THE WRONG DISCLOSED.
"GOOD weather for the corn, Miss Aldyth, but not altogether comfortable
for human beings."
The speaker was Mr. Ralph Greenwood, and he was alighting from a chaise
at the entrance to Wyndham. Aldyth had just stepped into the road from
a field to the left, and he chose to get down and walk with her.
"It is hot," said Aldyth, who, however, in her white and large hat
looked by no means oppressed by the heat.
The broad flat fields were one blaze of sunlight, and only the faintest
zephyr stirred the leaves. Aldyth smiled to see the little lawyer
wiping his brow with an air of resignation. She was alone, save for her
usual attendant, a beautiful Scotch collie.
"It was good of you to drive out on such a warm afternoon," she said;
"there is no shade whatever along that road. But come this way; it is a
nearer and pleasanter path to the house."
She opened a little gate into the grounds, and they followed a narrow,
winding path through the shrubbery. The man in charge of the chaise
drove slowly on along the carriage drive.
"Ah, this is pleasant," said Mr. Greenwood, recovering his usual brisk
manner. "I have come, Miss Aldyth, because there is a little matter I
must name to you."
"Oh, if it is business, please do not begin upon it till I have had a
cup of tea," said Aldyth, imploringly; "this weather does not stimulate
one's brains."
The lawyer laughed.
"Perhaps not," he said, "though your appearance gives a contrary
impression. I feared my coming might rouse you from a siesta, but your
energy is beyond everything. How many miles have you been walking in
this fervent heat?"
"Not one," said Aldyth. "I have only been to the Cottage. A fresh party
of girls came from London last evening. It is good to see their delight
in the place. Despite the heat, it seems like a Paradise to them."
"They would hardly be conscious of the heat here after East London," he
replied. "I shudder to think what those courts and alleys must be like
on such a day as this. Then your plan is working well?"
"Yes, fairly well," said Aldyth. "Poor old Mrs. Dibbins was at first
rather frightened of the girls, but she is learning how to manage them.
They are rough, poor things; they have no idea of enjoying themselves
quietly; but we shall tame them by degrees. I go down every day for a
little while."
"It is very good of you," said Mr. Greenwood.
"No, it is not good," said Aldyth, shaking her head; "it is just my
hobby. I can assure you few things have given me more pleasure than I
have found in arranging this home. I am so glad I have the means of
doing it."
"Then you have become reconciled to your riches?" he said, with one of
his quick, shrewd glances.
"I believe so," said Aldyth, simply. "I value the power that money
confers; I am afraid I should not like to lose it now."
"Strange things happen in life," observed the lawyer, thoughtfully
stroking his chin.
His words had no particular significance for Aldyth. She supposed them
to refer to her unexpected acquisition of the property. They were
approaching the house. She led him across the lawn, and they entered by
one of the drawing room windows.
Aldyth regretted the unceremonious entrance as she saw her mother
rise, pale and dismayed, from the sofa. Yet Mrs. Stanton was not
unprepared for visitors. She wore a black gown of some light diaphanous
texture, elegantly made, and becoming well her tall, graceful form. She
conquered her nervousness by an assumption of the most queenly dignity.
Mr. Greenwood thought her demeanour absurdly "high and mighty;" but
he was moved to pity by the look of suffering stamped on the pale,
handsome features.
"This hot weather is trying you, I fear," he said, kindly. "You do not
look strong."
"I am in my usual health, thank you," she replied, so haughtily that
his remark seemed an impertinence.
"We must have some tea," said Aldyth, moving towards the bell; "that is
what we want—Mr. Greenwood most of all, since he has driven along that
hot, dusty road to speak with me on business."
"If it is business, I had better go," said Mrs. Stanton, half rising
with a languid movement.
"Mamma!" cried Aldyth, reproachfully. "As if my business were not
yours!"
Mrs. Stanton sank back into her place. She was longing yet dreading to
hear the lawyer's business.
"It is nothing to make a mystery of," said Mr. Greenwood, in his easy,
cheerful manner. "I only want Miss Aldyth to be kind enough to let me
look through her uncle's papers once more. A curious fact has come to
light."
The blood flew into Mrs. Stanton's face, her heart throbbed wildly, her
breath came fast. What was he about to say?
"You have heard of Mr. Gould, Miss Dawtrey's fiancé? He is a solicitor,
practising in London; his office is in Chancery Lane. Well, Mr. Guy
Lorraine has lately made his acquaintance, and has heard from him a
strange story. It seems that Mr. Stephen Lorraine, only a few months
before his death—in April, I believe it was—went to London and called
on him. He said he wished to make a will, and must have it drawn up
at once, that he might sign it without delay. He gave certain clear,
concise directions, and waited there in the office for three whole
hours till the will was ready for his signature. Gould and his clerk
were the witnesses. Mr. Lorraine insisted on carrying the will away
with him. There was no time to make a copy."
"Then that was what brought uncle to London!" The words escaped Aldyth
almost unawares.
"You knew of his being there?"
"Yes, I met him most unexpectedly in Oxford Street. I remember he had
a small packet in his hand. He made me promise to tell no one of my
meeting him—he did not want it talked about at Woodham."
"Ah, that was it," said the lawyer quickly; "he wanted to do it on the
sly, without my knowing anything about it. He was ashamed to let me
know that he had changed his mind. I had put things to him as strongly
as I dared. But what a mistake it was! Why could he not have come to
me, his own lawyer, and let me draw up another will for him?
"Now who is to say what has become of this last will? Did he change his
mind a second time and destroy it, intending the former will to stand?
Or have we overlooked this, his last will, and is it yet to be found?
This is a vital question for you, Miss Aldyth. You understand, do you
not, that the will by which you inherit was made in January of last
year, and would be invalid if a later one were found?"
"I understand!" said Aldyth.
She was startled but not confused by the lawyer's words. In a moment
her mind had grasped the whole situation. She saw all that it involved
for Guy, for herself, for her mother. A few minutes before she had been
rejoicing in the power her wealth gave her; now it seemed probable
that the wealth had never been hers. Well, she had been happy without
riches, and she could be happy without them again. Her mother would
feel the change most.
For a few moments Aldyth dared not glance towards her mother; she
wondered that no word or sound escaped her. Whilst these thoughts were
passing through Aldyth's mind with lightning speed, the lawyer went on
talking in courteously regretful tones.
"It is much to be deplored that there should be any question as to
the validity of the will. Mr. Lorraine ought to have acquainted use
with his intentions. It is a very awkward thing when a later will is
discovered, after one has been proved and put into execution. Mr.
Gould avers that this later will bequeathed Wyndham and most of the
property to Mr. Guy Lorraine; he, naturally, is much excited by the
intelligence. I told him I was sure you would have no objection to my
instituting a thorough search for the missing document."
Aldyth's mind had taken a new flight during his deliberate utterances.
She was recalling the words her uncle had said to her as they sat
together in Hyde Park, recalling too the drear hour when she stood by
his bedside, and he had vainly striven to say to her something which
was believed to have reference to his will.
"Uncle did not destroy that will," she exclaimed aloud, in a tone of
conviction; "it will be found somewhere in this house, I fully believe.
Search for it by all means—search everywhere. How I wish we had known
of it before!"
An exclamation from Mr. Greenwood startled her.
She turned to see her mother falling in a fainting fit to the floor.
During the next two hours, Aldyth had no thought of any one save her
mother. Mrs. Stanton recovered from one swoon only to sink back into
another. Her condition was so alarming that a messenger was despatched
with all haste to seek the doctor.
Mr. Greenwood lingered in the drawing room, not knowing whether to go
or to stay, and making vain offers of service to every one who came in
his way, till Gladys took pity on him, and managed to get from Aldyth
the keys of the library, after which he found plenty of occupation.
The medical man appeared to think seriously of Mrs. Stanton's
condition. He inquired if she had sustained any shock that could
account for it. It could hardly be called shock, Aldyth said; but she
had heard what might well cause her anxiety. Perhaps, he suggested, it
was the last of a series of mental disturbances—the "last straw" of the
proverb. The symptoms indicated a shattered condition of the nerves
and a complete prostration of strength. Aldyth could not say that her
mother had of late had great worries; but she had certainly for some
time seemed restless and unhappy, and doubtless the loss of her husband
and the ruin of his firm were sufficient cause.
It was evening ere Aldyth found leisure to go down stairs and see
what Mr. Greenwood was doing. She found him in the library. He had
thoroughly ransacked the bureau, and in doing so had discovered the
secret recess.
"Look!" he said, as he pointed it out to her. "This was what led me to
the discovery. The third drawer was unlocked; it would not quite close.
I searched for the cause, and saw this bit of white stuff caught at
the back. Pulling out the drawer to free it, I saw a little nick in
the wood, which let me into the secret of the hollow beyond. Now, that
piece of stuff was never worn by Stephen Lorraine. Some one has been
prying here. Was it one of the servants, do you think?"
"No," said Aldyth. "Mrs. Rogers kept the keys; she would not let one of
the servants have them; and my trust in her is absolute."
"Yes?" said the lawyer, with a rather dubious air.
Aldyth bent to examine the fragment of linen. It was of the finest
lawn, apparently torn from a frill, such as her mother had been wont
to wear in the sleeves of her crape gown. Aldyth's colour rose with
the thought. Various possibilities suggested themselves to her mind.
She could not have told why it was, but from that moment, the idea
that her mother was concealing some knowledge of the later will took
possession of Aldyth's mind, and refused to be dislodged. She turned to
Mr. Greenwood, speaking rather tremulously—
"Mrs. Rogers had nothing to do with this, I feel certain; but I will
make inquiries, I will try to ascertain if any one has been to the
bureau."
"It will be well, to do so," he replied.
"Will you search further to-night?" she asked.
"No, not now. I must be getting home," he said.
"You will have some dinner before you start?"
"No, thank you, I must not stay. Mrs. Greenwood will be expecting me. I
shall be out again in a day or two. Mrs. Stanton will be better then, I
trust."
"I hope so," Aldyth said. "But I feel uneasy, her pulse is so high."
It was indeed many days ere Mrs. Stanton could be pronounced on the way
to recovery. She developed a kind of low fever, and though her life was
never in actual danger, her condition was such that Aldyth suffered
much anxiety.
Part of the time she was delirious, and the words she uttered in her
delirium seemed to confirm the painful impression Aldyth had received.
Something evidently weighed on the mind of the patient, something she
was anxious to conceal.
Was it a wrong done to Guy, that his name was so often on her
lips, uttered in tones of aversion and dread? What was it that she
persistently declared to be "no crime under the circumstances?"
Crime! The word thrilled Aldyth with horror. Could it possibly be that
her mother had destroyed the will by which Guy should have inherited
Wyndham? Aldyth could not seriously entertain the idea, and yet the
fear haunted her. Miserable was her anxiety and suspense as she watched
beside her mother's bed, performing every duty with the tenderest care.
The very thought of her inheritance had become a torture to her. What
if she had no right to the home she occupied? What if she were daily
spending money that was not hers?
Meanwhile search had been made throughout the house, in every possible
and impossible place, for the missing will. Only the sick-room had not
been searched. Aldyth longed for the day when she might satisfy herself
with regard to that, but it would have been impossible for her to look
through drawers and cupboards without her mother's permission.
The fever passed, but left the patient so reduced in strength, that her
progress towards convalescence was of the slowest. Mind as well as body
was sadly depressed. Aldyth did not need the doctor's hint to convince
her that there was a burden on her mother's mind which retarded her
recovery.
In vain Aldyth tried to discover its nature. It was impossible to give
help whilst confidence was resolutely withheld. Mrs. Stanton never
alluded to the lawyer's visit, nor inquired the result of his search.
She might have forgotten all about it, yet Aldyth felt sure that she
had not. Was not this the cause of her deep-drawn sighs, her weary
movements, and the sleeplessness which defied the doctor's drugs?
One warm afternoon, Mrs. Stanton lay on the couch in her bedroom.
"We shall soon have you down stairs now, mamma," Aldyth had said, as
she helped her into her dressing-gown.
But her mother only shook her head and sighed. The thought of resuming
her old life was distasteful to her. She had taken a dislike to
Wyndham, and her strongest desire at the present moment was to escape
from the place. Yet her heart clung to the comforts and luxuries which
Aldyth's inheritance had secured for her.
"It is very warm," she murmured, presently. "Where is that palm-leaf
fan, Aldyth? It is lighter to hold than this one."
"I could not find it yesterday," Aldyth replied; "perhaps it is in the
wardrobe."
She opened the doors as she spoke.
The next minute, Mrs. Stanton saw with a thrill of dread that Aldyth
had mounted a chair, and was searching on the top shelf of the
wardrobe. A hectic colour suddenly glowed in the cheeks of the invalid;
her voice was sharp to shrillness, as she exclaimed—
"What are you doing, Aldyth? You will not find it there. Come down at
once; you know I cannot bear people to turn over my things."
Startled by her mother's manner, Aldyth sprang down. "Why, mamma, I
was doing no harm," she said; "there is hardly anything on that shelf
except your travelling desk."
A shudder ran through Mrs. Stanton's weakened frame. She was ashamed to
meet her daughter's eyes, full of wonder at her excessive agitation.
Aldyth's glance was penetrating; she half read, half guessed the cause
of that agitation. Hence her next remark—"Mamma, I may soon have to ask
you to let me look through your wardrobe and drawers."
"What do you mean?"
"I promised Mr. Greenwood I would look everywhere for that will. Do you
remember about it?"
For a few moments Mrs. Stanton could not reply. Her face grew ashy
white to the very lips. Then she rallied herself to utter the retort,
"What right has he or any one to suppose that it can be amongst my
things? That wardrobe contains only what is mine."
"He supposes nothing of the kind," said Aldyth; "I only want, for my
own satisfaction, to be able to assure him that the will is nowhere in
the house."
Mrs. Stanton's lips moved, but no sound passed them. She could not
utter the untrue word. Something within her said that it was vain to
struggle longer; further concealment was impossible. Yet she shrank
from the disclosure that must be made.
"Mother, do you know anything about this will?"
Mrs. Stanton covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.
"Mamma! Then it is so. Tell me—where is it?"
No reply. Mrs. Stanton began to sob.
"Mamma, I must know." There was sternness in Aldyth's voice now. "You
have not destroyed the will?"
"No, no; not that!" cried Mrs. Stanton, excitedly. "Nothing so bad as
that. You will think it very wrong, I know; but I did it for the best."
"What did you do for the best?" asked Aldyth, trying hard to control
herself, but with an inevitable hardness in her manner. "You found the
will, I suppose. What have you done with it?"
"Yes, I found it," sobbed Mrs. Stanton, "and I have not had a happy
moment since. It is up there, Aldyth. You were near it just now. In the
travelling desk."
In another minute, Aldyth had the desk in her hands.
Directed by her mother, she found the key and opened the desk. There
was the will, and a glance assured Aldyth it was the one that Mr. Gould
had drawn up for her uncle.
"How long is it since you found this?" Aldyth inquired.
"Oh, a long time ago," sobbed Mrs. Stanton. "Aldyth, don't look at me
like that. It cannot matter so very much."
"I must know when," said Aldyth, firmly.
"Well, then, it was the day after I came to Wyndham. Mrs. Rogers gave
me the keys, and I thought I would amuse myself by looking through the
bureau. It was in a secret recess behind some drawers. Oh, I wish I had
never found it! It made me miserable."
"Wish rather that you had never concealed it," cried Aldyth, unable
to suppress her indignation. "How could you bear to go on living so
for nearly a year, living in a home which does not belong to us, on
an income to which we have no right, living like common thieves and
swindlers?"
"Aldyth, how can you speak so!"
"I cannot gloss it over, mamma," said Aldyth, coldly. "It was an act of
dishonesty, look at it how you will. Guy was kept out of his property.
But there shall be an end to it."
"What are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Stanton, in a frightened tone,
as Aldyth turned to quit the room.
"I shall send for Guy at once that he may hear what you have told me."
"Not from me!" cried Mrs. Stanton, excitedly. "I could not tell him.
And there is surely no need to tell him everything. It is enough that
the will is found."
"It is not enough," said Aldyth, decidedly. "Guy has a right to know
all. Nothing can justify further concealment. If I were you, I would
make a full confession to him."
"That I can never do," sobbed her mother. "I could not bear the shame,
the exposure."
"Then I will tell him," said Aldyth. "It may not be necessary for
others to know, but I must insist upon Guy's being told all."
"You are unkind to me, Aldyth!" cried her mother, passionately. "You do
not care how much I suffer."
The words smote Aldyth. Was her proud sense of the wrong done to
herself as well as to Guy rendering her pitiless? She remembered her
mother's weakness, her recent illness, and the doctor's fear of a
relapse, all the suffering which her sin had caused her. She went back
and spoke in a softer tone as she bent over her mother.
"Forgive me, mamma, if I seem harsh and cruel. You do not know what
this is to me. I would not for the world have had you act so. But it
cannot be helped now, and you have suffered greatly. It only remains
for us to do all in our power to make amends to Guy. And we must begin
by full confession. There is no other way to peace for those who have
sinned. It is when we confess and forsake our sin that we find mercy."
"I never meant to do anything so very bad," sobbed Mrs. Stanton; "but
I thought it would be so dreadful for us all to be poor. Gladys's
prospects would be ruined, and Cecil's education stopped. I am sure I
did it for the best."
Aldyth's face grew stern again.
"It can never be well, to do what is wrong," she said, abruptly. Then,
feeling that words were of little use, she left the room, carrying the
will with her.
Gladys was not to be found, so she sent Mrs. Rogers to take care of her
mother, and sat down to write a few lines to Guy. They were quickly
written and the note despatched.
Aldyth breathed more freely when this was done. She went to her room,
and the first thing which met her eyes was the portrait of her mother,
on which her affection had feasted through the long years of absence.
Mrs. Stanton's wan, wasted countenance of to-day had little resemblance
to the lovely contour of the photograph; and no less a contrast did her
mother's character, as Aldyth now knew it, present to that of the ideal
mother whom Aldyth had worshipped in her heart through all those years.
Ah, the pity of it! Aldyth's heart throbbed with pain as those fancies
of the past came back to her recognized as illusions. It was her
mother who had done this wrong, this dishonourable action. With what a
burning sense of shame and degradation Aldyth realized the truth! She
had not dreamed that she would ever be called to share the burden of
her mother's sin. It pressed upon her cruelly. She felt as if she were
the guilty one. How could she confess to Guy the wrong that had been
done him? It was useless to ask. There was no evading the task, and she
summoned all her resolution for performance of the painful duty.