JASPER TREVERTON’S WILL.
Jasper Treverton lingered nearly a week after the coming of his
kinsman--a week that seemed interminable to the expectant heir, who
could not help wishing the old man would make a speedy end of it. What
use was that last remnant of life to him lying helpless on his bed,
restless, weary, and for the greater part of his time delirious? John
Treverton saw him for a few minutes once or twice every day, and looked
at him with a sympathising and appropriate expression of countenance,
and did really feel compassionately towards him; but his busy thoughts
pressed forward to the time when he should have the handling of that
feeble sufferer’s wealth, and should be free to begin that new life,
bright glimpses whereof shone upon his roving fancy like visions of
paradise.
After six monotonous days, every one of which was exactly like the
other for John Treverton, who smoked his solitary cigar in the wintry
garden, and ate his solitary meals in the great dining-room with his
mind always filled by that one subject--the inheritance which seemed so
nearly within his grasp--the night came upon which Jasper Treverton’s
feeble hold of life relaxed altogether, and he drifted away to the
unknown ocean, with his hand in Laura Malcolm’s, and his face turned
towards her, with a wan smile upon the faded lips, as he died. After
this followed three or four days of wearisome delay, in which the quiet
of the darkened rooms seemed intolerable to John Treverton, to whom
death was an unfamiliar horror. He avoided the house in these days
as much as possible, and spent the greater part of his time in long
rambles out into the open country, leaving all the arrangements of
the funeral to Mr. Clare, the vicar, who had been Jasper Treverton’s
closest friend, and a Mr. Sampson, an inhabitant of the village, who
had been the dead man’s solicitor.
The funeral came at last, a very quiet ceremonial, in accordance with
Jasper Treverton’s express desire, and the master of Treverton Manor
was laid in the vault where many of his ancestors slept the last
long sleep. There was a drizzling rain and a low, lead-coloured sky,
beneath which the old churchyard looked unspeakably dismal; but John
Treverton’s thoughts were far away as he stood by the open grave, while
the sublime words of the service fell unheard upon his ear. To-morrow
he would be back in London, most likely, with the consciousness of
wealth and power, inaugurating that new life which he thought of so
eagerly.
He went back to the house, where it was a relief to find the blinds
drawn up and the dull gray winter light in the rooms. The will was to
be read in the drawing-room--a very handsome room, with white-and-gold
panelling, six long windows, and a fireplace at each end. Here Mr.
Sampson, the lawyer, seated himself at a table to read the will, in the
presence of Mr. Clare, the vicar, Laura Malcolm, and the upper servants
of the Manor-house, who took their places in a little group near the
door.
The will was very simply worded. It commenced with some bequests to
the old servants, a small annuity to Andrew Trimmer, the butler, and
sums varying from fifty to two hundred pounds to the coachman and
women servants. There was a complimentary legacy of a hundred guineas
to Thomas Sampson, and a bequest of old plate to Theodore Clare, the
vicar. After these things had been duly set forth the testator went
on to leave the remainder of his property, real and personal, to his
cousin, John Treverton, provided the said John Treverton should marry
his dearly-beloved adopted daughter, Laura Malcolm, within one year of
his decease. The estate was to be held in trust during this interval by
Theodore Clare and Thomas Sampson, together with all moneys therefrom
arising. In the event of this marriage not taking place within the said
time, the whole of the estate was to pass into the hands of the said
Theodore Clare and the said Thomas Sampson, in trust for the erection
of a hospital in the adjacent market town of Beechampton.
Miss Malcolm looked up with a startled expression as this strange
bequest was read. John Treverton’s face assumed a sudden pallor that
was by no means flattering to the lady whose fate was involved in the
singular condition which attached to his inheritance. The situation was
an awkward one for both. Laura rose directly the reading of the will
was finished, and left the room without a word. The servants retired
immediately after, and John Treverton was left alone with the vicar and
the lawyer.
‘Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Treverton,’ said Thomas Sampson,
folding up the will, and coming to the fireplace by which John
Treverton was seated; ‘you will find yourself a very rich man.’
‘A twelvemonth hence, Mr. Sampson,’ the other answered doubtfully,
‘always provided that Miss Malcolm is willing to accept me for her
husband, which she may not be.’
‘She will scarcely fly in the face of her adopted father’s desire, Mr.
Treverton.’
‘I don’t know about that. A woman seldom cares for a husband of any
one else’s choosing. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth,
or to seem ungrateful to my cousin Jasper, from whom I entertained no
expectations whatever a week or so ago: but I cannot help thinking he
would have done better by dividing his property between Miss Malcolm
and myself, leaving us both free.’
He spoke in a slow, meditative way, and he was pale to the very lips.
There was no appearance of triumph or gladness--only an anxious,
disappointed expression, which made his handsome face look strangely
worn and haggard.
‘There are not many men who would think Laura Malcolm an encumbrance
to any fortune, Mr. Treverton,’ said Mr. Clare. ‘I think you will be
happier in the possession of such a wife than in the enjoyment of your
cousin’s wealth, large as it is.’
‘In the event of the lady’s accepting me as her husband,’ John
Treverton again interposed doubtfully.
‘You have an interval of a twelvemonth in which to win her,’ replied
the vicar, ‘and things will go hard with you if you fail. I think I can
answer for the fact that Miss Malcolm’s affections are disengaged. Of
course she, like yourself, is a little startled by the eccentricity of
this condition. The position is much more embarrassing for her than for
you.’
John Treverton did not reply to this remark, but there was a very blank
look in his face as he stood by the fire listening to the vicar’s and
the lawyer’s praises of his departed kinsman.
‘Will Miss Malcolm continue to occupy this house?’ he asked presently.
‘I scarcely know what her wishes may be,’ replied Mr. Clare, ‘but I
think it would be well if the house were placed at her disposal. I
suppose that we as trustees would have power to make her such an offer,
Mr. Sampson, with Mr. Treverton’s concurrence.’
‘Of course.’
‘I concur most heartily in any arrangement that may be agreeable to
the young lady,’ John Treverton said, in rather a mechanical way. ‘I
suppose there is nothing further to detain me here. I can go back to
town to-morrow.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to go over the estate before you return to London,
Mr. Treverton?’ asked Thomas Sampson. ‘It would be just as well for you
to see the extent of a property that is pretty sure to be your own.
If you don’t mind taking things in a plain way, I should be very much
pleased by your spending a week or so at my house. There’s no one knows
the estate better than I do, and I can show you every rood of it.’
‘You are very kind, Mr. Sampson. I shall be glad to accept your
hospitality.’
‘That’s what I call friendly. When will you come over to us? This
evening? We are all to dine together, I believe. Why shouldn’t you go
home with me after dinner? Your presence here can only embarrass Miss
Malcolm.’
Having accepted the lawyer’s invitation, John Treverton did not care
how soon his visit took place, so it was agreed that he should walk
over to ‘The Laurels’ with Mr. Sampson that evening after dinner. But
before he went it would be necessary to take some kind of farewell of
Laura Malcolm, and the idea of this was now painfully embarrassing to
him. It was a thing that must be done, however, and it would be well
that it should be done at a seasonable hour; so in the twilight, before
dinner, he went up to the study, which he knew was Miss Malcolm’s
favourite room, and found her there with an open book lying on her lap
and a small tea-tray on the table by her side.
She looked up at him without any appearance of confusion, but with a
very pale, sad face. He seated himself opposite her, and it was some
moments before he could find words for the simple announcement he had
to make. That calm, beautiful face, turned towards him with a grave,
expectant look, embarrassed him more than he could have imagined
possible.
‘I have accepted an invitation from Mr. Sampson to spend a few days
with him before I go back to town, and I have come to bid you good-bye,
Miss Malcolm,’ he said at last. ‘I fancied that at such a time as this
it would be pleasanter for you to feel yourself quite alone.’
‘You are very good. I do not suppose I shall stay here many days.’
‘I hope you will stay here altogether. Mr. Sampson and Mr. Clare, the
trustees, wish it very much. I do not think that I have much power in
the affair; but believe me, it is my earnest desire that you should not
be in a hurry to leave your old home.’
‘You are very good. I do not think I could stay here alone in this dear
old house, where I have been so happy. I know some respectable people
in the village who let lodgings. I think I would rather remove to their
house as soon as my trunks are packed. I have plenty to live upon, you
know, Mr. Treverton. The six thousand pounds your cousin gave me yields
an income of over two hundred a year.’
‘You must consult your own wishes, Miss Malcolm. I cannot presume to
interfere with your views, anxious as I am for your welfare.’
This was about as much as he would venture to say at this early stage
of affairs. He felt his position indescribably awkward, and he wondered
at Laura Malcolm’s composure. What ought he to say or do? What could
he say that would not seem dictated by the most sordid motive? What
disinterested feeling could there ever arise between those two, who
were bound together by their common interest in a great estate, who met
as strangers to find themselves suddenly dependent upon each other’s
caprice?
‘I may call upon you before I leave Hazlehurst, may I not, Miss
Malcolm?’ he asked presently, with a kind of desperation.
‘I shall be happy to see you whenever you call.’
‘You are very kind. I’ll not intrude on you any longer this evening,
for I am sure you must want quiet and perfect rest. I must go down
to dinner with Mr. Sampson and the vicar--rather a dreary kind of
entertainment I fear it will be. Good-bye.’
He offered her his hand for the first time since they had met. Hers was
very cold, and trembled a little as she gave it to him. He detained
it rather longer than he was justified in doing, and looked at her
for the first time with something like tender pity in his eyes. Yes,
she was very pretty. He would have liked her face better without that
expression of coldness and pride, but he could not deny that she was
beautiful, and he felt that any young man might be proud to win such a
woman for his wife. He did not see his own way to winning her, however;
and it seemed to him as if the fortune he had so built upon during all
his reveries lately, was now removed very far out of his reach.
The dinner was not such a dismal feast as he had imagined it would be.
People are apt to accustom themselves very easily to an old friend’s
removal, and the vicar and the lawyer seemed tolerably cheerful about
their departed neighbour. They discussed his little eccentricities, his
virtues and his foibles, in an agreeable spirit, and did ample justice
to his claret, of which, however, Mr. Clare said he had never been
quite so good a judge as he had believed himself to be. They sat for
a couple of hours over their dessert, sipping some Burgundy of which
Jasper Treverton had been especially proud, and John Treverton was the
only one of the three who seemed troubled by gloomy thoughts.
It was ten o’clock when Mr. Sampson proposed an adjournment to his own
abode. He had sent a little note home to his sister before dinner,
telling her of Mr. Treverton’s intended visit, and had ordered a
fly from the inn, in which vehicle he and his guest drove to ‘The
Laurels,’ a trim, bright-looking, modern house, with small rooms which
were the very pink of neatness; so neat and new-looking, indeed, that
John Treverton fancied they could never have been lived in, and that
the furniture must have been sent home from the upholsterer that very
day.
Thomas Sampson was a young man, and a bachelor. He had inherited an
excellent business from his father, and had done a good deal to improve
it himself, having a considerable capacity for getting on in life, and
an ardent love of money-making. He had one sister, who lived with him.
She was tolerably good-looking, in a pale, insipid way, with eyes of a
cold light blue, and straight, silky hair of a nondescript brown.
This young lady, whose name was Eliza, welcomed John Treverton
with much politeness. There were not many men in the neighbourhood
of Hazlehurst who could have borne comparison with that splendid
military-looking stranger, and Miss Sampson, who did not yet know the
terms of Jasper Treverton’s will, supposed that this handsome young
man was now master of the Manor and all its dependencies. For his sake
she had bestowed considerable pains on the adornment of the spare
bedroom, which she had embellished with more fanciful pincushions,
and ring-stands and Bohemian glass scent-bottles, than are consistent
with the masculine idea of comfort. For his gratification also she had
ordered a reckless expenditure of coals in the keeping up of a blazing
fire in the same smartly-furnished chamber, which looked unspeakably
small and mean to the eyes of John Treverton after the spacious rooms
at the Manor-house.
‘I know of a room that will look meaner still,’ he said to himself,
‘for this at least is clean and neat.’
He went to bed, and slept better than he had done for many nights, but
his dreams were full of Laura Malcolm. He dreamt that they were being
married, and that as she stood beside him at the altar her face changed
in some strange, ghastly way into another face, a face he knew only too
well.