LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1382, 20 July 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ROBERT BRAMLEIQ-H’S WILL. [Chamber's Journal.'] Last will and testament! Words of solemn import—and of unreasonable terror to some people. How foolish and even culpable is it to leave a matter of so much importance to the last hours of life, when the strongest intellect must bo incapab!# of fully considering and well weighing the final disposition of our worldly goods and effects a disposition which is to affect the welfare and perhaps the happiness of those we love the best. Most people have heard the well-worn aphorism which tells us that the man who is his own lawyer has a fool for his client. In the incident I am about to relate, a woman — I suppose the aphorism applies to either sex —proved to the contrary. It is the exception, however, that proves the rule. Had she remained her own lawyer, instead of consulting me, the probability is that she would have succeeded in her designs upon a large fortune, designs which I happily succeeded in frustrating. It had been a busy day with me. I had been working hard getting up evidence in a railway accident case, and was putting up my papers with a sigh of relief. Another forty minutes and I should be at homo. I could almost smell the boiled capon and oystersauce which I knew were being prepared for mo. ‘There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip,’ says the proverb ; and in my case it proved only too true ; for just as I was tying up the last bundle of papers, the office boy put his head in at the door and dispelled the tempting vision. ‘ A woman to see you, if you please, sir. She won’t give no name. Says she’s a stranger.’ ‘ A stranger !’ I repeated. ‘ What is she like P Is she a common person P ’ ‘ Not exactly, sir,’ replied the lad. ‘ A lady ? ’ I asked. ‘ O no, sir,’ ‘ What is she, then ? ’

Arthur was a droll lad. I had brought him to London from the country, to oblige an old college friend. I am afraid that he was not of much use in the office, but he used to keep the other clerks in a good temper by his amusing ways and dry remarks. Arthur paused, as if considering, and then, with a look of intelligence, as much as to say that he had hit the nail on the head this time, he answered : ‘ Well, sir, she’s a sort of betwixt and between.’ ‘ Not a bad definition, Arthur. Ask the “betwixt and between” up-stairs.’ A tall middle-aged woman entered and took the seat I placed for her. She appeared to belong to the class Arthur had so happily designated as ‘betwixt and between ;’ a person, rather than a lady. I rather pride myself on my power of reading faces, but I confess that her’s puzzled me. It was absolutely void of expression. The features were hard and immovable, as if carved out of stone. She wore a closely-fitting bonnet, under which the gray hair was neatly brushed in two smooth bands. I generally form my opinion of any one’s character from the expression of the eyes and mouth; but here I was at fault. An ugly scar on the left cheek extended across the lips, distorting the mouth, and the eye on the same side was sightless. I always feel at a disadvantage with one-eyed people ; I never know what they are driving at. It is so hard to fathom their thoughts. My visitor removed her gloves and, carefully smoothing them, placed them on the table beside her. She then produced from her pocket a large foolscap envelope, from which she drew a piece of paper folded longways. This she handed to me, explaining, in a hard monotonous voice, that she had been sent to me by her master, Mr Robert Bramleigh of Coleman street, who was dangerously ill—in fact was not expected to live many hours. The paper, she said, had been written by his direction, and signed by him for his will that afternoon. Fearing lest it should not be in a proper form, he had desired her to take it to the nearest lawyer, and have one prepared according to the law. I unfolded the paper, and read as follows : ‘ln the name of Qod, Amen. I leave my body to the ground and my soul to Almighty Q-od who gave it. Now this is the will of me, Robert Bramleigh of 550 Coleman street. I give and leave all my houses, lands, money, and everything that I have, to Hannah Churton, my housekeeper, as a reward for her long and faithful services. Signed on Tues day, December 12th, 18GS. Eobeet Beamleiqh. Witnesses — James Buen. Maegaeet Sims.’ I examined the writing carefully. The signature ‘ Robert Bramleigh’ was weak and shaky. The will itself was written in a mas-culine-looking hand of singular decision and boldness. The characters were large and well formed. The will had evidently been prepared by some one who had had but an imperfect knowledge of the form to be used for such a purpose. The solemn appeal to the Deity and the bequest of the testator’s body and soul was an old form, much in vogue with our grandfathers, who generally headed a will with one or two pious phrases.

The document shown to me was however sufficient to give Hannah Churton all Mr Bramleigh’s property. There were the requisite number of witnesess, and the Principal Registry of Her Majesty’s Court of Probate would 'nave granted letters of administration with the will annexed (the appointment of an executor haring been omitted, the ordinary probate could not have been obtained), on one of thejattesting witnesses, and that they had at the same time, and in the presence of each other, subscribed their names thereto as witnesies.

Now I am always very particular about wills; I think they are too serious to be settled in a hurry. I never will allow a client to execute one until I am convinced that its purport is perfectly understood. ‘You are Mrs Churton, I presume?’ I asked.

‘ I am,’ she replied, looking mo ur.ilinchingly in the face. Si mellow 1 felt suspicious that tilings wore oof. so fair as they should be. I questioned her rather closely ; but the only admission I obtained from her was that she had written the will, but that it was at

her master’s dictation. I asked her if he had any family, but could get nothing from her save that he did not care to hare his private affairs discussed by strangers. Worsted, I gave up the contest. I offered to prepare a more formal document; but before doing so, I declared that it was necessary I should see Mr. Bramleigh. I named the omission of the appointment of an executor. This seemed rather to nonplus her. She asked whether she could not be named as executrix. The more eversion she showed to ray seeing her master the more convinced I felt that something was wrong ; and seeing that I was not to be moved from my purpose, she at last gave in; proposing, however, that I should accompany her back, as she greatly feared it would be too late if left till the morning. A cab soon took us to No. 559 Coleman street. It was a large gloomy old fashioned house with a spacious entrance hall. I was taken into the dining-room, and asked to wait while Mr Bramleigh was being prepared for my visit. The furniture in the room was old and very massive. Some handsome oil paintings graced the walls. I am very fond of pictures, so railing the lamp, I walked round the room slowly inspecting them. On the right of the fire-place I came upon a picture with its face turned to the wall. I think I must have the bump of inquisitiveness—if there is such a bump—largely developed, for anything approaching a mystery is sure to raise my curiosity. I turned the picture. It was Ihe portrait in oils of a yonng and very beautiful girl in a dark riding habit. Hearing footsteps outside the door, I restored the picture to the position in which I had found it, and as I did so I saw written at the bottom of the frame ‘ Magdalen B'amleigh.’ The footstep* I had heard were those of the housemaid, who had come to announce that Mr Bramleigh was ready to see me. I followed her upstairs, and was ushered into a largo comfortable looking bedroom. A cheerful fire burned in the grate. Facing it was a large four-post bedstead hung with white curtains, and at the head of the bed Mrs Churton was standing, with a small table in front of her, on which were placed an inkstand and some paper. She pulled back the curtain, and I saw an old man propped up by pillows, his face drawn and the eyes very much sunk. I almost feared that he was too far gone to make a will; but after speaking with him for a little time, I felt satisfied that the intellect was quite clear. Turning to Mrs Churton, T told her that she need not wait; I would ring if I wanted anything. ‘ Yes, go-go, Hannah !’ cried the sick man; and I fancied that I could detect an eagerness in his voice, as if he desired her absence rather than her presence. As Mrs Churton left the room I caught sight of the reflection of her face in the glass over the chimneypiece, but I do not think she would have scowled quite so much had she known that I was looking. I began by asking Mr Bramleigh what were his wishes with regard to his will. In low tones he told me that he desired to leave everything to Hannah Churton, his housekeeper, as a reward for her long and faithful services, I will not tire the reader by repeating the whole of our conversation. After great difficulty I extracted from him that he had no relatives save an only daughter, whom he had discarded, her fault being that she had married a young fellow in the army, to whom her father had taken an unaccountable aversion. My own opinion was—and as the result turned out it proved to be correct —that his mind had been poisoned against him by Hannah Churton, whose influence over her master was evidently very great. I thought of the sweet face of the portrait I had seen in the diningroom—doubtless that of the discarded daughter and deserving or not deserving, I determined to fight a battle on her behalf. I spoke gravely to the old man, although without much hope of success, but at last I got him to confess that he had had no intention of making his housekeeper his sole heiress until she had herself broached the subject to him. Her plan had been to artfully insinuate that the love of the newly married couple would not last very long on a lieutenant’s pay; and that as he had only married Miss Bramleigh for her money, he would soon tire of her when he found that she had nothing. She had then pledged herself to procure a separation, when she would make over everything left her by Mr Bramleigh to his daughter. She certainly must have had great power over the old man to induse him to agree to such a scheme, I proposed to Mr Bramleigh that he should leave his property to some one on whom he could rely, in trust for his daughter. I also volunteered, although I have an aversion to the trouble and responsibility of a trusteeship, my services as trustee for this purpose. My arguments prevailed, ho assented ; and I prepared a will accordingly, the old man requesting that his medical man, Dr Ramsey, should be nominated as my co-trustee, and that an annuity of fifty pounds should bo paid to Hannah Churton for life. I inwardly rebelled at this. My dislike to this woman was now so great that I could cheerfully have seen her cut out of the will without a farthing. The doctor arrived just as I had finished, and expressed his willingness to share the responsibility with me, which seemed to Mr Bramleigh very much. Our names were therefore included as trustees.

I read the will to him very carefully, explaining as I did so, its full effect. When I had finished, he muttered : * Quite right—quite right; but lam afraid Hannah will not be pleased.’ I counselled him not to mention it to her; and my advice seemed to satisfy him

Ringing the bell, I requested Mrs Churton to summon James Burn and Margaret Sims, the two servants who had witnessed the first will. As soon as they were in the room, I gave Mr Bramleigh a pen, and placing the document before him, I said distinctly, so that all might hear : ‘ This which 1 have just read to you is your final will, and you request James Burn and Margaret Sims to witness your execution of it? ’ ‘lt is, I do,’ he solemnly said, as with feeble fingers he wrote his name. The two awe-struck domestics then added theirs, and T think their hands shook more than the testator’s. Hannah Churton was a silent spectator of the whole of this ; but I could not see her face, as she stood in the background, out of the light of the lamp. (To hr. continued.')