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The next day Sir Joseph Graybrooke,
Sir Joseph's lawyer, Mr. Dicas
(highly respectable and immensely
rich), and Richard Turlington
were assembled in the library
at Muswell Hill, to discuss the
question of Natalie's marriage
settlement.
After the usual preliminary
phrases had been exchanged, Sir
Joseph showed some hesitation
in openly approaching the question
which the little party of three
had met to debate. He avoided
his lawyer's eye; and he looked
at Turlington rather uneasily.
"Richard," he began at last, "when
I spoke to you about your marriage,
on board the yacht, I said I
would give my daughter--" Either
his courage or his breath failed
him at that point. He was obliged
to wait a moment before he could
go on.
"I said I would give my daughter
half my fortune on her marriage," he
resumed. "Forgive me, Richard.
I can't do it!"
Mr. Dicas, waiting for his
instructions, laid down his pen
and looked at Sir Joseph's son-in-law
elect. What would Mr. Turlington
say?
He said nothing. Sitting opposite
the window, he rose when Sir
Joseph spoke, and placed himself
at the other side of the table,
with his back to the light.
"My eyes are weak this morning," he
said, in an unnaturally low tone
of voice. "The light hurts them."
He could find no more plausible
excuse than that for concealing
his face in shadow from the scrutiny
of the two men on either side
of him. The continuous moral
irritation of his unhappy courtship--a
courtship which had never advanced
beyond the frigid familiarity
of kissing Natalie's hand in
the presence of others-- had
physically deteriorated him.
Even _his_ hardy nerves began
to feel the long strain of suspicion
that had been laid unremittingly
on them for weeks past. His power
of self-control-- he knew it
himself--was not to be relied
on. He could hide his face: he
could no longer command it.
"Did you hear
what I said, Richard?"
"I heard. Go
on."
Sir Joseph proceeded, gathering
confidence as he advanced.
"Half my fortune!" he repeated. "It's
parting with half my life; it's
saying good-by forever to my
dearest friend! My money has
been such a comfort to me, Richard;
such a pleasant occupation for
my mind. I know no reading so
interesting and so instructive
as the reading of one's Banker's
Book. To watch the outgoings
on one side," said Sir Joseph,
with a gentle and pathetic solemnity, "and
the incomings on the other--the
sad lessening of the balance
at one time, and the cheering
and delightful growth of it at
another--what absorbing reading!
The best novel that ever was
written isn't to be mentioned
in a breath with it. I can not,
Richard, I really can _not_,
see my nice round balance shrink
up to half the figure that I
have been used to for a lifetime.
It may be weak of me," proceeded
Sir Joseph, evidently feeling
that it was not weak of him at
all, "but we all have our tender
place, and my Banker's Book is
mine. Besides, it isn't as if
you wanted it. If you wanted
it, of course--but you don't
want it. You are a rich man;
you are marrying my dear Natalie
for love, not for money. You
and she and my grandchildren
will have it all at my death.
It _can_ make no difference to
you to wait a few years till
the old man's chair at the fireside
is empty. Will you say the fourth
part, Richard, instead of the
half? Twenty thousand," pleaded
Sir Joseph, piteously. "I can
bear twenty thousand off. For
God's sake don't ask me for more!"
The lips of the lawyer twisted
themselves sourly into an ironical
smile. He was quite as fond of
his money as Sir Joseph. He ought
to have felt for his client;
but rich men have no sympathy
with one another. Mr. Dicas openly
despised Sir Joseph.
There was a pause. The robin-redbreasts
in the shrubbery outside must
have had prodigious balances
at their bankers; they hopped
up on the window-sill so fearlessly;
they looked in with so little
respect at the two rich men.
"Don't keep me in suspense,
Richard," proceeded Sir Joseph. "Speak
out. Is it yes or no?"
Turlington struck his hand
excitedly on the table, and burst
out on a sudden with the answer
which had been so strangely delayed.
"Twenty thousand with all my
heart!" he said. "On this condition,
Graybrooke, that every farthing
of it is settled on Natalie,
and on her children after her.
Not a half-penny to me!" he cried
magnanimously, in his brassiest
tones. "Not a half- penny to
me!"
Let no man say the rich are
heartless. Sir Joseph seized
his son-in-law's hand in silence,
and burst into tears.
Mr. Dicas,
habitually a silent man, uttered
the first two words
that had escaped him since the
business began. "Highly creditable," he
said, and took a note of his
instructions on the spot.
From that point
the business of the settlement
flowed smoothly
on to its destined end. Sir Joseph
explained his views at the fullest
length, and the lawyer's pen
kept pace with him. Turlington,
remaining in his place at the
table, restricted himself to
a purely passive part in the
proceedings. He answered briefly
when it was absolutely necessary
to speak, and he agreed with
the two elders in everything.
A man has no attention to place
at the disposal of other people
when he stands at a crisis in
his life. Turlington stood at
that crisis, at the trying moment
when Sir Joseph's unexpected
proposal pressed instantly for
a reply. Two merciless alternatives
confronted him. Either he must
repay the borrowed forty thousand
pounds on the day when repayment
was due, or he must ask Bulpit
Brothers to grant him an extension
of time, and so inevitably provoke
an examination into the fraudulent
security deposited with the firm,
which could end in but one way.
His last, literally his last
chance, after Sir Joseph had
diminished the promised dowry
by one half, was to adopt the
high-minded tone which became
his position, and to conceal
the truth until he could reveal
it to his father-in-law in the
privileged character of Natalie's
husband. "I owe forty thousand
pounds, sir, in a fortnight's
time, and I have not got a farthing
of my own. Pay for me, or you
will see your son-in- law's name
in the Bankrupt's List." For
his daughter's sake--who could
doubt it?--Sir Joseph would produce
the money. The one thing needful
was to be married in time. If
either by accident or treachery
Sir Joseph was led into deferring
the appointed day, by so much
as a fortnight only, the fatal "call" would
come, and the firm of Pizzituti,
Turlington & Branca would appear
in the Gazette.
So he reasoned, standing on
the brink of the terrible discovery
which was soon to reveal to him
that Natalie was the wife of
another man.
"Richard!"
"Mr. Turlington!"
He started, and roused his
attention to present things.
Sir Joseph on one side, and the
lawyer on the other, were both
appealing to him, and both regarding
him with looks of amazement.
"Have you done with the settlement?" he
asked.
"My dear Richard, we have done
with it long since, " replied
Sir Joseph. "Have you really
not heard what I have been saying
for the last quarter of an hour
to good Mr. Dicas here? What
_can_ you have been thinking
of?"
Turlington
did not attempt to answer the
question. "Am I
interested," he asked, "in what
you have been saying to Mr. Dicas?"
"You shall judge for yourself," answered
Sir Joseph, mysteriously; "I
have been giving Mr. Dicas his
instructions for making my Will.
I wish the Will and the Marriage-Settlement
to be executed at the same time.
Read the instructions, Mr. Dicas."
Sir Joseph's contemplated Will
proved to have two merits--it
was simple and it was short.
Excepting one or two trifling
legacies to distant relatives,
he had no one to think of (Miss
Lavinia being already provided
for) but his daughter and the
children who might be born of
her marriage. In its various
provisions, made with these two
main objects in view, the Will
followed the precedents established
in such cases. It differed in
no important respect from the
tens of thousands of other wills
made under similar circumstances.
Sir Joseph's motive in claiming
special attention for it still
remained unexplained, when Mr.
Dicas reached the clause devoted
to the appointment of executors
and trustees; and announced that
this portion of the document
was left in blank.
"Sir Joseph Graybrooke, are
you prepared to name the persons
whom you appoint?" asked the
lawyer.
Sir Joseph rose, apparently
for the purpose of giving special
importance to the terms in which
he answered his lawyer's question.
"I appoint," he said, "as
sole executor and trustee--Richard
Turlington."
It was no easy matter to astonish
Mr. Dicas. Sir Joseph's reply
absolutely confounded him. He
looked across the table at his
client and delivered himself
on this special occasion of as
many as three words.
"Are you mad?" he
asked.
Sir Joseph's
healthy complexion slightly
reddened. "I never was
in more complete possession of
myself, Mr. Dicas, than at this
moment."
Mr. Dicas was not to be silenced
in that way.
"Are you aware of what you
do," persisted the lawyer, "if
you appoint Mr. Turlington as
sole executor and trustee? You
put it in the power of your daughter's
husband, sir, to make away with
every farthing of your money
after your death."
Turlington had hitherto listened
with an appearance of interest
in the proceedings, which he
assumed as an act of politeness.
To his view, the future was limited
to the date at which Bulpit Brothers
had a right to claim the repayment
of their loan. The Will was a
matter of no earthly importance
to him, by comparison with the
infinitely superior interest
of the Marriage. It was only
when the lawyer's brutally plain
language forced his attention
to it that the question of his
pecuniary interest in his father-in-law's
death assumed its fit position
in his mind.
_His_ color rose; and _he_
too showed that he was offended
by what Mr. Dicas had just said.
"Not a word, Richard! Let me
speak for you as well as for
myself," said Sir Joseph. "For
seven years past," he continued,
turning to the lawyer, "I have
been accustomed to place the
most unlimited trust in Richard
Turlington. His disinterested
advice has enabled me largely
to increase my income, without
placing a farthing of the principal
in jeopardy. On more than one
occasion, I have entreated him
to make use of my money in his
business. He has invariably refused
to do so. Even his bitterest
enemies, sir, have been obliged
to acknowledge that my interests
were safe when committed to his
care. Am I to begin distrusting
him, now that I am about to give
him my daughter in marriage?
Am I to leave it on record that
I doubt him for the first time--when
my Will is opened after my death?
No! I can confide the management
of the fortune which my child
will inherit after me to no more
competent or more honorable hands
than the hands of the man who
is to marry her. I maintain my
appointment, Mr. Dicas! I persist
in placing the whole responsibility
under my Will in my son-in-law's
care."
Turlington
attempted to speak. The lawyer
attempted to speak.
Sir Joseph--with a certain simple
dignity which had its effect
on both of them--declined to
hear a word on either side. "No,
Richard! as long as I am alive
this is my business, not yours.
No, Mr. Dicas! I understand that
it is your business to protest
professionally. You have protested.
Fill in the blank space as I
have told you. Or leave the instructions
on the table, and I will send
for the nearest solicitor to
complete them in your place."
Those words placed the lawyer's
position plainly before him.
He had no choice but to do as
he was bid, or to lose a good
client. He did as he was bid,
and grimly left the room
Sir Joseph, with old-fashioned
politeness, followed him as far
as the hall. Returning to the
library to say a few friendly
words before finally dismissing
the subject of the Will, he found
himself seized by the arm, and
dragged without ceremony, in
Turlington's powerful grasp,
to the window.
"Richard!" he exclaimed, "what
does this mean?"
"Look!" cried the other, pointing
through the window to a grassy
walk in the grounds, bounded
on either side by shrubberies,
and situated at a little distance
from the house. "Who is that
man?-- quick! before we lose
sight of him--the man crossing
there from one shrubbery to the
other?" Sir Joseph failed to
recognize the figure before it
disappeared. Turlington whispered
fiercely, close to his ear--"Launcelot
Linzie!"
In perfect
good faith Sir Joseph declared
that the man could not
possibly have been Launce. Turlington's
frenzy of jealous suspicion was
not to be so easily calmed. He
asked significantly for Natalie.
She was reported to be walking
in the grounds. "I knew it!" he
said, with an oath--and hurried
out into the grounds to discover
the truth for himself.
Some little
time elapsed before he came
back to the house. He
had discovered Natalie--alone.
Not a sign of Launce had rewarded
his search. For the hundredth
time he had offended Natalie.
For the hundredth time he was
compelled to appeal to the indulgence
of her father and her aunt. "It
won't happen again," he said,
sullenly penitent. "You will
find me quite another man when
I have got you all at my house
in the country. Mind!" he burst
out, with a furtive look, which
expressed his inveterate distrust
of Natalie and of every one about
her. "Mind! it's settled that
you all come to me in Somersetshire,
on Monday next." Sir Joseph answered
rather dryly that it was settled.
Turlington turned to leave the
room--and suddenly came back. "It's
understood," he went on, addressing
Miss Lavinia, "that the seventh
of next month is the date fixed
for the marriage. Not a day later!" Miss
Lavinia replied, rather dryly
on her side, "Of course, Richard;
not a day later. "He muttered, "All
right" and hurriedly left them.
Half an hour afterward Natalie
came in, looking a little confused.
"Has he gone?" she
asked, whispering to her aunt.
Relieved on this point, she
made straight for the library--a
room which she rarely entered
at that or any other period of
the day. Miss Lavinia followed
her, curious to know what it
meant. Natalie hurried to the
window, and waved her handkerchief--
evidently making a signal to
some one outside. Miss Lavinia
instantly joined her, and took
her sharply by the hand.
"Is it possible, Natalie?" she
asked. "Has Launcelot Linzie
really been here, unknown to
your father or to me?"
"Where is the harm if he has?" answered
Natalie, with a sudden outbreak
of temper. "Am I never to see
my cousin again, because Mr.
Turlington happens to be jealous
of him?"
She suddenly turned away her
head. The rich color flowed over
her face and neck. Miss Lavinia,
proceeding sternly with the administration
of the necessary reproof, was
silenced midway by a new change
in her niece's variable temper.
Natalie burst into tears. Satisfied
with this appearance of sincere
contrition, the old lady consented
to overlook what had happened;
and, for this occasion only,
to keep her niece's secret. They
would all be in Somersetshire,
she remarked, before any more
breaches of discipline could
be committed. Richard had fortunately
made no disco veries; and the
matter might safely be trusted,
all things considered, to rest
where it was.
Miss Lavinia might possibly
have taken a less hopeful view
of the circumstances, if she
had known that one of the men-servants
at Muswell Hill was in Richard
Turlington's pay, and that this
servant had seen Launce leave
the grounds by the back-garden
gate.
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