THE READING OF THE WILL--JEAN MACKINNON’S TOCHER.
At last the black-coated company came back from their melancholy errand,
like soldiers, who on similar occasions exchange the ‘Dead March in
Saul’ for ‘The Roast Beef of Old England,’ interchanging ordinary talk
and gossip all the more briskly for its temporary suspension, even
laughing a little at passing jests, in undertones. The party filed into
the study--by courtesy--where they found the three big-boned,
hoary-headed Miss Mackinnons in their places before the others, seated
in three chairs ranged in a row, as on the sack in the cart which had
brought the sisters to the fateful door of Strathdivie. But they were
not the only women present--considerably to Miss Janet’s disgust, Mrs.
Todd came in with her husband, and seated herself near the door
unforbidden by the lawyer, who was the master of the ceremonies, as he
took the chair at the head of the table and produced from the desk at
his elbow a paper with black seals, proceeding to read the document with
due gravity and emphasis.
The will took most of the people there by surprise--not because it
showed Archie Fenton to have been growing more and more an impoverished
man. All present, with the exception of the Miss Mackinnons, had used
their faculties of observation and become acquainted with that fact. The
astonishment was roused by the information that he had not clutched what
remained to him of this world’s goods to his last moment; on the
contrary, he had used such power as the law gave him to strip himself
beforehand of the bulk of his property by executing a deed of gift in
favour of his cousins in New Zealand--thus putting them at once in
possession of what he had destined for them, and saving them the payment
of legacy-duty. When Archie Fenton had set his house in order betimes,
relieving a sensitive, nervous mind, and doing his best to make a dying
bed easier, he had also bought an annuity which provided for his
remaining wants, and spared him the trouble of disposing of the capital
laid down in the purchase. There were only two reservations to the
course, which had, perhaps, as much selfishness as justice or generosity
in it. The first had to do with a moderate bequest to his servants. The
second referred to the claim which the descendants of the Virginian
Mackinnons had on a portion of his estate.
With some elaboration, the late Fenton of Strathdivie detailed by the
lips of the lawyer the amount of the claim, the manner in which the
money had been originally laid out, the casualties which had befallen
it from time to time, the legal opinion which he had troubled himself to
get to certify his exemption from the necessity of refunding these
losses--the most of them occurring before his day--the whole suggesting
forcibly the tyrannical and vexatious character which the provision for
the Mackinnons had ultimately assumed. In the end Fenton, with a
vindictive length of memory which the nearness of death had not cut
short, indemnified himself as far as possible for the annoyance he had
suffered, by exercising the right of choice which had been left to him,
in apportioning, as he saw fit, the two hundred and seventy pounds to
which Jean Mackinnon’s tocher had dwindled away. To May and Janet
Mackinnon, the elder daughters of the late Gavin Mackinnon, of St.
Mungo’s Square, Glasgow, who, on account of their years, were not likely
to derive much benefit from the legacy--a clause framed to deal a double
blow to the unfortunate legatees--twenty pounds each. To Elizabeth or
Bethia Mackinnon, third daughter of the said Gavin Mackinnon, whom the
testator had never seen, whose forward greed had not therefore offended
him, whom he judged of an age better suited to profit by any reversion
of property--two hundred and thirty pounds.
Miss Janet listened with eyes that glittered like Miss Mackinnon’s. Miss
Bethia’s mouth gaped helplessly.
The next thing which happened was that, without a moment’s hesitation,
Miss Janet stated plainly to the assembled company:
‘It’s a shamefu’ cheat. Jean Mackinnon’s marriage portion maun have been
liker ten than twa thousand, let alane hunders; somebody is answerable
for the defalcation.’
‘Mem, compose yourself, I beg,’ said the lawyer, at whom she glared,
speaking with the maddening coolness and politeness of a practised hand
in such circumstances.
The audience, which had gathered there without much hope of pecuniary
gain, and on that very account found themselves in an easy, disengaged
frame of mind, were ready, in the absence of any other source of
excitement, to welcome the diversion of listening to an angry woman
mulcted of what she believed her due, and, according to a woman’s
notions, insulted to boot. And not many insulted and aggrieved
expectants, even of the female sex, spoke their minds with the
refreshing plainness which Miss Janet Mackinnon had already displayed.
‘We are willing to make allowance for ruffled feelings’--Mr. Mair again
attempted to throw oil on the troubled waters in the storm which had
arisen--‘but I would warn you, mem, against making vague accusations. It
is hard to say to whom your words refer. If it is to the late Mr.
Fenton--who has vouchsafed a candid explanation of misadventures over
which he had no control, and who, as you have heard, took counsel more
than once to satisfy himself that he could not be held responsible for
them--although there is a good rule “_de mortuis nil nisi bonum_,” I do
not pretend that your speech is actionable. But if you have any other
person in your mind, I can only repeat to you my advice to be more
careful of what you say.’
‘What do I care for your advice ony mair than for your writer’s Latin?’
cried Miss Janet defiantly. ‘You insult the memory of auld Eneas
Mackinnon, who, when he was in the body, would have garred [made] every
notary-public among you stand about, by lettin’ it be said for an
instant that his dochter’s tocher was a paltry twa or three hunder!’
‘Mem, it was two thousand in the beginning--nobody disputes it. But it
was badly invested in the sourest land in all the three Wards; the
more’s the pity for your sake.’
‘Wha are you peetyin’? Leddies who are Mackinnons dinna crave pity from
men of business. Keep yours till it is asked for. What I insist on is
that Jean Mackinnon’s tocher had mair chance of being ten than twa
thousand.’
‘And what I say, mem, is that the law takes no account of chances,
hardly of probabilities. Can you produce documents to substantiate your
statement?’ demanded Mr. Mair with inflexible gravity, intended to
rebuke the twinkling eyes around him.
‘I daur say no!’ said Miss Janet, unabashed. ‘The Bible says riches have
wings and tak’ to flicht, but I think lawyers’ papers maun have as long
legs as cowardly loons of sodgers in a retreat. What is the use of wulls
and contracts, such as my late nephew Gauvin’s marriage contract, when
they vanish like smoke the moment they are wanted?’
‘I have not heard of the casualty,’ said Mr. Mair drily; ‘but I thought
the office in Edinburgh was a provision against such accidents.’
‘The Coort of Session!’ exclaimed Miss Janet disdainfully,
misunderstanding his meaning. ‘He or she maun be daft, indeed, wha has
recoorse to that refuge. I’ve had enough to encounter in my day from
lawyers’ gab, but a coortfu’ o’ them---- ’
‘I’m not sure that one woman would not be a match for them all,’
muttered Mr. Mair. Then he said in a louder key: ‘I regret, mem, that
you have been misinformed--I must say it, with regard to your legacy
from Strathdivie, but, at least, it has not failed your family
altogether. Suffer me to tell you I am not sure that my friend, the late
Mr. Fenton, might not have successfully contested your claim, and
refused to acknowledge it in his will.’
‘Oh, Janet,’ broke in Miss Bethia, in desperation, ‘say nae mair, lest
we lose what we’ve got. A bird in the hand, ye ken, is worth twa in the
buss. Twa hunder and seventy pounds is a gude lump of money, and you
are sensible that the only tidin’s we could ever pick up about Jean
Mackinnon’s gear, was that it had maist melted awa’, though you would
not hear a word to that effect.’
‘Haud your tongue, Betheye!’ said Miss Janet angrily. ‘And what did the
man mean by treatin’ Meye and me as gin we were superannuate? She’s
glowerin’ at me for word, but somebody else maun write it down for her
to read--I have not the heart. Archie Fenton maun hae been daft and no
fit to mak’ a wull. Even if we had been as auld as the hills, could he
not trust us to hand over our shares, when we were done wi’ them, to
Betheye--our ain sister?’
‘There is something to be said there,’ admitted Mr. Mair. ‘You have
ground for complaint on that score. But a lawyer can only act on his
instructions, and I must bear witness that Mr. Fenton was in his sound
mind when he caused that deed to be drawn up, and when he signed it.
Why, it was two years ago, when he was in little worse health than was
customary with him.’
‘The wull is a whole hatterell [collection] of mistakes,’ said Miss
Janet doggedly. ‘He maun have confused our names, and our standin’ in
the family.’
‘By no means, mem; you forget that he gives both correctly, and that he
mentions Miss Bethia as the third daughter.’
‘I wudna believe it, though you were to preach it doon my throat,’
maintained Miss Janet.
In such a case there was no more to be said; but the announcement that
dinner was on the table was welcome as putting an end to the discussion.
Then Miss Janet gave way by a hair’s-breadth. In place of taking
possession of what she wanted as her simple right, she asked Mr. Mair if
he had any objection to leave the will, to be looked over by the
sisters, and read by Miss Mackinnon.
‘No objection in the world,’ said the lawyer, courteous by nature, and
really willing, as he had been during the whole affair, to do the poor
old ladies any service in his power. But it was not business-like for
such papers to lie about, so he entrusted Miss Janet with the key of the
desk, which contained nothing else of any consequence.
According to old usage in Scotland, the women of the family were not
present at the dinner after the funeral--a withdrawal on their part
doubtless due in the past to the wild orgies which, like Irish wakes,
were wont to establish the respectable standing as well as the
hospitable practice of the house, and at once to commemorate the worth
of the dead and solace the grief of the male relatives among the living.
Such ghastly orgies had long since passed away, but the peculiar reserve
which forbade the attendance of women at funerals still made ladies, as
a rule, keep their rooms in what was supposed to be the depth of their
sorrow. Maiden ladies like the Miss Mackinnons were the last to change
old customs.
The three sisters sat still in the room where the will had been read,
and after the last man had shut the door behind him, looked in each
other’s faces. That is, Miss Mackinnon and Miss Janet looked, for poor
Miss Bethia, in her innocence, was unable to meet the eyes of the
others. She turned away, while Miss Janet did not wait to take
possession of the will, but wrote its purport on the slate which had
been provided for the enlightenment of Miss Mackinnon. She expressed
herself in a feeble version of Miss Janet’s passion that it was a cheat
and ‘havers.’
During the explanation Mrs. Todd came into the room, with a tray for the
ladies, and cast a lynx-eye on the desk with the key in it.
The injured women ate and drank--where would have been the gain in
letting good food be lost? Miss Bethia had felt as if every morsel she
ate must choke her. But the hotch-potch, roast fowl, and pancakes, which
did credit to Mrs. Todd’s plain but efficient cookery, were not without
a solacing influence, neither were the glasses of Madeira which Mr. Mair
had taken care should be added to the meal. What the ladies would have
called the generous fare restored some strength to their shaken frames,
and with strength came a little reasonableness.
Two hundred and seventy pounds _was_ a lump of money. In spite of what
might have seemed grasping and avaricious in their natures, the Miss
Mackinnons had no right sense of the value of money, any more than if
they had been children. The ladies had been poor and growing poorer all
their lives. They had even known abject poverty. It was not wonderful
that they felt inclined to exaggerate the amount of shillings and pence
in two hundred and seventy pounds, and to think they would never come to
an end. The sisters had been startled and deeply mortified, in the
middle of their extravagant fancies, by the first sound of what the
legacy had dwindled to. After they had got accustomed to the truth, and
had begun to realize that it was inevitable; after they had found time
to recall what Miss Bethia had already remembered, of whispers of the
diminution of the property--not listened to when breathed long before in
the Miss Mackinnons’ hearing--a change came over the spirit of their
dreams. They commenced to say to themselves that a little thing was
better than nothing--a great deal better--that it was not little after
all. For two hundred and seventy pounds was a lump of money; enough,
with what the sisters had enjoyed lately, to secure them from want all
the days of their lives; nay, even to enable them to make a ‘hochie’
(hidden treasure) for the Lieutenant. With the wonderful adaptability of
human nature--above all, of woman’s nature--the Miss Mackinnons,
including Miss Janet, were remoulding their plans, and reconciling
themselves to hundreds instead of thousands, and twos instead of tens.
It was no longer the sum itself, it was the heinous injustice and
inequality of the division of it, which continued to trouble the ladies.
Yet ‘it was not lost that a friend got,’ and, in their honest family
affection, it was possible they would end by not only facing the fact,
but by accepting it without a grudge against the favoured individual.
END OF VOL. II.
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.