JOAN HASTE, H. RIDER HAGGARD [free ereaders TXT] 📗

him, and he determined to do that alone which, under happier circumstances, it should have been his duty to do with his widowed mother and his sister at his side. Painfully he dragged himself from the bed, and, placing a candle and a box of matches in the pocket of his dressing-gown, he limped upon his crutches across the silent corridor and into the death-chamber, where the atmosphere was so heavy with the scent of flowers that for a moment it brought back his faintness. Recovering himself, he closed the door and made shift to light his candle. Then by its solitary light he approached the bed on which his father's corpse was lying, half hidden by wreaths and covered with a sheet. With a trembling hand he drew down the wrapping and exposed the dead man's face. It was calm enough now: there was no trace there of the tormenting grief that had been upon it in the moment of dissolution; it bore the seal of perfect peace, and, notwithstanding the snowy hair, a more youthful aspect than Henry could remember it to have worn, even in the days of his childhood.

In sad and solemn silence Henry gazed upon the clay that had given him life, and great bitterness and sorrow took hold of him. He covered his eyes with his hand, and prayed that God might forgive him for the pain which he had caused his father in his last hour, and that his father might forgive him too in the land where all things are understood, for there he would learn that he could not have spoken otherwise. Well, he was reaping as he had sown, and there remained nothing to him except to make amendment as best he could. Then with a great effort he dragged himself up upon the bed, and kissed his father's forehead.

Having replaced the sheet, he extinguished the candle and turned to leave the room. As he opened the door he saw a figure draped in black, who stood in the passage listening. It was his mother. She advanced towards him with a cold, sad mien, and opened her lips as though to speak. Then the light fell upon his face, and she saw that it was torn by grief and stained with tears, and her look softened, for now she understood something of what her son's sufferings must be. Still she did not speak, and in silence, except for the tapping of his crutches on the polished floor, Henry passed her with bowed head, and reached his room again.

 

In due course the family returned from the funeral, and, outwardly at any rate, a break occurred in the conspiracy of silence and neglect of which Henry was the object, for it was necessary that he should be present at the reading of the will. This ceremony took place in the bedroom of the new baronet, and gathered there were a representative from the London firm of lawyers that had managed, or mismanaged, the Graves's affairs for several generations, the widow, Ellen, and Edward Milward. Bowing gravely to Sir Henry, the lawyer broke the seals of the document and began the farce--for a farce it was, seeing that the will had been signed nearly five-and-twenty years before, when the position of the family was very different. After reciting the provisions of the entail--that, by the way, had long been cut--under which his deceased brother Reginald should have entered into the enjoyment of all the land and hereditaments and the real property generally, with remainder to his children, or, in the event of his death without issue, to Henry, the testator went on to deal with the jointure of the widow, which was fixed at eight hundred a year in addition to the income arising from her own fortune, that, alas! had long since been lost or muddled away. Then it made provision for the younger children--ten thousand to Henry and eight thousand to Ellen--to be paid out of the personalty, or, should this prove insufficient, to be raised by way of rentcharge on the estate, as provided for under the marriage settlement of Sir Reginald and his wife; and, after various legacies and directions as to the disposal of heirlooms, ended by constituting Reginald, or, in the event of his death without issue, Henry, residuary legatee.

When he had finished reading this lengthy document, which he well knew not to be worth the paper on which it was written, the lawyer solemnly exhibited the signatures of the testator and of the attesting witnesses, and laid it down with a sigh. Three of the listeners were aware that the will might as well have affected to dispose of the crown of England as to devise to them these various moneys, lands and chattels; but the fourth, Edward Milward, who had never been admitted to full confidence as to the family position, was vastly pleased to learn that his future wife inherited so considerable a sum, to say nothing of her chance of succeeding to the entire estate should Henry die without issue. That there had been embarrassments and mortgage charges he knew, but these, he concluded, were provided for by life insurances, and had rolled off the back of the property on the death of the late owner. Indeed, he showed his pleasure so plainly in his face that the lawyer, guessing he was labouring under some such delusion, hesitated and looked at him pointedly before he proceeded to make remarks upon the document. Ellen, always on the watch, took the hint, and, laying her hand affectionately on Milward's shoulder, said in a low voice:

"Perhaps you will not mind leaving us for a few moments, Edward: I fancy there are one or two matters that my mother would not like to be discussed outside her own family at present."

"Certainly," answered Edward, who, having learned all he wished to know, rejoiced at the chance of escape, seeing that funerals and will-reading exercised a depressing effect upon his spirits.

Lady Graves was at the other end of the room and looking out of an open window, so that she did not overhear these remarks. Henry, however, did hear them, and spoke for the first time.

"I think that you had better stay, Milward," he said: "there is nothing to conceal," and he smiled grimly at his own /double-entendre/.

"No, thanks," answered Edward airily: "I have heard all I want to know, so I will go into the garden and smoke a cigarette." And before Henry could speak again he was gone.

"You are probably aware, Sir Henry," began the lawyer, "that all the main provisions of this document"--and he tapped the will with his knuckle--"fall to the ground, for the reason that the capital sums with which they dealt were exhausted some years since; though I am bound to tell you that, in my opinion, the legality of the methods by which some of those sums were brought into possession might even now be contested."

"Yes," answered Henry, "and good money thrown after bad."

"Of course," went on the lawyer, "you succeed to the estates, which have been little, if at all, diminished in acreage; but they are, I believe, mortgaged to more than their present value in favour of a Mr. Levinger, who holds the securities in trust for his daughter, and to whom there is a large sum due by way of back interest."

"Yes, I am aware of it."

"Hem," said the lawyer. "Then I am afraid that there is not much more to say, is there? I trust that you may be able--to find means to meet--these various liabilities, in which case we shall be most happy to act for you in the matter. By the way, we still have a small sum in our hands that was sent to us by our late esteemed client to pay a debt of your late brother's, which on enquiry was found not to be owing. This we propose to remit to you, after deducting the amount of our account current."

"By all means deduct the account current," said Henry; "for, you see, you may not get another chance of paying yourselves. Well, the carriage is waiting for you. Good afternoon."

The lawyer gathered up his papers, shook hands all round, bowed and went.

"Well," he thought to himself as he drove towards the station, "I am glad to be clear of this business: somehow it was more depressing than most funerals. I suppose that there's an end of a connection that has lasted a hundred years, though there will be some pickings when the estate is foreclosed on. I am glad it didn't happen in Sir Reginald's time, for I had a liking for the old man and his grand last-century manners. The new baronet seems a roughish fellow, with a sharp edge to his tongue; but I dare say he has a deal to worry him, and he looks very ill. What fools they were to cut the entail! They can't blame us about it, anyway, for we remonstrated with them strongly enough. Sir Reginald was under the thumb of that dead son of his--that's the fact, and he was a scamp, or something like it. Now they are beggared, absolutely beggared: they won't even be able to pay their debts. It's not one man's funeral that I have been assisting at--it is that of a whole ancient family, without benefit of clergy or hope of resurrection. The girl is going to marry a rich man: she knows which side her bread is buttered, and has a good head on her shoulders--that's one comfort. Well, they are bankrupt and done with, and it is no good distressing myself over what can't be helped. Here's the station. I wonder if I need tip the coachman. I remember he drove me when I came down to the elder boy's christening; we were both young then. Not necessary, I think: I sha'n't be likely to see him again."

CHAPTER XVI(FORTITER IN RE.)

 

When the lawyer had gone, for a while there was silence in Henry's room. Everybody seemed to wish to speak, and yet no one could find any words to say. Of course Henry was aware that the subject which had been discussed at the last dreadful scene of his father's life would be renewed on the first opportunity, but he was nervously anxious that it should not be now, when he did not feel able to cope with the bitter arguments which he was sure Ellen was preparing for him, and still less with the pleadings of his mother, should she condescend to plead. After all it was he who spoke the first.

"Perhaps, Ellen," he said, "you will tell me who were present at our father's funeral."

"Everybody," she answered; adding, with meaning, "You see, the truth about us has not yet come out. We are still supposed to be people of honour and position."

Her mother turned and made a gesture with her hand, as though to express disapproval of the tone in which she spoke; and, taking the hint, Ellen went on in a dry, clear voice, like that of one who reads an inventory, to give the names of the neighbours who attended the burial, and of more distant friends who had