THE WILL EXECUTED.
The evening was pretty far advanced when at length the house-door bell
was loudly rung; and immediately afterwards Mr. Stephen Corbold entered
the drawing-room looking more assured, and, as Helen thought, more
detestable than ever.
Having deliberately sipped his tea, and indulged himself the while in a
long steady stare in the face of the unfortunate object of his passion,
he at length rose, and with an air of much confidential importance,
raising himself on his toes, and playing with his watch-chain,
approached Mrs. Cartwright, and whispered something in her ear.
"Have the kindness to ring the bell, Mr. Hetherington," said the lady,
addressing the curate, who, according to his frequent custom, had taken
his tea at the Park, partly for the advantage of receiving the
instructions of his principal upon sundry little points of Church and
village discipline, and partly for the hope of finding some one among
the young ladies less cruel than the inexorable Henrietta, who had never
appeared to see him, from the moment they parted in the shrubbery.
"Tell Curtis to carry lights to my dressing-room," said Mrs. Cartwright
to the servant who answered the bell.
The vicar's heart gave a bound. One hour more and he should clutch it!
One short hour more and he should at last be master of his own destiny,
dependent on no fond woman's whim, trembling before no children's power
to change her purpose.
"Once let her sign this will," thought he, "and if I ever leave her long
enough unwatched to make another, the fault will be my own, and I will
abide the consequence."
With a placid countenance that manifested no emotion of any kind, Mr.
Cartwright amused himself for a few minutes in examining a drawing just
finished for the Fancy Fair, by the light of a lamp on the
chimney-piece; and as he passed behind his cousin to set it down, he
condescendingly stopped to show it to him, pointing out its merits with
affectionate admiration, for the artist was no other than his
accomplished lady.
"Is not the expression of this head beautifully holy, cousin Stephen?
Just look at the eyes.... Chivers the butler, her maid Curtis, and my
valet can witness it.... Charming is it not?"
In a short time afterwards Mrs. Cartwright rose; the attentive attorney
sprang to the door, opened it, and silently followed her out of the
room.
Henrietta's eye followed them, and she sighed heavily. "You do not seem
well to-night, Miss Cartwright," said Helen, "and I do not feel gay;
what say you to our keeping each other in countenance, and both going to
bed though the clock has not yet struck ten?"
"A comfortable, and very wise proposal," replied Henrietta, rising at
once. "I am much more inclined to be in bed than up; for I would rather
be asleep than awake."
"It is very right for you, Henrietta, who are an invalid, to be indulged
in your wish to retire early," said her father. "Good night! I am sorry
that the accidental absence of your mother renders it impossible for me
to hasten the hour of evening prayer. But you shall have my blessing.
May Heaven watch over your slumbers if you close your eyes in faith! If
not, may he visit you in the night season, with such appalling thoughts
as may awaken a right spirit within you! But for you, my dear child," he
continued, turning to Helen, "I cannot suffer you to leave us so
prematurely. We shall have prayers within an hour, and I do not permit
any member of my family to absent herself from the performance of this
sacred ordinance, without very good and sufficient reason for so
doing."
"I conceive that I have very good and sufficient reason for so doing,
sir," replied Helen, approaching the door: "I wish you all good night."
"She shall pay for this!" whispered one of the little demons that
nestled in the vicar's heart. "Stephen must absolve me of my promise for
to-night; but if I do not keep it with him nobly on some future
occasion, I will give him leave to tear in fragments the parchment which
at this very moment is growing into a rod wherewith to scourge the
insolence of this proud vixen."
It was probably not so much the failing to keep his promise with
Corbold, which the late hour might readily excuse, as the displaying to
his slave and curate that his power was not absolute, which galled him
so severely. His wife and cousin, however, soon returned; they both
looked placidly contented, as those do look, who, having had important
business to transact, have done it well and thoroughly. Soon afterwards
the numerous household were summoned to appear, and the labours of the
day were closed with prayer, Mr. Hetherington uttering the extempore
invocation, and the vicar pronouncing the blessing: an arrangement, by
the way, approved by the master of Cartwright Park for three especial
reasons. First, it gave to his establishment very greatly the effect of
having a domestic chaplain at its head.
Secondly, it afforded an opportunity, which the worthy Mr. Hetherington
never neglected, of calling down sundry especial blessings on the
vicar's own particular head, and, which was perhaps more important
still, of pronouncing a lofty eulogium on his transcendent virtues.
Thirdly, the having to rise from his knees and pronounce the final
blessing, never failed to soothe his spirit with a delicious foreboding
that he might one day do so likewise in his own cathedral, and from his
own proper throne: this being an object of ambition to him as dear, or
dearer still, than the possession of the precious will itself.
Rarely indeed did he seat himself in his own soft chair, in his own
noble library, without seeing in his mind's eye a mitre, as distinctly
visible as Macbeth's air-drawn dagger was to him; and the hope that this
crowning blessing would one day fall upon his favoured head, not only
cheered every waking, and often every sleeping hour, but made him so
generously come forward upon all occasions when a penniless Whig was to
be accommodated with a seat in a Parliament, or any other subscription
set on foot to help the radical poor and needy into political power and
place, that he was already considered in the high places as one of the
most conscientious and right-minded clergymen within the pale of the
Established Church, and almost supernaturally gifted (considering he was
not a Roman Catholic priest) with the power of judging political
characters according to their real value.
As soon as the prayers were ended, the blessing spoken, and the servants
dismissed, Mr. Corbold, whose eyes had vainly wandered round the room in
search of Helen, approached the vicar, and said in a very firm and
intelligible tone, "I wish to speak to you, cousin Cartwright."
"Certainly!" replied his kinsman in a voice of the most cordial
friendship. "Come into my library with me, cousin Stephen."
And into the library they went; and almost before the door was shut, Mr.
Corbold exclaimed, "How am I to see Miss Helen, cousin Cartwright, if
you have let her take herself off to bed?"
This very pertinent question was, however, only answered by another.
"Have you got the will, cousin Stephen?"
"Yes, I have," answered the attorney with more boldness than he had ever
used in speaking to his cousin since he became a great man. "But a
bargain's a bargain."
"I know it is, cousin,--and Heaven preserve to me my lawful rights and
inheritance, as I faithfully keep to you the word I have given!"
"And how is it to be managed then?... Am I to go to the girl's
bed-room?"
"Give me the will, cousin Stephen," said the vicar, holding out his hand
to receive it, "and I will satisfy you fully upon this matter."
Mr. Corbold, however, looked extremely rebellious, and no corner of
parchment could be descried about any part of his person. "A bargain's a
bargain, I tell you, cousin William," he repeated doggedly; "and you may
as well remember that a lawyer that is intrusted with the keeping of a
will is no way bound to give it up; particularly to the party whom it
chiefly concerns."
Mr. Cartwright measured his contumacious relative with his eye, very
much as if he intended to floor and rifle him; but wiser thoughts
prevailed, and he gently replied, seating himself in his own peculiar
chair, and making a sign to his companion that he should place himself
opposite: "May He, cousin Stephen, whose professing servants we are,
save and deliver us from quarrelling with one another, especially at a
blessed moment like this, when every thing seems fitted by his holy
providence, so as to ensure us peace and prosperity in this world, and
doubtless, everlasting glory in the life to come!"
"All that's very true, cousin Cartwright; and if your cloth and calling
set you to speak of heavenly things, especial grace, years ago
manifested in me, makes me nothing behind you in the same. But, for all
that, I know well enough, that there's many a worldly-minded
unprofessing lawyer, who would gain credit and honour both, by taking
care to let young Mowbray know what that pious lady his mother has been
about, instead of keeping the thing as secret as if it were a forgery of
my own; and it is but common justice between man and man, to say nothing
of cousins and professing Christians, that conduct so every way
convenient and considerate as mine, should not go unrewarded. I have set
my heart upon having that girl Helen, and I don't wish for any thing in
the end but lawful wedlock, and all that; and the more, because I take
it for granted that you don't mean altogether to leave the young woman
without fortune;--but she's restive, cousin, and that you know, and we
are therefore called upon, as men and Christians, to make use and profit
of that wit and strength which it hath pleased Providence in its wisdom
to give us over the weaker vessel; and all I ask of you is so to put it
within my reach and power to do this, that the righteous ends we have in
view may be obtained through the same."
"I have heard you to the end, cousin Stephen, which will, I trust,
considering all things, be accepted in token of an humble spirit. What
you have said, however, excepting that it was needless, is altogether
reasonable, and betokens that wisdom of which the Lord hath seen fit to
make you an example upon the earth. But you find that my conscience
needed not your reproof. Few hours have passed since I gave proof
sufficient of the sincerity with which I desire to strengthen the ties
between us. By the accident of the post-bag's being brought into my
room, I was made aware that it contained a letter addressed to Helen
Mowbray, evidently in the handwriting of a man. And what could it be to
me, cousin Stephen, whether that unconverted girl got a letter from a
man, or went without it? Nothing, positively nothing. But I remembered
me of you, cousin, and of the tender affections which you had fixed upon
her, and, fearless of consequences, I instantly broke the seal, and
found, as I expected, a very worldly-minded proposal of marriage,
without the decency of any allusion whatever to my will in the business;
and I therefore of course felt it my duty to destroy it both for your
sake and that of the Lord, whose blessing the impious young man did not
deem it necessary to mention. Nevertheless, the proposal came from one
of the first families in the county, and the girl would have been my
lady in due course of nature, a thing not altogether without value to
her family and father-in-law. But I never hesitated for one moment, and
you may see the ashes of Colonel Harrington's love-letter under the
grate."
"That was acting like the good and chosen servant, cousin William, that
I have long known you to be. But, such being the case, why have you
scrupled to let me speak to the young girl this night in private?"
"For the good and sufficient reason, that she chose to go, even though I
told her to stay, and, without exposing myself to a very unpleasant
scene before my curate and the rest of my people, I could not have
detained her. Besides, at the moment of her departure I knew that the
will, which you still keep from me, cousin Stephen, was not either
signed or executed,--another good and sufficient reason, as I take it,
for not choosing to keep the girl back by force. But fear nothing; what
I have promised, that I will perform. Give me the will, cousin Stephen,
and I will tell you what my scheme is for you."
"Tell me the scheme first, cousin William; that is but square and fair.
We lawyers have got our ceremonies as well as the clergy, and I don't
see why they should be broken through."
"I don't very well know what you mean by ceremonies in this case,
cousin, and I don't think you take the best way to oblige me; however, I
am not going to shrink from my word for that. All I expect, cousin
Stephen, is your word pledged to me in return, that, let what will
happen, you will bring no scandal or dishonour upon my family, for so
doing might be of the greatest injury to my hopes."
"I mean nothing but honour, cousin William," replied Corbold eagerly:
"let me have but a fair opportunity given me, and you shall find that,
though I use it, I will not abuse it. Tell me, then, what is your
scheme?"
"You know that on the 12th of this month a Serious Fancy Fair is to be
held in my grounds. Not only will all the rank and fashion of the county
assemble on the occasion, but my park-gates will be open likewise to the
people. At two o'clock a very splendid collation will be ready in five
of my saloons; and it is after the company have risen and left the
tables to resort once more to the booths, in order to assist in the
disposal of the remaining articles, that I shall permit every servant in
my establishment to leave the mansion, and repair to witness the busy
and impressive scene in the booths. It will be a very impressive scene,
cousin Stephen, for I shall myself pronounce a blessing upon the
assembled crowd. From this I fear, my dear Stephen, that you must on
this occasion absent yourself; but be assured, that as I speak those
words of power, I will remember you.
"When you shall see a rush of my hired servants pour forth from my
mansion upon my lawns, it is then that I shall counsel you to retire,
enter the house by the library windows, and if questioned, say you are
sent there on an errand by me. From my library, find your way up the
grand staircase to the small apartment which I permit my wife to
appropriate as her dressing-room--the same in which you have this night
executed, as I trust, her will. There remain, concealed perhaps behind
the curtains, till Helen Mowbray enters. I will deposit in that room
something valuable and curious for sale, which shall be forgotten till
you are safely hidden there, and then I will command my very dear and
obedient wife to send Miss Helen to seek for it. Does this plan please
you, cousin?"
Before speaking a word, Mr. Corbold drew the will from his long coat
pocket, and placed it in the hands of the vicar. This was a species of
mute eloquence most perfectly understood by the person to whom it was
addressed:
The Vicar of Wrexhill received the parchment with much solemnity in his
two hands, and bending his head upon it, exclaimed "May the blessing of
the Lord be with me and my heirs for ever!"
It may possibly appear improbable to many persons that such a phrase as
this last should recur in ordinary discourse so frequently as I have
represented it to do. But to those not belonging to the sect, and
therefore not so familiarized with its phraseology as to be unconscious
of its peculiarity, and who yet have been thrown by accident within
reach of hearing it, I need offer no explanation; for they must know by
experience that this, or expressions of equally religious formation and
import, are in constant use among them.
Sometimes, especially in the company of the profane, they are uttered
_sotto voce_, as if to satisfy the secret conscience. Sometimes, in
equally un-elect society, they are pronounced aloud and with most
distinct emphasis, as if to show that the speaker feared not the ribald
laugh of the scorner, and held himself ready to perform this, or any
other feat likely to ensure the same petty, but glorious martyrdom,
despite any possible quantum of absurdity that may attach thereto.
* * * * *
The two kinsmen being now mutually satisfied with each other's conduct,
shook hands and parted; Mr. Corbold ruminating, as he walked slowly back
to Wrexhill, on the happy termination to which he was at last likely to
bring his hitherto unpropitious wooing, and Mr. Cartwright gazing with
unspeakable delight on the signatures and seals which secured to him,
and his heirs for ever, the possession of all the wealth and state in
which he now revelled. Having satisfied himself that all was right, he
opened a secret drawer in his library table, laid the precious parchment
within it, and having turned the lock, actually kissed the key that
secured his treasure. He then carefully secured it to his watch-chain,
and returned to escort his lady to her chamber.