Wills and Will Making/3

MORE OF WILLS AND WILL MAKING.

JEMMY WOOD AND HIS WILL.

About thirty-three years ago there was still alive, in the city of Gloucester, a very singular Mr. Wood, who was regarded there with a mixture of pride, contempt, and derision. Though this gentleman was of good family, being of "the old Brockthorp stock," which must be accepted on local authority as a good one, he was keeping a poor shop, and kept it until the day of his death. Here he attended himself, and would supply any article in the chandler's way, from a mouse-trap to a ship's anchor. Not that he kept such articles in stock, but his name was so good, his credit so strong, that he would take an order for fitting out a ship, and complete it by ordering the supplies from other merchants. There was nothing to excite derision in such proceedings. But in one corner of the shop was a little dark office, where he himself sat, with two clerks, and did business. The name of this corner was the "Old Gloucester Bank," admitted to be the oldest private establishment of the kind in the kingdom, with perhaps the exception of Child's well-known house. This in itself was an oddity—the huckstering shop and bank combined. It was more remarkable still that in that corner had been built up a fortune, which was said to make its owner the richest commoner in England.

He was of course watched, and his proceedings noted and talked of. He used to exhibit the most characteristic trait that has yet been recorded of misers—taking a ride upon a hearse, on its return journey, to avoid coach hire. The grand speculation was, what would "old Jemmy Wood" do with his money? He had no relatives to speak of, beyond some second cousins; his two sisters were dead. Would he leave it to charities? Scarcely; for it was repeated with satisfaction how he had been used to quote his father's advice: "James, don't thee leave thy money to charity; it only makes so many rogues." An officious neighbour suggested an alms-house, adding, "it would immortalise him, and do good," but received for answer a pleasant chuckle, with rubbing of hands and the old speech, "Ay, ay, and make rogues." He was an alderman, but the stupid corporation would insult him when he came to their meetings, and play practical jokes on him. They were heavily in debt, and he had been heard to say he would do something for "poor old Gloucester;" but here they only acted according to the visual corporation lights. His ways were noted. It was remarked that every Sunday he devoted to a long and solitary walk. He was not what is technically called a miser, and did not pick up old hats in the street, or deny himself food. He would give nothing in charity. He would acknowledge no relations, but, with a common shape of pride, had taken a fancy to a gentleman of the same name, whose proceedings in connexion with the Queen's trial had attracted attention—namely, "Mr. Alderman Wood, M.P., of London." There was no relationship between them, but he no doubt chose to assume there was, and the tribe of local Woods were at times not a little disquieted by this partiality. A female relation of the miser's, although unknown to the alderman, had written to him in admiration of his behaviour in relation to the Queen. At her death she left him some property, and the alderman came down to attend her funeral. This lucky tribute of respect brought him the acquaintance of her kinsman, who conceived great admiration and respect for him, gave him a house at Hatherley rent free, and wrote to Lord John Russell begging the commission of the peace for "his esteemed friend." The local folks were more and more alarmed at this intimacy, and one disinterestedly warned him: "I understand Alderman Wood has been paying you great attention. I hope you won't be imposed upon;" on which the other winked and chuckled and rubbed his hands, to hint that he knew what he was about.

No one was watching him with greater interest than a certain artful solicitor of the name of Chadborn. This gentleman managed all his business for him, as the miser believed, on the most disinterested terms. Chadborn, he said, never charged him anything save costs out of pocket, but all the while the attorney was secretly registering attendances and services of all kinds.

Mr. Chadborn soon grew to have great influence. It was reported about that the old miser had said to tenants asking for long leases, "His Honour would take care of them." That "in good time all would come to His Honour;" and this strange title of respect, recalling Sir Giles's humour in the play, he seemed to roll out with satisfaction. His Honour, with great skill, too, instead of setting himself against Mr. Alderman Wood, prudently associated that functionary in his own interests.

At last, as old Jemmy Wood was now getting on towards eighty, efforts were made to get him to make a will, and it was soon known that this had been happily accomplished. One morning in April, Alderman Wood of London received a pressing letter from one of the clerks to the effect that the old man was poorly, could not dress himself, and begged of him to come down at once. The alderman flung himself into the mail, travelled all night, and arrived to find his friend down-stairs in his bank. But the end was at hand. Jemmy Wood was carried up in a chair to bed, and died on the 20th of April. Chadborn arrived just in time, on that very day.

Then, indeed, curiosity and speculation were at their height. The town was on the tiptoe of expectation. But soon it was known that he had died leaving about a million in the stocks. An old bureau stood in the lobby, facing his room door, and from this was brought down a sealed envelope, which was solemnly opened in presence of the London alderman, Mr. Chadborn, and the two clerks. It was found to contain a will bequeathing all his property to these four gentlemen as executors, subject to debts and legacies. The former were little, and of the latter there were none. It gave them nearly a quarter of a million apiece. The fortunate alderman returned to London, and not an hour was lost in taking out probate. In fact, the proctor received instructions almost on the day of the decease. A kind of feeble caveat was entered, which was supported with such indecision that the probate was all but granted. It seemed to be put forward in the hope of something turning up. Long after, the judge stated that probate must have been granted, but for a mysterious occurrence.

One of the disappointed had been a Mr. Helps of Cheapside; and one morning in June the threepenny post brought him a letter and an enclosure. The letter was in pencil.

"The enclosed is a paper saved out of many burned by parties I could hang: they pretend it is not Wood's hand; many swear to it: they want to swindle me: let the rest know."

The enclosure was a piece of paper scorched at one corner, and torn right across the name signed to it. It ran:

"In a codicil to my will I give the corporation of Gloucester one hundred and forty thousand pounds. In this I wish my executors would give sixty thousand pounds to them for the same purpose as I have before named. I would also give to my friend Mr. Phillpotts fifty thousand pounds, to Mr. George Connell ten thousand pounds, to Mr. John Thomas Helps, Cheapside, London, thirty thousand pounds, to Mrs. Goodlake, mother of Mr. Surman, and to Thomas Wood, Smith-street, Chelsea, each twenty thousand pounds, and Samuel Wood fourteen thousand pounds, and the latter gentleman's family six thousand pounds; and I confirm all other bequests, and rive the rest of my property to the executors for their own interest.

"James Wood.

"Gloucester City Old Bank,
July, 1835."

 

The recipient of this strange communication, which seemed thus to drop from the clouds, was a connexion of the deceased. It seemed almost too apropos—too much after the pattern of the finding of a lost paper in a melodrama. But it was at once placed in proper hands, and then business really began. The Court of Probate stayed its hand; real substantial claimants rushed to the front, and the decks wore cleared for the fray. The fund would most probably have to furnish costs; so the best lawyers were engaged, and what was to be a five years' battle began.

Even with regard to the old will, some local rumours were beginning to get abroad. This instrument, when produced to the court, appeared to be a sort of compound document, consisting of two papers carefully wafered together. The first was instructions for a will, named the four executors, was in Chadborn's handwriting, and was duly signed by "Jemmy Wood." But there were no signatures of witnesses, so taken by itself it was worth nothing. The other paper was duly signed and attested, and gave all his property to his executors, subject to certain legacies and dispositions he should hereafter make. But the executors were not named. Thus each paper was deficient; the first wanted legal force, the second was "uncertain," as it named no one. Still each supplied the other's imperfection, and taken together they seemed to make a good will. The wafering together showed that such was the testator's intention.

But now it was said in Gloucester that only one paper had been put away in the bureau, and that when the will was produced, after the old man's death, there had been only a single sheet taken out of the bureau. To the amazement of the court the executors now admitted that such was the case, and Mr. Chadborn owned that he had gone home for the first paper, the "instructions," had wafered the two together, and placing them in the envelope, had sealed it up with Mr. Wood's own seal, which happened to be lying there "accidentally," he said. The envelope was then placed in the bureau.

Of this questionable transaction the four executors seemed to have all more or less knowledge. In their statement they declared what was the perfect truth, though not the whole truth—that the two papers when taken out of the envelope were together, which indeed they were, on the last occasion. In the two being attached together consisted the whole force of the will. Separate, even in two distinct drawers of the same bureau, and the executors lost their prize. It was too tempting.

Still it might be said this was a mere technical device; and as the intentions of the testator were manifest, it would be hard that they should be frustrated by an accident of this nature. Flesh and blood could hardly stand being defrauded of a million sterling, when a couple of wafers was all that was wanting to secure it, and when it was conceded that they, and no others, were the executors meant.

But the newly-found codicil pointed at some other matters. It spoke of a regular will, in which the Gloucester corporation received one hundred and forty thousand pounds, and which, taken with the second paper, made everything clear. But where was this will?

The fatuous corporation, who had made game of the testator during his life, and played their stupid jests on him, now became keenly alive to their own interests. A notice appeared offering a substantial reward for news of it, with a reward to the sender of the codicil, if he came forward. Fresh stories, too, came up from Gloucester. It was rumoured that Mr. Chadborn and a companion had been seen, just after the death, busy tearing up and burning papers in the testator's room. This was duly charged, and, strange to say, admitted. They were unimportant papers—old lottery-tickets, &c. On being pressed, it was owned that one of these papers was a sort of power of attorney to Chadborn, which, as it was now useless, he thought it better to destroy.

Then the case began to drag itself slowly through the court. It exhibited some highly characteristic instances of human subtlety and nice reasoning. No less than six-and-thirty witnesses were brought forward for the executors, to prove his hatred of the corporation of Gloucester, and his dislike of charities. Nearly all these were shown the codicil, and were almost positive as to its being a forgery. Their reasons found a valuable commentary on the fallibility of such a test. He always wrote "exors" in a peculiar way; Mr. Counsel's name was spelled "Council;" and he had been heard again and again to caution clerks and others against writing amounts in figures, as they could be altered. Yet all these vast sums were in figures. But a little industry in searching his papers, showed precedents for all these points, spelling being one of his weak points, and "Lien in Hospital" being found in his handwriting for Lying-in Hospital. Such tests are fallacious, as assuming human nature to be consistent always; and as Lord Lyndhurst acutely remarked, a forger would have taken care to write the amounts in words, not in figures, knowing this peculiarity. Though here again an ingenious advocate might retort that a more clever forger still would refine on this, and would have written in figures, because it would be said that a forger would have taken care to know his peculiarity. An instance of the speciousness of human testimony arose in the case. A Mr. Smith declared that only a few years before, he had seen a will of Jemmy Wood's, in which he had left twenty thousand pounds to an hospital, on the strange condition that the money was not to be paid until the hospital was built. This seemed particular enough; the witness was very positive, and they seemed to be on the track of something. But a sort of letter-book turned up, in which this very will was found, in Smith's writing, but it was a will he had drawn for a Mr. Chetwynd.

It was curious that all the thirty-six witnesses should have such a strong opinion against the codicil. The supporters of the latter were lucky enough to find five-and-twenty to swear positively to the writing. They gave the usual reasons, a particular flourish here, a straight stroke there. They went through in regulation cross-examination. Look at that trembling down-stroke in the letter D, now look at this D—— are the two alike?

At last, it came to decision before Sir Herbert Fust Jenner, who reviewed the whole case in what was called "an elaborate judgment." He went through all the evidence, and finally decided that he could not act upon the codicil, which had nothing to support it, and had come into being in too suspicious a manner. This decision of course affected no one, costs came out of the fund, and both parties must have appealed whatever way it had been decided. It was then taken to the Privy Council, and in 1841 Lord Lyndhurst gave what was no doubt the correct judgment, reversing that of the lower court, and thus diminishing the gains of the executors by about a quarter of a million. It was all but certain that a will had been destroyed. Most probably what had taken place was this. Chadborn returning home, and searching among his papers had found various codicils and wills, which had virtually reduced what was to come to the executors to some insignificant sum. These he found referred to each other, and were so connected that he could not destroy one without destroying all; on the other hand, by destroying them he destroyed the names of the executors, a loss he could only supply by the device of wafering on the old "instructions." The codicil he no doubt thought he had torn and burnt with the rest. Who saved that codicil? Who wrote that most dramatic note? Why did the writer conceal himself? What risk would he run by coming forward? Why was he not tempted by the handsome reward of the corporation? Had he no spirit of revenge if he had been defrauded of a legacy? Was it some spying servant, prowling about that irregular house when the ransacking and burning the papers was going on, and had he found it under the grate just scorched? Or was it some more important person in the drama, some one struck with alarm at the magnitude of the deed, or perhaps conscience stricken, and wishing to leave it to fortune to make reparation—but who dare not appear? Was it Chadborn himself?