As soon as Sam received the news of his father’s death, he obtained
leave of absence, and arrived the same afternoon at Stanton. Emma was
sitting in the darkened parlour, when she heard an unknown step in
the passage. The stranger passed the door, then paused, returned, and
entered slowly. There was not more than the doubt of the moment as to
his identity. There was so strong a family likeness, a likeness in more
than features, a likeness in mind and temper, a sympathy of character,
that the hesitation of brother and sister was brief indeed. The cordial
fraternal embrace which followed was too much for Emma’s composure,
and she burst into tears. Sam was deeply affected, but commanded his
emotion in order to soothe her, and soon they were seated side by side,
with his arm about her, while he drew from her all the circumstances
of their father’s death. That hour repaid Emma for much that she had
suffered.
When later he was greeted by Penelope and Margaret with indifference,
and by Robert with almost the appearance of aversion, Emma was grieved
for him, and Elizabeth’s kindly preoccupation was still below his
deserts. Sam, however, seemed quite unconscious of anything lacking,
and only anxious to resume his conversation with Emma, which had been
interrupted by the entrance of the others. Soon they were pacing the
shrubbery while they talked. They spoke of her past life, her uncle
and aunt, and the effects of the changes that had taken place. They
spoke of their father. They spoke of Sam’s prospects, of his attachment
to Mary Edwards, of his hopes of success in his profession. Then they
returned to Emma’s outlook, and he regretted the necessity for the move
to Croydon, and the sojourn in Robert’s house.
“I cannot bear that you should be with Jane,” he said. “She has nothing
to recommend her to such as you. She will never understand you, and
will make no effort.”
Emma protested that she had the intention to be of all possible use,
and would thereby gain consideration, and perhaps affection, but Sam’s
declaration that, as soon as he had a house, however small, she should
share it, did much to lighten her heart.
On the morning after the funeral, Robert with studied formality
summoned the family into the parlour, and having seated himself at the
head of the table, directed Sam to the place at the foot, the ladies
seating themselves on either side.
The new head of the family, after arranging and re-arranging certain
papers before him, and having paused, coughed, and cleared his throat
in a befitting manner, delivered himself of the following sentence:
“My dear brother and sisters, I propose to read the will of the
deceased gentleman, our late lamented father.”
After these words spoken very slowly, the orator gazed for some time
over Sam’s head, and then proceeded to read at a great pace, as though
to show that this was by no means the first occasion on which he had
officiated.
He was interrupted by Penelope.
“I object!”
This was a new experience for the attorney, who stared open-mouthed,
and then repeated:
“You object?”
“I do,” Penelope rejoined.
It took more than a sister to put Mr Robert out of countenance for
long. In his best professional manner he questioned the interrupter.
“Object to what, may I ask!”
“To that will.”
“You object to this will! May I point out that you have not heard it
read!”
“I have heard quite enough. It is shameful! You must have written it
yourself. Everything is left to you and Sam.”
Mr Watson had now quite recovered.
“Sister Penelope, my father might very well have done as you suggest,
in the knowledge that I, I think I may say we, would have--would have
done what is proper: but if you will condescend to listen to what I
shall read further, you will hear what--what I shall read.”
Penelope appeared very willing to continue the dispute, but, by the
united appeal of all, was induced to remain silent. At the end of
the reading, nothing was clear to the ladies, save that the names of
Elizabeth, Penelope and Margaret had been mentioned. It was Sam’s
question that drew from Robert the admission that the two brothers were
to hold everything in trust for the three sisters, and to pay them the
income quarterly. Sam continued:
“You missed out Emma’s name.”
Robert replied that it was not in the will. Elizabeth proposed that the
will be changed.
“My father would wish it,” she said, “he would be thinking that Emma
was well provided for.”
Robert was horrified and amused.
“Change a will! Upon my word! So that is the way you girls would do
business! There will be thirty to thirty-five pounds a year for each of
the three of you, and Emma has had her chance, and a better one than we
others had.”
Elizabeth turned to Emma with--
“Well, Emma, I will share my portion with you.”
“That is very good of you, Elizabeth,” responded Emma, “but it must not
be. I have had an easy life, and you a hard one. It is not unreasonable
that there should now be a change.”
“It is settled then, that you three come to Croydon for the present.
Elizabeth and Margaret will arrange with Mrs Watson as to what they
shall contribute to defray in some measure all this additional expense:
Emma in her unfortunate case must be as useful to us as she can.”
Elizabeth had more to say to Emma in private, but the younger sister
was not to be convinced. She did not lie awake the whole night in an
agony of apprehension, but she did have some very anxious thoughts.
The most unbearable of the evils she conjured up, that of having to
apply to Robert for money, was happily never realized, but the next few
months gave her a juster opinion of the value of money than all the
years of her life that had gone before.
The will being read, there was nothing further to detain Mr Watson at
the Parsonage, and within an hour he was on the road to Croydon, having
assured his sisters that they might expect to see him again on Friday,
December 18th, that being the day fixed for the sale and their removal
to Croydon.
Sam also was obliged to return to Guildford, and the ladies were left
to themselves.
The intervening days were busy and unhappy. Many articles were set
aside as “not to be thought of as being sold,” though they might only
take with them what could be of use in furnishing one bedroom, as it
had been arranged that Emma should sleep with her niece.
A number of the Miss Watsons’ acquaintances called to condole with them
on their bereavement, and the consequent break-up of their home, but
were unable to keep their eyes off the furniture. Cards arrived from
Osborne Castle. Mrs Blake paid a visit of condolence. She brought a
message from her brother, who was from home arranging an exchange of
livings. This was a shock to Emma. Mr Howard to exchange! To leave the
neighbourhood! She remembered there had been some talk of a removal,
but it had been lightly advocated by Mrs Blake and nothing immediate,
nothing definite, had been spoken of. Mr Howard had not seemed to
consider such a possibility, and now it was all settled, and Mrs Blake,
in place of paying her particular attention, was continually addressing
Elizabeth. Emma controlled herself, but made an excuse to leave the
apartment. Soon afterwards she heard the chaise depart, and learned
that Mrs Blake had gone without leaving any message of farewell for
herself.
She forced herself to consider the circumstances calmly. Mrs Blake,
from the time they became acquainted at the assembly ball till now,
had been kind, attentive and unreserved. Now, when they had lost their
father, when she herself, perforce, must work for her living, Mrs Blake
was altogether changed. No explanation of this could calm her feelings,
and she became more deeply agitated the longer she pondered. Her only
relief was to be found in the distasteful task of preparing for the
sale and removal.