THE EVENING AFTER THE FUNERAL.
Young Schofield had been asked by Mrs. Walter Scott to return to
Millbank after the services at the grave were over. She had her own
ideas with regard to the proper way of managing the _will_ matter, and
the sooner the truth was known the sooner would all parties understand
the ground they stood on. She knew _her_ ground. She had no fears for
herself. The will,—Squire Irving’s last will and testament,—was lying in
his private drawer in the writing-desk, where she had seen it every day
since she had been at Millbank; but she had not read it, for the
envelope was _sealed_, and having a most unbounded respect for law and
justice, and fancying that to break the seal would neither be just nor
lawful, she had contented herself with merely taking the package in her
hand, and assuring herself that it was safe against the moment when it
was wanted. It had struck her that it was a little yellow and time-worn,
but she had no suspicion that anything was wrong. To-day, however, while
the people were at the grave, she had been slightly startled, for when
for a second time she tried the drawer of the writing-desk, she found it
locked and the key gone! Had there been foul play? and who had locked
the door? she asked herself, while, for a moment, the cold perspiration
stood under her hair. Then thinking it probable that Roger, who was
noted for thoughtfulness, might have turned and taken the key to his
father’s private drawer as a precaution against any curious ones who
might be at the funeral, she dismissed her fears and waited calmly for
the _dénouement_r individual was doing,—_Hester Floyd_,—who knew about
the sealed package just as Mrs. Walter Scott did, and who had been
deterred from opening it for the same reason which had actuated that
lady, and who had also seen and handled it each day since the squire’s
death.
Hester, too, knew that the drawer was locked, and that gave her a
feeling of security, while on her way to and from the grave, where her
mind was running far more upon the _after-clap_, as she termed it, than
upon the solemn service for the dead. Hester was very nervous, and an
extra amount of green tea was put in the steeper for her benefit, and
she could have shaken the unimpressible Aleck for seeming so composed
and unconcerned when he stood, as she said, “right over a dreadful,
gapin’ vertex.”
And Aleck _was_ unconcerned. Whatever he had lent his aid to had been
planned by his better half, in whom he had unbounded confidence. If she
stood over “a gapin’ vertex,” she had the ability to skirt round it or
across it, and take him safely with her. So Aleck had no fears, and ate
a hearty supper and drank his mug of beer and smoked his pipe in quiet,
and heard, without the least perturbation, the summons for the servants
to assemble in the library and hear their master’s last will and
testament. This was Mrs. Walter Scott’s idea, and when tea was over she
had said to young Schofield:
“You told me father left a will. Perhaps it would be well enough for you
to read it to us before you go. I will have the servants in, as they are
probably remembered in it.”
Her manner was very deferential toward young Schofield and implied
confidence in his abilities, and flattered by attention from so great a
lady he expressed himself as at her service for anything. So when the
daylight was gone and the wax candles were lighted in the library, Mrs.
Walter Scott repaired thither with Frank, whom she had brought from his
post by the candle-box. It was natural that he should be present as well
as Roger, and she arranged the two boys, one on each side of her, and
motioned the servants to seats across the room, and Lawyer Schofield to
the arm-chair near the centre of the room. She was making it very formal
and ceremonious, and _Englishy_, and Roger wondered what it was all for,
while Frank fidgeted and longed for the candle-box, where the baby lay
asleep.
“I am told Squire Irving left a will,” Mrs. Walter Scott said, when her
auditors were assembled, “and I thought best for Mr. Schofield to read
it. Do you know where it is?” and she addressed herself to the lawyer,
who replied, “I am sure I do not, unless in his private drawer where he
kept his important papers.”
Roger flushed a little then, for it was into that private drawer that he
had put his mother’s letter, and the key was in his pocket. Mrs. Walter
Scott noticed the flush, but was not quite prepared to see Roger arise
at once, unlock the drawer, and take from it a package, which was not
the will, but which, nevertheless, excited her curiosity.
“Lawyer Schofield can examine the papers,” Roger said, resuming his
seat, while the young man went to the drawer and took out the sealed
envelope which both Mrs. Walter Scott and Hester had had in their hands
so many times within the last few days.
“WILLIAM H. IRVING’S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.”
There was no doubt about its being the genuine article, and the lawyer
waited a moment before opening it. There was perfect silence in the
room, except for the clock on the mantle, which ticked so loudly and
made Hester so nervous that she almost screamed aloud. The candles
sputtered a little, and ran up long, black wicks, and the fire on the
hearth cast weird shadows on the wall, and the silence was growing
oppressive, when Frank, who could endure no longer, pulled his mother’s
skirts, and exclaimed, “Mother, mother, what is he going to do, and why
don’t he do it? I want the darned thing over so I can go out.”
That broke the spell, and Lawyer Schofield began to read Squire Irving’s
last will and testament. It was dated five years before, at a time when
the Squire lay on his sick bed, from which he never expected to rise,
and not long after his purchase of the house on Lexington Avenue for
Mrs. Walter Scott. There was mention made of his deceased son having
received his entire portion, but the sum of four hundred dollars was
annually to be paid for Frank’s education until he was of age, when he
was to receive from the estate five thousand dollars to “set himself up
in business, provided that business had nothing to do with _horses_.”
The old man’s aversion to the rock on which his son had split was
manifest even in his will, but no one paid any heed to it then. They
were listening too eagerly to the reading of the document, which, after
remembering Frank, and leaving a legacy to the church in Belvidere, and
another to an orphan asylum in New York, and another to his servants,
with the exception of Aleck and Hester, gave the whole of the Irving
possessions, both real and personal, to the boy Roger, who was as far as
possible from realizing that he was the richest heir for miles and miles
around. He was feeling sorry that Frank had not fared better, and
wondering why Aleck and Hester had not been remembered. _They_ were
witnesses of the will, and there was no mistaking Hester’s straight up
and down letters, or Aleck’s back-hand.
Mrs. Walter Scott was confounded,—utterly, totally confounded, and for a
moment deprived of her powers of speech. That she had not listened to
the Squire’s _last_ will and testament,—that there was foul play
somewhere, she fully believed, and she scanned the faces of those
present to find the guilty one. But for the fact that Aleck and Hester
were not remembered in this will, she might have suspected them; but the
omission of their names was in their favor, while the stolid, almost
stupid look of Aleck’s face, was another proof of his innocence. Hester,
too, though slightly restless, appeared as usual. Nobody showed guilt
but _Roger_, whose face had turned very red, and was very red still as
he sat fidgeting in his chair and looking hard at Frank. The locked
drawer and the package taken from it, recurred now to the lady’s mind,
and made her sure that Roger had the real will in his pocket; and, in a
choking voice, she said to the lawyer, as he was about to congratulate
the boy on his brilliant fortune: “Stop, please, Mr. Schofield; I
think—yes, I know—there was another will—a later one—in which matters
were reversed—and—and Frank—was the heir.”
Her words rang through the room, and, for an instant, those who heard
them sat as if stunned. Roger’s face was white now, instead of red, but
he didn’t look as startled as might have been expected. He did not
realize that if what his sister said was true, he was almost a
beggar;—he only thought how much better it was for Frank, toward whom he
meant to be so generous; and he looked kindly at the little white-haired
boy who had, in a certain sense, come up as his rival. Mrs. Walter Scott
had risen from her chair and locked the door; then, going to the table
where the lawyer was sitting, she stood leaning upon it, and gazing
fixedly at Roger. The lawyer, greatly surprised at the turn matters were
taking, said to her a little sarcastically: “I fancied, from something
you said, that you did not know there was a _will_ at all. Why do you
think there was a later one? Did you ever see it, and why should Squire
Irving do injustice to his only son?”
Mrs. Walter Scott detected in the lawyer’s tone that he had forsaken
her, and it added to her excitement, making her so far forget her
character as a lady, that her voice was raised to an unnatural pitch,
and shook with anger as she replied, “I never saw it, but I know there
was one, and that your father drew it. It was made some months ago, when
I was visiting at Millbank. I went to Boston for a few days, and when I
came back, Squire Irving told me what he had done.”
“Who witnessed the will?” the lawyer asked.
“That I do not know. I only know there was one, and that Frank was the
heir.”
“A most unnatural thing to cut off his own son for a grandchild whose
father had already received his portion,” young Schofield said; and,
still more exasperated, Mrs. Walter Scott replied, “I do not know that
Roger _was_ cut off. I only know that Frank was to have Millbank, with
its appurtenances, and I’ll search this room until I find the stolen
paper. What was that you took from the drawer, boy?”
Roger was awake now to the situation. He understood that Mrs. Walter
Scott believed his father had deprived him of Millbank, the beautiful
home he loved so much, and he understood another fact, which, if
possible, cut deeper than disinheritance. She suspected him of stealing
the will. The Irving blood in the boy was roused. His eyes were not like
Jessie’s now, but flashed indignantly as he, too, rose to his feet, and,
confronting the angry woman, demanded what she meant.
“Show me that paper in your pocket, and tell me why that drawer was
locked this morning, and why you had the key,” she said; and Roger
replied, “You tried the drawer then, it seems, and found it locked. Tell
me, please, what business you had with my father’s private drawer and
papers?”
“I had the right of a daughter,—an older sister, whose business it was
to see that matters were kept straight until some head was appointed,”
Mrs. Walter Scott said, and then she asked again for the package which
Roger had taken from the drawer.
There was a moment’s hesitancy on Roger’s part; then, remembering that
she could not compel him to let her read his mother’s farewell message,
he took the sea-stained letter from his pocket and said:
“It was from my mother. She wrote it on the “Sea Gull,” just before it
took fire. It was found on the table where father sat writing to me when
he died. I believe he was going to send it to me. At all events it is
mine now, and I shall keep it. Hester gave it to me this morning, and I
put it in the private drawer and took the key with me. I knew nothing of
this will, or any other will, except that father always talked as if I
would have Millbank, and told me of some improvements it would be well
to make in the factory and shoe-shop in the course of a few years,
should he not live so long. Are you satisfied with my explanation!”
He was looking at the lawyer, who replied:
“I believe you, boy, just as I believe that Squire Irving destroyed his
second will, if he ever made one, which, without any disrespect intended
to the lady, I doubt, though she may have excellent reasons for
believing otherwise. It would have been a most unnatural thing for a
father to cast off with a legacy his only son, and knowing Squire Irving
as I did, I cannot think he would do it.”
The lawyer had forsaken the lady’s cause entirely, and wholly forgetting
herself in her wrath she burst out with—
“As to the sonship there may be a question of doubt, and if such doubt
ever crept into Squire Irving’s mind he was not a man to rest quietly,
or to leave his money to a stranger.”
Roger had not the most remote idea what the woman meant, and the lawyer
only a vague one; but Hester knew, and she sprang up like a tiger from
the chair where she had hitherto sat a quiet spectator of what was
transpiring.
“You woman,” she cried, facing Mrs. Walter Scott, with a fiery gleam in
her gray eyes, “if I could have my way, I’d turn you out of doors, bag
and baggage. If there was a doubt, who hatched it up but you, you sly,
insinuatin’ critter. I overheard you myself working upon the weak old
man, and hintin’ things you orto blush to speak of. There was no mention
made of a will then, but I know now that was what you was up to, and if
he was persuaded to the ’bominable piece of work which this gentleman,
who knows law more than I do, don’t believe, and then destroyed it,—as
he was likely to do when he came to himself,—and you, with your snaky
ways, was in New York, it has served you right, and makes me think more
and more that the universal religion is true. Not that I’ve anything
special agin’ Frank, whose wust blood he got from you, but that Roger
should be slighted by his own father is too great a dose to swaller, and
I for one shan’t stay any longer in the same room with you; so hand me
the key to the door which you locked when you thought Roger had the will
in his pocket. Maybe you’d like to search the hull coboodle of us. You
are welcome to, I’m sure.”
Mrs. Walter Scott was a good deal taken aback with this tirade. She had
heard some truths from which she shrank, and, glad to be rid of Hester
on any terms, she mechanically held out the key to the door.
But here the lawyer interposed, and said:
“Excuse me, one moment, please. Mrs. Floyd, do you remember signing this
will which I have read in your hearing?”
“Perfectly;” and Hester snapped her words off with an emphasis. “The
master was sick and afraid he might die, and he sent for your father,
who was alone with him a spell, and then he called me and my old man in,
and said we was to be witnesses to his will, and we was, Aleck and me.”
“It was strange father did not remember you, who had lived with him so
long,” Roger suggested, his generosity and sense of justice
overmastering all other emotions.
“If he had they could not have been witnesses,” the lawyer said, while
Hester rejoined:
“It ain’t strange at all; for only six weeks before, he had given us two
thousand dollars to buy the tavern stand down by the toll-gate, where
we’ve set my niece Martha up in business, who keeps as good a house as
there is in Belvidere; so you see that’s explained, and he gave us good
wages always, and kept raisin’, too, till now we have jintly more than
some ministers, with our vittles into the bargain.”
Hester was exonerating her late master from any neglect of herself and
Aleck, and in so doing she made the lawyer forget to ask if she had ever
heard of a second will made by Squire Irving. The old lawyer Schofield
would have done so, but the son was young and inexperienced, and not
given to suspecting everybody. Besides that, he liked Roger. He knew it
was right that he should be the heir, and believed he was, and that Mrs.
Walter Scott was altogether mistaken in her ideas. Still he suggested
that there could be no harm in searching among the squire’s papers. And
Mrs. Walter Scott did search, assisted by Roger, who told her of a
secret drawer in the writing-desk and opened it himself for her
inspection, finding nothing there but a time-worn letter and a few faded
flowers,—lilies of the valley,—which must have been worn in Jessie’s
hair, for there was a golden thread twisted in among the faded blossoms.
That secret drawer was the sepulchre of all the love and romance of the
old squire’s later marriage, and it seemed to both Mrs. Walter Scott and
Roger like a grave which they had sacrilegiously invaded. So they closed
it reverently, with its withered blossoms and mementos of a past which
never ought to have been. But afterward, Roger went back to the secret
drawer, and took therefrom the flowers, and the letter written by Jessie
to her aged suitor a few weeks before her marriage. These, with the
letter written on the sea, were sacred to him, and he put them away
where no curious eyes could find them. There had been a few words of
consultation between Roger and Lawyer Schofield, and then, with a hint
that he was always at Roger’s service, the lawyer had taken his leave,
remarking to Mrs. Walter Scott, as he did so:
“I thought you would find yourself mistaken; still you might investigate
a little further.”
He meant to be polite, but there was a tinge of sarcasm in his tone,
which the lady recognized, and inwardly resented. She had fallen in his
opinion, and she knew it, and carried herself loftily until he said to
Roger,—
“I had an appointment to meet your father in his library the very
evening he died. He wished to make a change in his will, and I think,
perhaps, he intended doing better by the young boy, Frank. At least,
that is possible, and you may deem it advisable to act as if you knew
that was his intention, you have an immense amount of money at your
command, for your father was the richest man in the county.”
Frank had long ago gone back to the kitchen and the baby. He had no
special interest in what they were talking about, nor was it needful
that he should have. He was safe with Roger, who, to the lawyer’s
suggestion, replied:
“I shall do Frank justice, as I am sure he would have done me, had the
tables been reversed.”
The lawyer bowed himself out, and Roger was alone with his
sister-in-law, who looked so white, and injured, and disappointed, that
he felt, to say the least, very uncomfortable in her presence. He had
not liked her manner at all, and had caught glimpses of a far worse
disposition than he had thought she possessed, while he was morally
certain that she was ready and willing to trample on all his rights, and
even cast him aloof from his home if she could. Still, he would rather
be on friendly terms with her, for Frank’s sake, if for no other, and so
he went up to her, and said:
“I know you are disappointed if you really believed father had left the
most of his money to Frank.”
“I don’t believe. I know; and there has been foul play somewhere. He
told me he had made another will, here in this very room.”
“Helen,” Roger said, calling her, as he seldom did, by her Christian
name, and having in his voice more of sorrow than anger—“Helen, why did
father wish to serve me so, when he was always so kind? What reason did
he give?”
Roger’s eyes were full of tears, and there was a grieved look in his
face as he waited his sister’s answer. Squire Irving had given _her_ no
reason for the unjust act. She had given the reason to him, making him
for a time almost a madman, but she could not give that reason to the
boy, although she had in a moment of passion hinted at it, and drawn
down Hester’s vengeance on her head. If he had not understood her then,
she would not wound him now by the cruel suspicion. Thus reasoned the
better nature of the woman, while her mean, grasping spirit suggested
that in case the will was not found, it would be better to stand well in
Roger’s good opinion. So she replied, very blandly and smoothly:
“After your father had given my husband his portion, he grew much richer
than he had ever been before, and I suppose he thought it was only fair
that Frank should have what would have come to his father if the estate
had been equally divided. I never supposed you were cut off entirely;
that _would_ have been unnatural.”
Roger was not satisfied with this explanation, for sharing equally with
Frank, and being cut off with only a legacy, were widely different
things, and her words at one time had implied that the latter was the
case. He did not, however, wish to provoke her to another outburst; and
so, with a few words to the effect that Frank should not suffer at his
hands, he bade his sister good-night, and repaired to his own room. He
had passed through a great deal, and was too tired and excited to care
even for the baby that night; and, when Hester knocked at his door, he
answered that he could not see her,—she must wait until to-morrow. So
Hester went away, saying to herself:
“He’s a right to be let alone, if he wants to be, for he is now the
master of Millbank.”