BUSINESS FIRST, PLEASURE AFTERWARDS
That afternoon there were five persons in the drawing-room of the
house in Russell Square. Miss Patterson, who was already attired in
garments of orthodox hue, in which Rodney felt that she did not look
her best. It is your fair, slender women who appear to advantage in
black--she was too big and dark. There was Rodney, who was also in
mourning, which did become him; but, then, anything became him. He was
one of your tall, graceful, well-set-up, debonair, handsome young
fellows whom any tailor might find it worth his while to dress at
reduced prices for the sake of the advertisement. The other three men
also were in black: Mr. Wilkes's dark blue cheeks almost matching his
attire; Mr. Parmiter's light hair and pale face standing out in marked
relief; Mr. Andrews's general air of colourlessness causing his sombre
attire to make him seem older than it need have done. The proceedings
were short--unexpectedly short--and to the point. Mr. Wilkes had met
Miss Patterson before, and while her almost sullen manner suggested no
fondness for him, his brusqueness hinted at no particular attachment
for her. The keen-eyed Rodney, observing their demeanour, told himself
that the lawyer had been too much the father's friend to care overmuch
for the child, which was, perhaps, as well, since it might make things
easier.
The inquest was already over. Mr. Wilkes had been present, and had
taken with him a physician whom he was aware that Graham Patterson had
consulted. He testified that Mr. Patterson was suffering from a malady
which would certainly have grown more painful as time went on, and was
probably incurable. This statement, since it supplied the motive,
caused the inquiry to assume briefer limits than it might have done;
the obvious inference was that the knowledge of his parlous state had
prompted Graham Patterson to take his fate into his own hands. Nothing
could have been clearer to such men of the world as the coroner and
his jury. All else that was said and done was mere formality. The
doctor who had conducted the autopsy, Mr. Andrews, a police officer
connected with the railway company, the guard of the train--all these
gave formal evidence. The latter said that he had seen the deceased
man come running down the platform at Brighton station just as the
train was about to start; that he had noticed him getting into a
carriage; that he recognised him when, at East Croydon, his attention
had been called to him by the ticket collector, who, going to collect
his ticket, found him sitting up in the corner of the carriage, dead.
In view of the physician's evidence, the whole affair was so
transparently simple that no one thought of asking if anyone was in
the compartment when he entered it at Brighton station. One of the
jury did inquire if the train stopped between Brighton and East
Croydon. When he was informed that it did not, it was generally felt
that there was nothing more to be said. The hackneyed verdict was
recorded as a matter of course--suicide while temporarily insane.
The whole affair struck Rodney, when he learnt all the particulars
from Andrews, as distinctly droll. He realised that he owed Mr. Wilkes
a debt of gratitude of which that gentleman had no notion. The
physician had been an unknown quantity; Rodney, who, through devious
channels, had heard of a good many things, had never heard of him. Had
not the lawyer brought him on to the scene the situation might easily
have become very much more difficult--for him. He would not be so hard
on Stephen Wilkes as he had meant to be, but in his treatment of him
would recognise that, as Parmiter had put it, he was an able man.
The will was the usual wordy, legal document. Stripped of its verbiage
it was plain enough. It began with the legacies. A sufficient sum was
to be set apart to buy an annuity of one hundred pounds a year for
Agnes Sybil Armstrong, of an address at Hove. She was also to have
five hundred pounds in cash and the furniture of the house in which
she was residing.
Gladys, who had been warned by Rodney that she might expect something
of the kind, pursed her lips together and looked at her cousin.
Sitting with expectant eyes fixed on her, he had been waiting for her
look, and greeted it with a reassuring smile.
Various legacies were left to servants in Russell Square, to clerks in
St. Paul's Churchyard, and to certain trade charities. Five thousand
pounds was left to Stephen Wilkes, in recognition of a life-long
friendship and of valued services--the lawyer's voice was a trifle
hesitant as he read this clause. One thousand pounds in cash and a
tenth share in the business were left to Robert Fraser Andrews; and,
since the testator's only child was a daughter, he directed that the
said Andrews should be appointed manager of his business, under the
conditions which followed.
The whole residue of his estate, real and personal, he left to his
daughter, Gladys, unreservedly. At this point the cousins again
exchanged glances. Andrews was to manage the business for five years;
at the end of that period, or in the event of his death, Gladys might
appoint his successor, or dispose of the business, whichever she
chose. No radical change in the conduct of the business was to be made
without consulting her, and she was to have the right of veto. She was
to have access to the accounts at all times, with right of comment.
The testator went on to say that Stephen Wilkes had acted as his legal
adviser for many years, and to express a strong wish that he would
continue in that capacity for his daughter. He hoped that she would
consult him freely, both in the conduct of the business and in her
affairs generally, and act on his advice. He appointed Robert Fraser
Andrews and Stephen Wilkes his executors.
So soon as he had finished the reading of the will Mr. Wilkes
observed:
"In order to avoid misunderstanding, I wish to state that, since I
have reason to believe that my services would not be welcome--and,
indeed, learn that another solicitor has already been retained, whom I
see present--I wish to withdraw at the earliest possible moment from
all connection with Mr. Patterson's estate and affairs, and also that
I renounce administration. I will not act as executor."
When the lawyer stopped, Mr. Andrews had his say:
"I'm very much in the same position as Mr. Wilkes. If Miss Patterson
would rather I did not act as manager, I have not the slightest wish
to press my claim. I'm given to understand, Miss Patterson, that Mr.
Elmore here is likely to become your husband. From a conversation I
had with him this morning, I--I'm inclined to think that I am older
than I supposed, and that it would be to your advantage and to the
advantage of the business that the management of affairs should be in
his hands. Also, if you wish it, so as not to be a clog on you in any
way, I will not act as executor."
Rodney answered for his cousin:
"You must act as executor, Mr. Andrews; Miss Patterson will very
unwillingly release you from that duty. The other point she will
discuss with you later; you will find that she is as anxious to
consider your wishes as you are to consider hers. I may remark to you,
Mr. Wilkes, as well as to Mr. Andrews, that Miss Patterson is grateful
for the delicate thought which prompts your proposed action, and she
will endeavour in all she does to show that she appreciates at its
full value all that you have done for her father, and, by consequence,
for her. I think, gentlemen, that, at present, that is all."
The meeting was dissolved. The three gentlemen dismissed. The cousins
were left together. Kneeling before the armchair on which Miss
Patterson was seated, Rodney drew her towards him and kissed her with
a sort of mock solemnity.
"My congratulations, lady! if I may venture to kiss one who is now a
person of property and importance. I hope you won't mind, but I almost
wish, for my sake, that you hadn't quite so much money."
She put out her hand and softly stroked his hair.
"That's nonsense. How much money have I got?"
"Roughly, I suppose that the business brings in four or five thousand
a year, and you've forty or fifty thousand pounds in what represents
cash. You're a rich woman."
"Then, if you do marry me, you'll be a rich man."
"There's one thing--put the business at its highwater mark, say that
in its best year it brings in five thousand pounds--in ten years it
shall bring in fifty thousand."
"Rodney, don't be too speculative. We've enough to get along with;
let's be sure of having a good time with what there is."
"My dear lady, I'm no speculator--not such a fool; but I don't want to
see a gold-mine producing only copper. You've twice the head your
father had, and keener, because younger, eyes. Shortly I shall hope to
lay my ideas before you; when you have assimilated them, you will be
able to judge for yourself whether or not they're speculative. You'll
see, what even old Andrews already sees, that you're the possessor of
a gold-mine--a veritable gold-mine--which hitherto has been worked as
if it were merely a copper-mine. When you begin to work it as a
gold-mine, in less than ten years it will be bringing you in fifty
thousand pounds a year; I shouldn't be surprised if it brings you
twice as much--honestly."
"A hundred thousand pounds a year, Rodney!"
"Wait--you'll see! This is the age of miracles, which, when you look
into them, have the simplest natural causes. Seriously, Gladys,
there's no reason why, properly handled, the business of which
you are now the sole proprietress--because you can easily get rid of
Andrews--should not make you rich beyond the dreams of avarice. Wilkes
has been quick in taking the hint, hasn't he?"
"I don't like him--I never did. I think I shall like Mr. Parmiter much
better."
"I'm sure you will. He's an awfully good sort and as clever as they
make them--and straight! He'll make your interests his own."
There was a momentary pause. The gentleman was still kneeling in front
of the armchair, and the lady was still stroking his hair. There was a
look on her face which was half comical and half something else as she
changed the topic.
"Rodney, who's Agnes Sybil Armstrong?"
"I don't know, and don't you ask. Let her have her hundred a year, and
go hang!"
"Does every man have an Agnes Sybil Armstrong?"
"Emphatically no; only--I was going to say only men like your father,
but perhaps you wouldn't like it."
"I wonder--will you ever have one?"
"Gladys! Lady, if a man loves one woman, that's all the feminine kind
he'll ever want, especially--if she's a woman like you. Doesn't your
instinct tell you that when you're my wife, I'll--be satisfied, in
every sense?"
"I hope so. If you weren't, I--I shouldn't like it."
"I should say not. May I hope that there is some possibility of your
being my wife?"
"I have some ideas in that direction now, though on Saturday I thought
I never should. How prophetic you were? You almost foretold what has
happened--almost as if you saw it coming. Did you know that he was
ill?"
"I had a shrewd suspicion; but you don't suppose I foresaw what
actually did happen?"
"I dare say that yours was not the prophetic vision quite to that
extent. I wonder why he didn't like you?"
"I'm nearly sure that with him it was a case of Dr. Fell--the reason
why he couldn't tell. When you came on the scene he hated me because
you didn't."
"Didn't you do anything to ruffle him--to rub him the wrong way?"
"Never--consciously. I've a notion--it's only a notion, but my notions
are apt to be pretty near the mark--that he had some idea of marrying
you to Mr. Stephen Wilkes."
"Rodney! Good gracious! What a notion!"
"As I remarked, it's only a notion; but I can put two and two
together, and something in the gentleman's manner this morning put the
crown on my suspicions."
"I'd rather have died."
"Or married me? Well--do! How soon could you make it convenient?"
"How soon would you like it to be?"
"This is Monday. Say Thursday--next?"
"Rodney! How can you?"
"Then make it Friday--if you've no prejudice against the day."
"I'll never be married on a Friday."
"Then postpone it to that far-off date, Saturday, or even Monday. I
don't know if you want a smart wedding; if you do, what indefinite
postponement may the conventions require?"
"I don't want a smart wedding."
"That sounds hopeful. You're all I want; I don't know if I'm all you
want."
"Well; you are one thing."
"Am I? Thanks--you have a nice way. I tell you what, I'll get a
special licence--hang the expense--and we'll be married on Monday."
"I won't be married in black, and I will have one bridesmaid; I'll
have Cissie Henderson. She's my particular friend; she likes you;
she's been on our side all through; and she'll strain a point--when
I've put it to her as I shall, she'll have to. As a matter of fact, I
believe she'll love to."
"And Clarence Parmiter shall be my best man, and old Andrews shall
give you away."
"I don't know about old Andrews."
"Then old Andrews shan't! So long as I get you I don't care who gives
you away; if it comes to that, we'll make it worth the verger's while.
Then we'll go off for a whole month, and have a rare old spree."
"That sounds inviting."
"And while we're away Andrews and Parmiter between them shall get
things ship-shape; and when we come back, under her majesty's
directions I shall put my shoulder to the wheel and start making her
the richest woman in the world--and the happiest."
"The conceit of him! Mind you do make me happy. Will you?"
"Don't you think I shall?"
"If I hadn't hopes in that direction you--wouldn't be where you are."
"Where shall we go to?"
"Wherever you like."
"Then----"
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She put her arms about his
neck and drew him to her.