MISSING!
Mr. Harmer died on Friday morning, and it was arranged that his funeral
should take place on that day week. On the day preceding Dr. Ashleigh
left Ramsgate early, and went direct to his own house, to see several
patients who were to call upon him there prior to his going out on his
rounds. Most of those he expected had called, and he was sitting alone
in his library when the door opened and the servant announced "Mr.
Gregory."
Dr. Ashleigh rose from his seat, with a cold, haughty look on his face,
such as had not for many years been seen upon it. Robert Gregory's face
wore a mingled air of anxiety and triumph, slightly veiled under an
expression of gravity and decorum which he had assumed as suitable to
the occasion. He was evidently much embarrassed how to begin, and the
extremely repellant and hostile expression of Dr. Ashleigh's face did
not assist him in his difficulty.
"May I ask," the Doctor said, "to what I owe this visit?"
"I have called, Dr. Ashleigh," Robert Gregory began, in a voice to which
he in vain attempted to give its usual loud, careless tone. "I have
called from my wife to ask you--you to whom she alone could apply at the
present time--to give her some intelligence respecting the death of her
grandfather."
"If the unfortunate girl who has become your wife will call upon me
herself, I will give her every information and assistance in my power.
With you I will hold no communication whatever."
Robert Gregory bit his lips angrily, and his eye flashed: he was a man
but little accustomed to be thwarted. However, as he felt that any
outburst of anger would only injure his cause, and could do him no good,
after a momentary, but fierce struggle with himself, he went on quietly.
"You are naturally indignant with me, Dr. Ashleigh. I know that after
the sad consequences which have ensued you cannot be otherwise, and am
aware that it is useless my making any excuses or protestations. I know
that the only way in which I can ever justify the course I have taken
will be by making Sophy happy, and by proving that her love and
confidence in me are not so greatly misplaced, and that, after all, I am
not so utter a scamp as the world gives me credit for."
Undoubtedly the man had carefully thought over beforehand what he
intended to say, and yet he spoke earnestly, for he really meant what he
said, and Dr. Ashleigh, a shrewd observer of men, saw that he did so,
and his face rather softened in its expression. Robert Gregory observed
the change, and went on.
"I myself should never have come on this errand could she have done so.
But the truth is a friend telegraphed the news to me, and the message
reached me only on Monday morning, as I was returning leisurely from the
north. Sophy is nearly out of her mind, and the doctor I called in to
see her fears that she will have an attack of brain fever. I should not
have left, but her cry was unceasing to know the details of his death,
and whether he said a word of forgiveness to her. I came down by this
morning's train, and return by the one o'clock to London."
Dr. Ashleigh was softened now; he saw by the man's anxious face and
changed voice that he was truly in earnest, and that although he had
unquestionably wooed and married Sophy for her money, yet that he did
really care for herself, and the Doctor thought that her chance of
happiness was, after all, better than he had imagined it.
"I am sorry to hear what you say about your wife," he said, in quite a
different tone to that which he had previously adopted, "although I
cannot say I am surprised. The knowledge that the news of her flight had
caused Mr. Harmer's death must of necessity be a terrible grief and
sorrow to her. On that head, however, I truly rejoice that I can give
her some consolation and alleviate her remorse. Mr. Harmer forgave her.
Her letter was taken in to him, and he was found dead with it before
him, and a sheet of paper on which he had begun a letter to her. The
last words he ever wrote were: 'I forgive.' Tell her this from me."
Robert Gregory's face lit up with pleasure, and this time the emotion
was not purely of a selfish kind. He was glad, very glad for Sophy's
sake to hear that Mr. Harmer had forgiven her before he died; indeed,
even for his own sake he felt the news to be a relief. Hardened as he
was, he could not have felt easy with the knowledge that that good old
man had died invoking a curse upon him with his last breath. But
although for both these reasons he received the news with pleasure, it
was as nothing to the satisfaction he felt at the account which had been
given him of Mr. Harmer's death; for it was quite evident from it that
he had died leaving his will unaltered--he had died a few minutes after
finding Sophy was gone, with his unfinished letter of forgiveness before
him--had probably never even risen from his chair, and had certainly
taken no steps towards altering or cancelling his will. Gratified as he
felt, however, he speedily repressed all show of his feelings, for he
felt that Dr. Ashleigh was watching him, and he knew that his good will
and countenance would be of great service at this time; besides which,
for Sophy's sake, he wished to stand well with him, for Sophy, he knew,
esteemed and loved Dr. Ashleigh more than any other man, now Mr. Harmer
was dead. He, therefore, after a minute's silence, said with an air of
frankness:
"I am, indeed, glad to hear what you tell me, Dr. Ashleigh. It will be
an immense relief to poor Sophy, and even to myself, for it is not
pleasant to lie under the curse of a dead man; besides which, it would
be idle of me to pretend that I am not very gratified to hear that Mr.
Harmer took no steps towards altering his will. As you, a man of the
world, will naturally suppose, Sophy's wealth was the great inducement
to me, when I first sought her; and although I trust to prove to her and
to you, that I have now learnt to love her truly for herself, I am
still, of course, very glad to hear that her property is not forfeited.
It is now time that I should return to the train, and I hope that my
news may have a good effect upon Sophy's health. I shall be down again
the day after to-morrow, not to attend the funeral, but to be present at
the reading of the will, which will, I suppose, take place afterwards."
"It will," Dr. Ashleigh said. "Miss Harmer wrote to the solicitor in
London yesterday, informing him of her brother's death, and begging him
to be down at the funeral, which takes place at two o'clock. And now,
Mr. Gregory, will you say to Sophy, that her grandfather forgave her
freely and at once, and that it is not for me, whom she has not injured,
to judge more severely than he has done; will you tell her from me, that
in my daughter and myself she will find friends glad to welcome her
back, and to forget the past. For yourself, Mr. Gregory, it would be
folly to say that a strong prejudice does not exist, you best know
whether justly or not. However, these days are past, and it is now,
according as you treat Sophy, that you will be received, at any rate by
us. Make her happy; try and dry the tears which the consequences of her
love for you have caused to flow, and you will find that we shall be
glad to know you as Sophy's husband."
So saying, Dr. Ashleigh held out his hand to the man before him, and
Robert Gregory, as he grasped it, experienced a feeling of real
gratification. He knew that this was a truly good man, and that his
course towards Sophy was in no way altered by the fact of her being an
heiress, but because she had been forgiven by his old friend Mr. Harmer,
and for the sake of the many years of affectionate intercourse he had
had with herself. He was gratified, too, by what the Doctor had said
respecting himself, for the countenance and friendship of a good man can
be appreciated even by the worst character. And so Robert Gregory took
his leave of Dr. Ashleigh and returned to town with a softened, although
exultant heart. The Doctor then went over to Harmer Place and saw the
sisters. They passed most of their time in their own rooms, engaged in
earnest prayer for the benefit of their brother's soul; and once, when
the Doctor had been there, they spoke to him in glowing terms of the
power which their church possessed to forgive all sins, even the
greatest. While they thus spoke their eyes lit up with a strange,
passionate fervour of religious zeal--that fierce, burning zeal, which
has for so many centuries made men equally ready to martyrize others or
to die martyrs themselves--that zeal which has led some to give up all
worldly goods, and live the life of wandering beggars, and others to
allow no scruple to interfere with any deed which can enrich and benefit
the church to which they belong. To these remarks Dr. Ashleigh returned
no answer; he was at all times indisposed to enter into religious
arguments, and with women in the exalted state of mind in which the
Misses Harmer were, it would have been worse than useless. On this
occasion, however, he found them both in a calmer state, and he
mentioned to them that he had seen Robert Gregory, and that he spoke of
coming up on the part of his wife after the funeral. For a minute or so
they were silent, and then Miss Harmer said, with stern vehemence,--
"Let him come--I presume it is his right; but never again while I live
shall the murderer of my brother darken this door."
The Doctor half smiled at the idle threat, while Angela Harmer glanced
up at her sister from under her drooping eyelids.
"I should, perhaps, rather say," Miss Harmer corrected herself, "as long
as I am in this house; if he enter, I leave it. Harmer Place shall never
hold together for one day the sisters of Herbert Harmer and his
murderers."
The Doctor was silent, for he thought that what she said would certainly
turn out correct, for he did not deem it probable that Robert Gregory,
when he came into possession, was at all the man to invite the two
Misses Harmer to take up their abode with him.
The next night Dr. Ashleigh did not return to Ramsgate. Harry was to
arrive by the late train from the North, and after the funeral they were
to go down to Ramsgate, where it was arranged they should stop for a
week or two. After that, as we should be well able to afford it, papa
had settled to go on to the Continent for the winter with me.
Accordingly, the next day Herbert Harmer was laid in his grave in the
quiet churchyard of Sturry. Agreeably to Miss Harmer's wishes, the
funeral was celebrated with a pomp which he who had gone had never
desired for himself while alive. The hearse and mourning-coaches, each
with their four horses and tossing feathers, the man in front with the
tray of sable plumes, the mutes in long array--all was done in the best
style, and people came in from quite a long distance to see it. A good
many of his old Canterbury friends sent their carriages to join the
procession, but there were not many real mourners among those who
followed. The first mourning-coach contained Dr. Ashleigh, his son, and
the solicitor, who had arrived just as the cortege was starting; the
other coaches contained the principal tenants, who had liked their late
landlord, and who had always found him compliant and kind in the
extreme; they had, however, very seldom seen him, as since his son's
death he had gone very little himself among his tenants, although he had
always kept himself well informed concerning the affairs of each of
them. As the procession wound through the village many a blessing and
prayer was murmured for the dead man; there, indeed, he had been a
benefactor; many a sick bed, many an aching heart had his bounty
relieved; and they blessed his memory, blessed him as thousands had done
before them--thousands lying in agony in London hospitals, some never to
go out again alive, many more to be restored in health and strength to
their families; these had poured out countless prayers for the unknown
benefactor who had endowed this ward, added that comfort, or whose
munificent donations had enabled the hospital largely to extend its
benefits; and doubtless their prayers were not the less heard that no
name was uttered, and that they went up for their unknown friend.
And so Herbert Harmer slept the sleep of the blessed in the quiet
churchyard, and the funeral cortege went back to Harmer Place.
The doctor had been much affected by the service over his old friend.
Harry, too, was much moved, but in his case it was more the thought of
the grave he had last stood beside, and her over whom he had heard the
service read two months before.
Mr. Petersfield, the solicitor, was calm. With him it was a pure matter
of business. He had hardly ever seen the dead man; he knew him only as
one of the wealthiest and most eccentric of his clients; he had heard
from his partner that he was a man of sterling worth; but Mr. Ransome
had always managed Mr. Harmer's business, and he himself knew nothing
about it. Mr. Ransome had died six months before, and it would have been
his duty, in a short time, to have made himself thoroughly acquainted
with Mr. Harmer's affairs; as it was, he knew very little about them.
During the short ride to and from the church there was hardly a word
exchanged in the carriage, as Dr. Ashleigh was an entire stranger to the
solicitor. When they reached the house they were shown into the
drawing-room; into which, a few minutes later, Robert Gregory was
ushered.
"How is your wife, Mr. Gregory?" the doctor asked, as he shook hands.
"She is very ill, doctor, but I left her certainly calmer and more
tranquil, and I trust, from what the medical man said last night, that
she will escape any serious attack of brain fever. The news you sent her
was a very great consolation to her, but she is still in terribly low
spirits."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the Misses
Harmer, who bowed to Dr. Ashleigh, his son, and the solicitor, all of
whom they had seen before, but who took no notice whatever of the
presence of Robert Gregory.
The Misses Harmer were accompanied, or rather followed into the room by
a gentleman, whom it was easy to see by his dress was an ecclesiastic of
the Romish Church, and who was an entire stranger to Dr. Ashleigh.
"This gentleman," Miss Harmer said, introducing him, "is Father Eustace,
a friend of ours for many years, and who, having heard of our loss, has
come over from abroad to assist and comfort us with his presence and
advice."
Father Eustace was a pale, ascetic looking man, with large, eager bright
eyes; his complexion was dark and swarthy, and he looked every inch what
he was--an Italian. He spoke English with a strong foreign accent, but
still grammatically and pretty distinctly. He bowed courteously to those
present, and then took his seat, and during what followed occupied
himself in closely scrutinizing their countenances, especially those of
Dr. Ashleigh and Robert Gregory, as if desirous to judge for himself how
nearly they tallied with the description he had received of them.
The Misses Harmer were very pale, but had a quiet, fixed look about
them, in which Dr. Ashleigh thought he read their determination to
listen with composure to the reading of the will, which would place the
hated Robert and Sophy Gregory in the position of master and mistress of
Harmer Place.
For some little time after they had taken their seats there was a dead
silence, as if each were waiting for the other to begin. At last Mr.
Petersfield said--
"With your permission, Miss Harmer, I will at once proceed to read the
will of my late client, Mr. Herbert Harmer. Will you be good enough to
hand it to me?"
"I have not any will of my brother in my possession," Miss Harmer
answered, coldly.
"Not in your possession, madam? But you are doubtless aware where your
late brother was in the habit of keeping his important documents?"
"I have looked, Mr. Petersfield, among his papers, but I have found no
will among them."
There was a pause of blank astonishment.
"How is it, Mr. Petersfield," Dr. Ashleigh said, gravely, "that you have
not Mr. Harmer's will in your custody?"
"It was in our hands, doctor, until about two months ago, when Mr.
Harmer wrote to me, saying that he was desirous of making some slight
alterations in it, and requesting me to forward it. I did so, in charge
of one of my clerks. On the day he came down here, some friend of Mr.
Harmer's died--I understood it was Mrs. Ashleigh--and he told my clerk
that he did not feel equal to attend to business, but that if he would
leave the document with him, he would look it over, and write to me to
send down again in a short time to make the alterations he required. I
did not hear any further from him, and therefore supposed that he had
either changed his mind in reference to the alteration, or had forgotten
the matter altogether. I remember, when my clerk came back, he told me
that he had ventured to suggest that so valuable a document ought to be
kept in a safe place, and that Mr. Harmer had smiled, and answered, 'You
need not be afraid on that score. I have a place to put it in where all
the burglars in the world could not get at it."
There was again a blank silence, and then the solicitor went on--
"In any case, madam, I think it but right that we should search Mr.
Harmer's library thoroughly."
"Certainly, Mr. Petersfield; you are quite at liberty to search where
you like. Father Eustace, will you do me the kindness to accompany these
gentlemen."
Father Eustace at once rose, and preceded the others to the library.
"This looks a very strange business, Mr. Petersfield," Dr. Ashleigh
said, on their way thither.
"Very--very much so indeed, doctor, and I do not think our search here
is likely to be attended with any success."
The library was thoroughly ransacked. Every drawer was pulled out and
examined for secret hiding-places; the books were all taken down from
their shelves to look behind them; every place, possible and impossible,
was searched, but, as the lawyer had predicted, without the slightest
result. Harry and Robert Gregory performed the active portion of the
work, the doctor and Mr. Petersfield directing their operations, and
examining the piles of papers which came to light during the search. All
were very silent: they were too interested and excited to talk. From
time to time Robert Gregory muttered savage execrations between his
teeth; but, with that exception, the search was conducted in silence.
The priest sat quietly and watched them--watched them, and not their
proceedings: in these he seemed to have no curiosity, his attention
being directed entirely to the way in which they each bore their
disappointment.
The search lasted for an hour. By that time the place had been
completely ransacked, and every possible place examined; and the whole
floor of the room was closely covered with books, papers, scientific
apparatus, and the accumulated litter of years. When all was done, and
it was evident that no corner remained unexplored, the searchers rested
from their work, wiped the perspiration from their foreheads, and looked
at their leader for further instructions.
Dr. Ashleigh drew the solicitor to a door which led into the garden,
opened it, and went out with him, so that they could converse without
restraint from the presence of the priest.
"This is an extraordinary business, Mr. Petersfield," Dr. Ashleigh said;
"what do you think of it?"
"Do you consult me professionally, Dr. Ashleigh?" the lawyer asked, in
return.
"Certainly I do," Dr. Ashleigh said vehemently. "Mr. Harmer was one of
my oldest and my dearest friends; and even were I not so deeply
interested in the discovery of the will as I am, I would spend every
penny I have in the world in seeing his wishes carried out. You are
aware of the nature of the will?"
"In a general way I am. My late partner, Mr. Ransome, who has managed
Mr. Harmer's business ever since he came to England, some twenty-three
years ago, told me that Mr. Harmer had left all his property, with the
exception of some comparatively small legacies, between your children
and his illegitimate grandchild, Miss Needham--now, as I understand,
Mrs. Gregory."
"Precisely," Dr. Ashleigh said. "This is the disposition he publicly
announced that he had made of his property; and in the event of this
will not being found, I presume the Misses Harmer, as his only
relations, will inherit everything?"
"Clearly so, doctor. It is a most awkward business. However, we cannot
now determine what steps to take: we shall have plenty of time for that
hereafter. Is there any other place you can suggest as worth
searching--his bed-room, for instance?"
"None at all," the doctor answered. "Mr. Harmer was a man of the
simplest personal habits. His bed-room is furnished just as it was in
India--a plain French bedstead without hangings, an India matting on the
floor, a few cane chairs, and a small chest of drawers. No, it is no use
searching there."
"Or anywhere, I believe, frankly," Mr. Petersfield said. "Wherever the
will may be, we shall never find it."
So saying, they returned into the library. Father Eustace was sitting
unmoved in the chair where they had left him. Harry was pacing up and
down that portion of the floor which remained free from the books and
instruments, sometimes stopping and looking out of the window, and
drumming on the panes with his fingers in a state of angry impatience;
he was anxious and uneasy, but he could not believe that the will was
more than mislaid for a time.
Robert Gregory had cast himself sullenly into an arm chair, and sat with
his elbows on the arms, and his chin resting on his hands. His face was
flushed, his eyes wide open, and his lips set hard. A deadly sensation
of despair was stealing over him, which he in vain strove against. Was
it possible that, after all these years of scheming and watchfulness,
his prize was to be snatched from him in the moment of success? He could
not and would not believe it, and yet he had a hopeless feeling in him
which told him that the will was either lost or destroyed, and that it
would never be found or heard of again. When Mr. Petersfield said, "We
can do no good here--let us return to the drawing-room," he rose, and
followed the others mechanically.
The Misses Harmer were sitting as they had left them, stiff and
composed, the stern look upon their faces, a red spot in the centre of
their cheeks, and a strange light in their eyes.
"You have not found my brother's will?" Miss Harmer asked, as they came
in.
"As you are probably pretty well aware, Miss Harmer, we have not found
it. And now let me ask you distinctly, do you, or do you not, know where
your late brother's will is?"
Miss Harmer paused for a moment, and Mr. Petersfield and the doctor saw
that she glanced towards Father Eustace, who was looking on the ground.
"I do not know where my brother was in the habit of keeping his various
documents."
"I said nothing about various documents, Miss Harmer," Dr. Ashleigh
said, sternly. "I asked you, do you, or do you not, know where the will
is?"
"I do not," Miss Harmer said, steadily. "Should you find the will, you
will, I presume, let us know?"
"Should I find it, I will do so."
"It is not easy to find what has never been lost," Robert Gregory said,
bitterly.
Miss Harmer faced round at once upon this new antagonist, as if glad to
turn her face from the stern, searching look of the doctor. She and her
sister had risen from their seats now, and none of the others had seated
themselves. Father Eustace had moved across and taken his place by them,
as if to support them by his presence; the others stood in a group
together, with Dr. Ashleigh slightly in advance.
"As for you, sir," Miss Harmer broke out, addressing Robert Gregory--"as
for you, as I have already told Dr. Ashleigh, I look upon you and the
woman you call your wife, as the murderers of my brother; and now,
having struck him down, and seeing him laid in his grave, you would fain
come here to grasp at his property. Why do you come here to ask for his
will? What is so likely as that, when he heard of that ungrateful girl's
conduct, that conduct which gave him his deathblow, he tore his will
into fragments?"
"But, Miss Harmer," Dr. Ashleigh said, in his quiet, firm voice,
motioning Robert Gregory, who had advanced to reply to the attack upon
him, to be silent. "But, Miss Harmer, we know that such was not the
case; we know that he was found in the same position in which he was
sitting when he received Sophy's letter. We know that he did not leave
the room, and that no one entered it. We know that there were no
fragments of paper scattered about, as there would in all probability
have been had he destroyed the will in the way you suggest; and lastly,
Miss Harmer," and here the doctor advanced a step nearer and spoke even
more impressingly, "lastly, we know that such an intention was farthest
from Mr. Harmer's mind; for that he began a letter, which is, or has
been in your possession, a letter to Sophy expressing his full
forgiveness. So that in your bitter anger against the poor girl, you are
acting in direct contradiction to the dying words of your brother."
The two Misses Harmer and Father Eustace were evidently staggered by
this attack. Miss Harmer's cheek, which had flushed up when she attacked
Robert Gregory, turned deadly pale again, and she shrank back as if she
had received a blow. She was a little time before she answered, and then
the change of her voice showed how much she was unnerved:
"How do you know what you say, Dr. Ashleigh? Have you been enquiring
about among my servants?"
"I should think, Miss Harmer, you must by this time know me well enough
to be aware that I am not a man given to enquiring among servants. I was
simply told the matter, the truth of which you do not and cannot deny;
and for Sophy's sake I was delighted to hear it. I was glad, also, for
the sake of him who is gone to know that he died with words of
forgiveness on his lips; a forgiveness which you have taken upon
yourself to conceal and to refuse."
Miss Harmer evidently quailed before Dr. Ashleigh's words. He saw his
advantage, and continued solemnly, pointing with his finger towards her
as he spoke--
"And now listen to me, Miss Harmer. I believe, I more than believe, that
will to be concealed, and that you know its place of concealment. Now I,
your dead brother's greatest friend, warn you solemnly. I speak in his
name and my own, and I warn you not to destroy that document. It is your
dead brother's will, and if you destroy it may his curse light upon
you."
"Cease, sir," Father Eustace said, interposing himself between Dr.
Ashleigh and the sister, now pale and almost gasping for breath; "cease
these impious insults!"
Dr. Ashleigh waved him aside, and seeing the effect he was producing,
continued in the same earnest voice, never removing his eyes from the
sisters' faces--
"I warn you if you destroy it, your dead brother's voice will cry from
the grave. There will be no more peace for you in this world or the
next. His curse will follow you here, and plead against you at the
judgment-seat of God."
"Come," he said, turning to his companions; for Angela Harmer had sunk
nearly lifeless in a chair, and Cecilia would have fallen had not the
priest, who had in vain endeavoured to check the doctor's solemn
denunciation, supported her. "Come, let us leave this;" and the four men
in silence went out, entered Dr. Ashleigh's carriage, which was in
waiting, and drove off.
END OF VOL. I.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Search For A Secret (Vol 1 of 3), by G. A. Henty