The Reading of the Will
On the whole of the next day the search was continued. In spite of
his late watches, Cousin Henry rose up early, not looking at anything
that was being done while the search was continued in other rooms,
but still sitting, as he had heretofore sat, among the books. The two
men whom Mr Apjohn had sent from his office, together with the butler
and Mrs Griffith, began their work in the old man's bed-room, and
then carried it on in the parlour. When they came to the book-room,
as being the next in turn, Cousin Henry took his hat and went out
into the garden. There, as he made short turns upon the gravel path,
he endeavoured to force himself away from the close vicinity of the
window; but he could not do it. He could not go where he would have
been unable to see what was being done. He feared,--he trembled in
his fear,--lest they should come upon the guilty volume. And yet he
assured himself again and again that he wished that they might find
it. Would it not in every way be better for him that they should find
it? He could not bring himself to destroy it, and surely, sooner or
later, it would be found.
Every book was taken from its shelf, apparently with the object of
looking into the vacant spaces behind them. Through the window he
could see all that was done. As it happened, the compartment in which
was the fatal shelf,--on which was the fatal volume,--was the last
that they reached. No attempt was made to open the books one by one;
but then this volume, with so thick an enclosure to betray it, would
certainly open of itself. He himself had gone to the place so often
that certainly the enclosure would betray itself. Well, let it betray
itself! No one could say that he had had guilty cognizance of its
whereabouts! But yet he knew that he would have been unable to speak,
would have gasped, and would surely have declared himself to be
guilty by his awe-struck silence.
Three by three the books came down, and then were replaced. And now
they were at the shelf! Why could he not go away? Why must he stand
there fixed at the window? He had done nothing,--nothing, nothing;
and yet he stood there trembling, immovable, with the perspiration
running off his face, unable to keep his eyes for a moment from what
they were doing! At last the very three came down, in the centre of
which was the volume containing the will. There was a tree against
which he leaned, unable to support himself, as he looked into the
room. The vacant place was searched, and then the three books were
replaced! No attempt was made to examine the volumes. The men who did
the work clearly did not know that these very volumes had been in
constant use with the old Squire. They were replaced, and then the
search, as far as the room was concerned, was over. When they were
gone, Cousin Henry returned again to the room, and there he remained
during the rest of the day. The search as it was carried on elsewhere
had no interest for him.
Whatever harm might be done to others, whoever else might be injured,
certainly no one was ill-treated as he had been ill-treated. It was
thus he thought of it. Even should the will never be found, how cruel
would be the injustice done to him! He had not asked to be made heir
to the property! It was not his doing. He had been invited to come in
order that he might be received as the heir, and since he had come,
every one about the place had misused him. The tenants had treated
him with disdain; the very servants had been insolent; his Cousin
Isabel, when he had offered to share everything with her, had
declared that he was hateful to her; and his uncle himself had heaped
insult upon injury, and had aggravated injustice with scorn.
"Yes; I had intended that you should be my heir, and have called you
hither for that purpose. Now I find you to be so poor a creature that
I have changed my mind." That in truth was what his uncle had said
to him and had done for him. Who, after that, would expect him to go
out of his way in search of special magnanimity? Let them find the
will if they wanted it! Even though he should resolve himself to have
nothing to do with the property, even though he should repudiate any
will in his own favour, still he would not tell them where this will
might be found. Why should he help them in their difficulty?
Every carpet was taken up, every piece of furniture was moved, every
trunk and box in the house was examined, but it occurred to no one
that every book should be opened. It was still July, and the day was
very long. From six in the morning till nine at night they were at
work, and when the night came they declared that every spot about the
place had been searched.
"I think, Miss, that the old Squire did destroy it. He was a little
wandering at last." It was thus that Mrs Griffith had expressed her
opinion to Isabel.
Isabel was sure that it was not so, but said nothing in reply.
If she could only get away from Llanfeare and have done with it, she
would be satisfied. Llanfeare had become odious to her and terrible!
She would get away, and wash her hands of it. And yet she was aware
how sad would be her condition. Mr Apjohn had already explained to
her that the Squire had so managed his affairs as to have left no
funds from which could be paid the legacy which had nominally been
left to her. She had told her father when at Hereford that her
uncle had taken such care of her that she would not become a burden
upon him. Now it seemed that she would have to return home without
a shilling of her own. For one so utterly penniless to think of
marrying a man who had little but his moderate professional income
would, she felt, be mean as well as wrong. There must be an end to
everything between her and Mr Owen. If her father could not support
her, she must become a governess or, failing that, a housemaid. But
even the poor-house would be better than Llanfeare, if Llanfeare were
to be the property of Cousin Henry.
Mr Apjohn had told her that she could not now leave the place on the
Wednesday as she had intended. On the Wednesday he again came to
Llanfeare, and then she saw him before he proceeded to his business.
It was his intention now to read the last will which had been found,
and to explain to those who heard it that he proposed, as joint
executor with Dr Powell, to act upon that as the last will;--but
still with a proviso that another will might possibly be forthcoming.
Though he had in a measure quarrelled with the Squire over the making
of that will, nevertheless, he had been appointed in it as the
executor, such having been the case in the wills previously made. All
this he explained to her up in her room, assenting to her objection
to be again present when the will should be read.
"I could not do it," she said; "and of what use could it be, as I
know everything that is in it? It would be too painful."
He, remembering the futile legacy which it contained for herself, and
the necessity which would be incumbent upon him to explain that there
were no funds for paying it, did not again ask her to be present.
"I shall go to-morrow," she said.
Then he asked her whether she could not remain until the beginning of
next week, urging objections to this final surrender of Llanfeare;
but she was not to be turned from her purpose. "Llanfeare will have
been surrendered," she said; "the house will be his to turn me out of
if he pleases."
"He would not do that."
"He shall not have the chance. I could not hide it from you if I
would. He and I do not love each other. Since he has been here I have
kept away from him with disgust. He cannot but hate me, and I will
not be a guest in his house. Besides, what can I do?"
"The will will not have been proved, you know."
"What difference will there be in that? It will be proved at once.
Of course he will have the keys, and will be master of everything.
There are the keys." As she said this she handed over to him various
bunches. "You had better give them to him yourself when you have read
the will, so that I need have nothing to say to him. There are some
books of mine which my uncle gave me. Mrs Griffith will pack them,
and send them to me at Hereford,--unless he objects. Everything else
belonging to me I can take with me. Perhaps you will tell them to
send a fly out for me in time for the early train."
And so it was settled.
Then that will was read,--that will which we know not to have been
the last will,--in the presence of Cousin Henry, of Dr Powell, who
had again come out with Mr Apjohn, and of the farmers, who were
collected as before.
It was a long, tedious document, in which the testator set forth at
length his reasons for the disposition which he made of the property.
Having much considered the matter, he had thought the estate should
descend to the male heir, even in default of a regular deed of
entail. Therefore, although his love for his dearest niece, Isabel
Brodrick, was undiminished, and his confidence in her as perfect as
ever, still he had thought it right to leave the old family property
to his nephew, Henry Jones. Then, with all due circumstances of
description, the legacy was made in favour of his nephew. There were
other legacies; a small sum of money to Mr Apjohn himself, for the
trouble imposed upon him as executor, a year's wages to each of his
servants and other matters of the kind. There was also left to Isabel
that sum of four thousand pounds of which mention has been made. When
the lawyer had completed the reading of the document, he declared
that to the best of his knowledge no such money was in existence. The
testator had no doubt thought that legacies so made would be paid out
of the property, whereas the property could be made subject to no
such demand unless it had, by proper instrument to that effect, been
charged with the amount.
"But," he said, "Mr Henry Jones, when he comes into possession of the
estate, will probably feel himself called upon to set that matter
right, and to carry out his uncle's wishes."
Upon this Cousin Henry, who had not as yet spoken a word throughout
the ceremony, was profuse in his promises. Should the estate become
his, he would certainly see that his uncle's wishes were carried out
in regard to his dear cousin. To this Mr Apjohn listened, and then
went on to explain what remained to be said. Though this will, which
he had now read, would be acted upon as though it were the last will
and testament of the deceased,--though, in default of that for which
futile search had been made, it certainly was what it purported to
be,--still there existed in full force all those reasons which he had
stated on the Monday for supposing that the late Squire had executed
another. Here Joseph Cantor, junior, gave very strong symptoms of his
inclination to reopen that controversy, but was stopped by the joint
efforts of his father and the lawyer. If such a document should ever
be found, then that would be the actual will and not the one which
he had now read. After that, when all due formalities had been
performed, he took his leave, and went back to Carmarthen.
The keys were given up to Cousin Henry, and he found himself to
be, in fact, the lord and master of the house, and the owner of
everything within it. The butler, Mrs Griffith, and the gardener
gave him notice to quit. They would stay, if he wished it, for three
months, but they did not think that they could be happy in the house
now that the old Squire was dead, and that Miss Isabel was going
away. There certainly did not come to him at the present moment
any of the pleasures of ownership. He would have been willing,--he
thought that he would have been willing,--to abandon Llanfeare
altogether, if only it could have been abandoned without any of the
occurrences of the last month. He would have been pleased that there
should have been no Llanfeare.
But as it was, he must make up his mind to something. He must hide
the paper in some deeper hiding place, or he must destroy it, or
he must reveal it. He thought that he could have dropped the book
containing the will into the sea, though he could not bring himself
to burn the will itself. The book was now his own, and he might do
what he liked with it. But it would be madness to leave the paper
there!
Then again there came to him the idea that it would be best for
him, and for Isabel too, to divide the property. In one way it was
his,--having become his without any fraudulent doing on his part. So
he declared to himself. In another way it was hers,--though it could
not become hers without some more than magnanimous interference on
his part. To divide it would certainly be best. But there was no
other way of dividing it but by a marriage. For any other division,
such as separating the land or the rents, no excuse could be made,
nor would any such separation touch the fatal paper which lay between
the leaves of the book. Were she to consent to marry him, then he
thought he might find courage to destroy the paper.
It was necessary that he should see her on that afternoon, if only
that he might bid her adieu, and tell her that she should certainly
have the money that had been left her. If it were possible he would
say a word also about that other matter.
"You did not hear the will read," he said to her.
"No," she answered abruptly.
"But you have been told its contents?"
"I believe so."
"About the four thousand pounds?"
"There need be no question about the four thousand pounds. There is
not a word to be said about it,--at any rate between you and me."
"I have come to tell you," said he,--not understanding her feeling
in the least, and evidently showing by the altered tone of his
voice that he thought that his communication would be received with
favour,--"I have come to tell you that the legacy shall be paid in
full. I will see to that myself as soon as I am able to raise a penny
on the property."
"Pray do not trouble yourself, Cousin Henry."
"Oh, certainly I shall."
"Do not trouble yourself. You may be sure of this, that on no earthly
consideration would I take a penny from your hands."
"Why not?"
"We take presents from those whom we love and esteem, not from those
we despise."
"Why should you despise me?" he asked.
"I will leave that to yourself to judge of; but be sure of this, that
though I were starving I would take nothing from your hands."
Then she got up, and, retiring into the inner room, left him alone.
It was clear to him then that he could not divide the property with
her in the manner that he had suggested to himself.