NOT THE HEIR, AFTER ALL
The storm expended itself. The gale cannot go on blowing: the injured
man cannot go on raging, cursing, or weeping. Alec Feilding became
calm. Yet a settled gloom rested like a dark cloud upon his front: he
had lost something--a good part--of his pristine confidence. That
enviable quality which so much impresses itself upon others--called
swagger--had been knocked out of him. Indeed, he had sustained a blow
from which he would never wholly recover: such a man could never get
over the loss of such a fortune: his great-grandfather, so far as
could be learned, lost his fortune and began again, with cheerful
heart. Alec would begin again, because he must, but with rage and
bitterness. It was like being struck down by an incurable disease: it
might be alleviated, but it would never be driven out: from time to
time, in spite of the physicians, the patient writhes and groans in
the agony of this disease. So from time to time will this man, until
the end of time, groan and lament over the wicked waste and loss of
that superb inheritance.
Of course he disguised from himself--this is one of the things men
always do hide away--the fact that he himself was part and parcel of
the deed: he had destroyed himself by his own craft and cunning. Had
he not placed his wife with Armorel under instructions to persuade and
coax her into advancing money for his own purposes, the thing could
never have happened.
Henceforth, though the pair should have the desire of their hearts:
though they should march on to wealth and success: though the wife
should invent and contrive with the cleverness of ten for the good of
the firm: though the husband should grow more and more in the
estimation of the outer world into the position of a Master and an
Authority: between the two will lie the memory of fraud and crime, to
divide them and keep them apart.
On the day after the revelation, a thought came into the mind of the
inheritor of the rubies. The thing that had happened unto him--could
he cause it to happen unto another? Perhaps one remembers how, on
learning that the rubies were to be given to the eldest grandson of
the second daughter, he had dropped, limp and pale, into a chair. One
may also remember how, on learning that no further investigation would
be made, he recovered again. The fact was, you see, that Mr. Jagenal
had made a little mistake. His searchers had altered the order of the
three sisters. Frances, Alec Feilding's grandmother, was not the
second, but the third daughter. When the rubies were actually waiting
and ready for him, it would have been foolish to mention that fact,
especially as no further search was to be made, and the elder branch,
wherever it was, would never know anything of the matter at all.
Therefore, he then held his tongue.
Now, on the other hand, the jewels being worthless, he thought, first
of all, that it would look extremely scrupulous to inform Mr. Jagenal
of the discovery that his grandmother was really the third daughter:
next, if the other branch should be discovered, the fortunate heir
would, like himself, be raised to the heavens only to be dashed down
again to earth. Let someone else, as well as himself, experience the
agonies of that fall. He chuckled grimly as he considered the torments
in store for this fortunate unknown cousin. As for danger to his wife,
he considered rightly that there was none: the stones had been
consigned to the bank by Armorel, and in her own name: she signed an
order for their delivery to Mr. Jagenal: he had kept them in his safe.
They would certainly lie there some time before he found the new
heir. Nay. They had been in his custody for five years before he gave
them over formally to Armorel. Who could say when the robbery had been
effected? Who would think of asking the bank whether during the short
time the parcel was held in the name of Armorel it had been taken out?
Clearly the whole blame and responsibility lay with Mr. Jagenal
himself. He would have a very curious problem to solve--namely, how
the rubies had been changed in his own safe.
'Well, Alec, come to take away your rubies?' asked Mr. Jagenal,
cheerily. 'There they are in that safe.'
'No,' he replied, sadly. 'I am grieved indeed to say that I have not
come for the rubies. I shall never come for the rubies.'
'Why not?'
'Because they are not for me. According to your instructions, I have
no claim to them.'
'No claim?'
'I understand that Miss Rosevean intends to give these jewels to the
first representative of the family of Robert Fletcher. That is to say,
to the eldest grandchild of the first, second, or third daughter, as
the case may be?'
'That is so.'
'Very well. The eldest daughter left no children. You therefore sent
for me as the eldest--and only--grandchild of the second daughter?'
'I did.'
'Then I have to tell you that you are wrong. My grandmother was the
third daughter.'
'Is it possible?'
'Quite possible. She was the third daughter. I was not very accurately
acquainted with that part of my genealogy, and the other day I could
not have told you whether I came from the second or the third
daughter. I have since ascertained the facts. It was the second
daughter who went away to Australia or New Zealand, or somewhere. I do
not know anything at all about my cousins, but I think it very
unlikely that there are none in existence.'
'Very unlikely. What proof have you that your grandmother was the
second daughter?'
'I have an old family Bible--I can show it you, if you like. In this
has been entered the date of the birth, the place and date of baptism,
the names of the sponsors of all three sisters. There is also a note
on the second sister's marriage and on her emigration. I assure you
there can be no doubt on the subject at all.'
'Oh! This is very disastrous, my dear boy. How could my people have
made such a mistake? Alec, I feel for you--I do, indeed!'
'It is most disastrous!' Alec echoed with a groan. 'I have been in the
unfortunate position of a man who is suddenly put into possession
of a great fortune one day, and as suddenly deprived of it the next.
Of course, as soon as I discovered the real facts, it became my duty
to acquaint you with them.'
'By George!' cried Mr. Jagenal. 'If you had kept the facts to
yourself, no one would ever have been any wiser. No one, because the
transfer of the property is a sheer gift made by my client to you
without any compulsion at all. It is a private transaction of which I
should never have spoken to anyone. Well, Alec, I must not say that
you are wrong. But many men--most men perhaps--with a less keen sense
of honour than you--well--I say no more. Yet the loss and
disappointment must be a bitter pill for you.'
'It is a bitter pill,' he replied truthfully. 'More bitter than you
would suspect.'
'You will have the satisfaction of feeling that you have behaved in
this matter as a man of the strictest honour.'
'I am very glad, considering all things, that I have not had the
rubies in my own possession, even for a single hour.'
'That is nothing: of course they would have been safe in your hands.
Well, Alec, I am sorry for you. But you are young: you are clever: you
are succeeding hand over hand: pay a little more attention to your
daily expenses, put down your horses and live for a few years quietly,
and you will make your own fortune--ay, a fortune greater far than was
contained in this unlucky case of precious stones.'
'I suppose you will renew your search, now, after the descendants of
the second daughter?'
'I suppose we must. Do not forget that if there are no
descendants--or, which is much the same thing, if we cannot find them
in a reasonable time, I shall advise my client to transfer the jewels
to the grandson of the third daughter. And I hope, my dear boy--I
hope, I say, that we may never find those descendants.'
Alec departed, a little cheered by the consolation that he had passed
on the disappointment to another.
He went home, and found his wife in the studio, apparently waiting for
him. There were dark rings round her eyes. She had been weeping. Since
the storm they had not spoken to each other.
He sat down at his table--it was perfectly bare of papers--no sign of
any work at all upon it--and waited for her to begin.
'Is it not time,' she asked, 'that this should cease? You have
reproached me enough, I think. Remember, we are on the same level.
But, whatever I have done, it was done for your sake. Whatever you
have done, was done for your own sake. Now, is there going to be an
end to this situation?'
[Illustration: _'Is it not time,' she asked, 'that this should
cease?'_]
He made a gesture of impatience.
'Understand clearly--if I am to help you for the future: if I am going
to pull you through this crisis: if I am to direct and invent and
combine for you, I mean to be treated with the semblance of
kindness--the show of politeness at least.'
He sat up, moved by this appeal, which, indeed, was to his purse--that
is, to his heart.
'I say, my husband,' she repeated, 'you must understand me clearly.
Again, what I have done was done for you--for you. Unless you agree to
my conditions it shall have been done--for myself. I have four
thousand pounds in the bank in my own name. You cannot touch it. I
shall go away and live upon that money--apart from you. And you shall
have nothing--nothing--unless----'
'Unless what?' He shook off his wrath with a mighty effort, as a sulky
boy shakes off his sulks when he perceives that he must, and that
instantly. He threw off his wrath and sat up with a wan semblance of a
smile, a spectral smile, feebly painted on his lips. 'Unless what,
Zoe? My dear child, can you not make allowance for a man tried in this
terrible fashion? I don't believe that any man was ever so mocked by
Fortune. I have been crushed. Yes, any terms, any condition you
please. Let us forget the past. Come, dear, let us forget what has
happened.' He sprang to his feet and held out his arms.
She hesitated a moment. 'There is no other place for me now,' she
murmured. 'We are on the same level. I am all yours--now.'
Then she drew herself away, and turned again to the table. 'Come,
Alec,'she said, 'to business. Time presses. Sit down, and give me all
your attention.'