The Finger of Fate: A Romance

My host turned back into the house, leaving me to laugh over the circumstance with his sweet wife Lucetta.

Presently he came out again, the card case in his hand; as he approached, drawing out of it several enamelled cards that appeared spotted and mouldy with age. Selecting one, he placed it in my hand.

There was no need for scrutinising it just then; and merely glancing at the piece of cardboard, without staying to decipher the name, I bade him good-bye – I had already made my adieux to the lady – mounted my horse, and rode off.

I had not gone far before curiosity prompted me to acquaint myself with the name of my hospitable entertainer.

Taking out the card, I read – “Mr Henry Harding.”

A very good English name it was; and one I had reason to remember, though it then never occurred to me that the young estanciero of the Pampas could be any connection of the Hardings of Beechwood Park, in the county of Bucks, England. And without making any further reflection, I gave the spur to my horse, and continued my long-delayed journey.

Chapter Sixty Two

A Lost Legatee

The reader may perhaps think it strange – the fact of my not recognising Mr Henry Harding as an old acquaintance. But in reality he was not so. I had seen him only once, when a beardless youth, home from his college vacation. But even had I known him more intimately, it is not likely that, sun-browned and bearded as he now was – speaking and looking Italian much better than he either spoke or looked English – I should have remembered the young collegian, unless some circumstance had occurred to recall him to my memory. Had I learnt his name sooner, such might have been the case. As it was, I went my way – simply reflecting what a fine young fellow was my late host, and how fortunate in having such a treasure of a wife.

As to the others of my late entertainers, the reader must remember that he is already acquainted with much more of their history than I was then. All I knew of them was what I had learnt during the three days’ intercourse just ended; and in it nothing had occurred in any way to connect them in my mind with the personages of English nationality who have figured in this tale.

The name “Mr Henry Harding” on a card gave me no other thought than that of his being a fellow-countryman of whom I might feel proud, and to whom I did feel grateful.

On reaching the estancia of my friend, I found him somewhat anxious about my tardy arrival. He had, of course, expected me three days sooner; and but that the “thistles” were not yet sufficiently advanced in growth, he would have supposed that I had either lost my way among those gigantic weeds, or fallen into the hands of robbers, who are to be apprehended only after this singular herbage has attained full height. On explaining the cause of my delay – telling him where I had spent the intervening time, as also how pleasantly I had spent it – my friend suddenly interrupted me with the question —

“Did you ever know a General Harding, of the county of Bucks?”

“A General Harding, of Bucks?”

“Yes. I know you’ve been a good deal down in that part of England. The General Harding I speak of died some five or six years ago.”

“I knew a General Harding, of Beechwood Park, not a great way from Windsor. I had only a slight acquaintance with him. He died about the time you say. Would he be the man you mean?”

“By Jove! the very same. Beechwood! That I think is the name; but we shall soon see. It’s very odd,” continued my friend, rising from his seat, and going towards a secretary that stood in a corner of the room. “Very odd, indeed. I have been myself half in the mind of riding over to the estancia, where you have been so well entertained. I should have done so this very day, but that I was waiting for you. I may as well tell you what would have been my errand. I know very little of my English neighbour, Mr Harding. His intercourse is mostly among Italians and Argentines; so that we English don’t see much of him. He’s said to be a first-rate fellow, for all that.”

“I’m glad to hear him so spoken of. It’s just the impression he has made upon me. But what has this to do with your inquiries about General Harding?”

I need hardly say that, by this time, my own curiosity was aroused – so much so, that I had once more taken the card out of my pocket, and was submitting it to a fresh scrutiny.

“Well,” said my friend, returning to the original subject of discourse, “while looking out for you, I could not well leave the house; and having no other way of amusing myself, I took to reading some old English newspapers. We don’t have them very new here at any time. These were dated several years ago, and one of them was a Times. Now, if you’d lived as long upon the pampas as I have, you’d not turn up your nose at a Times, however ancient its date; nor would you leave a paragraph unread, even to the advertisements. I was poring over these, when my eye fell upon one, which I leave you to read for yourself. There it is.”

I took the paper handed me by my friend, and read the advertisement he had pointed out. It ran thus: —

“Henry Harding. – If Mr Henry Harding, son of the late General Harding, of Beechwood Park, in the county of Buckingham, will apply to Messrs Lawson and Sons, solicitors, of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, he will hear of something to his advantage. Mr Harding was last heard of in Rome, at the time of the revolutionary struggle, and is supposed to have taken part in the defence of that city by Garibaldi. Any one giving information of his present address, or, if dead, stating the time and circumstances of his death, will be handsomely rewarded.”

“What do you think of it?” asked my friend, as soon as I had finished reading the advertisement.

“I remember having seen it before,” was my reply. “It was inserted in the papers repeatedly, several years ago, and at the time caused much talk. Of course, everybody knew that young Harding had gone away from home – no one knowing where. That was some time before his father’s death. There was some story afloat about his having been jilted by a girl. I knew something of the young lady myself. Also, of his having gone to Italy, and fallen into the hands of brigands, or joined the partisans of Mazzini. No one knew the truth, as General Harding was a man in the habit of keeping his family secrets to himself. It was after his death that the talk was. When these advertisements appeared, the young fellow had been a considerable time out of sight; and for that reason they attracted less attention. It was said that the father had left him a legacy, and that was why the solicitor was advertising for him.”

“Just what I thought. But do you think he ever turned up?”

“That I can’t tell. I never heard the result. About that time I left England myself, and have been abroad ever since.”

“Does it not occur to you,” inquired my friend, “that this Henry Harding of the Times advertisement, and the gentleman who has been entertaining you, may be one and the same man?”

“It is quite possible – indeed, it seems probable. This states that Henry Harding was last heard of at Rome. Now the family into which this gentleman has married came from Rome. That much they told me. He may be the same. He may have answered the advertisement too, and got the something to his advantage, whatever it was; though I am under the impression it was not much. It was generally known that the bulk of General Harding’s property was willed to his eldest son Nigel; and that Henry, the youngest, was left a bare thousand pounds. If my late host be he, in all likelihood he has had the money before now. Might it not have been with it he has so comfortably established himself?”

“No; I can answer for that,” said my friend. “He was settled here long before the date of this advertisement, and has never been out of the country since – certainly never so far as England.”

“It would not be necessary for him to go to England to obtain the legacy of a thousand pounds. All that might have been transacted by letter of attorney.”

“True, but I have good reason to know that he is only a tenant of the estancia you found him in. His Italian father-in-law is the real owner of both properties; and this was the state of affairs from the first – long before the advertisement could have appeared. In my opinion, he has never seen it; and if he be the individual referred to, it might be worth his while to know of it. As I’ve said, I had thoughts of riding over and asking him myself. Although we’ve had very little intercourse, I’ve heard a very good account of him – though not as a very successful sheep-keeper. He’s too fond of hunting for that; and I fancy he hasn’t added much to his wife’s dowry or his father-in-law’s fortune. Indeed, I’ve heard say that he is himself a little sore about this; and if there should be a legacy for him, still unlifted, it might be very welcome and very convenient to him. A thousand pounds isn’t much in London, but it would go a long way out upon the pampas here.”

“True,” I replied mechanically, absorbed in reflecting whether the rejected lover of Miss Belle Mainwaring was the man whom I had met – now married to a wife worth ten thousand of her sort.

“I’ll tell you what you can do,” said my friend; “you say they’ve invited you to stop there on your way back to Rosario?”

“I am under a promise to do so.”

“Lucky fellow! to have made such a brace of beautiful acquaintances; for the Argentine lady is not thought so far behind her Italian sister-in-law. All by the stumbling of a horse, too! By Jove, I’d risk the breaking of my neck every day in the year for such a chance! You were always fortunate in that sort of thing.”

It was rather amusing to hear my friend talk in such a fashion. He, a confirmed old bachelor, who, I verily believe, would not have surrendered even to the charms of the lovely Lucetta! Such was the name I had heard given to my late hostess.

“What were you going to propose?” I asked.

“That you take back with you this old Times, and show the advertisement to Mr Harding himself. I’ll ride so far with you, if you wish. But since you have made their acquaintance, and know more about this matter than I, it will be better for you to introduce it. What say you to that course?”

“I have no objection to it.”

“All right then. And now to see how I can entertain you. No doubt, my bachelor quarters will be dull enough to you, coming from such company. A dose of Purgatory after Paradise! Ha! ha! ha!”

I could not help thinking there was some truth in what my friend said; though I did all I could to conceal my thoughts, by joining heartily in his laughter.

Chapter Sixty Three

“Something to his Advantage.”

The entertainments provided for me by my old college acquaintance were far from being dull, and I kept his company for nearly a week. At the end of this time I was on my way back to Rosario, intending to stop, as promised, at the estancia of Mr Henry Harding; who, if he should prove to be the son of the old Indian General, I could no longer look upon in the light of a stranger.

As proposed, my friend accompanied me, and I had the pleasure of promoting an intimacy between two of my countrymen who were worthy to know one another better than they had hitherto done.

The Signora Lucetta was beautiful and amiable as ever; and we had soon assembled under one roof the two kindred families. For several days we were entertained with a hospitality that became rather difficult to escape from; and my bachelor friend, I believe, went back to his own solitary estancia with strong resolutions of not letting much time elapse before becoming a Benedict.

For my part, I was no longer treated as a stranger. My South American host was the son of General Harding, of Beechwood Park – the very man who had been advertised for; and, as I now learnt, up to that hour in vain.

In a conversation that occurred during my second visit I was made acquainted with his whole history, as detailed in these pages.

“And this?” I said, pointing to the advertisement in the Times– the paper lying upon the table before us.

“Never saw it; never heard of it till now!” was his reply.