It was a strange triumph, and yet it was one. Miss Hewitt closely
followed her niece, once more wrapt in a new extravagance of crape; and
these ladies had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs. Osborne quietly take
her place opposite to them on the front seat of the carriage. This gave
both to Patty and her aunt an acute sensation of pleasure, which would
have been greater, however, had the victim seemed in any way conscious
of it. But Margaret was full of many thoughts, recollections, and
anticipations. She, too, looked forward to the disclosure of her uncle’s
will with a curiosity and anxiety which had nothing to do with any
expectations of her own. She had put away the two sovereigns so
tremulously extracted from his purse by the dying man with a half smile
and a tear. That, she concluded, was all that Osy would ever have from
his great-uncle, who might so easily have made a provision for the boy.
She had never expected it, she said to herself, but that was a different
thing from this certainty that it never would be; still there was a
tender familiarity about the “tip” for the child which went to
Margaret’s heart. Poor old uncle! If he had been left to himself, if he
had been able to think, he would have acted differently. She put away
the two pieces of money for Osy without any grudge, with a tender
thought of the old man who had been as good as a father to her all her
life. And now was this the end of Greyshott so far as she was concerned?
or was there a strange something looming out of the clouds, another life
of which she would not think, which she could not understand, to which
she did not consent? She put all thought out of her mind of anything
that concerned herself, or tried her best to do so--but the family was
dear to her still. Was there any plot threatening the name, the race,
the old, old dwelling of the Pierceys? There was a subdued triumph in
Patty’s look, a confidence in her voice and step, and the authoritative
orders she gave, which did not look like a woman who after to-day would
have no real authority in Sir Francis Pierce’s house. She could not
imagine what it could mean; but the advent of the elder woman, also in
crape, and full of ostentatious sympathy and regret, strengthened all
her apprehensions, though she did not know of what she was afraid.
One or two of the oldest friends remained for the reading of the will.
It was felt on all sides that the grief which attended Sir Giles to his
tomb was of a modified kind. No one except Mrs. Osborne could be
supposed to regard the old gentleman with filial love or sorrow, and the
party which assembled round the luncheon table was serious, but put on
no affectation of woe. Patty took her place at the head of the table
with a quiet assurance to which nobody objected. She had too much sense
to talk of “dear papa” before all these people, and if she showed the
composure of an authorised and permanent mistress of the house, it was
probably because she had been accustomed to do so. Lord Hartmore, if his
sympathies were not so much aroused as on the day of Gervase’s funeral,
still retained a sort of partisan feeling for the young widow. She was
his _protégée_. His wife had not fallen in with his views, except in the
most moderate way, merely to honour the promise he had made for her.
Lady Hartmore did not attempt to improve her acquaintance with Patty.
She was quite at her ease at the other end of the table by the side of
Colonel Piercey, who now was _de facto_, in her assured belief, the
master of the house. Margaret was not present at the luncheon, and Miss
Hewitt, who was elated beyond expression by finding herself seated among
all the great people, on the other side of Lord Hartmore, felt herself
the principal person at table, and demeaned herself accordingly. “To
think,” she said, “my lord, that I should find myself ’ere on such an
occasion; me that once thought to be the mistress; but oh! the ideas of
the young is different from what comes to pass in life. ’Im as we have
laid in his grave, dear gentleman, was once---- Well, Patty, love, as
you say, this ain’t a time to talk of such things. Still, it do come
upon me sitting at ’is table, and ’im not ’ere to bid me welcome. But
it’s a mournful satisfaction to see the last of ’im all the same.”
“Aunt was an old friend of my dear father-in-law,” Patty explained,
curtly. “I believe, Lord Hartmore, that you know more of Margaret
Osborne than I do. Margaret Osborne has not shown very much sympathy to
me, and all this winter I have never been able to get out for such a
purpose as making calls. I couldn’t have taken a three hours’ drive to
be away so long, not if it had been a matter of life and death. That
means almost a whole day, and dear Sir Giles never liked to let me out
of his sight.”
“Ah, ’e always knew them that were really fond of ’im,” said Miss
Hewitt. “You couldn’t blind ’im, my lord, with pretences. I was kep’
back by my family, and thoughts of what the world might say; but ’e knew
that Patty was the same stuff like, and ’e took to her the double of
what ’e would have done on that account. Oh, your lordship, what a man
’e was! You’re too young to remember ’im at ’is best: ’andsome is as
’andsome does, folk say--but a gentleman like ’im can’t always act as ’e
would like to. You must know that from yourself, my lord. Sometimes the
’eart don’t go where the ’and ’as to be given.”
“Well, that is certainly sometimes the case,” said Lord Hartmore, with a
subdued laugh, “though I don’t think I know it by myself.”
“Aunt’s so full of her old times,” cried Patty. “If there was anything
that was ever wanted for the little Osborne boy, Lord Hartmore, I
should always be pleased to help. He got too much for my dear
father-in-law latterly, being noisy, and such a spoiled little thing;
but he was fond of him, and spoke of him at the very last.” “I can never
forget that,” said Patty, putting her handkerchief lightly to her eyes.
“And if there should be need of a little help for his education, or
setting him out in life--but I should have a delicacy in saying so to
Margaret Osborne, unless you’d be so good as to do it for me.”
“Oh, you’re very kind, Mrs. Piercey,” said Lord Hartmore, confused. “Our
dear Meg is rather a formidable person to approach with such a
proposal.”
“Yes, isn’t she formidable?” cried Patty, eagerly. “That’s just the
word; one is frightened to offer to do her a good turn.”
“Let us hope,” said Lord Hartmore, “that her good uncle has left her
beyond the need of help.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Patty, with a very serious face.
“I feel sure of it,” said Lord Hartmore, with genial confidence. “He was
far too good a man, and too kind an uncle. Mrs. Piercey, I see my friend
Gerald looking this way, and Mr. Pownceby wriggling in his chair, as
if----” He made a slight movement as if to rise--which perhaps was not
the highest breeding in Lord Hartmore; but it was very slight and
accompanied by a look of deference, suggesting a signal on her part.
“Mr. Gerald Piercey is not master here, nor is Mr. Pownceby,” said
Patty, with dignity. “They may look as they please, but in my own house
it’s my part to say when people are to leave the table.”
“She do have a spirit, Patty does,” Miss Hewitt murmured under her
breath.
Lord Hartmore settled himself in his chair again, abashed. “I beg your
pardon,” he said; and then, in a subdued tone, “Most likely Pownceby has
a train to catch.”
“In that case I don’t mind stretching a point,” said the lady of the
house, “though Mr. Pownceby is no more than a hired servant paid for his
time, and it is no business of his to interfere.”
A hired servant! Old Pownceby, who had all the secrets of the county in
his hands, and most of its business! Lord Hartmore grew pale with awe at
this daring speech. He looked straight before him, not to see the
signals of his wife telegraphing to him from Gerald Piercey’s side.
“I’ll have nothing to do with it,” he said to himself; and, indeed, in
his consternation, Lord Hartmore was the last to get up when the
movement of the chairs convinced him that Mrs. Piercey had condescended
to move. He offered that lady his arm humbly, on an indication from her
that this was expected. “I suppose we shall see Mrs. Osborne in the
library?” he said.
“Oh, Margaret! I suppose she’d better be there for form’s sake, though I
don’t suppose it matters much. Aunt, will you tell Margaret Osborne to
come directly, please? I have never,” said Patty, with a smile, “got
into the way of calling her Meg, as you all do.”
Lord Hartmore could scarcely dissimulate the little start of
consternation with which he heard this. The forlorn young widow, for
whom he had been so sorry, was appearing in a new light; but, of course,
it was only her ignorance, he said to himself. The party had all
assembled in the library when the voice of Miss Hewitt was heard outside
calling to some one who seemed to be following: “This way,
Margaret--this way. They’re all in the library. I don’t know the ’ouse
so well as I might, but this is the way. Come along please, quick, and
don’t keep the company waiting,” Miss Hewitt said.
Gerald Piercey started forward to open the door, for which Miss Hewitt
rewarded him with an “Oh! thank you, but I’m quite at ’ome, quite at
’ome.” Margaret came in in the wake of that bustling figure, pale, and
with an air of suspense. “Was it necessary to send for me in that way?”
she said to Gerald. He had placed a chair for her beside Lady Hartmore.
“Oh, Heaven knows what is necessary!” said that lady. “You know the
proverb about beggars on horseback.” She was not so careful to subdue
her voice as she might have been, but in the commotion it was not
observed. Gerald Piercey stood with his hand on the back of his cousin’s
chair. They were the family, the only persons present of the Piercey
blood. The old friends of the house stood near them. At the upper end of
the room were Patty and her aunt. Mr. Pownceby stood in front of the
large fireplace with a paper in his hand.
“I must explain,” he said, “how the will I have to read is so very
succinct a document. Sir Giles had made his will like other men, and as
there was a good deal to leave, there were a number of bequests. The
late Mr. Gervase Piercey was, of course, the heir, under trustees, as he
was not much--acquainted with business. Sir Giles thought fit to change
this, as was to be expected, after his son’s death. He sent for me
hastily one day, and gave me instructions which surprised me. I begged
him to allow me to take these back with me in order that the new will
should be properly written out, proposing to come back next day to
execute it, and, in short, hoping that he might reconsider the matter;
but he would hear of no delay. This document I will now read.”
Gerald Piercey stood quite undisturbed, with his hand on the back of
Margaret’s chair. He was not anxious. It had not occurred to him that
the house of his fathers could be alienated from him, and short of that,
his poor old uncle’s wishes would, he sincerely felt, be sacred whatever
they were. He was glad to hear that there was a new will made, which, no
doubt, provided for Mrs. Piercey; and waited with an easy mind to hear
what it was. As for Margaret, the event about to happen began to dawn
clearly upon her. She saw it in Patty’s eyes, in her pose, sitting up
defiant in Lady Piercey’s chair. She looked up at her cousin with an
eager desire to warn him, to support him, but was daunted by the calm
of his look, fearing no evil. “Gerald, Gerald,” she said, instinctively.
The lines of his face melted suddenly; he looked down upon her with an
encouraging, protecting smile, and took her hand for a moment, saying
“Meg!” and no more. He thought she was appealing to him for his care and
protection in face of a probable disappointment to herself.
Mr. Pownceby cleared his throat and waved his hand. He ran over the
exordium, name, and formula, of sound mind, etc., etc., to which
everybody listened impatiently, “do give and bequeath the whole of my
estates, property, real and personal, etc., to----” here he paused a
little, as if his own throat were dry--“Patience Piercey, my
daughter-in-law, and companion for the last six months, to be at her
entire disposal as it may be best for the interests of the family, and
in remainder to her child. This I do, believing it to be best for
meeting all difficulties, and in view of any contingency that might
arise.
“Signed, Giles Piercey,” added the lawyer, “and dated Greyshott, 16th
June, just a fortnight ago.”
There was a pause. Even now it did not seem to have struck Colonel
Piercey what it meant. He listened with a half smile. “And----?” he
said, waiting as if for more.
“That is all, Colonel Piercey, every word. The house, estates, money,
everything. Even the servants are cut out. He said she’d look after
them. Mrs. Piercey takes everything--house, lands, money, plate,
everything. It is a very unusual and surprising will, but that is all.”
And then there was another pause, and a general deep-drawn breath.
“It is a very surprising will indeed,” said Lord Hartmore.
It was a sort of remark to himself, forced from him by the astonishment
of the moment; but in the silence of the room it sounded as if addressed
like an oration to all who were there.
“Pardon me,” cried Colonel Piercey, “but Greyshott? Do you mean that
Greyshott, the original home of the family----?”
“I represented that to Sir Giles, but he would hear nothing. It is Mrs.
Piercey’s with all the rest.”
“It is the most iniquitous thing I ever heard,” cried Lady Hartmore,
rising quickly to her feet. “What! not a word of anybody belonging to
him, nothing of Meg and her boy, nothing of his natural heirs, nothing
of old Dunning even, and the old servants?--The man must have been mad.”
Here Patty rose and advanced to the conflict. She was very nervous, but
collected. “Mr. Pownceby can bear me witness that I knew nothing about
it,” she said. “I wasn’t there.”
“No, you were not there,” said the lawyer.
“I thought it right I should have a provision,” said Patty, “and so it
was right; and if my dear father-in-law thought that the one that stood
by him, and nursed him through all his illness, when everybody else
forsook him, was the one that ought to have it, who’s got anything to
say against that? I didn’t want it; but now that I’ve got it, I’ll stick
to it,” cried Patty defiantly, confronting Lady Hartmore, who had been
the only one to speak.
“I have no doubt of it,” cried that lady, “but if I were Colonel
Piercey, I shouldn’t stand it; no, not for a moment! Why, the old man
was in his dotage, no more equal to making a will than---- than his son
would have been.”
“Mary!” cried her husband in dismay.
“Well!” said Lady Hartmore, suddenly brought to herself by the
consciousness of having said more than she ought to have said, “I am
glad, I am quite glad, Hartmore, for one thing, that you’ll now see
things in their proper light.”
“And a very just will, too,” cried Miss Hewitt, coming to her niece’s
side,--“just like ’im, as was a very right-thinking man. Patty was an
angel to ’im, that she was, night and day. And it is nothing but what
was to be expected, that ’e should give ’er all as ’e had to give. And
not too much, neither, to the only one as nursed ’im, and did for ’im,
and gave up everything. Oh! I always said it--’e was a right-thinking
man.”
Colonel Piercey said nothing after that exclamation of “Greyshott!” but
he retired with the lawyer into a corner as soon as the spell of
consternation was broken by the sudden sound of these passionate voices.
He had seized Margaret by the arm and drawn her with him. “We are the
representatives of the family,” he said, hurriedly; and Mrs. Osborne was
too much startled (though she had foreseen it), too sympathetic, and too
much excited, to object to the manner in which he had drawn her hand
within his arm. “Our interests are the same,” he said, briefly, with a
hurried nod to Mr. Pownceby; and they stood talking for some minutes,
while a wonderful interchange of artillery went on behind. This was
concluded by a sudden clear sound of Patty’s voice in the air, ringing
with passion and mastery. “I believe,” she said, “Lord Hartmore’s
carriage is at the door.” And then there arose a laugh of sharp anger
from the other side. “We are turned out,” cried Lady Hartmore, “turned
out of Greyshott, where we were familiar before that chit was born.” It
was a little like scolding, but it was the voice of nature all the same.
“And I think,” said Colonel Piercey, “Meg, that you and I had better go,
too.”
“Oh, as you please!” cried Patty; “Meg can stay if she likes, and I’ve
already said I shouldn’t mind giving any reasonable help to educate the
little boy. And as for you, Gerald Piercey, you can do what you like,
and I can see you are bursting with envy. You can’t touch me!”