DO YOUR WORST.
“Daughter!” gasped Allison, a feeling of utter despair at her
heart, as John Hubbard gave utterance, in a tone of fiendish
triumph, to that last word. “Do you mean to tell me that papa has
an own daughter living?”
“Yes--Miss Anna Brewster, who is a young lady a few years your
senior. A fine-looking girl she is, too--a brilliant brunette,
resembling her mother, who must also have been a handsome woman
when she was young,” John Hubbard responded, as he covertly watched
his companion.
Allison sat silently thinking for several moments, but at last she
looked up at the man, meeting his eyes with a steadfast look.
“In spite of all you say, I do not believe it,” she said, with a
quiet positiveness. “If that woman was his wife, there might have
been some good reason for his repudiation of her; but he never
would have denied the child that was his own flesh and blood. He
was too honorable not to wish to do what was right and honest, and
he would certainly have made generous provision for her. No, I will
not credit such a story.”
“Suppose I should show you the certificate of his marriage to
this woman, also some letters which he wrote to her before their
marriage?” questioned her companion, a light of evil triumph in his
eyes.
“If you have such proofs, of course you will show them to me,”
Allison haughtily returned. “You cannot suppose that I am going to
take all that you have told me for granted, and yield my position
and fortune without a struggle. Produce your evidence, if you have
it; it is my right to demand it.”
“Very well; I will produce it,” said the man, with an ugly frown
upon his brow; and, slipping his hand inside the breast pocket of
his coat, he drew forth a large envelope and a small package of
time-yellowed letters that were tied together with a faded blue
ribbon.
Drawing a paper from the envelope, he unfolded and spread it out
upon the table before Allison.
It was a marriage-certificate, dated more than twenty-four years
previous.
It certified that on the 10th of April, of 18--, Adam Brewster
had been united in marriage to Louisa M. Simpson, of New Haven,
Connecticut, by the Reverend Albert Ackerman.
The document was faded and creased with time, and it had every
appearance of being a genuine certificate. Allison read it
carefully, then pushed it one side, and held out her hand for the
letters.
As she untied the narrow ribbon that bound them, and the various
missives dropped apart, a low cry of pain escaped her, for she
instantly recognized her father’s handwriting upon their envelopes.
Opening several of these, she saw that they were affectionately
addressed to “My Dearest,” “Sweetheart,” “_Ma Belle_,” etc., and
signed “Ever yours,” or “Your own Ad.”
There could not be the slightest doubt that those letters had been
written by Adam Brewster, although Allison did not have the heart
to read any of them, and gradually the conviction was forced upon
her that the story which John Hubbard had told her must be true.
What then, was to be her fate?
Mrs. Brewster’s confession of her secret adoption had, at first,
cut her to the heart, for it had seemed to alienate her from the
dear ones whom, all her life, she had regarded as her parents; but,
in the light of this later revelation, she now felt a thrill of
thankfulness in knowing that she had not been their child, since
such a birth would seem to entail disgrace upon her; and, like a
drowning person clutching at a straw of hope, she now clung to that
assurance contained in the young mother’s note that the child whom
she had been forced to desert was “well and honorably born.”
And yet she knew that Adam Brewster had loved her as he loved no
other being on earth; that all his hopes had been centered in her;
that he had constantly toiled and accumulated for her alone, and
gloried in the fact that she would be his sole heiress.
She could not understand why, if he really had an own child, he
should have repudiated her; why he had not made handsome provision
for her. Possibly he had done so, unknown to any one save this
woman and her daughter; and they, now becoming greedy for more,
were taking this way to get possession of the heritage willed to
her.
“Yes,” she sighed, at last, as she gathered up and retied the
letters together, “I am afraid it is all true.”
A sinister, avaricious light sprang into the eyes of her companion
as she made this admission.
“Still,” she thoughtfully resumed, “I do not see how it can very
materially affect my position. I was reared as my father’s own
child; all the world knows it; and the will which he made, naming
me as his heiress, must stand.”
“Mrs. Brewster and her daughter will contest that will,” briefly
observed John Hubbard.
“How can they? Was it not legally drawn? If it was not, then you
are responsible for its invalidity,” sharply retorted Allison.
“Certainly it was legally drawn; there is no flaw in it,” was
the dignified response, although the man flushed guiltily as he
recalled that Sunday morning which he had spent in the bank the
previous winter. “But, according to certain laws, a man has no
right to make a will ignoring any of his heirs, and if, either
by oversight or design, he does so, the will can be broken.
Consequently, Mrs. Brewster has informed me that she should bring a
suit against her late husband’s estate, and demand recognition of
her position and rights.”
“And, in view of that threat, have not you, as my guardian, done
anything to protect my interests?” demanded Allison, with some
warmth.
“Certainly, Miss Brewster; I have done a great deal. I have staved
off proceedings, for one thing, hoping that we might compromise
matters, and so settle everything quietly, without a trial and a
scandal. This could have been done if--if my plans had worked,”
said the crafty man, with a reproachful look and sigh. “But now I
think Mrs. Brewster will press her claims. She will try to break
the will, asserting that you have no right to anything, while she,
being the legal wife, and her child, the only legitimate heir, are
justly entitled to everything.”
“Oh, will poor, dear mama’s name have to be dragged before the
public? Will this claimant try to prove that mama was never legally
married to papa?” exclaimed Allison, in deep distress, her face
crimsoning with shame at the thought of having that lovely and
sainted woman’s reputation so trailed in the dust.
“Yes, I fear she does not intend to spare her rival, unless we can
hit upon some plan of settling the matter quietly,” said the crafty
villain.
“Can it be quietly settled?” eagerly questioned the distressed girl.
“Possibly it might be,” the man admitted, with averted eyes.
“How?”
“Well, I suppose if you would resign everything----”
“Everything! Do you tell me that I am expected to relinquish all
right and title to everything that my dear father left me?” cried
Allison, the hot color mounting to her forehead in indignant
protest against such wholesale robbery.
“Ahem!” said John Hubbard, moving uneasily upon his chair. “I
think that will be the only way to get out of it quietly. You see,
you are not really entitled to a penny, since there is no Brewster
blood in your veins.”
“But do not the love and wishes of my father, as expressed in his
will, count for anything?”
“From a sentimental point of view, they might count for a great
deal; but there is no sentiment in law, Miss Brewster,” sneered the
attorney.
“No, nor any other principle but greed!” sharply retorted Allison,
a ring of keen pain in her tones.
It seemed as if she was an entirely different being from what she
had been two hours previous, as if some terrible metamorphosis
had taken place in her, destroying her identity and making her a
stranger to even herself.
She was no longer Allison Brewster, the heiress to a vast fortune;
she had no longer any right to the position she had always
occupied. She did not know who she was, or--if this strange woman,
who called herself Adam Brewster’s widow, demanded the uttermost
farthing--how she was to live in the future, or find a home to
shelter her.
“Oh, it is all a cruel mystery, and I do not know how to meet
it!” the perplexed girl sighed, almost unconsciously voicing her
thoughts.
“Yes, the events connected with your association with the Brewster
family are mysterious, and it is doubtful if they will ever be
solved,” responded her companion, a gleam of cruel satisfaction in
his eyes in view of the evident suffering of his victim. “And,”
he added, pressing the thorn yet more deeply into the wound, “it
must seem hard to one reared as luxuriously as you have been to be
reduced from affluence to abject poverty by a single blow.”
His cruelty stung her to the quick.
“It shall not be! I will not be so robbed!” she exclaimed
excitedly. “I will claim that I have a right to at least some
portion of the fortune which my father willed me. Surely no judge
or jury would ever decree that that woman and her daughter are
entitled to the whole. And I cannot quite understand your attitude
in connection with their claims, Mr. Hubbard,” she added, with
sudden thought. “Considering your position as my guardian, one
would naturally suppose you would make a brave fight for me, rather
than advocate their cause so earnestly.”
“I have already fought to the finish for you. I have spared no
effort to win,” the man retorted significantly: “but, as I have
already told you, you have sealed your own doom. I could have
braved everything for my wife, and I would have won the victory;
but when a girl tells a man that she loves a fellow he hates, and
that she would rather be a beggar or a street-sweeper than marry
him, her scorn has a tendency to produce a strong revulsion in
his feelings. And now, my proud little beggar--for such you will
be--you may go and starve, for all I care!” he concluded, with
intense bitterness.
“I will not starve! I will defy you to the very end,” Allison
cried spiritedly, as she again sprang to her feet and confronted
her sworn foe with flashing eyes. “Oh, I am almost inclined to
believe that this is some deep-laid plot to ruin me--some vile
scheme of your own to drive me into a hateful marriage with you,
or into poverty and obscurity as my only alternative. I have never
trusted you, Mr. John Hubbard, and have wondered how papa could
have put faith in you. I have long believed you to be tricky and
capable of double-dealing. I have always felt that you had a hand
in bringing that trouble upon Gerald. But truth and the right
triumphed in his case, and you will be foiled in this. I am only a
lonely girl. I know nothing about the quirks and quibbles of law;
but I am inclined to doubt this story of yours regarding the woman
whom you call Mrs. Brewster, in spite of the ‘proofs’ which you
have shown me; and now I am going to prove to you that, even though
I may have no Brewster blood in my veins, I have a spirit of which
Adam Brewster need not be ashamed in the girl whom he reared as his
daughter. Now, do your worst, Mr. Hubbard, and I will seek the best
counsel in New York to fight against you!”
She was gloriously beautiful as she stood proudly facing her enemy.
Her pose was proud and fearless, her cheeks were scarlet, and her
beautiful eyes blazed with a fire which bespoke dauntless courage.
She seemed to have suddenly developed from a quiet, clinging,
dependent schoolgirl into a strong, self-reliant woman, who was
determined to do and dare all things to maintain her rights and
preserve her heritage.
John Hubbard gazed upon her wonderingly.
He had not dreamed of arousing such a sleeping lioness; he had
believed that she would be so overwhelmed by the proofs and the
power which he held in his hands that she would tamely submit to
the inevitable, and relinquish all right or title to the Brewster
estate, whereupon he would come without an effort into possession
of her fortune, which he had so long coveted.
“And whom will you choose as your attorney to contest this case,
Miss Brewster?” he inquired, in a harsh, rasping voice, after
recovering a little from his surprise at the stand she had taken.
“I do not know yet, and I should not tell you if I did,” she coldly
responded. Then she added thoughtlessly: “Gerald will advise me.
Perhaps Mr. Lyttleton----”
A vicious, sibilant oath here interrupted her as she uttered these
names.
“Neither is in New York. They sailed again for Europe a week ago
to-day,” John Hubbard added, in a tone of vindictive triumph.
Allison started violently, then flushed a wounded crimson.
This explained why she had not heard from Gerald, she thought.
Doubtless his employer had been suddenly recalled to England upon
some business connected with “the complicated case” that he was
conducting there.
And yet she felt, with a terrible sense of loss and pain, that
Gerald might at least have found time to drop her a line, telling
her of his unexpected flitting. It was very strange, and she was
deeply wounded, but she did not once suspect foul play--that John
Hubbard might have been tampering with her correspondence.
Such was the case, however. No letter of hers had been allowed to
reach Gerald; while, at that very moment, two tender epistles from
her lover, one of them telling her that he and his employer had
been summoned abroad again, and giving her his London address, were
tucked snugly away in the villain’s wallet.
“Very well,” she proudly returned, on recovering herself a little;
“there are other talented lawyers. I shall find some one to help
me.”
“But where will you get the money necessary to conduct your case,
Miss Brewster?” sneeringly demanded Mr. Hubbard. “Litigation is
expensive business, and, in view of your present attitude, I shall
feel it my duty to cut off your allowance from this time on.”
Allison’s heart sank within her, for she saw that she was powerless
in his hands; he had control of her property, and she could not
compel him to give her a single dollar if he chose to withhold it.
“Well, at least I have my mother’s jewels. I can pledge them as
security for my counsel’s fee,” she wearily replied.
“I beg leave to differ with you, my dear young lady,” was the
sarcastic retort. “Those jewels, as you are aware, are in my safe;
and since it has been proved that you are not Adam Brewster’s
daughter, they will be regarded as belonging to his estate, and so
retained for the true heirs, as the court shall decide.”
“Mr. Hubbard, you know that they rightly belong to me,” Allison
indignantly exclaimed. “You know that papa intended them for me. He
told Mr. Winchester so when he sent him to get them, and I demand
them from you.”
“Excuse me, but I shall be obliged to ignore your demand,” returned
the man, with a cruel smile. “Having been purchased with Mr.
Brewster’s money, they henceforth properly belong to Mr. Brewster’s
own daughter, and they will probably become the property of Miss
Anna Brewster.”
Allison stood silently and gravely regarding him for a moment.
“Have you no heart?” she at length inquired. “Have you no
principle, that you thus prove recreant to the trust my father
reposed in you?”
“I was appointed guardian to Mr. Brewster’s daughter, and I fully
intend to see that the lady has her rights,” John Hubbard replied.
“You know that you are not in the least carrying out the spirit
of my father’s will,” said Allison solemnly. “You, as well as I,
know that he would never have left his property as he did if he had
supposed there was any one living who would contest his wishes. You
are guilty of a great wrong.”
“Miss Brewster, I am fulfilling the ‘letter of the law’. Ah,
Allison, you should never have made an enemy of me,” the villain
concluded mockingly.
“Oh!” cried Allison passionately, and with a shiver of repugnance;
“I believe I would rather have your enmity than your friendship,
if it would free me forever from your hateful presence! From this
moment I repudiate you utterly, and all your authority over me.
Now, do your worst; but I warn you I will make a hot battle for
you!”
John Hubbard felt a strange heart-sinking as he looked upon the
beautiful girl, read the scorn in her great blue eyes, and
realized how utterly despicable he was in her sight.
Then he laughed out mockingly.
“I am afraid you have undertaken more than you realize, Allison,”
he said, all his ghastly teeth gleaming at her from the shadow of
his inky mustache; “for let me tell you another precious little
secret.” And now he bent so that his own evil eyes came just on
a level with hers. “You have scornfully rejected the hand and
fortune which I offered you, but Miss Anna Brewster stands ready to
become Mrs. John Hubbard any day I choose to name for the wedding.
So, you perceive, you will have the united interests of Hubbard and
Brewster against you; and do you think I will let such a fortune
slip out of my hands?”