"TEMPTATION."
To Katherine, who was in her own room, the sound beneath came with a
subdued force, and knowing Mr. Newton was with him, she thought it
better to stay where she was, for it never struck her that Mr. Liddell
had fallen.
When, therefore, Mrs. Knapp, with that eagerness to spread evil tidings
peculiar to her class, rushed upstairs to announce breathlessly that she
was going for the doctor, but that the poor old gentleman was quite
dead, Katherine could not believe her.
She quickly descended to the parlor, where she found Mr. Newton standing
by the fire, looking pale and anxious.
"Oh, Mr. Newton, he cannot be dead!" cried Katherine. "He seemed
stronger this morning, and he has fainted more than once. Let me bathe
his temples." She took a bottle of eau-de-Cologne from the sideboard as
she spoke.
"My dear young lady, both your servant and I have done what we could to
revive him, and I fear--I believe he has passed away. The start and the
triumph of finding himself the last survivor of the Tontine association
were too much for his weak heart. I would not go in if I were you: death
is appalling to the young."
Katherine stopped, half frightened, yet ashamed of her fear. "Oh yes; I
must satisfy myself that I can do nothing more for him. Can it be
possible that he will never speak again--never search for news of that
other poor old man?" She went softly into the next room, followed by
Newton, and approaching the bed, laid her hand gently on his brow. "How
awfully cold!" she whispered, shrinking back in spite of herself at the
unutterable chill of death. "But he looks so peaceful, so different from
what he did in life!" She stood gazing at him, silent, awe-struck.
"Come away," said Newton, kindly. "The doctor will be here, I trust, in
a few minutes, and will be able to give a certificate which will save
the worry of an inquest."
Katherine obeyed his gesture of entreaty, and went slowly into the
front room, where she sat down, leaning her elbows on the table and
covering her face with her hands, while Mr. Newton closed the door.
It was all over, then, her hopes and fears; the poor wasted life, as
much wasted and useless as if spent in the wildest and most extravagant
follies, was finished. What had it left behind? Nothing of good to any
human being; no blessing of loving-kindness, of help and sympathy, to
any suffering brother wayfarer on life's high-road; nothing but hard,
naked gold--gold which, from what she had heard, would go to one already
abundantly provided. Ah, she must not think of that gold so sorely
needed, or bad, unseemly ideas would master her!
But Mr. Newton was speaking. "It is fortunate I was here to be some stay
to you," he said; "the shock must be very great, and--" He interrupted
himself hastily to exclaim, "Here is the doctor! I shall go with him
into our poor friend's room; let me find you here when I come back."
Katherine bent her head, and remained in the same attitude, thinking,
thinking.
How long it was before the kind lawyer returned she did not know; but he
came and stood by her, the doctor behind him.
"It is as I supposed," said Newton, in a low tone. "Life is quite
extinct." Katherine rose and confronted them, looking very white.
"Yes," added the doctor; "death must have been instantaneous. Your uncle
was in a condition which made him liable to succumb under the slightest
shock. Can you give me paper and ink? I will write a certificate at
once. Then, Miss Liddell, I shall look to you."
Katherine placed the writing materials before him silently, and watched
him trace the lines; then he handed the paper to Mr. Newton, saying,
"You will see to what is necessary I presume," and rising he took
Katherine's hand and felt her pulse. "Very unsteady indeed; I would
recommend a glass of wine now, and at night a composing draught, which I
will send. If I can do nothing more I must go on my rounds. I shall be
at home again about six, should you require my services in any way."
He went out, followed by Mr. Newton, and they spoke together for a few
moments before the doctor entered his carriage and drove off.
"Now, my dear," said Mr. Newton, when he returned--the startling event
of the morning seemed to have taken off the sharp edge of his
precision--"what shall you do? I suppose you would like to go home. It
would be rather trying for you to stay here."
"To go home!" returned Katherine, slowly. "Yes, I should, oh, very much!
but I will not go. My uncle never was unkind to me, and I will stay in
his house until he is laid in his last resting place. Yet I do not like
to stay alone. May I have my mother with me?"
"Yes, by all means. I tell you what, I will drive over and break the
news to her myself; then she can come to you at once. I have a very
particular appointment in the city this afternoon, but I shall arrange
to spend to-morrow forenoon here, and examine the contents of that
bureau. I have thought it well to take possession of your uncle's keys."
"Yes, of course," said Katherine; "you ought to have them. And you will
go and send my mother to me! I shall feel quite well and strong if she
is near. How good of you to think of it!" and she raised her dark
tearful eyes so gratefully to his that the worthy lawyer's heart kindled
within him.
"My dear young lady, I have rarely, if ever, regretted anything so much
as my unfortunate absence yesterday, though had I been able to answer my
late client's first summons, I doubt if time would have permitted the
completion of a new will. Now my best hope, though it is a very faint
one, is that he may have destroyed his last will, and so died
intestate."
"Why?" asked Katherine, indifferently. She felt very hopeless.
"It would be better for you. You would, I rather think, be the natural
heir." Katherine only shook her head. "Of course it is not likely.
Still, I have known him destroy one will before he made another. He has
made four or five, to my knowledge. So it is wiser not to hope for
anything. I shall always do what I can for you. Now you are quite cold
and shivering. I would advise your going to your room, and keeping there
out of the way. You can do no more for your uncle, and I will send your
mother to you as soon as I can. I suppose you have the keys of the
house?"
Katherine bowed her head. She seemed tongue-tied. Only when Mr. Newton
took her hand to say good-by she burst out, "You will send my mother to
me soon--soon!"
Then she went away to her own room. Locking the door, she sat down and
buried her face in the cushions of the sofa. She felt her thoughts in
the wildest confusion, as if some separate exterior self was exerting a
strange power over her. It had said to her, "Be silent," when Mr. Newton
spoke of the possibility of _not_ finding the will, and she had obeyed
without the smallest intention to do good or evil. Some force she could
not resist--or rather she did not dream of resisting--imposed silence on
her. To what had this silence committed her? To nothing. When Mr. Newton
came and examined the bureau he would no doubt open the drawer of the
writing-table also. She had locked it, and put the key in the little
basket where the keys of her scantily supplied store closet and of the
cellaret lay: there it stood on the round table near the window, with
her ink-bottle and blotting-book. She sat up and looked at it fixedly.
That little key was all that intervened between her and rest, freedom,
enjoyment. The more she recalled her uncle's words and manner on the day
he had dictated his first note to Mr. Newton, the more convinced she
felt that he had intended to provide for her, and now his intentions
would be frustrated, and the will the old man wished to suppress would
be the instrument by which his possessions would be distributed.
It was too bad. She did not know how closely the hope of her mother's
emancipation from the long hard struggle with poverty and its attendant
evils by means of Uncle Liddell's possible bequest had twined itself
round her heart. Now she could not give it up. It seemed to her that her
mental grasp refused to relax.
She rose and began to make some little arrangement for her mother's
comfort, and presently the servant came to ask if she would take some
tea.
"I'm sure, miss, you must be faint for want of food, and we are just
going to have some--the woman and me."
"What woman?"
"A very respectable person as Dr. Bilham sent in to--to attend to the
poor old gentleman, miss."
"Ah! thank you. I could not take anything now. I expect my mother soon;
then I shall be glad of some tea.
"Well, miss, you'll ring if you want me. And dear me! you ought to have
a bit of fire. I'll light one up in a minnit."
"Not till you have had your tea. I am not cold."
"You look awful bad, miss!" With this comforting assurance Mrs. Knapp
departed, leaving the door partially open.
A muffled sound, as if people were moving softly and cautiously, was
wafted to Katherine as she sat and listened: then a door closed gently;
voices murmuring in a subdued tone reached her ear, retreating as if the
speakers had gone downstairs.
Katherine went to the window. It was a wretchedly dark, drizzling
afternoon--cold too, with gusts of wind. She hoped Mr. Newton would make
her mother take a cab. It was no weather for her to stand about waiting
for an omnibus. Would the time ever come when they need not think of
pennies?
Suddenly she turned, took a key from her basket, and walked composedly
downstairs, unlocked the drawer of the writing-table, and took out her
uncle's last will and testament. Then she closed the drawer, leaving the
key in the lock, as it had always been, and returned to her room.
Having fastened her door, she applied herself to read the document. It
was short and simple, and with the exception of a small legacy to Mr.
Newton, left all the testator possessed to a man whose name was utterly
unknown to her. Mr. Newton was the sole executor, and the will was dated
nearly seven years back.
Katherine read it through a second time, and then very deliberately
folded it up. "It shall not stand in my way," she murmured, her lips
closing firmly, and she sat for a few minutes holding it tight in her
hand, as she thought steadily what she should do. "Had my uncle lived a
few hours more, this would have been destroyed or nullified. I will
carry out his intentions. I wonder what is the legal penalty for the
crime or felony I am going to commit? At all events I shall risk it. The
only punishment I fear is my mother's condemnation. She must never know.
It is a huge theft, whether the man I rob is rich or poor. I hope he is
very rich. I know I am doing a great wrong; that if others acted as I am
acting there would be small security for property--perhaps for life--but
I'll do it. Shall I ever be able to hold up my head and look honest folk
in the face! I will try. If I commit this robbery I must not falter nor
repent. I must be consistently, boldly false, and I must get done with
it before my dearest mother comes. How grieved and disappointed she
would be if she knew! She believes so firmly in my truthfulness. Well, I
have been true, and I _will_ be, save in this. Here I will lie by
silence. Where shall I hide it? for I will not destroy it--not yet at
least. No elaborate concealment is necessary."
She rose up and took some thin brown paper--such as is used in shops to
wrap up lace and ribbons--and folded the will in it neatly, tying it up
with twine, and writing on it, "old MSS., to be destroyed." Then she
laid it in the bottom of her box. "If my mother sees it, the idea of old
MS. will certainly deter her from looking at it." She put back the
things she had taken out and closed the box; then she stood for a moment
of thought. What would the result be? Who could tell? Some other unknown
Liddells might start up to share the inheritance. Well, she would not
mind that much; so long as she could secure some years of modest
competence to her mother, some help for her little nephews, she would be
content.
Now that she had accomplished what an hour ago was a scarcely
entertained idea, she felt wonderfully calm, but curious as to how
things would turn out, with the sort of curiosity she might have felt
with regard to the action of another.
She did not want to be still any more, however; she went to and fro in
her room, dusting it and putting it in order; she rearranged her own
hair and dress, and then she went to the window to watch for her mother.
Time had gone swiftly while her thoughts had been so intensely occupied,
and to her great delight she soon saw a cab drive up, from which Mrs.
Liddell descended.
Katherine flew to receive her, and in the joy of feeling her mother once
more by her side she temporarily forgot the sense of a desperate deed
which had oppressed her.
Mrs. Liddell had been much shocked by the sudden death of her
brother-in-law, but her chief anxiety was to fly to Katie, to shorten
the terrible hours of loneliness in the house of mourning.
She too honestly confessed her regret that the old man had been cut off
before he could fulfil his intention of making a new will, "though," she
said to her daughter as they talked together, "we cannot be sure that he
would have remembered us--or rather you. But there is no use in thinking
of what is past out of the range of possibilities. Let us only hope
whoever is heir will not insist on immediate repayment of that loan. It
is strange that you should have managed to make the poor old man's
acquaintance, and to a certain degree succeed with him, only in his last
days."
"Try and talk of something else, mother dear. It is all so ghastly and
oppressive! Tell me about Ada and the boys."
"Ada was out when Mr. Newton came. I left a little note telling her of
your uncle's awfully sudden death, and of my intention of remaining with
you until after the funeral. What a state of excitement she will be in!
I have no doubt she will be here to-morrow."
"Very likely," said Katherine, who was pouring out tea.
"Did Mr. Newton mention to you that your uncle had written to him to
come and draw up a new will?"
"Why, I wrote the note, which my uncle signed."
"Yes, of course; I had forgotten. But did Mr. Newton say that he had a
faint hope that he might have destroyed the other will?"
"He did; but it is not probable."
"It would make an immense difference to us if he had."
"Would it?" asked Kate, to extract an answer from her mother.
"Mr. Newton believes that if he died intestate you would inherit
everything."
"What! would not the little boys share?"
"I am not sure. But to get away from the subject, which somehow always
draws me back to it, I have one bit of good news for you, my darling. I
had a letter from Santley this morning. He will take my novel, and will
give me a hundred and fifty pounds for it."
"Really? Oh, this is glorious news! I am so delighted! Then you will get
more for the next; you will become known and appreciated."
"Do not be too sure; it may be a failure. And at present I do not feel
as if I should ever have any ideas again. My brain seems so weary."
"Perhaps," whispered Katherine, "you _may_ be able to rest. You are
looking very tired and ill."
Somewhat to her own surprise, Katherine slept profoundly that night. The
delicious sense of comfort and security which her mother's presence
brought soothed her ineffably. It seemed as if no harm could touch her
while she felt the clasp of those dear arms.
The early forenoon brought Mr. Newton, and after a little preliminary
talk respecting the arrangements he had made for the funeral, he
proposed to look for the will which he had drawn up some years before,
and which, to the best of his recollection, Mr. Liddell had taken charge
of himself.
"Might you not wait until the poor old man is laid in his last home?
asked Mrs. Liddell.
"Perhaps it would be more seemly," said the lawyer; "but it is almost
necessary to know who is the heir and who is the executor. Besides, it
is quite possible that since he signed the will I drew up for him in
'59, and to which I was executor, he may have made another, of which I
know nothing, and I may have to communicate with some other executor. I
will therefore begin the search at once. Would you and your daughter
like to be present?"
"Thank you, no," returned Mrs. Liddell.
"I would rather not," said Katherine.
Mr. Newton proceeded on his search alone, while Mrs. Liddell and her
daughter went to the latter's room, anxious to keep from meddling with
what did not concern them.
Scarcely had the former settled herself to write a letter to an old
friend in Florence with whom she kept up a steady though not a frequent
correspondence, when she was interrupted by a tap at the door. Before
she could say "Come in," it was opened to admit Mrs. Frederic Liddell,
who came in briskly. She had taken out a black dress with crape on it,
and retouched a mourning bonnet, so that she presented an appearance
perfectly suited to the occasion.
"Oh dear!" she cried, "I have been in such a state ever since I had your
note! I thought I should never get away this morning. The stupidity of
those servants is beyond description. Now do tell all about everything."
She sat down suddenly, then jumped up, kissed her mother-in-law on the
brow, and shook hands with Katherine.
"There is very little more to tell beyond what I said in my note,"
returned Mrs. Liddell. "The poor old man never spoke or showed any
symptom of life after he fell. Mr Newton, of course, will make all
arrangements. The funeral will be on Friday, and Katherine and I will
remain here till it is over."
"And the will?" whispered Mrs. Frederic, eagerly. "Have you found out
anything about that?"
Mrs. Liddell shook her head. "I have not even asked, so sure am I that
it will not affect us in any way. Mr. Newton is now examining the bureau
where my brother-in-law appears to have kept all his papers, hoping to
find the will."
"Is it not cruel to think of all this wealth passing away from us?"
cried the little woman, in a tearful tone.
"I do not suppose that John Liddell was wealthy," said Mrs. Liddell. "He
was very careful of what he had, but it does not follow that he had a
great deal."
"Oh, nonsense! My dear Mrs. Liddell, you only say that to keep us quiet.
Misers always have heaps of money. What do you say, Katherine?"
"That from all I saw I should say he was not rich. He never mentioned
large sums of money, or--"
"I do not mind you," interrupted the young widow. "You always affect to
despise money."
"Indeed I do not, Ada. I am only afraid of thinking too much of it."
Katherine perceived that her mother had wisely abstained from telling
the whole circumstances to this most impulsive young person.
"And do you mean to say," pursued Mrs. Frederic, who could hardly keep
still, so great was her excitement, "that the horrid lawyer is rummaging
through the old man's papers all alone? You ought to be present, Mrs.
Liddell. You don't know what tricks he may play. He may put a will in
his own favor in some drawer. It is very weak not to have insisted on
being present, and shows such indifference to our interests!"
"I am not afraid of Mr. Newton forging a will," said Mrs. Liddell,
smiling; "and I greatly fear that whoever may profit by the old man's
last testament, we will not. But I assure you Mr. Newton did ask me to
assist in the search, and I declined. Indeed I asked him not to search
while the poor remains were unburied."
"Why, my goodness! you do not mean to say you are pretending to be
_sorry_ for this rude--miser!" cried Mrs. Frederic, with uplifted hand
and eyes.
"Personally I did not care about him, but, Ada, death demands respect."
"Oh yes, of course. Then there is absolutely nothing to do or to hear."
"Nothing," said Katherine, rather shortly.
"Could I go out and buy anything for you? Surely the executors, whoever
they may be, will give you some money for mourning?"
"I do not think it at all likely. I will tell you what you can do, Ada:
go to my large cupboard and bring me," etc., etc.--sundry directions
followed. "Katherine and I can quite well do all that is necessary
ourselves to make a proper appearance on Friday."
"Very well; and I will come to the funeral too, and bring the boys. A
little crape on their caps and sleeves will be quite enough. They will
produce a great effect. I dare say if I speak to Mrs. Burnett's friend,
that newspaper man, he will put an account into the _Morning News_, with
all our names. Whatever comes, it would have a good effect."
"Of course you can come if you like, Ada, but I would not bring the
boys. Children are out of place except at a parent's grave."
"Well, I do not agree with you, and I do not think you need grudge my
poor children that much recognition."
"Poor darlings! Do you believe we could grudge them anything that was
good for them?" cried Katherine.
"Oh, there is no knowing! Pray is there any plate in the house,
Katherine, or diamonds? You know the nephew's wife _ought_ to have the
diamonds!"
"Do not make me laugh, Ada, while the poor man is lying dead!" exclaimed
Katherine, smiling. "The idea of plate or diamonds in _this_ house is
too funny!"
"Then are the spoons and forks only Sheffield ware?" asked her
sister-in-law. "How mean!"
After a good deal more cross-examination Mrs. Fred rose to depart, her
pretty childish face clouded, not to say very cross.
"I might have saved myself the trouble of coming here," she said.
"We are very glad to see you, and it will be a great help if you can
send or bring the things I want."
"Perhaps, if I wait a little longer, this admirable Mr. Newton may find
something," resumed Mrs. Fred, pausing, and reluctant to move.
"If he does I will let you know immediately," said Katherine; "but there
are numbers of little drawers in the bureau; it will take him a long
time to look through them all."
"Have you seen the inside of it?" asked Mrs. Fred, greedily.
"I have seen my uncle writing at it," returned Katherine; "but I never
had an opportunity of examining it."
"Well, I suppose I had better go. I am evidently not wanted here!"
exclaimed Mrs. Frederic, longing to quarrel with some one, being in that
condition of mind aptly described as "not knowing what to be at."
Finding no help from her auditors, she went reluctantly away.
"I wish poor Ada would not allow her imagination to run away with her.
It will be such a disappointment when she finds it is all much ado about
nothing," said Mrs. Liddell, as she returned to her letter. "I am
afraid, Katie dear, you have had a great shock; you do not look a bit
like yourself."
"I feel dazed and stupid, but I dare say I shall be all right
to-morrow." She took a book and pretended to read, while her mother's
pen scratched lightly and quickly over the paper.
The light was beginning to change, when a message from Mr. Newton
summoned both mother and daughter to the sitting-room, where they found
him awaiting them.
"I have looked most carefully through the bureau, and can find no sign
of the will. There are various papers and account-books, a very clear
statement of his affairs, and about a hundred and fifteen pounds of
ready money, but no will. I have also looked in his writing-table
drawer, his wardrobe, and every possible and impossible place. It may be
at my office, though I am under the impression he took charge of it
himself. There is a possibility he may have deposited it at his banker's
or his stock-broker's, though that is not probable."
"It is curious," remarked Mrs. Liddell, feeling she must say something.
"Pray," resumed Newton, addressing Katherine, "have you ever seen him
tearing up or burning papers?"
She thought for a moment, and then said quietly, "No, I never have."
"I can do no more here, at least to-day," Newton went on. "I must bid
you a good-afternoon. You may be sure I will leave nothing undone to
discover the missing will, and I can only say I earnestly hope I may not
be successful."