Mr Apjohn's Explanation
The reader need not be detained with any elaborate account of the
funeral. Every tenant and every labourer about the place was there;
as also were many of the people from Carmarthen. Llanfeare Church,
which stands on a point of a little river just as it runs into a
creek of the sea, is not more than four miles distant from the town;
but such was the respect in which the old squire was held that a
large crowd was present as the body was lowered into the vault. Then
the lunch followed, just as Isabel had said. There was Cousin Henry,
and there were the doctor and the lawyer, and there were the tenants
who had been specially honoured by invitation, and there was Joseph
Cantor the younger. The viands were eaten freely, though the occasion
was not a happy one. Appetites are good even amidst grief, and the
farmers of Llanfeare took their victuals and their wine in funereal
silence, but not without enjoyment. Mr Apjohn and Dr Powell also were
hungry, and being accustomed, perhaps, to such entertainments, did
not allow the good things prepared to go waste. But Cousin Henry,
though he made an attempt, could not swallow a morsel. He took a
glass of wine, and then a second, helping himself from the bottle as
it stood near at hand; but he ate nothing, and spoke hardly a word.
At first he made some attempt, but his voice seemed to fail him. Not
one of the farmers addressed a syllable to him. He had before the
funeral taken each of them by the hand, but even then they had not
spoken to him. They were rough of manner, little able to conceal
their feelings; and he understood well from their bearing that he was
odious to them. Now as he sat at table with them, he determined that
as soon as this matter should be settled he would take himself away
from Llanfeare, even though Llanfeare should belong to him. While
they were at the table both the lawyer and the doctor said a word to
him, making a struggle to be courteous, but after the first struggle
the attempt ceased also with them. The silence of the man, and even
the pallor of his face might be supposed to be excused by the nature
of the occasion.
"Now," said Mr Apjohn, rising from the table when the eating and
drinking had ceased, "I think we might as well go into the next room.
Miss Brodrick, who has consented to be present, will probably be
waiting for us."
They passed through the hall into the parlour in a long string, Mr
Apjohn leading the way, followed by Cousin Henry. There they found
Isabel sitting with the housekeeper beside her. She shook hands in
silence with the attorney, the doctor, and all the tenants, and then,
as she took her seat, she spoke a word to Mr Apjohn. "As I have felt
it hard to be alone, I have asked Mrs Griffith to remain with me. I
hope it is not improper?"
"There can be no reason on earth," said Mr Apjohn, "why Mrs Griffith
should not hear the will of her master, who respected her so
thoroughly." Mrs Griffith bobbed a curtsey in return for this
civility, and then sat down, intently interested in the coming
ceremony.
Mr Apjohn took from his pocket the envelope containing the key, and,
opening the little packet very slowly, very slowly opened the drawer,
and took out from it a bundle of papers tied with red tape. This he
undid, and then, sitting with the bundle loosened before him, he
examined the document lying at the top. Then, slowly spreading them
out, as though pausing over every operation with premeditated delay,
he held in his hand that which he had at first taken; but he was in
truth thinking of the words which he would have to use at the present
moment. He had expected, but had expected with some doubt, that
another document would have been found there. Close at his right hand
sat Dr Powell. Round the room, in distant chairs, were ranged the
six farmers, each with his hat in hand between his knees. On a sofa
opposite were Isabel and the housekeeper. Cousin Henry sat alone, not
very far from the end of the sofa, almost in the middle of the room.
As the operation went on, one of his hands quivered so much that he
endeavoured to hold it with the other to keep it from shaking. It was
impossible that any one there should not observe his trepidation and
too evident discomfort.
The document lying at the top of the bundle was opened out very
slowly by the attorney, who smoothed it down with his hand
preparatory to reading it. Then he looked at the date to assure
himself that it was the last will which he himself had drawn. He knew
it well, and was cognizant with its every legal quiddity. He could
judiciously have explained every clause of it without reading a word,
and might probably have to do so before the occasion was over; but
he delayed, looking down upon it and still smoothing it, evidently
taking another minute or two to collect his thoughts. This will
now under his hand was very objectionable to him, having been made
altogether in opposition to his own advice, and having thus created
that "scolding" of which the Squire had complained to Isabel. This
will bequeathed the whole of the property to Cousin Henry. It did
also affect to leave a certain sum of money to Isabel, but the sum
of money had been left simply as a sum of money, and not as a charge
on the property. Now, within the last few days, Mr Apjohn had learnt
that there were no funds remaining for the payment of such a legacy.
The will, therefore, was to him thoroughly distasteful. Should that
will in truth be found to be the last will and testament of the old
Squire, then it would be his duty to declare that the estate and
everything upon it belonged to Cousin Henry, and that there would be,
as he feared, no source from which any considerable part of the money
nominally left to Miss Brodrick could be defrayed. To his thinking
nothing could be more cruel, nothing more unjust, than this.
He had heard tidings which would make it his duty to question the
authenticity of this will which was now under his hand; and now had
come the moment in which he must explain all this.
"The document which I hold here," he said, "purports to be the last
will of our old friend. Every will does that as a matter of course.
But then there may always be another and a later will." Here he
paused, and looked round the room at the faces of the farmers.
"So there be," said Joseph Cantor the younger.
"Hold your tongue, Joe, till you be asked," said the father.
At this little interruption all the other farmers turned their hats
in their hands. Cousin Henry gazed round at them, but said never a
word. The lawyer looked into the heir's face, and saw the great beads
of sweat standing on his brow.
"You hear what young Mr Cantor has said," continued the lawyer. "I
am glad that he interrupted me, because it will make my task easier."
"There now, feyther!" said the young man triumphantly.
"You hold your tongue, Joe, till you be asked, or I'll lend ye a
cuff."
"Now I must explain," continued Mr Apjohn, "what passed between me
and my dear old friend when I received instructions from him in this
room as to this document which is now before me. You will excuse me,
Mr Jones,"--this he said addressing himself especially to Cousin
Henry--"if I say that I did not like this new purpose on the Squire's
part. He was proposing an altogether new arrangement as to the
disposition of his property; and though there could be no doubt, not
a shadow of doubt, as to the sufficiency of his mental powers for
the object in view, still I did not think it well that an old man in
feeble health should change a purpose to which he had come in his
maturer years, after very long deliberation, and on a matter of such
vital moment. I expressed my opinion strongly, and he explained his
reasons. He told me that he thought it right to keep the property in
the direct line of his family. I endeavoured to explain to him that
this might be sufficiently done though the property were left to a
lady, if the lady were required to take the name, and to confer the
name on her husband, should she afterwards marry. You will probably
all understand the circumstances."
"We understand them all," said John Griffith, of Coed, who was
supposed to be the tenant of most importance on the property.
"Well, then, I urged my ideas perhaps too strongly. I am bound to say
that I felt them very strongly. Mr Indefer Jones remarked that it was
not my business to lecture him on a matter in which his conscience
was concerned. In this he was undoubtedly right; but still I thought
I had done no more than my duty, and could only be sorry that he was
angry with me. I can assure you that I never for a moment entertained
a feeling of anger against him. He was altogether in his right, and
was actuated simply by a sense of duty."
"We be quite sure of that," said Samuel Jones, from The Grange, an
old farmer, who was supposed to be a far-away cousin of the family.
"I have said all this," continued the lawyer, "to explain why it
might be probable that Mr Jones should not have sent for me, if, in
his last days, he felt himself called on by duty to alter yet once
again the decision to which he had come. You can understand that if
he determined in his illness to make yet another will--"
"Which he did," said the younger Cantor, interrupting him.
"Exactly; we will come to that directly."
"Joe, ye shall be made to sit out in the kitchen; ye shall," said
Cantor the father.
"You can understand, I say, that he might not like to see me again
upon the subject. In such case he would have come back to the opinion
which I had advocated; and, though no man in his strong health would
have been more ready to acknowledge an error than Indefer Jones,
of Llanfeare, we all know that with failing strength comes failing
courage. I think that it must have been so with him, and that for
this reason he did not avail himself of my services. If there be such
another will--"
"There be!" said the irrepressible Joe Cantor the younger. Upon this
his father only looked at him. "Our names is to it," continued Joe.
"We cannot say that for certain, Mr Cantor," said the lawyer. "The
old Squire may have made another will, as you say, and may have
destroyed it. We must have the will before we can use it. If he left
such a will, it will be found among his papers. I have turned over
nothing as yet; but as it was here in this drawer and tied in this
bundle that Mr Jones was accustomed to keep his will,--as the last
will which I made is here, as I expected to find it, together with
those which he had made before and which he seems never to have
wished to destroy, I have had to explain all this to you. It is, I
suppose, true, Mr Cantor, that you and your son were called upon by
the Squire to witness his signature to a document which he purported
to be a will on Monday the 15th of July?"
Then Joseph Cantor the father told all the circumstances as they
had occurred. When Mr Henry Jones had been about a fortnight at
Llanfeare, and when Miss Isabel had been gone a week, he, Cantor, had
happened to come up to see the Squire, as it was his custom to do at
least once a week. Then the Squire had told him that his services and
those also of his son were needed for the witnessing of a deed. Mr
Jones had gone on to explain that this deed was to be his last will.
The old farmer, it seemed, had suggested to his landlord that Mr
Apjohn should be employed. The Squire then declared that this would
be unnecessary; that he himself had copied a former will exactly, and
compared it word for word, and reproduced it with no other alteration
than that of the date. All that was wanted would be his signature,
efficiently witnessed by two persons who should both be present
together with the testator. Then the document had been signed by
the Squire, and after that by the farmer and his son. It had been
written, said Joseph Cantor, not on long, broad paper such as that
which had been used for the will now lying on the table before the
lawyer, but on a sheet of square paper such as was now found in the
Squire's desk. He, Cantor, had not read a word of what had there been
set down, but he had been enabled to see that it was written in that
peculiarly accurate and laborious handwriting which the Squire was
known to use, but not more frequently than he could help.
Thus the story was told,--at least, all that there was to tell as
yet. The drawer was opened and ransacked, as were also the other
drawers belonging to the table. Then a regular search was made by the
attorney, accompanied by the doctor, the butler, and the housemaid,
and continued through the whole afternoon,--in vain. The farmers
were dismissed as soon as the explanation had been given as above
described. During the remainder of the day Cousin Henry occupied a
chair in the parlour, looking on as the search was continued. He
offered no help, which was natural enough; nor did he make any remark
as to the work in hand, which was, perhaps, also natural. The matter
was to him one of such preponderating moment that he could hardly
be expected to speak of it. Was he to have Llanfeare and all that
belonged to it, or was he to have nothing? And then, though no
accusation was made against him, though no one had insinuated that
he had been to blame in the matter, still there was apparent among
them all a strong feeling against him. Who had made away with this
will, as to the existence of which at one time there was no doubt? Of
course the idea was present to his mind that they must think that he
had done so. In such circumstances it was not singular that he should
say nothing and do nothing.
Late in the evening Mr Apjohn, just before he left the house, asked
Cousin Henry a question, and received an answer.
"Mrs Griffith tells me, Mr Jones, that you were closeted with your
uncle for about an hour immediately after the Cantors had left him
on that Tuesday,--just after the signatures had been written. Was it
so?"
Again the drops of sweat came out and stood thick upon his forehead.
But this Mr Apjohn could understand without making an accusation
against the man, even in his heart. The unexpressed suspicion was so
heavy that a man might well sweat under the burden of it! He paused a
moment, and tried to look as though he were thinking. "Yes," said he;
"I think I was with my uncle on that morning."
"And you knew that the Cantors had been with him?"
"Not that I remember. I think I did know that somebody had been
there. Yes, I did know it. I had seen their hats in the hall."
"Did he say anything about them?"
"Not that I remember."
"Of what was he talking? Can you tell me? I rather fancy that he did
not talk much to you."
"I think it was then that he told me the names of all the tenants.
He used to scold me because I did not understand the nature of their
leases."
"Did he scold you then?"
"I think so. He always scolded me. He did not like me. I used to
think that I would go away and leave him. I wish that I had never
come to Llanfeare. I do;--I do."
There seemed to be a touch of truth about this which almost softened
Mr Apjohn's heart to the poor wretch. "Would you mind answering one
more question, Mr Jones?" he said. "Did he tell you that he had made
another will?"
"No."
"Nor that he intended to do so?"
"No."
"He never spoke to you about another will,--a further will, that
should again bestow the estate on your cousin?"
"No," said Cousin Henry, with the perspiration still on his brow.
Now it seemed to Mr Apjohn certain that, had the old man made such a
change in his purpose, he would have informed his nephew of the fact.