back for a few moments to Captain Aylmer and his affairs. Having given a full month to the consideration of his position as regarded Miss Amedroz, he made up his mind to two things. In the first place, he would at once pay over to her the money which was to be hers as her aunt’s legacy, and then he would renew his ............