'Mistress Fleming,' continued the lawyer, still uneasy under that
steady gaze, but still overflowing with polite urbanity and humble
deference, 'I, as the sole executor of the late Adam Sinclair' (and
his countenance lengthened visibly and his eyelids fell), 'have the
pleasure of informing you that "Deborah Fleming" is left by his
will the sole inheritor of all his property, landed and personal,
unconditionally and without reserve.'
There was silence for a moment; Deborah had started and then kept still
and calm, while first a great horror of the dead man's gold, and then
thoughts of her father and brother and Enderby, coursed through her
startled mind. In that moment the lawyer Parry shot one furtive glance
from his crafty eyes, and perceived her deep in abstracted thought; and
marvelled at her coolness and dignity, little guessing the combative
thoughts that were surging in her breast.
'This was generous of Master Sinclair,' said Deborah. 'You have
something else to tell me?' She turned her eyes on him. He fidgeted; he
avoided her gaze; he looked down, he looked out on the sky, he looked
up at the carved chimney-piece, where grotesque faces grinned down at
him; he looked anywhere but at Deborah. It was but a slight tremor,
a slight hesitation, only very quick eyes would have discerned it,
under the flow of ready words: 'Yes, Mistress Fleming; it relates to
your brother, Master Charles Fleming; and though it is a proof sure
and convincing that will clear him from a foul aspersion which has
incidentally (_incidentally_, mind you) come to my knowledge; at the
same time--and with deep reluctance I say it--it shews Master Sinclair
in ill colours, and casts bitter blame on his memory. But mark,
Mistress Fleming; Master Sinclair was my oldest friend, my benefactor;
what I tell you now, I tell you in confidence, and the secret had best
perish between your family and myself. But first I will shew what I
mean.' He then drew some papers from a bag, and spread them before
Deborah's eyes, with his hands upon them. 'See, see!' he muttered,
apparently trembling with sudden excitement, 'what Adam Sinclair
and his myrmidons have done! And to get you in his power, Mistress
Fleming! All to win your favour! I swear it, for I discovered them in
the act! This writing you would say is your brother's? There too is
his signature. But I hereby swear it to be a base forgery, and no more
Master Fleming's writing than it is mine. This was a plot to throw dust
in Sir Vincent's eyes, and disgrace on his son's name, by proving that
Master Fleming had secretly raised money on this estate.'
'I know it--I know it all,' said Deborah, very white and calm. 'Cannot
you tell me _who_ wrote this?' And she laid her finger on her brother's
name, and fixed her clear eyes upon the wrinkled crafty being before
her, till they seemed to read his soul.
'I cannot inform you of that, Mistress Fleming,' he answered with
sorrowful regret, and looked away, and up at the grinning faces that
seemed to mock him, so that he glanced quickly away from them again.
'You are generous,' said Deborah; but a look of unutterable disdain
was clouding those clear eyes with passion and with scorn. 'You will
tell me thus far, but no further, not even this creature's name. Why, I
would give all my new possessions, Master Parry, just to bring him to
justice for this. But what is your purpose in bringing this paper to
me? Am _I_ to buy it of you, as Master Sinclair would have done, had
not death taken him? I heard your name and his in connection with this
matter; no other.'
Master Parry wished himself away from Enderby, and well out of it all,
with a heavy purse. 'Mistress Fleming,' he said, 'what you suspect, or
what charge you would bring against _me_, I know not. I only swear to
you that I got possession of this paper by great and grievous trouble,
and no small exercise of talent. The villain's name who compassed this
forgery I cannot divulge; but if ye would shield the dead man's memory,
save the honour of your name, and that of your father and brother, and
prevent this paper for ever from seeing light--take it of me.'
'Ye _do_ trade on it then?' said Deborah, still with those eyes and
lips of ineffable disdain.
'Mistress Fleming, another trades with _me_,' answered the man of law,
with a semblance of grave and dignified reproof and a glance of injured
innocence. 'I have suffered much already in this cause, and small
thanks I get. If I am not well paid therefore, this paper must go back
to the owner, and he makes it public. If I am well paid, it is mine--it
is yours--to burn, to do with it what you will.'
'I see now, Master Parry, why it is more convenient to negotiate with
Mistress Fleming than with Sir Vincent. I am a woman. You can threaten
me, and think to daunt me; but you shall find yourself mistaken. If
ye are not this arch-villain himself, ye are playing into his hands.
Why, I tell ye, girl as I am, and ignorant, I know the emptiness of
your threats! To what end would this forged paper be published? What
harm could it do Charles Fleming? To publish _this_'--and Deborah rose
with a laugh of scorn, and struck her hand upon it--'would be but to
bring disgrace on him who published it--disgrace! ay, and _death_!
My brother's innocence would be proved, and this man brought to the
gallows. _Now_, would ye have me buy it, Master Parry? Nay, you had
better not, for I would have no mercy on the author of this villainy.
_Destroy_ it! Nay; I would publish it to all the world.'
'Ah Mistress, ye know little of the world then, or of the result of
such a trial. It might go hard with Master Fleming, I warn ye. But if
ye will have it so, I'll e'en give this back, and let him work his
will. He's not a man to be made a foe of with impunity. I sadly fear
ye will rue this rash act. I might have saved you. But be it, Mistress
Fleming, as you will.'
With a savage consciousness of having been worsted, nay, utterly
defeated, by a young and dauntless maiden, Master Parry stood with hat
and bag in hand. Mistress Fleming had read him through. He had won
neither gold nor favour from the future Mistress of Lincoln, only stern
defiance and proud disdain.
How he hated her, but how blandly he smiled!
'I am not afraid,' quoth haughty Mistress Fleming; and looking beyond
the lawyer and over his head, she bowed him calmly to the door.
One low reverence and a muttered curse between his teeth, and the doors
of Enderby closed for aye on Master Parry.
Deborah was herself then. With thoughts collected and brows lowering
she threw open all the windows; then standing on the hearth,
she muttered: 'He has done it himself. I am trembling now with
passion--only I would not vent it on a thing so mean--though my hands
ached to be at him, woman as I am! Have I acted and judged aright? Oh,
I know not; I know naught o' business; I cannot abide it. But I have
acted a woman's part in this; not from pity, but because it would shame
me to drag the name of Fleming through such mud. Only I was fain to
shew the worm what I _could_ do. O King, King! where art thou? O dear
father; and poor, brave, gallant, honourable Charlie! Where, where
is father, that I may tell him this great good news? O my precious
brother, to think we should e'er have doubted _thee_! Well-a-day! I
am a rich heiress--I am a great lady; I will pay all our debts; and
Enderby--Enderby is _mine_! to give away to father and to Charlie! O
wretched Adam Sinclair--poor perjured soul! Would your wealth not do
such untold good, I would none of it. Honour and charity together shall
wipe the stains from off your gold, and make it good for use.'
Sir Vincent came home late one evening, some days after Adam Sinclair's
death. Some one, some careless tongue had told him suddenly that Adam
Sinclair had met his death at the hand of Charles Fleming. He stopped
at the lodge, and got off his horse feebly.
'Mistress Dinnage,' said he, 'where is my boy Charlie?'
She gazed at him earnestly, then answered: 'He is gone away on a
journey, Sir Vincent. He'll be home again before long.'
'Before long! Ah, he's a good boy to the old man, with all his faults,
whatever they may say. Where's Adam Sinclair?'
She evaded that question. 'Come home with me,' she said tenderly; and
unwonted tears lurked in the dark splendour of her eyes.
So, arm in arm, proud young Mistress Fleming and the poor broken-down
master of Enderby walked slowly home.
Deborah saw them pass the window; and started forward and met them.
But the glorious tidings of Charlie's unstained honour, the proud
consciousness of power and position, the brightness in her eyes, and
the bright colour in her cheeks, left her, on looking on her father. He
stretched out his hands; there was terrible pathos in that feeble but
impassioned gesture, and a sad and wandering smile replaced the light
of intellect.
'Deb, little Deb! O my darling! I have been looking for thee. They told
me thou wert dead! It shook me terribly. Thank God, thou'rt alive and
well. And how is it with thee, my dove?'
'He is wandering,' whispered Margaret below her breath. 'We must nurse
him, Mistress Deborah dear; he will soon be well.'
For Deborah, leaning her brave heart on her father's breast, was
trembling like a leaf, and tears of agony were gathered in her eyes.
Was that strong mind, that tender father's care, dead to her for ever?
Would he never, never know the innocence of his darling, whose imagined
treachery had stricken him thus? 'Father!' she cried, in piercing
accents of despair, 'father! Charlie is innocent. Charlie never wrote
that paper, father dear; but a bad man did it, forging Charlie's name!
Charlie never, never raised money upon Enderby! He is as guiltless and
as true to thee as Deborah! Dost hear me, father? Dost hear me? Dost
understand?'
He smiled at her vehemence, and stroked back her hair. 'Ay; I
understand thee. Charlie is a good fellow, and our own dear brave boy.
Though that running off from school, Deb,' he whispered, 'was the wild
blood cropping up! Ha, ha, ha! _that_ was a mistake; eh, Deb?' and he
laughed vehemently again.
'O Mistress Fleming,' said Deborah, with her hand to her brow, 'this
is harder to me than all. Margaret, Margaret! what shall we do? This
is death in life.--O father, dear father! dost not know me? We have
stood side by side in all our troubles, and now all trouble is at an
end. We are rich! and Enderby, Enderby, father, is ours! We have money,
father--riches, plenty! Charlie shall come home to thee--come home and
live at Enderby! O sweet father, be thyself! Be calm, love, and God
will restore thee, make thee well. Father, father, I am little Deb! Be
my own dear father. Be thyself. Look! better times are coming, father,
for Charlie and for thee!' Wild, sweet, impassioned were Deborah's
words and tones and looks.
Sir Vincent Fleming raised his hand to his head, and gazed all round,
and gazed at her and Margaret. 'Deb,' he said, 'I am tired, very tired
of this world, dear love. Take me home, home to thy mother and to
Enderby. I must rest.'
Pale and tearless, Deborah glanced at Mistress Fleming, and led the old
man to his chair by the fireside. But for Mistress Fleming, she could
see no more; her eyes were blind with tears.