Twenty-Two

A Secret Legacy

Philip had anticipated the day, for over four years, when he would actually have the means to live out his life independent of his accursed compassionless, controlling father.

Affecting all the airs of his forthcoming prosperity, he arrived at the offices of Phineas Willoughby, Esquire, administrator of his trust, proudly garbed in new, modish dress purchased from one of London’s finest tailors.

Only a few scratches of the quill stood between him and two thousand pounds. Though it was a modest fortune, it would nonetheless transform him into a man of independence, allowing him to remain in comfort and exist in a manner more befitting his birth. Perhaps he would start by seeking better apartments, mayhap something at St. James Square?

He was lost in the happy reverie when the lawyer entered. “My felicitations on your coming of age, Master Drake, ’tis a milestone indeed.” The aged solicitor offered his hand with an avuncular smile. “Of course you are here to claim your inheritance.”

“Indeed I am.” Philip returned a broad grin. “I’ve looked forward to this day.”

“I am sure you have, but you may not be aware of another matter reserved for this occasion.”

Philip looked his question.

“There is an item of a more personal nature that I was asked to hold in safekeeping for you until this day.”

“A personal item from my mother? I have never heard of this.”

The lawyer unlocked a drawer and retrieved a box that he set gingerly atop his desk.

“What is it?” Philip asked, his heartbeat accelerating with anticipation.

Willoughby opened the box and removed a small jewel case and a sealed letter written in his mother’s delicate hand. Philip took the letter, breaking the seal with a look of agitated bewilderment. It was dated a month before her death from consumption.

To my most precious Son,

I most earnestly wish that I might have seen this day that you became a man in your own right, and that I might have spoken these things I am now compelled to write. What I am about to reveal, I was sworn to withhold from you from the time of your birth, but now that you have reached your age of accountability, and I rest peacefully in my grave, I no longer feel bound to that vow.

This ring, my dearest one, belonged to my mother, and her mother before that. It is a symbol of your maternal heritage that I bequeath to you, in hope it might finally provide answers to the questions which have long caused you heartache and distress.

I pray that this revelation, though perhaps at first shocking, will explain the otherwise unexplainable—why a father would so reject his own son, his own blood.

Please accept this ring with my fondest wishes for health, peace, prosperity, and love.

Your Most,

Affectionate and Devoted

Mother

Philip opened the case to discover a simple band for a woman’s hand, crafted in gold, unremarkable but for the unusual symbols engraved upon it. He examined it with the utmost reverence, as if any amount of pressure might break it. He rolled it slowly between thumb and index finger, puzzling over the characters with a frown.

“Do you know what this means, Mr. Willoughby? Is it a code of some sort? I’ve never seen anything like it.” Philip handed him the ring.

The solicitor accepted it, studied it, and shook his head. “I am a scholar of Greek and Latin; I have no knowledge of Hebrew.”

“Hebrew?” Philip repeated, stunned.

Willoughby flushed at what he had inadvertently revealed.

“My mother was an Englishwoman, born in Middlesex and raised in London proper. She was baptized in the Anglican church. Why would she own such an item?”

“Your mother was indeed an Englishwoman, but also the daughter of a Dutch merchant who immigrated during the days of William of Orange. The Dutch, as you may know, received many Jews into their midst in the last century, who over time intermarried widely within the merchant classes. Your maternal grandfather married such a Jewess.”

“A Jewess? My grandmother was a Jew?” Philip stared blankly at the solicitor. “Why was I never told?”

“As you are undoubtedly aware, the match between your parents was purely a business arrangement. Your maternal grandfather desired the social status and business connections an alliance with a peer of the realm could bring, and your father, after suffering crippling losses in the South Sea Bubble, was in need of the dowry to support his estate. Your mother was simply the means to their mutual ends, and was forsworn by the earl never to speak of her heritage.”

“I see.” Philip said nothing more, but sat stoically silent as full understanding dawned and the world, as he knew it, crumbled about his ears.

From his very birth, Philip’s father had treated him with scorn and derision, almost as if he regarded him a bastard. Suddenly he understood. Although he was the earl’s legitimate son, he was tainted by the very blood he carried in his veins. He was a one-quarter Jew.

“Rest assured I’ll speak of it to no one,” Willoughby said apologetically as he handed back the ring. “As to the inscription, if you truly wish to explore this, not that I advise you to,” he hastily amended, “there is a man you might seek whose discretion you can assuredly trust. His name is David Nieto, and though a Jew, is considered by many a brilliant man of parts: philosopher, physician, poet, mathematician, astronomer, and theologian. He leads the Sephardic house of worship at Bevis Marks in Stepney.”

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Philip replied vaguely, only half hearing the rest.

“Come to think of it, that brings to mind another matter. There is a gentleman of the same order by the name of Samson Gideon who might advise you well on the investment of your windfall,” counseled Willoughby. “The man’s a veritable oracle of the ’Change. You are bound to find him among the stock-jobbers at Jonathan’s Coffee House in Exchange Alley.”

“Thank you, Willoughby,” Philip said and slid the ring onto the little finger of his right hand.

***

Aside from one slightly disturbing revelation, Philip departed Willoughby’s office feeling in every sense a free man.

Willoughby had counseled Philip to invest his capital in legitimate enterprise. Perhaps the East India Company, Jamaican sugar, or colonial tobacco. Many Scottish and Quaker merchants had garnered tremendous riches from Oronoco. Yet others continued to make their fortunes from the slave trade that supported the sugar and tobacco plantations. Philip reflected on the last only briefly before dismissing the notion with distaste. Let others profit by bondage.

Two thousand pounds wisely invested was enough to keep a single gentleman in superior lodgings with a gentleman’s accoutrements for years. But what of Sukey’s debts? He hadn’t pressed her for figures and wondered how much would be required to settle them. He speculated how long the money might sustain them both.

She appeared to require immediate assistance. If he took on her burden, he would have no assurance of security. Sukey had the same love of fine things as he, and no greater self-restraint. Although she claimed to have made some efforts to economize of late, he’d be ill advised to think it lasting.

His steps grew heavier and his brow furrowed as Philip struggled with the dilemma of how best to help her without jeopardizing his own future. Certainly a few good nights at the tables might enlarge the largesse, but dare he risk it?

Deciding to put aside these weightier thoughts for another time, Philip chose instead to bask in his all around good fortune. Aside from one rather rattling disclosure that he continued to digest, he felt like a new man. With the commemoration of his twenty-first year, he had come into a great deal of money. Adding to that fortuity was a beautiful woman in whose arms he could lose himself to the point of oblivion.

The knowledge of having transported her to a state of unbridled rapture drove him half mad and imbued him with a deeper satisfaction than he’d ever known. The feel of her, the look on her face, and her sounds as she reached completion occupied his thoughts until he could only think of loving her again, and again, pushing her over the brink until she cried his name aloud.

Philip felt empowered with a newfound sense of self-possession that had begun in his lover’s arms. He’d soon be the envy of every man of his acquaintance. Who would have ever thought it?

His face split into a self-satisfied grin at the utter irony.

Philip’s pleasing ruminations added an air of self-conceit to his usual swagger as he ventured down the Strand. It surely was a day for commemoration and he fully intended to celebrate, once he reclaimed his possessions from pawn.

He entered the dingy shop on the Strand to repay the pledge for his silver-hilted dress sword, but passing by the fine jewelry case his eye caught the milky glimmer of emeralds, a very familiar set of emeralds.

“Might I have a closer look at these?” Philip asked the greasy black-toothed fellow.

“Aye. A finer set you’ll not find in Lon’on,” said the man, removing the gems for Philip’s inspection and adding with a wink, “’Twould get ye right quick a’tween any high-flyin’ ladybird’s thighs.”

Philip forced a smile to encourage the talker. “Can you tell me anything of their history?”

“A lady brung ’em in. Dressed like a maid she was, but didn’t bamboozle me. Knew she was the quality the minute she opens her mouf. Lots of folks what pawn come in disguised-like.”

“When did you say you acquired these?”

“The emeralds and the ring, jes’ yesterday, though she pledged some other gems the week afore. If’n ye’d like to see those, I’ve no doubt she’ll not be claimin’ ’em.”

The man produced a strand of pearls with a ruby clasp and a diamond ring that Philip examined with interest. The pearls he had never seen, but the ring? Was it her wedding ring? Philip made a mental note to observe if she still wore one.

“When will the items be available? I’m acquainted with a lady who might be particularly pleased to have them.”

“Loan’s short term. If she don’t pay the interest, as I expect she won’t, ye can come for ’em in a for’night.”

“I’ll strongly consider it,” Philip said, producing a contract. “For now I only wish to reclaim my sword.”

He was deeply disconcerted by the depth of Sukey’s troubles, but still determined to find a way to sort it all out. He paused once more to ruminate over the ring in the jeweler’s case, and, catching himself with a peculiar thought, shook it off immediately as a fatuous, passing fancy.