HIS LORDSHIP'S WILL
The movement of the vehicle made Lord Polperro drowsy. In ten minutes
he seemed to be asleep, and Gammon had to catch his hat as it was
falling forward. When the four-wheeler jolted more than usual he
uttered groans; once he shouted loudly, and for a moment stared about
him in terror. The man of commerce had never made so unpleasant a
journey in his life.
On arriving at their destination it was with much difficulty that
Gammon aroused his companion, and with still more that he conveyed him
from the cab into the building, a house porter (who smiled
significantly) assisting in the job. Lord Polperro, when thoroughly
awakened, coughed, groaned, and gasped in a most alarming way. His flat
was on the first floor; before reaching it he began to shed tears, and
to beg that his medical man might be called immediately. The door was
opened by a middle-aged woman dressed as a housekeeper, who viewed his
lordship with no great concern. She promised to send a messenger to the
doctor's, and left the two men alone in a room comfortably furnished,
but without elegance or expensiveness. Gammon waited upon the invalid,
placed him at ease by the fireside, and reached him a cellaret from a
cupboard full of various liquors. A few draughts of a restorative
enabled Lord Polperro to articulate, and he inquired if any letters had
arrived for him.
"Look on the writing table, Greenacre. Any thing there?"
There were two letters. The invalid examined them with disappointment
and tossed them aside.
"Beggars and blackmailers," he muttered. "Nobody else writes to me."
Of a sudden it occurred to him that he was forgetting the duties of
hospitality. He urged his guest to take refreshment; he roused himself,
went to the cupboard, brought out half a dozen kinds of beverage.
"And of course you will lunch with me, or will it be dinner? Yes, yes,
luncheon of course. Excuse me for one moment, I must give some orders."
He left the room. Gammon, having tossed off a glass of wine, surveyed
the objects about him with curiosity. An observer of more education
would have glanced with peculiar interest at the books; several volumes
lay on the table, one of them a recent work on gipsies, another dealing
with the antiquities of Cornwall. For the town traveller these things
of course had no significance. But he remarked a painting on the wall,
which was probably a portrait of one of Lord Polperro's ancestors--a
youngish man (the Trefoyle nose, not to be mistaken) in a strange wild
costume, his head bare under a sky blackening to storm, in his hand a
sort of hunting knife, and one of his feet resting on a dead wolf. When
his host reappeared Gammon asked him whom the picture represented.
"That? That's my father--years before I was born. They tell me that he
used to say that in his life he had only done one thing to be proud of.
It was in some part of Russia. He killed a wolf at close quarters--only
a knife to fight with. He was a fine man, my father. Looks it, don't
you think?"
Thirst was upon him again; he drank the first liquor that came to hand,
then sat down and was silent.
"You feel better?" said Gammon.
"Better? Oh, thanks, much the same. I shan't be better till things are
settled. That won't be long. I expected to hear from Greenacre--I think
you said you knew Greenacre?"
"What is he doing for you?" Gammon inquired, thinking he might as well
take advantage of this lucid moment, the result, seemingly, of
alcoholic stimulation.
"Doing? We'll talk of that presently. Mind you, I have complete
confidence in Greenacre. I regret that I didn't know him long ago." He
sighed and began to wander. "My best years gone--gone! You remember
what I was, Gammon? We don't live like other people, something wrong in
our blood; we go down--down. But if I had lived as I was, and let the
cursed title alone! That was my mistake, Greenacre. I had found
happiness--a good wife. You know my wife? What am I saying? Of course
you do. Never an unkind word from her, never one. How many men can say
that? The best woman living, Greenacre."
"You keep forgetting who I am," said his guest bluntly.
Lord Polperro gave him a look of surprise, and with effort cleared his
thoughts.
"Ah, I called you Greenacre. Excuse me, Gammon, my wife's friend. Be
her friend still, a better woman doesn't live, believe me. You will
lunch with me, Gammon. We are to have a long talk. And I want you to go
with me to my solicitor's. I must settle that to-day. I thought
Greenacre would be back. The fact is, you know, I must recover my
health. The south of Europe, Greenacre thinks, and I agree with him. A
place where we can live quietly, my wife and the little girl, no one to
bother us or to gossip. She shall know when we get there, not before.
This climate is bad for me, killing me; in fact, I hope to start in a
few days, just us three, I and my wife and the little girl. She shall
use the title if she likes, if not we'll leave it behind us. Ah, that
was my misfortune, you know. It oughtn't to have come to me."
He was seized with a hiccough, which in a few moments became so violent
that he had to abandon the attempt to converse. When it had lasted for
half an hour Gammon found his position intolerable. He rose, meaning to
leave the room and speak to the housekeeper, but just then the door
opened to admit Lord Polperro's medical attendant. This gentleman,
after a glance at the patient, who was not aware of his presence, put a
few questions to Gammon. The latter than withdrew quietly, went out
from the flat and down into the street where the doctor's carriage
stood waiting. He was bewildered with the novelty of experience, felt
thoroughly out of his element, and would have liked to have escaped
from these complications by simply taking a cab to Norton Folgate and
forgetting all he left behind. But his promise to Mrs. Clover (or Lady
Polperro) forbade this. He was very curious as to the proceedings of
that mysterious fellow Greenacre, who, as likely as not, had got Lord
Polperro into his power for rascally purposes. What was that half-heard
allusion to another wife, who might be alive or dead? Nothing to cause
astonishment assuredly, but the matter ought to be cleared up.
He crossed the street and walked up and down, keeping his eye on
Lowndes Mansions. Before long the doctor came out and drove away. After
much indecision Gammon again entered and knocked at the door of his
noble friend. The housekeeper said that Lord Polperro was asking for
him impatiently. But when he entered the sitting-room there lay his
lordship on the sofa fast asleep.
The sleep lasted for a couple of hours, during which Gammon sat in the
room, bearing tedium as best he could. He was afraid to go away, lest
an opportunity of learning something important should be lost; but
never had time passed so slowly. Some neglect of business was involved,
but fortunately he had no appointment that could not be postponed. As
he said to himself, it was better to "see the thing through," and to
make the most of Greenacre's absence.
When Lord Polperro at length awoke he had command of his intellect
(such as remained to him), but groaned in severe pain. His first
inquiry was whether any letter or telegram had arrived. Assured that
there was nothing he tottered about the room for a few minutes, then
declared that he must go to bed.
"I always feel better in the evening, Gammon. You'll excuse me, I know;
we are old friends. I must see you again to-day; you'll promise to come
back? Oh, how ill I am! I don't think this can go on much longer."
"What did the doctor tell you to do?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," was the irritable reply. "Of course, I must get
away as soon as possible. If only I could hear from Greenacre."
Seeing there was no likelihood of the man's leaving home for the next
few hours Gammon promised to return in the afternoon, and so took his
leave. On the stairs he passed two ladies, who, as he learnt in a
moment by the sound of their knock above, were making a call upon the
invalid. In the street stood their carriage. He watched it for some
time from the other side of the way until the ladies came forth again.
It would have soothed Gammon's mind could he have known that they were
Lord Polperro's sister and his niece.
Just as the brief daylight was flickering out (the air had begun to nip
with a threat of frost) he once more presented himself at Lowndes
Mansions. In the meantime he had seen Polly Sparkes, informed her of
what was happening, and received her promise that she would take no
step until he could communicate with her again. This interview revived
his spirits; he felt equal to another effort such as that of the
morning--which had taxed him more than the hardest day's work he was
ever called upon to do.
Lord Polperro again sat by the fireside with a decanter and glass
within his reach. He was evidently more at ease, but seemed to have a
difficulty in recognizing his visitor.
"Have you come from Greenacre?" he asked cautiously, peering through
the dull light.
"I don't know anything about him."
"No? I cannot understand why I have no news from him. Pray sit down; we
were talking about--"
Presently he shook his recollections into order, and when a lamp was
brought in he began to talk lucidly.
"Gammon, I feel very uneasy in my mind. This morning I quite intended
to have gone and seen Cuthbertson; but I was taken ill, you know. What
is the time? I wonder whether Cuthbertson is likely to be at his office
still?"
"That's your lawyer, isn't it? Would you like me to go and try to get
hold of him? I might bring him here."
"You are very kind, Gammon. For some reason I feel that I really ought
to see him to-day. Suppose we go together?"
"But you oughtn't to be out at night, ought you?"
"Oh, I feel much better. Besides, we shall drive, you know--quite
comfortable. I really think we will go. Then you shall come back and
dine with me. Yes, I think we will go."
Between this decision and the actual step half an hour was wasted in
doubts, fresh resolves, moments of forgetfulness, and slow preparation.
A messenger had been dispatched for a cab, and at length almost by
force Gammon succeeded in getting his lordship down the stairs and out
into the street. They drove to Old Jewry Chambers. Throughout the
journey Lord Polperro kept up a constant babbling, which he meant for
impressive talk; much of it was inaudible to his companion, from the
noise of the cab, and the sentences that could be distinguished were
mere repetitions of what he had said before leaving home--that he felt
it absolutely necessary to see Cuthbertson, and that he could not
understand Greenacre's silence. They reached the solicitor's office at
about half-past five. Lord Polperro entered only to return with a face
of disappointment.
"He has gone. No one there but a clerk--no use."
"Couldn't you find him at his private address?" asked Gammon.
"Private address? to be sure! I'll go in again and ask for it."
Mr. Cuthbertson lived at Streatham.
"I tell you what," said Lord Polperro, whose mind seemed to be
invigorated by his activity, "we'll go to Streatham, but first of all
we must have something to eat. The fact is, I had no lunch; I begin to
feel rather faint."
He bade the cabman drive to any restaurant not far away. There the
vehicle was dismissed, and they sat down to a meal. Gammon as usual ate
heartily. Lord Polperro pretended to do the same but in reality
swallowed only a few mouthfuls, and gave his more serious attention to
the wine. Every few minutes he assured his companion in a whisper that
he would feel quite at ease when he had seen Cuthbertson.
They looked out the trains to Streatham, and left just in time to catch
one. On the journey his lordship dozed. He was growing very husky
again, and the cough shook him badly after each effort to talk, so
Gammon felt glad to see him resting. By the gaslight in the railway
carriage his face appeared to flush and go pale alternately; at moments
it looked horribly cadaverous with its half-open eyes, shrivelled lips,
and thin, sharp, high-ridged nose. On arriving the man lost all
consciousness of where he was and what he purposed; it took many
minutes before Gammon could convey him into a cab and extort from him
Mr. Cuthbertson's address.
"Greenacre," his lordship kept repeating, "I trust you implicitly. I am
convinced you have my interests at heart. When all is settled I shall
show myself grateful--believe me."
Between seven and eight o'clock they drove up to a house on Streatham
Hill, and without consulting Lord Polperro, Gammon went to parley at
the door. Ill luck pursued them. Mr. Cuthbertson was dining in town,
and could not be home till late. When made to understand this Lord
Polperro passed from lethargy to violent agitation.
"We must go back at once!" he exclaimed. "To Lowndes Mansions at once
Greenacre, tell him to drive straight to Sloane Street. You don't know
what depends upon it. We must lose not a moment."
The cabman consented, and the return journey began at a good speed.
When Gammon, out of regard for the invalid's condition, insisted on
having the window of the hansom dropped, Lord Polperro grumbled and
lamented. The cool air did him good; he was beginning to breathe more
easily than he had done for a long time.
"You are too imperious with me, Greenacre. I have noticed it in you
before. You take too much upon yourself."
"I suppose it's no use telling you once more," said his companion,
"that my name isn't Greenacre."
"Dear me! dear me! I beg your pardon a thousand times. I meant to say
Gammon. I can't tell you, Gammon, how much I feel your kindness. But
for you I should never have managed all this in my state of health. You
don't mind coming home with me?"
"Of course not. What are you going to do when you get there?"
"I told you, my dear Gammon, it shall be done this very night, whether
I have news or not. I shall see Cuthbertson the first thing to-morrow,
and get him to draw the deed of gift. That settles everything; no
gossip, no scandal, if anything should happen. Life is so uncertain,
and as you see I am in anything but robust health. Yes, it shall be
done this very night."
Tired of futile questioning Gammon resolved to wait and see what was
done, though it seemed to him more than likely that nothing at all
would come of these vehement expressions. At all events Lord Polperro
was now wide awake, and seemed in no danger of relapsing into the
semi-comatose or semi-delirious condition. He no longer addressed his
companion by the name of Greenacre; his talk was marked with a rational
reserve; he watched the course of their drive along the highways of
South London, and showed satisfaction as they approached his own
district.
The cabman was paid with careless liberality, and Lord Polperro ran up
the stairs to his flat. More strictly speaking, he ran for a few yards,
when breath failed him, and it was all he could do to stagger with loud
pantings up the rest of the ascent. Arrived in his sitting-room he sank
exhausted on to the nearest chair. Gammon saw that he pointed feebly to
the drink cupboard, and heard a gasp that sounded like "brandy."
"Better not," replied the clear-headed man. "I wouldn't if I were you."
But his lordship insisted, looking reproachfully, and the brandy was
produced. It did him good; that is to say, it brought colour to his
face, and enabled him to sit upright. No sooner was he thus recovered
than his eyes fell upon the envelope of a telegram which lay on his
writing-table.
"There it is, at last!"
He tore the paper, all but sobbing with agony of impatience.
"Good God, I can't see it! I've gone half blind all at once. Read it
for me, Gammon."
"Hope see you to-night. Important news. If not, in morning.--Greenacre."
"Where did he send it from?"
"Euston, six o'clock."
"Then he came by the Irish day-mail. Why didn't I think of that and
meet the train? What does he mean by to-night or to-morrow morning?
What does he _mean_?"
"How can I tell?" replied Gammon. "Perhaps he has called here while you
were away."
Lord Polperro rang the bell, only to find that no one had asked for
him. He was in a state of pitiable agitation, kept shuffling about the
room with coughs and gasps, demanding ceaselessly why Greenacre left
the hour of his appearance uncertain. Gammon, scarcely less excited in
his own way, shouted assurances that the fellow might turn up at any
moment. It was not yet ten o'clock. Why not sit down and wait quietly?
"I will," said the other. "I will thank you, Gammon. I will sit down
and wait. But I cannot conceive why he didn't come straight here from
Euston. I may as well tell you he has been to Ireland for me on
business of the gravest importance. I am not impatient without cause. I
trust Greenacre implicitly. He had a gentleman's education. I am
convinced he could not deceive me."
More brandy helped him to surmount this crisis, then he was silent for
a few minutes. Gammon thought he had begun to doze again, but of a
sudden he spoke distinctly and earnestly.
"I am forgetting. You remember what I had decided to do. It shall be
done at once, Gammon. I know it will relieve my mind."
He rose, went to the writing-table, unlocked a drawer, and took out a
large sealed envelope, on which something was written.
"Gammon, you are witness of what I now do. This is my will, executed
about a year ago. I have reasons for wishing to dispose of my property
in another way. Cuthbertson will see to that for me to-morrow. A will
becomes public. I did not think of that at the time. There!"
He threw the sealed packet into the fire, where it was quickly caught
by the flames and consumed.
"Now I feel easier in mind, much easier."
He drank from the replenished glass, smiling and nodding.