“The estates, I collect, were even then encumbered?” interpolated his lordship.
Mr Wimmering bowed his head in sorrowful assent, but raised it again to offer a palliative. “But her ladyship’s Jointure was secured to her.”
“And my sisters’ portions?”
Wimmering sighed. After a pause, Adam said: “The case seems to be desperate. What must I do?”
“Serious, my lord, but not desperate, we must trust.” He raised his hand, as Adam made a gesture towards the mass of papers on his desk. “Let me beg of you not to refine too much upon demands which were, under the circumstances, inevitable! None are immediately pressing. A certain degree of alarm in the creditors was to be expected, and to allay that must be — indeed, has been — my first concern. I do not by any means despair of composing all these matters.”
“I have no great head for figures,” Adam replied, “but I think the debts total a larger amount than my disposable assets.” He picked up a paper, and studied it. “You have set no value on the racing-stables, I observe. Those, I think, should be sold at once, and also the town house.”
“Upon no account!” interrupted Wimmering earnestly. “Such an action, my lord, would prove fatal, believe me! Let me repeat that my care has been to allay anxiety: until we see our way more clearly that is most necessary.”
Adam laid the paper down. “It is already clear to me. I am facing ruin, am I not?”
“Your lordship takes too despondent a view. The shock has overset you! But we need not despair.”
“No, if I had time enough, and the means, perhaps I could restore our fortunes. Surely Fontley was prosperous in my grandfather’s day? Since I came home I have been going all about with our bailiff, trying to learn from him in a week the things I ought to have learnt when I was a boy. Instead — ” he smiled rather painfully — “I was army-mad. One doesn’t realize, or foresee — But repining won’t help me out of my difficulties. The land here is as rich as any in Lincolnshire, but so much needs to be done! And if I had the means to do it I should wish above all things to redeem the mortgages, and that I certainly have not the means to do.”
“My lord, not all your lands are mortgaged! Do not, I beg of you — ”
“Mercifully, not all. The house, and the demesne-lands are unencumbered. Can you tell me what price we should set on them? Both have been neglected, but the Priory is generally thought to be beautiful, and has, besides, historic interest”
“Sell Fontley?” exclaimed Wimmering, aghast. “Your lordship cannot be serious! You are speaking in Jest, of course!”
“No, I am not speaking in Jest,” Adam replied quietly. “I don’t think I ever felt less like jesting in my life. If you could show me how to pay off this load of debt, how to provide for my sisters, without selling Fontley — but you can’t, can you?”
“My lord,” said Wimmering, recovering his countenance, “I trust I may be able to do so. It might not be an easy task, but it has occurred to me — if I may speak frankly on a subject of an intimate nature?”
Adam looked surprised, but nodded.
“Such unhappy situations as this are not of such rare occurrence as one could wish, my lord,” said Mr Wimmering, intently scrutinizing his fingers. “I could tell you of cases within my own experience where the sadly fallen fortunes of a noble house have been resuscitated by a judicious alliance.”
“Good God, are you suggesting that I should marry an heiress?” Adam demanded.
“It has frequently been done, my lord.”
“I daresay it has, but you mustn’t expect me to do it, I’m afraid,” returned Adam. “I don’t think I’m acquainted with any heiresses, and I’m sure I shouldn’t be regarded as an eligible suitor.”
“On the contrary, my lord! Your lineage is distinguished; you are the holder of a title; the owner of very considerable estates, and of a seat — as you have said yourself — of historic interest.”
“I never suspected that you had a turn for nonsense!” Adam interrupted. “These possessions of mine are very fine-sounding until you tap “them, when they have a hollow ring. In any event, I don’t contemplate putting myself up for sale.”
There was a note of finality in his voice, and Wimmering bowed to it, content for the present to have instilled the idea into his brain. He might recoil from it, but Wimmering had formed a favourable opinion of his good sense, and he hoped that when he had recovered from the shock of finding himself on the brink of ruin he would perceive the advantages of what was, in his adviser’s view, a very simple way out of his difficulties. It was fortunate that he was unattached — if he was unattached. Wimmering knew that a year previously he had fancied himself in love with Lord Oversley’s daughter; but no notice of an engagement had ever appeared, and the connection had not met with the Fifth Viscount’s approbation. The Fifth Viscount had been quite as anxious as Wimmering that his son should marry money; and from what he knew of Lord Oversley’s circumstances Wimmering could not suppose that he either regarded with enthusiasm such an alliance. Miss Julia was an accredited Beauty; and if any man could have made an accurate guess at the extent of Lord Lynton’s embarrassments it must have been his old friend Oversley. No, Wimmering was inclined to think that his late lordship had been right when he had dismissed the affair as mere calf-love.
(“And now there’s that cub of mine fancying himself in love with Oversley’s girl!” had said his lordship, in one of his moments of exasperation. “All humdudgeon! never looked twice at the chit till he was sent home with a ball in his hip! He’s been living in the girl’s pocket ever since he could hobble round to Mount Street. A couple of green ‘uns! I shan’t lose any sleep over such fiddle-faddling nonsense!”)
Wimmering would lose no sleep either. The new Viscount had repudiated with distaste the suggestion that he should hang out for a likely heiress, but he had given no indication that his affections were already engaged. It was not wonderful that he should have alleviated the pain and the weariness of the months he had spent in and out of the surgeons’ hands with a flirtation with the lovely Miss Oversley; still less wonderful that a romantic girl should have encouraged the gallantry of a hero of Salamanca. In Wimmering’s opinion, it would be more wonderful if so youthful an affair had survived separation.
As for his lordship’s doubt of his acceptability, Wimmering did not share it. Lord Oversley might not welcome the alliance, but it was not of such parents as Oversley that Wimmering was thinking. It had plainly not occurred to the Viscount that he should seek a wife in the ranks of the rich merchants: probably he would dislike that idea at first, but he seemed to be a sensible young man, and one who would probably go to almost any length to preserve the place which had for generations been the home of the Deverils. There would be nothing unusual in such a match: no need at all for his lordship to marry a vulgar mushroom’s heiress. Mr Wimmering could call to mind a dozen very gentlemanly persons engaged in trade who were anxious to thrust their offspring up the social ladder; but, on the whole, he was inclined to think that the ideal bride should be sought in one or other of the great banking-houses. That would be quite unexceptionable. The chances were, too, that unless the girl was very hard to please she would take a fancy to his lordship. He was a good-looking young man, though not handsome in his father’s slightly flamboyant style. His was a thin, sensitive countenance, rendered charming by his smile, which was of peculiar sweetness. He looked older than his twenty-six years, his face being a little lined through constant puckering of his eyes against a scorching sun, and his skin rather weather-beaten. He was of average height, well-built, but lacking his father’s magnificent physique: indeed, had it not been for a certain tautness in his carriage, betraying the muscles in his spare frame, it might have been suspected that he was delicate, so thin was he. When he walked it was with a slight halt, but that legacy from Salamanca did not seem to discommode him much. He was lucky not to have had his leg amputated, though it was doubtful if he had thought so at the time. Wimmering did not know how many agonizing operations he had been obliged to undergo before the surgeons succeeded in extracting the ball and all the splinters of bone, but he thought that those weeks had set their ineradicable mark on his lordship’s face.