Forever Remain

by Lucinda Brant

  I trust that you and Jack spent a few years at Oxford and that now you are planning, or perhaps you have already set off on your tour of the Continent. You will have the most marvelous adventures, and bring home many memories, and hopefully a collection of art and curios worthy of gracing the walls and cabinets of your rooms.

  I discussed your twenty-first birthday with your brother, and it was agreed that on this day Julian would present you with the keys to your own apartment at Treat. It was something we both wanted to do for you, and it has been in the planning since I first became ill; an architect engaged to refurbish part of the east wing to allow you to have your very own apartment. I trust you are pleased with the result. It was our wish you have autonomous living quarters, much in the French manner, so that you may come and go as you please, and live as you please under your own roof. And while I always wanted you to have a home at Treat, I must tell you that the decision ultimately rested with your brother, as sixth duke, to allow you this grace and favor residence within his home, and the home of his children. I could not have hoped for you to have a more loving and caring brother. Knowing these plans were well underway by the time of my final illness, and that you would always have a place to call your own within your childhood home, did much to ease my worry about your future.

  It is your future that I most wish to talk to you about in this letter. And you will forgive your papa for mentioning it, but mention it I must, because your affliction will always be so much a part of you. I know that even to this day it governs much of your day-to-day choices, and as much as you or I or your maman or your brother wish it were otherwise, it is so and cannot be ignored. And thus we must deal with it as best we can. I am confident you are doing just that, and with exemplary fortitude and forbearance.

  Since you were very small, your maman and I were aware that you were special, and would never be like other boys. The falling sickness precludes you pursuing the normal opportunities open to the sons who will not inherit their father’s title. Not for you a career in the army or navy, most definitely not the clergy, and the law or politics would not suit either, not because I do not believe you clever, for I do, but for the simple reason that such professions require you to be in the public gaze. I would not wish that on any man who possessed a shy nature, least of all one debilitated with the falling sickness.

  And I trust that over the years you have ordered your life in a way that suits you, treating your affliction as a trifling inconvenience requiring adjustment, rather than living a life as its slave. For while it will always be with you, you cannot allow it to consume you. It should always be a puzzle worth solving, rather than a burden you must shoulder.

  And because you are special and cannot follow the usual vocations open to second sons, you are in the enviable position of not following in any footsteps, or fulfilling any expectations. But I also realize that this leaves you adrift. Your papa is going to bring you into a safe harbor, but in doing so he will complicate your life by informing you that now, on this your twenty-first birthday, you have come into a vast inheritance.

  I had hoped to be here for this day, which I began planning for just after your fourth birthday, when it became apparent you would never live a life free of seizures. Each year since that day I have set aside a portion of my yearly income earmarked for your inheritance. This was then invested in the funds, and I continued making these yearly deposits until your brother inherited the title. I did my sums, and with eight years of accumulated wealth, and invested until you turned one-and-twenty, I should think that on this, the day of your twenty-first birthday, your inheritance is a little over one hundred thousand pounds. £100,000. I have inked it in numerals as well, in case you thought your dearest papa must have been in his dotage and added that hundred in there by accident.

  Congratulations. You are now an exceedingly wealthy young gentleman. There are no strings or stipulations, or overseers, for this wealth. It is all yours from this day to do with as you see fit. Yes, you may gamble it away, spend it away, use it on all manner of trinkets and vice, women included, and there is not a thing anyone, including your brother, can do about it. You could also hoard it and be miserly with it, or perhaps you feel guilty having such wealth and wonder if you should not press it all on your brother, who I am confident now has a large family, all of whom he will need to provide for in some form or other from his wealth and estates.

  Let me assure you that your brother inherited vastly more than any man, even with a large family, estates to run, and hundreds of retainers to care for, would ever need in five lifetimes. He is wealthy beyond measure, as was I for most of my life. My grandfather, the fourth duke, was a miser. If he spent a penny, it was on accumulating more pennies. The only thing in his life on which he lavished his attention and wealth was Treat, in building works, the house and grounds. He did this to fashion it into a monument to himself and his name. He employed a slew of architects and landscape gardeners, surveyors, skilled artisans, and hundreds of workers, but labor, as you know, is cheap and so cost him very little. Materials also were as nothing, when the stone came from his own quarries, and the natural resources from lands in his possession. So when my grandfather died, he left behind no one who mourned his passing, only a half-finished palatial carbuncle on the landscape called Treat. I saw fit to complete it and I hope I was able to turn it into a home for your maman, and your brother, and you.

  While your brother may lift his eyebrows in surprise at the amount of your inheritance, he would never begrudge you any of it. And if he has any concerns, it will be with the fact that I have not placed any restrictions on your access to it; your brother cannot withhold it from you, nor is he able to portion it out to you, which I am certain he wishes he could do in your best interests. I do not doubt that you thank your dearest papa for this, but perhaps you will not thank me when I tell you that with great wealth comes great responsibility. Your one hundred thousand pounds is now upon your shoulders, and while I do not want to weigh you down, it is there, and now it is for you to think long and hard about what you wish to do with it, and your life. For the worth of a great inheritance is measured not by how it is kept, but in how it is spent.

  I have given you a unique opportunity to make something of your life, something that goes beyond the bricks and mortar of a great palace or securing the future of an illustrious title. That is your brother’s burden to bear. As my eldest son he was denied any other way of life. On you, on the other hand, I have placed an altogether different type of burden, and this is one of choice.

  Your dearest papa has great confidence that you will, as always, conduct yourself and your life in a manner that will make him proud, and I have always thought that you will surprise me, and go beyond the expectations of others. You are, after all, my son.

  With this letter is a small box, and in that box is a gold ring, set with a carnelian stone carved with the family coat of arms. It was my father’s ring. He wore it every day of his life, and I remember this ring as being part of him. I did not wear it myself, having inherited the Roxton ducal emerald ring that was my grandfather’s, and which all dukes of Roxton by tradition wear upon coming into the title. I do not doubt that your brother now wears that ring with pride. However, this ring, the one I leave to you, has great sentimental value for me, and so I wish you to have it, to remember me by, and as a symbol of a love between a father and his son. I loved my father very much, indeed I adored him, and I know that you in turn loved me just as fiercely.

  I think your dearest papa has given you enough to think about for one letter. As I write this, I know you will visit me at my tomb and show me the ring and how well it fits your finger, and I cannot wait to see you there.

  Oh, and if you think this is the last you will hear from your papa in ink, it is not. But that other letter which I left behind we shall leave for another day. Which day? I cannot predict, but I do so hope that day does arrive, and in the not too distant future, and that you will indeed feel the need to open it and
read what your papa has to say upon that occasion.

  I love you with all my heart.

  Your loving dearest papa,

  R

  16. Martin Ellicott, Esq., to Lord Henri-Antoine Hesham

  [This correspondence included with gracious permission of Their Graces due to its significance in shedding light on the establishment of the esteemed Fournier Foundation. Names and passages supressed in the usual manner at their insistence.]

  Martin Ellicott Esq., Moran House, the Bath Road, Bath, Avon, to Lord Henri-Antoine Hesham, Treat via Alston, Hampshire.

  Moran House, the Bath Road, Bath, Avon

  May 12, 1784

  * * *

  My Lord,

  Dear boy, I received your letter by this morning’s post and it cheered me immensely. I have no real reason to complain, what with the spring weather being superb. My breathing is better today than it was last evening, and a long letter from Her Grace your mother yesterday always has the power to cheer me, and more often than not, I am laughing out loud before the end of the first paragraph.

  My health is as precarious as the changing weather so I will come straight to the point lest I have a coughing fit or it rains, or both.

  You know His Grace your brother wishes for me to spend what is left of my life at Treat with the family, and I am greatly flattered by his offer. But between us I cannot leave [suppressed] here, not after twenty years’ [suppressed] [suppressed], and [suppressed] will not come to Treat. This despite His Grace extending his invitation [suppressed]. We would not be comfortable with such an arrangement, despite Their Graces (and when I say that, I do mean not only my godson and his wife, but include your dearest mother and Kinross) assurances that we are equally welcome. When I die, and I say when, not if, because it cannot be far off, then it will be here, with [suppressed] by my side. [suppressed] is aware, however, and is reconciled to the fact that once I leave this emaciated carcass behind, I leave [suppressed] too, because I mean to return to your father and the home that was mine almost from birth. To be interred in the Roxton mausoleum is an honor I value beyond price. Your family is my family and has been since my parents were in the service of your great-grandfather, the fourth duke. To know I will forever be near your father and, in time, your mother, is a great comfort to me, and it seems it is so with your brother, with you, and with Her Grace your mother. [suppressed] understands this and respects my wishes.

  The honor your family does me cannot be adequately put into words, and if I tried to do so I know the writing of this letter would take twice as long, if it would be finished at all. I am so overcome with emotion it is crippling.

  I must thank you for your kind offer to allow [suppressed] to remain here in this house that has been our home for the past sixteen years. But we have jointly decided to accept His Grace’s equally kind offer to [suppressed] of a townhouse in the center of town, within a stone’s throw and a sedan ride from the King’s bath. That [suppressed] will have a place to call home and an income for life has set my mind at rest. I have written to His Grace under separate cover of our wishes in this regard, and to thank him from the bottom of our hearts. And of course, I cannot thank you enough for allowing us to remain here after you inherited the estate from your esteemed parent. I trust one day, when you eventually marry, that you and your bride will fill this house with as many happy memories as we have.

  You may find this morbid, but it is necessary to impart. While I have bequeathed my savings and worldly goods to [suppressed], I am leaving my art collection and my library to you. I know you will appreciate these the most. And you at least will not take offence that amongst my collection accumulated over decades, from my time with your father and later during my Continental travels with your brother, there are volumes, paintings, and cartoons considered by those who cannot appreciate art for art’s sake, or are too prudish in nature to even contemplate such artworks or even open such books, as beyond what is decent. For instance there is a complete set of miniatures by Boucher, and another by Fragonard of [suppressed] and [suppressed]. I also have in my collection a rare statue of the nymph and satyr enjoying [suppressed]. Amongst the folios is a set of the works of the Comte de [suppressed], and another by Mme (or so she calls herself) [suppressed] which I know you will enjoy more for the wit in the prose than any salaciousness contained within the pages. I also have left you what I believe is one of only two copies of [suppressed]. Your father presented this to me upon my retirement, and of course he had the other copy. There is also [rest of the paragraph suppressed].

  Enclosed herein is a detailed listing for your perusal, so that when you come here, or you send your representative, after we are gone, you will find everything as we left it, with the paintings still upon the walls, the statues in my closet, and the collection of cartoons in marked folios along with the books in the library.

  [list available but not included in this work.]

  Let me turn to more cheerful and far more important matters.

  I am honored you seek my advice on your venture to establish a medical foundation to aid physicians with their research endeavors, and for the advancement of medical science. I approve the name Fournier Foundation. Such a name suitably distances you, the son of a duke and brother of one, from the, dare I say, murkier aspects of the medical profession. You and your family’s name must remain above reproach, given there are those amongst our medical pioneers who are conscienceless when it comes to the procurement of specimens for dissection and investigation, resorting to the use of the still-warm bodies of those wretched persons who have forfeited their lives on the gallows. And, I can scarcely believe it possible, that these physicians accept the cadavers from freshly-dug graves, the bodies stripped of their clothes and presented naked to the anatomy schools, where they are subjected to all sorts of bestial treatments in the name of science. Stealing clothing and possessions from the dead is an offence, but not, it seems, the naked dead bodies of these poor souls. I understand our medical men need to be able to poke and prod at the human body to be able to learn the secrets of its internal workings so as to help the living, but surely there are better, more respectful ways of going about such explorations?

  Never mind my objections and pontifications. You must do what you see as fit and proper and worth the investment to aid in the advancement of scientific knowledge. But I do caution you to keep yourself at arm’s length from the day-to-day particulars of such a venture. Nor am I completely at ease at the prospect of you visiting places rampant with the miasma of disease, particularly given the delicate balance of your constitution. Please take heed and always think of your health first and foremost. Your mother could not bear the loss of you; it would cleave her heart, and not even the love of Kinross could bring her back from the brink of such despair.

  Allow Dr. Bailey and the other trustees to step in and make such visits on your behalf, I beg and counsel you. Bailey as your choice as the foundation’s figurehead is a most excellent one, for I always found him to be of a curious mind and compassionate disposition. And dare I suggest you bestowed the title of Director upon him most generously because of your intimate association with him when he was your personal physician when you were a boy. I think mayhap you wish to make amends for your highhanded treatment of him, and his good-natured acceptance of your youthful arrogant nobility. I mention this with the deepest respect.

  Your desire to remain the anonymous benefactor is a most circumspect decision. If it were publically known you had loosened your purse strings on this venture, all manner of trencherflies and patronage seeking ponies would be beating at your door, with any number of ludicrous schemes and pleas, that I do not doubt you could employ a full-time secretary just to deal with such petitions alone. Remaining in the shadows will allow you greater freedom to distribute your largesse where you see fit. Having a board of trustees to assist you is a necessity, but do not allow them to govern you. Though now that I have penned that in ink, I am smiling, because I can think of no one other than
you, with the exception of your esteemed parent, who was less likely to be governable or persuadable by others once his own mind was fixed on a decision.

  Your dearest father would be immensely proud of you, and how even at your young age, you have taken the wise and most generous path to use your inheritance to make a difference in the world. And I do not doubt you will, and for not just the few but for the many, indeed perhaps thousands upon thousands of our nation’s most vulnerable souls most in need of medical care and attention, and the myriad of hopeful possibilities the advancement of the science brings with it.

  You have inherited your mother’s sharp intellect and thirst for knowledge, but also her compassion for her fellow creature, for why else have you chosen to do all you can to improve the human condition by establishing a medical foundation to help the poorest of poor wretches, if not because, like your dearest mother, you possess great empathy? And while you have a great look of M’sieur le Duc, your temperaments are also closely aligned, and I am not referring to your father’s great arrogance or natural aloofness with those outside his immediate family circle. I knew your father well, and he could not hide from me that he was a man of deep feeling. This was most evident with your mother, for no greater love have I seen than that betwixt your parents. And the love he bore you and your brother was beyond measure. And as one who has known you from the cradle, it is my belief that you are a perfect balance of both your parents, even more so than your dear brother. Not that I would confess that to him, and this will remain between the two of us.