NICHOLAS COVERTHORNE SHOWS HIS HAND.
In due course the summer holidays came to an end, and Miles and I met
again at school. I had not been in his company five minutes before I
noticed that his face wore a different look from when I had seen him
last at Coverthorne; indeed, he seemed once more as sad and dejected as
he had appeared immediately after his father's funeral.
"What's the matter with you? Have you been ill?" I asked; but he only
shook his head and gave evasive replies.
The first day of the half was always one of excitement. The reunion of
old friends, the appearance of new boys and masters, the changes of
classes and dormitories, all aroused our lively interest; but Miles
seemed in no mood to join in our fun. He slipped out of the playground
as soon as work was finished, and went off for a walk alone.
Thinking that his return to school had in some way recalled the
consciousness of his bereavement, I allowed him for a time to go his
own way; but when tea was over I determined to find him, and at least
offer him some expression of sympathy. After a little search I
discovered him standing with his back against a tree moodily chewing a
piece of straw.
"There is something the matter with you," I said. "Why won't you tell
me? Is it private?" My arm seemed naturally to slip through his as I
asked the question, and perhaps the action, simple as it was, gave him
a fresh assurance of my friendship, and influenced him to unburden
himself of what was on his mind.
"There's no harm in my telling you, Sylvester," he replied. "I know
you won't let it go any further. I'm upset by what's happened at home."
"Something that has happened since I stayed with you?" I asked.
"Well, yes," he answered--"that is, it's come to a head since your
visit. I daresay while you were with us you noticed that there was
something wrong, and that my mother often seemed worried and depressed.
It was not till after you'd gone that I found out what was really the
matter."
He paused as though expecting me to speak, but I made no interruption.
"As I've already told you, my father made a will about two years ago,"
continued Miles. "He signed it at Mr. Denny's office, and took it away
with him; but now it can't be found. My mother always thought that it
was in the secret drawer of the bureau; but it proved to be empty when
she went to look. Then, as I've mentioned before, the idea occurred to
her and Mr. Denny that it had been put away for safety in the secret
place. If that's the case, then goodness knows if either the papers or
the hidden chamber will ever be discovered. At least so far all
attempts have proved a failure. Mr. Denny even goes so far as to
suggest that the so-called hiding-place may be nothing but a small
cavity in the wall behind some sliding panel; though he admits that,
from a remark he once heard my father make, he had always believed it
was a place large enough to conceal a man. If it's only a little hole
somewhere in the stonework, we might pull the house down before we
found it."
"But see here," I interrupted. "I don't understand anything about
lawyers' business; but even if your father's will were lost, I suppose
the property will come to you all the same, seeing that you are his
only son."
"Wait a moment till I have finished the story," continued my companion.
"When I talked to you about this once before, I described how my uncle
came to Coverthorne soon after my father's funeral, and spoke to my
mother about a secret reconciliation between the brothers, and hinted
at a matter of business which he would discuss at some future time,
when she should have recovered somewhat from the shock of her loss. My
mother was surprised, and thought it very strange, as she had heard no
word from her husband to lead her to suppose that he had made up the
quarrel with his brother. The matter, I say, puzzled her a good bit,
but did not cause her any actual uneasiness till Mr. Denny came one day
and told her privately of an extraordinary rumour he had heard in
Rockymouth, to the effect that Uncle Nicholas had told some one that my
father had made a will leaving him half the property, that being the
fair share which he ought to have had after my grandfather's death.
This rumour, coupled with what my uncle had already said to her, caused
my mother to begin to fear that something was wrong. She wanted to
write to Uncle Nicholas right away; but Mr. Denny advised her to say
nothing till she heard from him. In the meantime they made further
attempts to find the will which my father had signed in the lawyer's
office, Mr. Denny knowing the terms of this one, and hoping it would
bear a more recent date than any other which my father might have made.
You see, if a man makes more than one will it's the last that counts,
and the others are worth nothing."
I nodded to show that I understood this explanation.
"About a week or ten days after you left," went on Miles, "one
afternoon Uncle Nicholas called, and out came the whole affair. He
produced the will of which we had already heard the rumour, and said
that my father had executed it at the time that they had made up their
quarrel. The terms were exactly what Mr. Denny had already
hinted--that if my father died first, half the estate was to go to
Nicholas; in case, however, Nicholas did not survive his brother, the
whole property would come to my mother and myself. Having read the
paper, he once more described how my father had been prompted to take
this step out of a sense of justice; and then he added that, after all,
it would make very little difference to any of us, since he himself had
no children, and I should be his heir. He would only enjoy his share
during the rest of his life, which at most would not be many years.
From the first my mother was amazed and incensed at this disclosure.
Though she saw the signature at the foot of the document, and
recognized it as my father's handwriting, yet she could not but regard
the whole thing as an unfair and wicked attempt on my uncle's part to
rob us of our possessions. My father had been so open in his dealings,
and she had always shared his confidence; it seemed, therefore, almost
impossible that he should have taken such a step without at least
telling her of his intentions. The interview soon became a stormy one.
Uncle Nicholas, in a cold, half-ironical manner, said he felt sure that
my mother would not oppose her dead husband's wishes; and gave as the
reason for our not finding another will that my father had no doubt
destroyed the first before making the second. He pooh-poohed the idea
of any document being deposited in the hidden chamber, saying that the
so-called secret place was merely a hole in one of the chimneys, which
had been built up in my grandfather's time to prevent the birds
building there and making a mess. My mother, however, would not be
convinced, though this fresh will was clearly of a later date than the
one for which she had been searching. She would not admit the justice
of my uncle's claims, reminding him that he had received his portion
from his father in money. She accused him of attempting to deprive his
brother's widow and only son of their heritage, and at length refused
to discuss the subject any further, directing him to communicate in
future with our lawyer, Mr. Denny.
"'Very well,' answered my uncle shortly. 'If you are determined not to
listen to reason, I can say no more; but I had much rather have settled
the matter amicably between ourselves without creating a public
scandal.' His face was black as thunder as he left the house, and I
could see at once that all his former pleasant manners had been simply
put on for the time being to suit his own purpose. Two days later Mr.
Denny called to see us, and he and my mother had a long talk in the
dining-room. I wasn't present myself, but I learned afterwards that my
uncle had gone straight from us to the lawyer. The latter had seen the
will, and was obliged to confess that it seemed genuine and in order,
and was dated at least eighteen months after the one executed at his
office. I think old Denny was as much surprised at my father's conduct
as my mother had been, and he questioned her closely to find out
whether anything had ever happened which could in any way have brought
my father into Nicholas's power, so that he might have been induced by
threats of any kind to make such a disposition of his property. Of
course my mother knew nothing of the kind; but in calling to mind
everything she could remember, she recollected that a few months back
she had seen my father address and send a large sealed envelope to his
brother, and as this would have been just about the time when Nicholas
asserted that the reconciliation had taken place, it seemed possible
that this very letter might have contained the will. The document, I
should say, was witnessed by a housekeeper of my uncle's who had since
died, and by a sea captain who had often stayed at Stonebank, but whose
vessel had foundered in a storm, with all hands. The fact that both of
the witnesses were dead seemed suspicious, but there was no flaw in the
signatures, and Nicholas had a witness who could prove that my father
and Rhodes, the master-mariner, had met at Stonebank on the day the
will was signed."
"Then what is going to be done?" I asked.
"What can be done?" returned Miles, with a shrug of his shoulders. "My
uncle poses as a model of forbearance, and says he will allow us to
remain in possession of the whole estate till the beginning of the New
Year, at which date the property will be duly divided."
"At least you'll have the old house," I remarked, not knowing what else
to say.
"Yes; but look here, Sylvester," my friend exclaimed. "We shall never
be able to live on at Coverthorne as we're doing now if half the
property is taken away from us. I believe Uncle Nicholas knows that,"
continued the speaker excitedly. "He wants to force us to leave, and
then he'll raise or borrow money from somewhere, and so come to be
owner of the whole place. He's a bad man--you can see it in his
face--and how ever he induced my father to make the will I can't
imagine."
"I can't either," I replied. "I disliked your uncle the first time I
saw him. I believe he's a villain."
A sudden rush of boys towards the spot where we stood talking put an
end to our conversation, but the substance of it was constantly
recurring to my mind. I had quite made up my mind that Nicholas
Coverthorne was an unscrupulous rascal, and a few days later an
incident happened which not only tended to increase my dislike of the
man, but to invest him and his doings with a certain sinister air of
mystery.
Dr. Bagley had been expecting a parcel to be left by the coach at Round
Green, and knowing that Miles was accustomed to horses, he asked him to
drive over with the pony and trap and bring home the package--Sparrow,
who usually performed these errands, having injured his hand. At my
friend's request I was allowed to accompany him, and we set off in high
spirits, a number of envious "Foxes" and "Eagles" shouting after us as
we passed the playground wall.
Nothing of any importance happened till we reached the Sportsman,
where, having fastened up the pony, we went inside to inquire about the
parcel. It being the middle of the afternoon the little inn seemed
deserted. The only occupant of the taproom was a young country lad,
who sat on a big settle, just inside the door, munching a crust of
bread and cheese. He turned his head as we entered, and Miles
immediately accosted him with,--
"Hullo, Tom Lance! what brings you here?"
The lad was evidently confused at the meeting. His sunburnt face
flushed a deeper red, and he mumbled something which we did not hear.
"What brings you in this part of the world?" asked Miles. "Are you
tramping it all the way back to Stonebank?"
It had dawned on me by this time who the boy was and where I had seen
him before. I remembered now that he was an orphan, and in the employ
of Mr. Nicholas Coverthorne. He lived in the house, and made himself
generally useful about the farm. Miles had to repeat his question a
second time before he got any answer; then the boy, seeming to realize
that he could not avoid an explanation sooner or later, blurted out,--
"I'm on the way to Welmington, sir, to go for a soldier."
"To go for a soldier!" cried Miles. "You aren't old enough to enlist."
"I'm big enough, though," replied the boy with a grin; and this seemed
likely to prove true, for he was well grown, and might easily have
persuaded a recruiting sergeant that he was two years beyond his real
age.
"But what are you doing that for?" asked my friend. "Why are you
leaving Stonebank?"
Lance hesitated, toying with his huge clasp-knife, and moving uneasily
on his seat.
"Well, sir," he said at length, "I've run away. And it's no use your
telling Mr. Nicholas or the rest where I'm gone, for I ain't going
back, not if they send a wagon and horses to fetch me."
"I'm not going to tell my uncle," was the reply. "All I asked was what
made you leave."
"Well, sir," continued the lad, "the master's been so queer of late, I
believe he bears ill-will towards me for something, and that some day
he'll do me an injury."
By dint of many questions we at length got out of Tom something like a
connected account of his troubles. The story as he told it was so
disjointed, and at times so incoherent, that I shall make no attempt to
repeat it in his own words, but rather give the sum and substance of
the narrative which was laid before us when we at length came to the
end of our inquiry.
Soon after his brother's death the servants had noticed some change in
Mr. Nicholas's manner and behaviour, which they regarded as the effect
of his sudden bereavement. He became preoccupied and silent, and of an
evening would lock the door of his sitting-room and stay there far into
the night, though hitherto he had been very regular in his habits, and
had almost invariably retired to bed soon after ten. One afternoon Tom
had gone on an errand to Tod's Corner, and being delayed did not return
till late. It was nearly eleven when he reached the farm. He saw a
light in the parlour as he approached the house, and on entering went
at once to inform his master of the result of his mission.
Proceeding to the sitting-room, he found the door standing ajar, and
the room unoccupied. The lamp was burning on the table, beside it was
a large brass-bound box, and a spirit decanter and glass stood hard by.
Tom lingered, note in hand, then determined to leave the message where
his master would be sure to see it on his return. To do this he
approached the table, but had hardly done so when Mr. Coverthorne burst
into the room in a towering rage.
"Who told you to come here?" he shouted, seizing Tom by the throat, as
though with the intention of strangling him. "I'll teach you to come
prying and meddling about my house when you ought to be in bed, you
rascal!"
Nicholas Coverthorne, as any one could have told at a glance, was a
powerful man, and the wonder was that in his blind rage he did not do
the lad some injury before the latter had time to explain that he had
merely stepped inside the room a moment before to deliver his message.
"You've been prying into the drawers and cupboards after tobacco, or
anything you could find, that's my opinion," cried his master. "If so,
you'd better speak the truth before I find it out for myself."
Tom, equally astonished at this unreasonable outburst, and at the fact
of his honesty being called in question--a thing which had never
occurred before--was for the time at a loss to find words in which to
excuse himself, a fact which seemed to increase all the more his
master's suspicions. At length, after a long wrangle and many threats,
he was dismissed to bed, whither he gladly betook himself, having by
this time arrived at the conclusion that his master had either drunk
too much brandy or was losing his reason.
A few days later Mr. Coverthorne sent for the lad, and told him to go
to the cottage of the hind and bring back an answer to some inquiry
about the sheep.
"If I'm not in the parlour when you return," Mr. Coverthorne had said,
"step inside, and wait there till I come back."
In obedience to his orders Tom went to the hind, and returning entered
the parlour, only to find that his master was not there. The room
presented an exactly similar appearance to what it had done on the
occasion of his previous visit: the lamp was lit, and beside it was the
brass-bound box, while a little further along was the tray with glass
and decanter. Cap in hand, the boy remained standing just inside the
door, wondering how long he would have to wait. It was while thus
employed that his attention became attracted towards a curtain which
covered the bay window at the end of the room. Almost in the centre of
the drapery, which was old and faded, was a hole, and behind this
something sparkled in the ray of the lamp. It did not take Tom long to
discover that this something was an eye peering at him from behind the
screen. Startled at the knowledge that he was being watched, the lad
was about to run from the room and raise an alarm of robbers, when the
curtain was flung aside, and with a laugh Mr. Coverthorne stepped out
into the room, and asked the boy in a jocular manner what he was
staring at. Nicholas was not given to joking with any man, least of
all with his servants, and this erratic behaviour served to strengthen
in Tom's mind the impression that his master was certainly going mad.
"Ever since that time I've seen him a-watching, watching me wherever I
goes and whatever I does," concluded the boy. "Once he told me what
he'd do to any one as couldn't mind their own business, though I'm sure
I've not been prying into other folk's affairs. He follows me about;
he's got a grudge against me for something--I can see it in his evil
eye--and some day he'll pay it off. I won't stay there any longer; I'm
going for a soldier."
It was in vain that we tried to dissuade Tom Lance from his purpose,
and induce him to return to Stonebank. He stubbornly refused to listen
to our arguments. It was evident that he had been some time making up
his mind, and was now doggedly determined to carry out his purpose.
Finding it impossible to do anything else, we wished him good luck, at
the same time giving him a shilling and some loose coppers, which was
all the money we had in our pockets.
Having found the doctor's parcel, we returned to the pony carriage, and
drove some little distance on our homeward way without speaking. It is
probable, however, that the thoughts of both of us were busy with the
same subject.
"I wonder if your uncle is going out of his mind," I said at length.
"More likely some deep dodge of his, I fancy," returned Miles. "Don't
you see that he arranged that second visit of Tom's to the parlour just
to judge what he'd done the time before? If the lad was inquisitive
and had pried about once, he'd probably do so again. Still, what's the
meaning of it all I've no idea."