occupation. She travelled about the house with a duster in her pocket,
and when the duster became dirty she took her pocket-handkerchief and
dusted with that; and it was also black. She had been an energetic
woman in her youth, and now that she suffered from her heart, was
impatient at not being allowed to do as much as she had been wont. She
had made an excellent housekeeper to Mr. Pennycomequick. When he was
short of domestics she turned her hand to anything--cooked, did
housework, needlework--would have cleaned the knives and boots if the
boy had failed. The deficiency in servants was not an extraordinary
event. In a manufacturing district few girls care to enter domestic
service and submit to its restraints, when they can earn their
livelihood at the mills, and have the evenings to themselves in which to
meet their friends. When Mr. Pennycomequick's establishment was
complete, she spent her day in making up for the deficiencies of the
domestics--putting straight what they had crooked, cleaning out corners
they had neglected, brushing down cobwebs they had overlooked, detecting
breakages they had made, and repairing rents they had effected in
household linen. She was not a good-looking woman, but the likeness of
the two girls to her was traceable; moreover, she must have had at one
time auburn hair, for though her hair was much darker now, it had in it
glints of red copper. Her heart-complaint had given to her face a waxy,
even greenish tint, and her lips were leaden.
On being introduced to her, Philip felt somewhat ashamed of not having
made her acquaintance before, because he had allowed himself to be
influenced by Mrs. Sidebottom's prejudice. His aunt had treated the
widow with studied indifference, and when noticing her, behaved towards
her with superciliousness. Mrs. Cusworth had accordingly kept very much
to herself in the rooms allotted to her use.
Janet was fired with indignation at the discourtesy shown to her mother;
she wished to defy Mrs. Sidebottom, but her mother bade her remember
that now this lady was in authority, and that she and her daughters
remained in the house upon sufferance only.
Philip bowed on entering, and apologized somewhat lamely for not having
made the lady's acquaintance earlier, and then, turning, saw Salome
glide out of the room with her arm in that of her sister. The girl
rightly understood that Philip desired to speak with Mrs. Cusworth
alone. He proceeded at once to cross-question her on the subject of the
will.
'You must excuse me,' he said, 'but I am forced to make inquiries. I
presume you have been told that a very advantageous will, made in favour
of your daughter, has been found, cancelled, and no subsequently drawn
will has been discovered. Mr. Pennycomequick gave this valueless one to
Miss Cusworth to keep, and I cannot doubt he did so believing he
entrusted her with one that was valid. Now, either he took this one by
mistake for a subsequent will which has disappeared, or the will has
been--no, I will not commit myself to the statement of the alternative.
Be so good as to tell me what you recollect about the signing of the
will?'
'It was done just after Janet's wedding.'
'Were you aware of the contents?'
'Certainly not. Mr. Pennycomequick sent for me to his study, where he
was with Dr. Dale. He merely asked me to witness his signature to his
will; but he entered into no particulars.'
'You had no reason to believe he intended to constitute Miss Cusworth
his heiress?'
'Not the least. I supposed he would leave her something as he had dealt
so liberally by my other daughter at her marriage; I neither wished for
nor expected more; certainly for nothing which might cause annoyance to
the family.'
'He never alluded to his intention?'
'Never. He was a reserved man.'
'And you have no reason to suppose he made another will subsequent to
that?'
'I know nothing. I was not called in to witness another.'
'Thank you,' said Philip, rising. 'The mystery is to me as dark now as
before, only'--and this he said to himself--'the one explanation I gave
at first is, I am now convinced, certainly the wrong one.'
*CHAPTER XIV.*
*ADMINISTRATION.*
Philip Pennycomequick returned to the garden. He was still greatly
perplexed, but a new and disquieting suspicion had invaded his mind. He
was now completely satisfied that no undue influence had been used to
force the old man to make his extraordinary will. He was also tolerably
certain that he handed it to Salome in good faith, believing it to be
untouched. The will had been tampered with, either just before or after
his death. It was hardly possible that this could have been done
before, when preserved, as he little doubted, in the iron chest in which
Jeremiah kept all his deeds and papers of value. It was more probable
that the mutilation had been effected afterwards, when carelessly kept
in Salome's workbox, which probably had a lock easily fitted with a key
and which was sometimes incautiously left unlocked when Salome was not
in her room.
But who would be likely to do such an act, commit a felony? He dared
not accuse his aunt; even in thought, such an accusation was too
terrible. He had no confidence in her rectitude. His mistrust of her
truthfulness had been deepened by her audacious assertion that Jeremiah
had worn a nightshirt she had given him, a statement which he was
convinced was untrue, and one made by her to get over the difficulty
about the linen of the drowned man differing from that known to have
belonged to her brother.
He could not disguise from himself that, on the supposition that Mrs.
Sidebottom had mutilated the will, all the difficulty in explaining the
mystery disappeared. She had heard from Salome where the will was--in
her desk and in her room. It was to Mrs. Sidebottom's interest to know
its contents, and to invalidate it when she did know them. But Philip,
though he held his aunt in low esteem, could hardly think she could be
guilty of such wickedness. But how else explain the difficulty. Then,
again, supposing he reached moral conviction that she had tampered with
the document, what course could he pursue? He had absolutely no
evidence to justify a public accusation, and without very strong and
conclusive evidence he could not make such a charge--a charge of felony
against his own aunt.
When he considered the grounds on which his suspicion rested, he found
how slight they were. The facts were that Mrs. Sidebottom knew where
the will was, that she was in the house, and had opportunities of
obtaining access to the will, and that it was to her interest to destroy
its force. He had no reason to think his aunt morally capable of such a
crime. His belief in her veracity was shaken, but it is a long way
between telling a lie and committing a crime such as that he was
half-inclined to attribute to her.
With his mind still unsatisfied he went to the study, where he knew he
would find her. Captain Lambert had gone out. The captain had borne
the restraint imposed on him by the death of his uncle with impatience.
He had been prevented from playing his usual game of billiards. He had
yawned in the morning and stood at the window with his hands in his
pockets, then had shifted his position to the fire, and stood before
that with his hands behind him, and found neither position to his taste.
In the afternoon he had lounged between the two houses, and had
sauntered in the garden, and grumbled and yawned continually. In the
evening, when alone after dinner, in his frogged smoking-jacket and
slippers, lounging in an arm-chair, he read a little, and when Philip
was there, talked with him. But nothing satisfied him; the _Field_ he
found 'awfully dull!' his cousin 'awfully prosy!' and he pronounced as
his criticism of every novel he dipped into that it was 'awful trash!'
Philip and Lambert had no interests in common, because Lambert had no
interests at all. Philip was reserved, Lambert open, with the
difference that exists between a purse and a glove. Philip had much in
him which was not for all the world, Lambert had nothing in him
whatever.
Lambert was easy-going, selfish and good-natured in what did not touch
his own comfort and ease. He had little conversation, and what he had
was uninteresting. We come across people continually who have to be
dredged that anything may be got out of them, and when dredged, yield
nothing to compensate the labour of dredging. In some rivers it is
worth while to try the depths with rakes and grapples, or even by
diving, for on examination they yield gold-dust, diamonds and pearls.
But out of others nothing is extracted save pots, weeds, the waste
matter and sewage of civilization. When Lambert was dredged he gave up
worthless stuff, scraps of stale news, old jokes worn to pieces,
venerable conundrums that had lost their point, and familiar anecdotes
retailed without salt. Undredged, he yielded nothing, except among
those of his own mental calibre, and with them he talked about people he
had met, houses at which he had visited, wines that he had drunk, game
that he had shot, the relationships of his acquaintance, about jolly
fellows, nice girls, good cigars, and scrumptious dinners. He was a
harmless, lazy man who would not wilfully do what was wrong, and would
never exert himself to do what was right.
There are tens of thousands of these negative beings about, male and
female, useful in their way, as nitrogen is of use in the atmosphere,
void of quality itself, but diluting the active oxygen; as certain
ingredients are serviceable as fluxes to valuable metals, but have no
other known use in creation.
Lambert's mother had energy for both, and managed for herself and for
him. He was well content that it should be so, it saved him trouble.
He left her to decide everything for him, as he left his clothes to be
brushed and folded and put away by the servant. And as he was a man
without a pursuit, he voted everything he had to do a bore, and was
voted by everyone who knew him the worst of bores.
'Well, Philip,' said Mrs. Sidebottom cheerily as her nephew entered; she
was engaged in looking through a list of designs for mourning dresses.
'Well, Philip, I am knocked to pieces with the strain, and am glad all
is over. I hope you have had a satisfactory interview with that girl,
brought her to a humble frame of mind, and induced her to confess that
she and her mother concocted that abominable will?'
'On the contrary,' answered Philip gravely, 'I am satisfied from what
she and Mrs. Cusworth have told me that they had nothing to do with it.
Not only was no undue pressure brought to bear on my uncle, but they
were completely ignorant of the contents of his testament.'
'Fiddle-faddle,' said Mrs. Sidebottom, 'I don't give them credit for
being such fools. They had Jeremiah in their hands for many years. He
made that will in their favour, at their suggestion; only when I came
here did his conscience speak out, and then he cancelled it. The case
is as plain as a pikestaff.'
'You wrong her--her mother,' said Philip with some heat.
'You--yourself,' retorted Mrs. Sidebottom, 'accused her of having
employed unfair means to procure the will. I am only repeating what you
said.'
'I did so. I was hasty. I now regard both Mrs. and Miss Cusworth as
incapable of such conduct.'
'Why!--what a weather-cock you are! You men are easily talked round by
women. A cow has horns, a horse has hoofs, and a dog teeth, for
self-protection; but a woman has only her tongue, which she can use
skilfully--far more skilfully than the brutes use their weapons. Why,
Philip, there are insects that accommodate themselves in colour and
appearance to the ground they are on, or the tree or leaf they are
destroying, so as to escape detection; and you would have this precious
Salome less clever than an insect? She has assumed the colour necessary
for imposing on your eyes.'
Philip winced. He had changed his mind twice with respect to Salome,
and both times in consequence of an interview with her.
'I have a proposal to make,' he said; 'but before making it, I must lay
the case before you plainly.'
'I desire nothing better, but I wish Lamb were here also.'
'I wish first to discuss it with you alone, after that we can take
Lambert into conference.'
'I am all attention.'
'In the first place, I take it that my uncle made the will without
having been subject to any direct pressure. Indirect there was, but that
was also unconscious. The children had grown up in his house, he had
become warmly attached to them, and when one was married, he provided
for her.'
'Most unbecomingly and unnecessarily.'
'He did as he thought fit. The money was his own--his savings; and he
had a perfect right to dispose of it as he considered proper. In full
possession of his faculties, more than a twelvemonth ago, he made a
marriage settlement of a large sum on one of the young ladies, and then,
as she was provided for, he made his will, providing for the sister.
Miss Salome had been as a daughter to him, he loved her not less than he
did Miss Janet, and certainly had no intention that she should be left
destitute when he was removed.'
'I grant you all that,' said Mrs. Sidebottom. 'He might have left her
an annuity of fifty or a hundred pounds. That would have sufficed. But
why leave her everything? But there--what is the good of discussing a
document which is of no legal force?'
'Allow me to proceed. Whether he acted rightly or wrongly is a question
I will not enter into. What he did was what he had proposed in his
heart to do, to provide for Miss Salome, and to leave to Lambert and me
only small annuities. He did not bequeath the factory to Lambert, whom
he very well knew was not calculated to manage a business, and he did
not leave it to me, because he knew nothing about my capabilities and
character. I think it is by no means improbable that there is something
else behind. Miss Cusworth may be engaged to a suitable person, whom
Uncle Jeremiah approved as one likely to carry on the business and not
throw it away. I conceive that the will may have been prompted quite as
much by concern for an old-established and respected business as by
regard for the young girl. He may have calculated on the marriage, but
not have cared to allude to it at an early stage of the engagement.
This is merely a conjecture of mine, and I have no knowledge of anything
to substantiate it. You must take it for what it is worth.'
'Oh, that is likely enough; but as the will is cancelled, why harp upon
it?'
'Such I imagine was the mind of my uncle when he framed that will. In
two words, he desired that the firm should be carried on, and that his
adopted daughter should be provided for.'
'I allow all that.'
'Now the will has been invalidated in a mysterious manner by the
signature being torn away. By whom that was done is not known to us,
but I do not allow it is at all conclusive that Uncle Jeremiah did it
himself.'
'Of course he did it. He did it because I was in Mergatroyd, and he had
come to value me. Besides, Lambert had changed his name; he had ceased
to be a Sidebottom, and had become a Pennycomequick. Indeed, he said as
much to me. He was mightily pleased at the change. It was a compliment
he took to heart.'
Philip frowned. His aunt had recollections of things said and done that
came in very conveniently to support her theories.
'My impression is,' said Philip, 'that the will was not torn by my
uncle, but by someone else.'
'And pray,' said Mrs. Sidebottom, tossing her head and moving uneasily
in her seat, 'do you suspect anyone?'
'I accuse no one,' he said drily; 'I have no right without evidence to
do so.'
'Good gracious me!' laughed Mrs. Sidebottom. 'What an imagination you
are endowed with, Philip! First it leads you to scheme out the whole
story of the concoction and destruction of the will, and this you pour
out on Salome Cusworth; then you withdraw the charge, and you conceive a
probable engagement between this young minx and an Admirable Crichton,
who is to manage the mill and carry on the business; and now you have an
idea of some outrageous fraud having been committed. Save us from such
vagaries of the fancy!'
'As it was my uncle's intention that Miss Cusworth should be left
comfortably off, and as--by whatever means his will has been
mutilated--she is now left wholly unprovided for, which is most
certainly against his wish, I propose to you that we, who become the
heirs, should do something to assure to Miss Cusworth a provision at
least equal in amount to that made for her sister.'
'I--I do not understand.'
'What I say is plain enough. We who share the property of my uncle must
deduct from our shares in equal proportions such sum as will, when
invested, bring in for the sole benefit of Miss Cusworth the modest sum
of a hundred and fifty pounds per annum.'
'A hundred and fifty fiddlesticks!' said Mrs. Sidebottom. 'I'll be
hanged before I agree to that!'
'To what extent, then, do you propose to meet my suggestion?'
'Not at all. I will not consent to give her a farthing!'
'You decline to carry out the wishes of your brother?'
'I dispute that they were his wishes--at one time maybe, before I
arrived at Mergatroyd. After that he changed his mind altogether, and
in evidence--he cancelled his will.'
'I am by no means prepared to allow that that was his doing.'
'A hundred and fifty pounds! Why, at four per cent. that would be
nearly four thousand pounds. I would rather throw my money into the
sea, or give it to a hospital.'
'I repeat, it was the purpose of the testator to provide for Miss
Cusworth. He had not altered his purpose on the night that he died, for
he handed her the will to keep in such a manner----'
'According to her own account,' interjected Mrs. Sidebottom.
'As showed that he believed the will was untouched. Either before that,
or after--I cannot say when or by whom--the act had been committed which
destroyed the value of the will. But Uncle Jeremiah to the last
intended that the young lady should be provided for.'
'I will consent to nothing.'
'Very well,' said Philip, 'as you cannot agree to my proposal, no other
course is left me than to enter a _caveat_ against your taking out an
administration.'
'What good will that do?'
'It will do no good to anyone--to you least of all; I shall state my
grounds before the Court--that I believe the will of my uncle, which I
shall present, has been fraudulently dealt with by some person or
persons unknown, and I shall endeavour to get it recognised, although it
lacks his signature.'
'What!' exclaimed Mrs. Sidebottom, turning all colours of mottled soap.
'Throw away your chance of getting half!'
'Yes--because I will not be unjust.'
Mrs. Sidebottom was silent. She was considering. Her fidgets showed
that she was alarmed.
'You will be able to effect nothing,' she said. 'The Court would say
that Jeremiah acted improperly when he left his property away from his
family, and that he did right in cancelling the will.'
'Anyhow, I shall contest the grant of letters of administration.'
'What a chivalrous knight that girl has found in you!' sneered Mrs.
Sidebottom. 'You had better throw yourself at her feet altogether.'
Philip made no answer.
Mrs. Sidebottom fished up an antimacassar that had been on the back of
her chair but had fallen from it, and had been worked into a rope by her
movements in the chair. She pulled it out from under her, and threw it
on the floor.
'I detest these things,' she said. 'They are shoppy and vulgar. Only
third-rate people, such as Cusworths, would hang them about on sofas and
arm-chairs.'
Philip remained unmoved. He knew she was taking about antimacassars
merely to gain time.
Presently he said, 'I await your answer.'
Mrs. Sidebottom looked furtively at him. She was irritated at his
composure.
'Very well--as you like,' she said, with a toss of her head; 'but I did
not expect this inhuman and unreasonable conduct in you, Philip.'
'I take you at your word. That is settled between us. Now let us turn
to another consideration. The mill must not be stopped, the business
must be carried on. I do not suppose that Lambert cares to enter into
commercial life.'
'Certainly not.'
'Or that you particularly relish life in Mergatroyd.'
'I hate the place.'
'I am quite willing to undertake the management of the factory, at first
provisionally, till some arrangement has been come to between us. As
soon as the administration is granted, we shall consider the division of
the estate, and deduct equally from our several shares that portion
which we have resolved to offer to Miss Cusworth.'
'As you please,' said Mrs. Sidebottom sulkily. 'But you treat me
abominably. However--now, I suppose, unopposed by you--I can ask for
right to administer?'
'Yes--on the conditions to which you have agreed.'
'Wait--this house is mine, I suppose. Then I will clear it of those who
are odious to me.'
She started from her seat and left the room.
*CHAPTER XV.*
*THE WOMAN WITH A PIPE.*
What had become in the meantime of Mr. Jeremiah Pennycomequick, over
whose leavings such a dispute was being waged? We left him clinging to
the head of a Lombardy poplar that was being swept down the valley of
the Keld by the flood.
The head of a poplar was by no means the most agreeable sort of vessel
in which to shoot the rapids of Fleet Lock and navigate the lower
Keld-dale. In the first place it allowed the wash of the descending
current to overflow it, and in the next it had no proper balance, and
was disposed to revolve like a turbine in the stream. This latter
propensity was presently counteracted by the branches catching and
entangling about some ponderous matter in the bed, perhaps a chain from
the locks. It was not possible for Mr. Pennycomequick to keep dry. He
was like Moses in the cradle of bulrushes, from which the pitch calking
had been omitted. He was completely drenched, because submerged except
for his head and shoulders, chilled, numb, and giddy.
The tree made a plunge over the lock edge, where the stream formed a
cataract, carried him under water, and came up again with him still
among the branches. He had seen the hut crumble into the stream before
he made his dive. When the water cleared out of his eyes, and he looked
again, he could see it no more.
He threw himself on his back, with his arms interlaced among the pliant
boughs, and his face towards the night sky. He saw the clouds like
curd, and the moon glaring pitilessly down on him in his distress,
showing him a wide field of water on all sides and help nowhere. He was
too cold to cry out; he knew that it would be useless to do so. Succour
was out of reach. Lying cradled among the branches, elastic as those of
willow, he was fast as in a net; bedded among the twigs, he might let go
his hold and would be carried on. He looked up steadily at the moon,
and wondered how long it would be before his eyes stiffened and he saw
the things of creation no longer. He could distinguish the shadows in
the moon and make out the darkened portion of the disc. How cold and
cheerless it must be yonder! A life of numbness and lack of volition
and impulse must be the lot of the Selenites! Fear of death, anxiety
for himself, had disappeared; only a sort of curiosity remained in his
brain to know whether the condition of life in the moon was more
miserable in its chill and helplessness than his present state of
drifting in the cold water.
Then he turned his head to take a last look at Mergatroyd. The lights
were twinkling there. He could distinguish those of his own house on
the hill-slope. He would never again set foot within its doors, enjoy
the comfort of his fireside; never see Salome again. And then in that
odd, incongruous manner in which droll thoughts rise up in the mind at
the most inappropriate moments, it occurred to him that there was to be
anchovy-toast for breakfast. He had been asked by Mrs. Cusworth if he
liked it, and she had promised it him. And as he drifted, immersed in
the deadeningly cold brown water, at the thought the taste of anchovy
came into his mouth.
The valley of the Keld contracted--a spur of hill ran forward from the
ridge on which Mergatroyd was built, and forced the river and canal to
describe a semi-circular bend. The line, however, had bored itself a
way through the hill, and came out beyond, in a park, among stately but
blackened elms. The spur contracted the volume of the flood, which
therefore became deeper and more rapid.
With his numbed hands Mr. Pennycomequick unloosed his white neckcloth,
and with it bound his arm to a branch of the poplar, tying the knot with
one hand and his teeth, whilst the water ran through his mouth over his
tongue, and washed away from it the smack of anchovy that fancy had
conjured to it.