NULL AND VOID
“Those documents have a familiar look,” remarked Thurston with a smile
as Nan placed the packet of wills on the table beside him in the Farley
parlor. “Mr. Farley was hard to please; I’ve learned a lot about
will-writing just from studying the different schemes he proposed from
time to time.”
Nan described the manner in which she had found the wills on the night
of Farley’s death.
“He was evidently troubled about them and got out of bed to look them
over. This one, that I found lying open on the table, is torn across as
though he had begun to destroy it when the end came.”
“Very likely that was his intention,” Thurston replied. “I had just
written a new will for him, but it wasn’t signed--not unless he
executed it that same afternoon. Perhaps you know about that?”
“No one was here, I’m sure,” said Nan, after a moment’s consideration.
“The nurse was off duty; she left for the evening at four o’clock, and
I’m sure the servants weren’t in his room. I carried up his dinner tray
myself.”
“It’s hardly possible he had signed that last will. I was always
present on such occasions and I got the witnesses. When I called now
and then with a couple of his friends, or telephoned for them, there
was a will to be signed. You probably understood that.”
He began opening the papers, glancing quickly at the last sheet of
each will, and turning them face down on the table. The torn one he
scrutinized more carefully, and returned to it for further examination
when he had disposed of the others. Nan watched him nervously. He was
a small, slight man of sixty, with a stiff gray mustache and a sharp,
rasping voice. It would not have been easy to deceive Thurston if she
had destroyed the wills; she could never have gone through with it!
She felt that she had touched with her finger-tips the far horizons
and knew at last something of the meaning of life. She had subjected
herself to pitiless self-analysis and stood convicted in her own
conscience of vanity, selfishness, and hardness. The recollection of
her gay adventures with the Kinneys and her affair with Copeland had
become a hideous nightmare. Not only was she ashamed of her dallying
with Billy, but she accused herself of having exerted a baneful
influence upon him. In all likelihood he would never have sunk so low
as to propose the destruction of Farley’s will but for his infatuation
for her.
Farley’s death had in itself exercised a chastening effect upon her.
She was conscious of trying to see herself with his eyes and fortify
herself with something of the stern righteousness that made him, in the
retrospect, a noble and inspiring figure. The upturned faces at the
Settlement haunted her; there was a work for her to do in the world
if only she could lay her hands upon it! In this new mood the life of
ease which money would secure weighed little against self-dependence
and service. Money had ceased to be an important integer in her
calculations.
Having concluded his examination of the papers, the lawyer lifted his
head with an impatient jerk, then sighed, and began smoothing the open
sheets into a neat pile.
“Those wills are worthless, Miss Farley,--not one of them can be
probated. The testator’s signatures and the names of the witnesses have
been scratched out!”
In proof of his statement he extended one of the wills, pointing to the
heavy cross-crosses at the bottom of the sheet.
“You have no idea when he did this--you weren’t present, I suppose?”
“No; he used to do his writing at the table where he hid the wills. He
occasionally wrote a letter or a check there; but I never saw him open
the table. I never knew of that inner compartment till the night he
died.”
“Oh, I know that table very well; he had shown me the hidden drawer and
explained how to open it. But this is most unfortunate, deplorable! I
kept in touch with his doctor about his condition and feared something
like this might happen. And he dreaded it himself--was afraid he might
die some time without leaving just the will he had determined to make.
I account for all the wills I wrote for him but the last. The last time
I was here I brought a new will, which I don’t find among these. Are
you sure you haven’t overlooked it?”
She was quite sure of it, but after she had described in minute detail
the events of the last afternoon of Farley’s life, to confirm her
statement that no one who could have acted as witness had visited
Farley, she took the lawyer upstairs to examine the table for himself.
They broadened the scope of the search, but without success.
“For the present I think it best for you not to read those wills,”
he said, when they had returned to the parlor. “They represent Mr.
Farley’s changes of feeling in regard to many things--including
yourself. A little later I shall be glad to submit them to you. The
important thing just now is the threat of this man Harlowe to attack
your rights under the adoption. Mr. Eaton and I have already discussed
that. Now that we’re pretty sure there’s no will, this may give us some
trouble, but with characteristic thoroughness Mr. Eaton has prepared
for just this emergency. His reasons for not telling me earlier about
these things are sound enough--his fear of disturbing Mr. Farley
unnecessarily. He would undoubtedly have wanted a proceeding brought to
correct the adoption, but that could only have advertised the error,
and Mr. Farley might have died before we finished it. Still, if I
had known I should have taken care that he didn’t die intestate. But
from what Mr. Eaton tells me, this man is all primed to attack any
will that might have been left, on the ground of Mr. Farley’s mental
incapacity--which is ludicrous, of course. There was never a saner man;
and yet his eccentricities might be magnified before a jury--you never
can tell. On the whole, Mr. Eaton’s silence was justified. But our next
step must be carefully considered. In the mean time--”
He paced the floor, considering means of relieving her anxiety.
“Of course, while these things are pending we shall arrange for your
maintenance, on the old basis, in this house. No one can pretend that
Mr. Farley didn’t have every intention of providing for you generously.
It’s only fair to tell you this, that even when he seemed to waver at
times he never cut your legacy below a hundred thousand dollars; and
I know he regretted the comparative meagerness of that--tripled the
amount in the very next will he made! You need have no fears, Miss
Farley,” he went on reassuringly. “But you are entitled to your own
counsel; it’s only right that I should say this to you immediately;
and I suggest that you ask Mr. Eaton to represent you. I hope you will
confer with him at once.”
He bowed with old-fashioned formality. He was more troubled than he
cared to have Nan know, and her silence disconcerted him. But her face
expressed neither disappointment nor alarm. She stood erect by the
table, an intent look in her eyes. Not wishing to leave her weighed
down by the uncertainties of her future, he said briskly:--
“You mustn’t bother yourself about these matters, Miss Farley. In the
end you will find yourself a rich woman. So--”
He waved his hand as the preliminary to a quick exit, but she called
him back. He did not like being called back; now, he thought, there
would be the tears he dreaded.
“You don’t understand,” she said quietly. “I ought to have made it
clear in the first place, but I didn’t know just how--or when--to say
it. I can’t--I will not take any of Mr. Farley’s money--not even if the
law should give it to me.”
He looked at her with the mute appeal of the deaf when they fail to
catch a meaning.
“Really, Miss Farley--”
“I won’t take one cent of Mr. Farley’s money,” Nan repeated firmly.
“I can’t blame you for being disappointed--for resenting what may
appear to be a lack of consideration on his part for your comfort--”
“Oh, it isn’t that! I wouldn’t have you think _that_! I’m sure he
meant to do what was right--what was generous! You don’t know how glad
I am that our last day together was a happy one--we had never been on
better terms. It’s not that I have any unkind feeling toward papa; it’s
all myself. The Farleys were only too kind to me. I went my own way and
it made me selfish--and pretty hard, too, I’m afraid. Papa knew it; and
you know yourself how little he trusted me. And he was right about me:
I didn’t deserve his confidence. But I’m going to begin all over again,
as I couldn’t if I began fighting for this money. I can see now that
money can’t make me happy. I’m going to work; I’m going to stop living,
as I always have, just for myself: I’m going--I’m going to think about
the rest of the folks a lot!”
“The folks?” repeated Thurston feebly. “What folks?”
“Oh, everybody! The down-and-outers--girls like me who get a bad start
or make mistakes!”
Thurston’s brows worked convulsively. He had been prepared for anything
but this.
“Do I--do I understand you to mean that, even if this estate could be
turned over to you to-morrow, you’d decline to receive it? It can’t be
possible--”
“Yes; that’s what I mean!” she cried eagerly. “I’ve thought it all out
and have made up my mind about it. I don’t want to be considered in
anything that has to do with papa’s property.”
“But, my dear child, you can’t--you _can’t_ abandon your claims in any
such fashion! It’s my duty--I owe it to my friend and client to see
that his wishes are fulfilled. Why--”
“Well,” she persisted, “between all those wills you can’t tell what
he wanted--only that I was a great problem to him. I caused him a
great deal of unnecessary worry and heartache. I hope this isn’t going
to cause you any trouble--” And she smiled in spite of herself at
his consternation, as indicated by the twitching of his brows. And
there _was_, she realized, something absurd to her cool statement to
a hard-headed lawyer that she renounced claims whose validity he was
in duty bound to support. The situation was too much for him; he must
escape as quickly as possible from this young woman who brushed away a
fairly tangible fortune as a waiter clears away bread crumbs.
“Really, Miss Farley--” he began; but, thinking of nothing further to
say, he backed awkwardly into the hall.
She helped him into his coat and opened the street door. He hurried off
without saying good-bye, clasping Timothy Farley’s wills tightly under
his arm.
A light snow was falling; Nan stood on the steps and lifted her hot
face to the fluttering flakes. She watched Thurston until he turned the
corner and then went to the telephone.
In a moment she was connected with Mrs. Copeland at the farm. “I want
a job,” she was saying in a cheerful tone; “yes, that’s it--a chance to
work. You told me the other day you needed some one to look after your
business at the market-house. I’m applying for the job. Oh, no! I’m not
fooling; I want that place! Well, I want to see you, too; I’ll be out
early in the morning!”