AN UNEXPECTED WILL.
That Sir Geoffrey's violent end should have an almost paralysing
effect upon the household that loved him so much was, of course, only
to be expected, but it is impossible to tell beforehand how great
grief will manifest itself in different people. Thus Ralph, who
enjoyed a reputation of being bright and frank and open-hearted
beyond the common, became morose and even sullen, nursing his wrath
against the unknown murderer and allowing the iron to enter into his
soul. Melville, on the contrary, hitherto self-centred and
indifferent to the happiness of others, seemed to be softened by the
tragedy, and in many little ways displayed an eagerness to comfort
the rest and a regard for their sorrow that was very winning. The
inquest which was held two days after the outrage was ineffective: a
verdict of wilful murder was returned against some person unknown,
and the case was recommended by the coroner to the attention of the
police. So far they preserved a sphinx-like silence, and although
conjecture was rife in the neighbourhood it received no assistance or
corroboration from the detectives engaged.
The evidence given at the inquest was little more than formal; the
doctor's testimony was brevity itself, Ralph's was concise to the
point of curtness, and the police inspector had no suggestions to
offer; the facts were self-evident, and of the only details that
seemed to promise any interest, namely, the bloodstains upon Ralph's
jacket and in the water in the basin, his explanation was so
obviously simple that comment was superfluous. Yet upon the people
in the court Ralph's manner had an effect not wholly favourable. He
appeared to resent their natural curiosity, was brusque, and even in
bowing to the coroner, when that functionary gave expression to the
sympathy felt by his court for Sir Geoffrey's relatives, did not err
upon the side of graciousness. But if Ralph thus failed to maintain
the family traditions of courtesy, Melville atoned for it. He was
merely asked whether he could throw any light upon the crime by
suggesting any motive which might have prompted it, and this, it is
needless to say, he could not do. But his quiet dignity in this
moment of sorrow and his air of engaging candour won all hearts, and
he quitted the scene in full possession of the sympathy of the
audience.
There followed two most miserable days, during which Ralph smoked in
solitude upon his houseboat, and Melville, for the most part, idled
at The Grange. Music fits every mood, and there was no disrespect to
the uncle by the nephew turning to his Amati for comfort in this dark
hour, and so he played--played as if inspired by Saint Cecilia--and
stole a little further into Gwendolen's heart.
It was with a sense of genuine relief that the two brothers returned
to the Manor House after the funeral. There was a certain restraint
between them and an odd embarrassment as to their mutual attitude in
the small matters of daily life; thus Sir Geoffrey's chair at the
head of the table was left empty by consent, but it stood as a
constant reminder that for one of them it symbolised possession, and
now that its late tenant was laid to rest with his fathers, the
question as to which of the two should sit in it by right was about
to be decided.
With the closing of the inquest Melville's first fears of detection
were allayed, and his mind was engaged almost exclusively with the
problem of his future. He took it for granted that his uncle had
died intestate, and the only complication he could foresee in the
division of the estate was brought about by the existence of
Lavender, of which he believed he was the only person who knew. Mr.
Tracy might know, and if he did, Melville supposed that half the
estate would be held, pending Lady Holt's instructions, and that the
other half would be divided between his brother and himself without
undue delay. What action he should take with regard to Lavender it
was too early to decide, but in a vague way he was beginning to
incline to the policy of persuading her never to come forward, which
he was confident he could do, and, by-and-bye, her share, too, might
be obtainable for himself, or, at any rate, half of it.
The brothers were standing in the hall, both feeling rather aimless
and self-conscious, when Martin joined them.
"Mr. Tracy mentioned that he had to return to London soon after the
funeral, so I have taken some luncheon into the library. I thought,
perhaps, you would have business to do before he left."
The butler directed his remarks diplomatically between the two young
men. He assumed that the Manor House would be left to Ralph, as
being the elder, but he did not wish to make any invidious
distinctions between them at present. They looked at each other and
went into the library, where they found Mr. Tracy contemplating a
substantial pie as if wondering what description of animal food it
might contain. The old lawyer looked up at them with a smile, and
settled all difficulties of precedence by sitting down in the nearest
chair, which happened to be at the head of the table. He knew the
utility of a meal as a preparation for an unpleasant discussion, and
although as Sir Geoffrey's solicitor he was only the mouthpiece by
which the dead man's disposition of his property was to be
communicated, he felt uncomfortable.
"I'm not ashamed to say that I am particularly hungry," he remarked.
"With your permission, I will discuss this pie before discussing
business," and he proceeded to make an excellent luncheon, talking
all the while of everything except that which was uppermost in all
their minds.
But, luncheon disposed of, his manner changed.
"I have had two copies of Sir Geoffrey's will prepared," he said,
"and perhaps you would like to look at them while I read the
original. It is not a long document, but the technical phraseology
may, perhaps, seem confusing to the lay mind."
He turned to a table in the window, where he had placed a bag
containing his papers, and so did not observe the slight start of
surprise which Melville could not repress. So there was a will after
all! Was fortune about to play him a scurvy trick after he had dared
so much? He lighted a cigarette and sat down in a chair where the
light would not fall upon his face.
"In its main features," continued Mr. Tracy, who seemed to be taking
an unconscionable time fumbling in his bag, "the will, as I have
said, is sufficiently simple, but it contains at least one element of
surprise. I will read it without further comment, and you can follow
from the copies," and, giving a type-written copy of the will to
Ralph and another to Melville, he read the original clearly and
distinctly.
Beginning with legacies to the servants, ranging from a year's wages
to the youngest maid to life provision for Martin Somers, the will
ordained that a charge should be made upon the estate sufficient to
give an annuity of four hundred pounds a year to the testator's
widow, Dame Lavinia Holt, to be paid quarterly to her in person, on
application at Mr. Tracy's office, the first instalment to be paid
upon her first making such personal application, and not necessarily
to accrue from the date of her husband's death; subject only to these
legacies and this one charge, everything real and personal was
bequeathed to "my dear nephew, Ralph Ashley," for his uncontrolled
use and enjoyment. Of Melville's name no mention whatever was made.
Mr. Tracy folded up the document and waited. The silence grew
painful. Ralph did not know what to say, and Melville could not
trust himself to speak. He was white with mortification and rage,
and could have cursed himself for having with his own hand destroyed
his last chance for the future. He cleared his throat and tried to
speak, but the words would not come. Ralph looked enquiringly at the
solicitor.
"I suppose there can be no mistake," he said; "but this lady--who is
she? I have never heard until this minute that my uncle ever
married."
"I can throw no light upon the mystery," Mr. Tracy said. "Sir
Geoffrey was not the man to give confidences. He drafted this will
himself, less than a month ago, and all I have done is to engross it
and procure his signature. I should like to say that I ventured to
ask certain questions and even make certain suggestions, but they
were received with unmistakable disapproval, and, of course, I could
not pursue the matter."
"It is iniquitous," said Melville hoarsely. He rose abruptly from
his chair and faced his brother. "This is your work, you scoundrel!
For years you have left nothing undone to estrange Sir Geoffrey from
me. You have schemed and plotted for this, and at the last minute,
curse you, you have succeeded. Well, you may be hugging yourself
now, but I swear you will live to be sorry."
Mr. Tracy tried to pacify him, but in his heart he was not a little
sorry for him. It must be a terrible shock to find himself thus
ignored by the uncle from whom, for all the lawyer knew to the
contrary, he had every right to expect munificent provision. And the
lawyer spoke the truth when he said he had ventured to plead
Melville's cause with Sir Geoffrey, although he reduced to the lowest
possible terms the substance of the old man's answer to his pleading;
yet even at that interview, when Sir Geoffrey might reasonably have
been expected to confide entirely in the lawyer engaged to give legal
effect to his last testament, he had refrained; his native pride
forbade him to dilate upon his story, and kindly, but quite firmly,
he declared his intention not to swerve from the course which he had
chosen. Now that the thing was done, however, Mr. Tracy preferred
that the possible quarrel between the two young men should be
deferred until after his own departure, so he reverted to the matter
immediately in hand.
"Subject to your approval," he said, addressing Ralph, whom alone it
was now necessary to consult, "I will take steps to ascertain Lady
Holt's address. Sir Geoffrey told me he knew she was alive, but did
not know where she was to be found. I rather inferred that she was
in London, and in poor circumstances."
"Act as you think right," said Ralph. He was so surprised by the
revelation that he was impatient to learn the whole story. "Make all
possible enquiries, and if they fail, why not advertise a reward for
information about her? Why should Sir Geoffrey's wife be in poor
circumstances at all?"
"Perhaps she was misrepresented to her husband," Melville said
bitterly.
"Well, I will see about it," said Mr. Tracy, "and let you know the
result. Now I must really hurry away. I ventured to ask the butler
to order a conveyance to take me up to the station. Good-bye, Mr.
Melville. I quite understand your very natural disappointment, and I
do not hesitate to say I am sorry about it. If I can be of any
service to you at any time do not hesitate to command me."
Ralph walked to the door with Mr. Tracy.
"I'm all at sixes and sevens for the minute," he said, "but I should
like to see you again soon. Uncle Geoffrey may have left Melville
nothing, but he has made no conditions in leaving me so much. You
can, doubtless, advise me what would be the best thing to do about my
brother."
"I shall be particularly glad to do so," the old lawyer replied
heartily. "Give me time to confirm any appointment, as I am very
busy just now, but, within reason, I can come here or see you in the
Fields at any time."
"I suppose I'm in for a quarrel with Melville," Ralph continued
seriously, "so I should just like to add this. He's not likely to
agree to accept anything from me, but if he turns up later on to
consult you, can't you let him have a hundred or so without saying
too precisely where it comes from? You can make it right with me
afterwards."
"Of course I can," said Mr. Tracy. "Very delicate of you, I'm sure.
I shall be delighted to take part in so amiable a conspiracy," and,
shaking the new master of the Manor House warmly by the hand, he got
into the carriage and drove away.
Ralph watched the carriage disappear, and turned back into the house
with a sigh. How was he to deal with his brother in this moment of
humiliation, which Melville would with difficulty be persuaded was
not due to him? Although they were brothers and so nearly of an age,
the difference in their temperaments was such that Ralph felt certain
beforehand that he could not hope to appeal successfully to the
better part of Melville's character, which surely must exist. If Sir
Geoffrey, with all the authority of age and wealth, could not control
his younger nephew, how could Ralph hope to succeed? He lingered in
the hall, reluctant to open what would be a painful interview, and as
he looked at the familiar things, with their evidence of wealth and
cultured taste, and realised that they were all his, he became
conscious for the first time of the duties and responsibilities which
he had inherited with his rights and privileges. There was no mental
reservation in the inarticulate expression of regret at his uncle's
death that escaped him. Even if it had come in the ordinary course
of nature, he would fain have postponed the day, and lived content
and happy with the dear old man, as he had done for so many years;
but for the end to come so tragically, so treacherously, increased
the bitterness a thousandfold, and Ralph's first emotion as he looked
upon his goodly heritage was one of unmitigated grief at having thus
entered upon his own.
But after a little while he raised his head with a new expression of
peace and high purpose on his face. He would strive to be as good a
master of the fine old Manor as Sir Geoffrey had ever been, and the
moment to begin his duties had arrived. He must offer the hand of
brotherhood to Melville, and enlist his help in tracking their
uncle's murderer to his doom. More hopefully he went slowly from the
hall to join his brother in the library; but as he opened the door a
feeling of chill disappointment stole over him, for Melville, too,
had shirked the interview and the room was empty. As Ralph turned to
the window with a sigh he saw his brother, looking tall and slight in
his sombre mourning, moving slowly over the sunlit turf and making
evidently in the direction of The Grange.