THE WORLD AND THE WILL.
The world, or that portion of it represented by Belvidere, did not
receive it kindly, and when the new heir appeared in the street on the
day succeeding the events narrated in the last chapter, he was conscious
of a certain air of constraint and stiffness about those whom he met,
and an evident attempt to avoid him. It was known all over town by that
time, for Roger had made no secret of the matter, and an hour after
Magdalen left him, he had sent for all the servants, and told them
briefly of his changed condition. He entered into no particulars; he
merely said:
“My father saw fit to make a later will than the one found at the time
of his death. In it he gave Millbank and all its appurtenances to Frank,
as the child of his eldest son, my brother Walter. This later will, of
whose existence I did not know, has recently been found, and by virtue
of it everything goes to Frank, who is the rightful owner of Millbank,
or will be when the will is proved. You have served me faithfully, some
of you for years, and I shall never forget your unvarying kindness and
fidelity. The amount of wages due each of you I shall venture to pay
from money kept for that purpose. My nephew will allow me to do that,
and then, so far as I am concerned, you are at liberty to seek new
situations. Our relations as employer and servant are at an end. I do
not wish you to talk about it, or to express your sympathy for me. I
could not bear it now, so please do not trouble me.”
This last he said because of the murmur of discontent and surprise and
dissatisfaction which ran through the room when those assembled first
learned that they must part with their master, whom they had loved and
respected so long.
“We will not leave you, Mr. Irving. We will go where you go. We will
work for you for less wages than for anybody else,” was what the house
servants said to him, and what many of his factory and shop hands said
when next day he met them in front of the huge mill where they were
congregated.
He had told his servants not to talk of his affairs, but they did not
heed him; while Hester Floyd, whom no one could control, discussed the
matter freely, so that by noon the little town was rife with rumors of
every kind, and knots of people gathered at the corners of the street,
while in front of the cotton mill a vast concourse had assembled even
before the bell rang for twelve, and instead of going home to the dinner
they would hardly have found prepared that day, they stood talking of
the strange news, which had come to them in so many different forms.
That there had been some undue influence brought to bear upon Squire
Irving, they knew; and that the mother of the new heir was the guilty
party who had slandered the Squire’s unfortunate young wife, they also
knew; and many and loud were their imprecations against the woman whose
proud haughty bearing had never impressed them favorably, and whom they
now disliked with all the unrestrained bitterness common to their class.
All had heard of Jessie Irving, and a few remembered her as she was when
she first came among them, in her bright, girlish beauty, with those
great, sad blue eyes, which always smiled kindly upon her husband’s
employes when she met with them. As people will do, they had repeated
her story many times, and the mothers had blamed her sorely for
deserting her child, while a few envious ones, when speaking of “the
grand doings at Millbank,” had hinted that the original stock was “no
better than it should be,” and that the Irving name was stained like
many others.
But this was all forgotten now. Jessie Irving was declared a saint, and
an angel, and a martyr, while nothing was too severe to say against the
woman who had maligned her, and influenced the jealous old Squire to do
a thing which would deprive the working classes in Belvidere of the
kindest, most considerate, and liberal of masters. The factory hands
could _not_ work after they heard of it, and one by one they stole out
upon the green in front of the large manufactory, where they were joined
by other hands from the shoe-shop, until the square was full of excited
men and boys, and girls, the murmur of their voices swelling louder and
louder as, encouraged by each other, they grew more and more indignant
toward the “new lords,” as they called Frank and his mother, and more
enthusiastic in their praises of Roger.
One of their number proposed sending for him to come himself and tell
them if what they had heard was true, and to hear their protest against
it; and three of the more prominent men were deputed to wait upon him.
There was no mistaking the genuine concern, and sympathy, and sorrow
written on their faces, when Roger went out to meet them, and the sight
of them nearly unmanned him again. He had been very calm all the
morning; had breakfasted with his sister and Frank, as usual; had said
to the latter that it would be well enough to send for Lawyer Schofield,
who was not now a resident of Belvidere, but was practising in
Springfield; and had tried to quiet old Hester, who was giving loose
rein to her tongue, and holding herself loftily above the “pertenders,”
as she called them. He had also remembered Magdalen, and sent her a
bouquet of flowers by Celine, who represented her as feverish and
nervous, and too tired to leave her bed. Roger did not gather from
Celine’s report that she was very ill, only tired and worn; so he felt
no particular anxiety for her, and devoted himself to standing between
and keeping within bounds the other members of his household, and in so
doing felt a tolerable degree of quiet, until the men came up from the
mill, when the sight of their faces, so full of pity, and the warm grasp
of their friendly hands, brought a sudden rush of tears to his eyes, and
his chin quivered a little when he first spoke to them.
“We’ve heard about it, Mr. Irving,” the speaker said, “and we don’t like
it, any of us, and we hope it is not true, and we are sent by the others
who are down on the green, and who want you to come and tell us if it is
true, and what we are to do.”
Mrs. Walter Scott, sitting by her chamber window, saw the three men walk
down the avenue, with Roger in their midst, and saw, too, in the
distance the crowd congregated in front of the mill, and felt for a
moment a thrill of fear as she began to realize, more and more, what
taking Millbank from Roger meant. She would have felt still more uneasy
could she have seen the faces of the crowd, and their eager rush for
Roger when he appeared.
The women and the young girls were the first to pounce upon him, and
were the most voluble in their words of sorrow, and surprise, and
indignation, while the men and boys were not far behind.
Bewildered and too much overcome at first to speak, Roger stood like
some father in the midst of his children, from whom he is soon to be
separated. He had been absent from them for years, but his kindness and
generosity had reached them across the sea. They had lighter tasks, and
higher wages, and more holidays, and forbearance, and patience than any
class of workmen for miles and miles around, and they knew it all came
from Roger’s generosity, and the exceeding great kindness of his heart,
and they were grateful for it.
A few, of course, had taken advantage of his goodness, and loitered, and
idled, and complained of their hard lot, and talked as if to work at all
were a great favor to their employer. But the majority had appreciated
him to the full, and given him back measure for measure, working for his
interest, and serving him so faithfully, that few manufactories were as
prosperous or yielded so large an income as those in Belvidere. And now
these workmen stood around their late master, with their sad faces
upturned, listening for what he had to say.
“It is all true,” he said. “There was another will, made by my father a
few months before he died.”
Here a few groans for Squire Irving were heard from a knot of boys by
the fence, but these were soon hushed, and Roger went on:
“This will Hester Floyd saw fit to hide, because she thought it unjust,
and so for years——”
He did not get any further, for his voice was lost in the deafening
cheers which went up from the groaning boys for _Hester Floyd_, whom
they designated as a _trump_ and a _brick_, hurrahing with all their
might, “Good for her. Three cheers and a tiger for Hester Floyd.”
The cheers and the tiger were given, and then the boys settled again
into quiet, while Roger tried to frame some reasonable excuse for what
his father had done. But they would not listen to that, and those
nearest him said, “It’s no use, Mr. Irving. We’ve heard the reason and
we know whom to thank for this calamity, and there’s not one of us but
hates her for it. We can never respect Mrs. Walter Irving.”
The multitude caught the sound of that name, and the boys by the fence
set up a series of most unearthly groans, which were in no wise
diminished when they saw coming toward them _Frank_, the heir, and their
new master, if they chose to serve him. Frank’s face was very pale, and
there was something like fear and dread upon it when he met the angry
glances of the crowd, and heard the groans and hisses with which they
greeted him. Making his way to Roger’s side, he whispered, “Speak to
them for me. They will listen to you when they would only insult me.
Tell them I am not in fault.”
So it was Roger who spoke for Frank, explaining matters away, and trying
to make things as smooth as possible.
“My nephew is not to blame,” he said. “He had nothing to do with the
will. He knew nothing of it, and was as much surprised as you are when
he found there was one.”
“Yes, and would have burned it, too; tell them that,” Frank said,
anxious to conciliate a people whose enmity he dreaded.
Roger repeated the words, which were received with incredulity.
“Stuff!” “Bosh!” “Can’t make me swaller that!” “Don’t believe it!” and
such like expressions ran through the crowd, till, roused to a pitch of
wild excitement, Frank sprang upon a box and harangued the multitude
eloquently in his own defence.
“It _is_ true,” he said. “I did try to burn the will, and would have
done so if it had not been struck from my hand. I held a lighted match
to it, and Roger will tell you that a part of it is yellow now with the
smoke and flame.”
“Yellow with time more like,” a woman said, while a son of Erin called
out, “Good for you, Misther Franklin, to defind yourself, but plase tell
us who struck the match from yer hand.”
“An’ sure who would be afther doin’ the mane thing but his mither, bad
luck to her,” interrupted another of Ireland’s sons, and Frank rejoined,
“It was not my mother. Roger will tell you that it was some one whom you
love and respect, and who was just as desirous that the will should be
destroyed as I was, but who did not think it right and dared not do it.
I am sorrier about it than you are, and I’ve tried to make Roger keep
Millbank, and he refuses. I can no more help being the heir than I could
help being born, and I do not want to be blamed. I want your good will
more than anything else. I have not Roger’s experience, nor Roger’s
sense; but I’ll do the very best I can, and you must stand by me and
help me to be what Roger was.”
Frank was growing very eloquent, and his pale, boyish face lighted up
and his eyes kindled as he went on telling what he meant to be if they
would only help him instead of hindering and disliking him, until the
tide began to set in his favor and the boys by the fence whispered to
each other:
“Let’s go in for white hair, jest for fun if nothing more,—he talks
reasonable, and maybe he’ll give us half holidays when the circus is in
town. Mr. Irving never done that.”
“Yes, but he let us go to see the _hanimals_, and gin Bob ’Untley a
ticket,” said a red-faced English youth.
But the circus clique carried the day, and there rose from that part of
the green a loud huzza for “Mr. Franklin Irving,” while the faces of the
older ones cleared up a little, and a few spoke pleasantly to Frank, who
felt that he was not quite so obnoxious to the people as he had been.
But they kept aloof from him, and followed their late master even to the
gates of Millbank, assuring him of their readiness to go with him and
work for him at lower rates than they were working now. And Roger, as he
walked slowly up the avenue, felt that it was worth some suffering and
trial to know that he stood so high in the estimation of those who had
been employed by him so long.
All over town the same spirit prevailed, pervading the higher circles,
and causing Mrs. Johnson to telegraph to Springfield for Lawyer
Schofield, who she hoped might do something, though she did not know
what. He came on the next train, and went at once to Millbank and was
closeted with Roger for an hour and looked the ground over and talked
with Hester Floyd and screamed to Aleck through an ear trumpet and said
a few words to Frank and bowed coldly to Mrs. Walter Scott, and then
went back to the group of ladies assembled in Mrs. Johnson’s parlor, and
told them there was no hope. The will was perfectly good. Frank was the
rightful heir, and Roger too proud to receive anything from him more
than he had received. And then his auditors all talked together, and
abused Mrs. Walter Scott and pitied Roger and spoke slightingly of
Frank, and wondered if there was any truth in the rumor that Magdalen
was to marry him. They had heard so, and the rumor incensed them against
her, and when Lawyer Schofield said he thought it very possible, they
pounced upon the luckless girl and in a very polite way tore her into
shreds, without, however, saying a word which was not strictly lady-like
and capable of a good as well as of a bad construction.