When the door closed upon Lucy and her sister, Mr Wentworth stood by
himself, facing the other people assembled. The majority of them were
more surprised, more shocked, than he was; but they were huddled
together in their wonder at the opposite end of the table, and had
somehow a confused, half-conscious air of being on the other side.
"It's a very extraordinary revelation that has just been made to us,"
said Dr Marjoribanks. "I am throwing no doubt upon it, for my part; but
my conviction was, that Tom Wodehouse died in the West Indies. He was
just the kind of man to die in the West Indies. If it's you," said the
Doctor, with a growl of natural indignation, "you have the constitution
of an elephant. You should have been dead ten years ago, at the very
least; and it appears to me there would be some difficulty in proving
identity, if anybody would take up that view of the question." As he
spoke, Dr Marjoribanks walked round the new-comer, looking at him with
medical criticism. The Doctor's eyes shot out fiery hazel gleams as he
contemplated the heavy figure. "More appearance than reality," he
muttered to himself, with a kind of grim satisfaction, poising a
forefinger in air, as if to prove the unwholesome flesh; and then he
went round to the other elbow of the unexpected heir. "The thing is now,
what you mean to do for them, to repair your father's neglect," he said,
tapping peremptorily on Wodehouse's arm.
"There is something else to be said in the mean time," said Mr
Wentworth. "I must know precisely how it is that a state of affairs so
different from anything Mr Wodehouse could have intended has come about.
The mere absence of a will does not seem to me to explain it. I should
like to have Mr Brown's advice--for my own satisfaction, if nothing
else."
"The parson has got nothing to do with it, that I can see," said
Wodehouse, "unless he was looking for a legacy, or that sort of thing.
As for the girls, I don't see what right I have to be troubled; they
took deuced little trouble with me. Perhaps they'd have taken me in as
a sort of footman without pay--you heard what they said, Waters? By
Jove! I'll serve Miss Mary out for that," said the vagabond. Then he
paused a little, and, looking round him, moderated his tone. "I've
been badly used all my life," said the prodigal son. "They would never
give me a hearing. They say I did heaps of things I never dreamt of.
Mary aint above thinking of her own interest--"
Here Mr Proctor came forward from the middle of the room where he had
been standing in a perplexed manner since the ladies went away.
"Hold--hold your tongue, sir!" said the late Rector; "haven't you done
enough injury already--" When he had said so much, he stopped as
abruptly as he had begun, and seemed to recollect all at once that he
had no title to interfere.
"By Jove!" said Wodehouse, "you don't seem to think I know what
belongs to me, or who belongs to me. Hold _your_ tongue, Waters; I can
speak for myself. I've been long enough snubbed by everybody that had
a mind. I don't mean to put up with this sort of thing any longer. Any
man who pleases can consult John Brown. I recollect John Brown as well
as anybody in Carlingford. It don't matter to me what he says, or what
anybody says. The girls are a parcel of girls, and I am my father's
son, as it happens. I should have thought the parson had enough on his
hands for one while," said the new heir, in the insolence of triumph.
"He tried patronising me, but that wouldn't answer. Why, there's his
brother, Jack Wentworth, his elder brother, come down here purposely
to manage matters for me. He's the eldest son, by Jove! and one of the
greatest swells going. He has come down here on purpose to do the
friendly thing by me. We're great friends, by Jove! Jack Wentworth and
I; and yet here's a beggarly younger brother, that hasn't a penny--"
"Wodehouse," said Mr Wentworth, with some contempt, "sit down and be
quiet. You and I have some things to talk of which had better not be
discussed in public. Leave Jack Wentworth's name alone, if you are
wise, and don't imagine that I am going to bear your punishment. Be
silent, sir!" cried the Curate, sternly; "do you suppose I ask any
explanations from you? Mr Waters, I want to hear how this has come
about? When I saw you in this man's interest some time ago, you were
not so friendly to him. Tell me how it happens that he is now your
client, and that you set him forth as the heir!"
"By Jove, the parson has nothing to do with it! Let him find it out,"
muttered Wodehouse in his beard; but the words were only half audible,
and the vagabond's shabby soul was cowed in spite of himself. He gave
the lawyer a furtive thrust in the arm as he spoke, and looked at him
a little anxiously; for the position of a man standing lawfully on his
natural rights was new to Wodehouse; and all his certainty of the
facts did not save him from a sensation of habit which suggested that
close examination was alarming, and that something might still be
found out. As for Mr Waters, he looked with placid contempt at the
man, who was not respectable, and still had the instincts of a
vagabond in his heart.
"I am perfectly ready to explain," said the irreproachable solicitor,
who was quite secure in his position. "The tone of the request,
however, might be modified a little; and as I don't, any more than Mr
Wodehouse, see exactly what right Mr Wentworth has to demand--"
"I ask an explanation, not on my own behalf, but for the Miss
Wodehouses, who have made me their deputy," said the Curate, "for
their satisfaction, and that I may consult Mr Brown. You seem to
forget that all _he_ gains they lose; which surely justifies their
representative in asking how did it come about?"
It was at this point that all the other gentlemen present pressed
closer, and evinced an intention to take part. Dr Marjoribanks was the
first to speak. He took a pinch of snuff, and while he consumed it
looked from under his grizzled sandy eyebrows with a perplexing
mixture of doubt and respect at the Perpetual Curate. He was a man of
some discrimination in his way, and the young man's lofty looks
impressed him a little in spite of himself.
"Not to interrupt the explanation," said Dr Marjoribanks, "which we'll
all be glad to hear--but Mr Wentworth's a young man, not possessed, so
far as I am aware, of any particular right;--except that he has been
very generous and prompt in offering his services," said the Doctor,
moved to the admission by a fiery glance from the Curate's eye, which
somehow did not look like the eye of a guilty man. "I was thinking, an
old man, and an old friend, like myself, might maybe be a better
guardian for the ladies' interests--"
Mr Proctor, who had been listening very anxiously, was seized with a
cough at this moment, which drowned out the Doctor's words. It was a
preparatory cough, and out of it the late Rector rushed into speech.
"I have come from--from Oxford to be of use," said the new champion.
"My time is entirely at my own--at Miss Wodehouse's--at the Miss
Wodehouses' disposal. I am most desirous to be of use," said Mr
Proctor, anxiously. And he advanced close to the table to prefer his
claim.
"Such a discussion seems quite unnecessary," said Mr Wentworth, with
some haughtiness. "I shall certainly do in the mean time what has been
intrusted to me. At present we are simply losing time."
"But--" said the Rector. The word was not of importance nor uttered
with much resolution, but it arrested Mr Wentworth more surely than
the shout of a multitude. He turned sharp round upon his adversary,
and said "Well?" with an air of exasperation; while Wodehouse, who had
been lounging about the room in a discomfited condition, drew near to
listen.
"I am comparatively a stranger to the Miss Wodehouses," said Mr
Morgan; "still I am their clergyman; and I think with Dr Marjoribanks,
that a young man like Mr Wentworth, especially a man so seriously
compromised--"
"Oh, stop! I do think you are all a great deal too hard upon Mr
Wentworth," said the lawyer, with a laugh of toleration, which
Wodehouse echoed behind him with a sense of temerity that made his
laughter all the louder. He was frightened, but he was glad to make
himself offensive, according to his nature. Mr Wentworth stood alone,
for his part, and had to put up with the laugh as he best could.
"If any one here wishes to injure me with the Miss Wodehouses, an
opportunity may easily be found," said the Curate, with as much
composure as he could muster; "and I am ready to relinquish my charge
when they call on me to do so. In the mean time, this is not the place
to investigate my conduct. Sit down, sir, and let us be free of your
interference for this moment at least," he said, fiercely, turning to
the new heir. "I warn you again, you have nothing but justice to expect
at my hands. Mr Waters, we wait your explanations." He was the tallest
man in the room, which perhaps had something to do with it; the
youngest, best born, and best endowed. That he would have carried the
day triumphantly in the opinion of any popular audience, there could be
no kind of doubt. Even in this middle-aged unimpressionable assembly,
his indignant self-control had a certain influence. When he drew a chair
towards the table and seated himself, the others sat down unawares, and
the lawyer began his story without any further interruption. The
explanation of all was, that Mr Wodehouse, like so many men, had an
ambition to end his days as a country gentleman. He had set his heart
for years on an estate in the neighbourhood of Carlingford, and had just
completed his long-contemplated purchase at the moment of his last
seizure. Nobody knew, except the Curate and the lawyer, what the cause
of that seizure was. They exchanged looks without being aware of it, and
Wodehouse, still more deeply conscious, uttered, poor wretch! a kind of
gasp, which sounded like a laugh to the other horrified spectators.
After all, it was his crime which had brought him his good fortune,
for there had been an early will relating to property which existed
no longer--property which had been altogether absorbed in the
newly-acquired estate. "I have no doubt my late excellent partner would
have made a settlement had the time been permitted him," said Mr Waters.
"I have not the slightest doubt as to his intentions; but the end was
very unexpected at the last. I suppose death always is unexpected when
it comes," said the lawyer, with a little solemnity, recollecting that
three of his auditors were clergymen. "The result is painful in many
respects; but law is law, and such accidents cannot be entirely avoided.
With the exception of a few trifling personal matters, and the
furniture, and a little money at the bank, there is nothing but freehold
property, and of course the son takes that. I can have no possible
objection to your consulting Mr Brown; but Mr Brown can give you no
further information." If there had been any little hope of possible
redress lingering in the mind of the perplexed assembly, this brought it
to a conclusion. The heir, who had been keeping behind with an impulse
of natural shame, came back to the table when his rights were so clearly
established. He did not know how to behave himself with a good grace,
but he was disposed to be conciliatory, as far as he could, especially
as it began to be disagreeably apparent that the possession of his
father's property might not make any particular difference in the
world's opinion of himself.
"It aint my fault, gentlemen," said Wodehouse. "Of course, I expected
the governor to take care of the girls. I've been kept out of it for
twenty years, and that's a long time. By Jove! I've never known what
it was to be a rich man's son since I was a lad. I don't say I won't
do something for the girls if they behave to me as they ought; and as
for you, gentlemen, who were friends of the family, I'll always be
glad to see you in my house," he said, with an attempt at a friendly
smile. But nobody took any notice of the overtures of the new heir.
"Then they have nothing to depend upon," said Mr Proctor, whose agitated
looks were the most inexplicable feature of the whole--"no shelter even;
no near relations I ever heard of--and nobody to take care of Lucy if--"
Here he stopped short and went to the window, and stood looking out in a
state of great bewilderment. The late Rector was so buried in his own
thoughts, whatever they might be, that he did not pay any attention to
the further conversation which went on behind him--of which, however,
there was very little--and only came to himself when he saw Mr Wentworth
go rapidly through the garden. Mr Proctor rushed after the Perpetual
Curate. He might be seriously compromised, as Mr Morgan said; but he
was more sympathetic than anybody else in Carlingford under present
circumstances; and Mr Proctor, in his middle-aged uncertainty, could not
help having a certain confidence in the young man's promptitude and
vigour. He made up to him out of breath when he was just entering George
Street. Carlingford had paid what respect it could to Mr Wodehouse's
memory; and now the shutters were being taken off the shop-windows, and
people in general were very willing to reward themselves for their
self-denial by taking what amusement they could out of the reports
which already began to be circulated about the way in which the Miss
Wodehouses were "left." When the late Rector came up with the Perpetual
Curate opposite Masters's shop there was quite a group of people there
who noted the conjunction. What could it mean? Was there going to be a
compromise? Was Carlingford to be shamefully cheated out of the
"investigation," and all the details about Rosa Elsworthy, for which it
hungered? Mr Proctor put his arm through that of the Curate of St
Roque's, and permitted himself to be swept along by the greater impetus
of the young man's rapid steps, for at this moment, being occupied with
more important matters, the late Rector had altogether forgotten Mr
Wentworth's peculiar position, and the cloud that hung over him.
"What a very extraordinary thing!" said Mr Proctor. "What could have
betrayed old Wodehouse into such a blunder! He must have known well
enough. This son--this fellow--has been living all the time, of
course. It is quite inexplicable to me," said the aggrieved man. "Do
you know if there are any aunts or uncles--any people whom poor little
Lucy might live with, for instance, if--" And here Mr Proctor once
more came to a dead stop. Mr Wentworth, for his part, was so far from
thinking of her as "poor little Lucy," that he was much offended by
the unnecessary commiseration.
"The sisters will naturally remain together," he said; "and, of
course, there are many people who would be but too glad to receive
them. Miss Wodehouse is old enough to protect her sister--though, of
course, the balance of character is on the other side," said the
inconsiderate young man; at which Mr Proctor winced, but made no
definite reply.
"So you think there are people she could go to?" said the late Rector,
after a pause. "The thing altogether is so unexpected, you know. My
idea was--"
"I beg your pardon," said the Curate; "I must see Mr Brown, and this
is about the best time to find him at home. Circumstances make it
rather awkward for me to call at the Rectory just now," he continued,
with a smile smile--"circumstances over which I have no control, as
people say; but perhaps you will stay long enough to see me put on my
trial. Good-bye now."
"Stop a moment," said Mr Proctor; "about this trial. Don't be
affronted--I have nothing to do with it, you know; and Morgan means
very well, though he's stupid enough. I should like to stand your
friend, Wentworth; you know I would. I wish you'd yield to tell me all
about it. If I were to call on you to-night after dinner--for perhaps
it would put Mrs Hadwin out to give me a chop?"
The Curate laughed in spite of himself. "Fellows of All-Souls don't
dine on chops," he said, unable to repress a gleam of amusement; "but
come at six, and you shall have something to eat, as good as I can
give you. As for telling you all about it," said Mr Wentworth, "all
the world is welcome to know as much as I know."
Mr Proctor laid his hand on the young man's arm, by way of soothing
him. "We'll talk it all over," he said, confidentially; "both this
affair, and--and the other. We have a good deal in common, if I am not
much mistaken, and I trust we shall always be good friends," said the
inexplicable man. His complexion heightened considerably after he had
made this speech, which conveyed nothing but amazement to the mind of
the Curate; and then he shook hands hastily, and hurried back again
towards Grange Lane. If there had been either room or leisure in Frank
Wentworth's mind for other thoughts, he might have laughed or puzzled
over the palpable mystery; but as it was, he had dismissed the late
Rector entirely from his mind before he reached the door of Mr Brown's
room, where the lawyer was seated alone. John Brown, who was
altogether a different type of man from Mr Waters, held out his hand to
his visitor, and did not look at all surprised to see him. "I have
expected a call from you," he said, "now that your old friend is gone,
from whom you would naturally have sought advice in the circumstances.
Tell me what I can do for you;" and it became apparent to Mr Wentworth
that it was his own affairs which were supposed to be the cause of his
application. It may be supposed after this that the Curate stated his
real object very curtly and clearly without any unnecessary words, to
the unbounded amazement of the lawyer, who, being a busy man, and not a
friend of the Wodehouses, had as yet heard nothing of the matter. Mr
Brown, however, could only confirm what had been already said. "If it is
really freehold property, and no settlement made, there cannot be any
question about it," he said; "but I will see Waters to-morrow and make
all sure, if you wish it; though he dares not mislead you on such a
point. I am very sorry for the ladies, but I don't see what can be done
for them," said Mr Brown; "and about yourself, Mr Wentworth?" Perhaps it
was because of a certain look of genuine confidence and solicitude in
John Brown's honest face that the Curate's heart was moved. For the
first time he condescended to discuss the matter--to tell the lawyer,
with whom indeed he had but a very slight acquaintance (for John Brown
lived at the other end of Carlingford, and could not be said to be in
society), all he knew about Rosa Elsworthy, and something of his
suspicions. Mr Brown, for his part, knew little of the Perpetual Curate
in his social capacity, but he knew about Wharfside, which was more to
the purpose; and having himself been truly in love once in his life,
commonplace as he looked, this honest man did not believe it possible
that Lucy Wodehouse's representative could be Rosa Elsworthy's
seducer--the two things looked incompatible to the straightforward
vision of John Brown.
"I'll attend at their investigation," he said, with a smile, "which,
if you were not particularly interested, you'd find not bad fun, Mr
Wentworth. These private attempts at law are generally very amusing.
I'll attend and look after your interests; but you had better see that
this Tom Wodehouse,--I remember the scamp--he used to be bad enough
for anything,--don't give you the slip and get out of the way. Find
out if you can where he has been living these two days. I'll attend to
the other matter, too," the lawyer said, cheerfully, shaking hands
with his new client; and the Curate went away with a vague feeling
that matters were about to come right somehow, at which he smiled when
he came to think of it, and saw how little foundation he had for such
a hope. But his hands were full of business, and he had no time to
consider his own affairs at this particular moment. It seemed to him a
kind of profanity to permit Lucy to remain under the same roof with
Wodehouse, even though he was her brother; and Mr Proctor's inquiries
had stimulated his own feeling. There was a certain pleasure, besides,
in postponing himself and his own business, however important, to her
and her concerns; and it was with this idea that he proceeded to the
house of his aunts, and was conducted to a little private sitting-room
appropriated to the sole use of Miss Leonora, for whom he had asked.
As he passed the door of the drawing-room, which was ajar, he glanced
in, and saw his aunt Dora bending over somebody who wept, and heard a
familiar voice pouring out complaints, the general sound of which was
equally familiar, though he could not make out a word of the special
subject. Frank was startled, notwithstanding his preoccupations, for
it was the same voice which had summoned him to Wentworth Rectory
which now poured out its lamentations in the Miss Wentworths'
drawing-room in Carlingford. Evidently some new complication had
arisen in the affairs of the family. Miss Leonora was in her room,
busy with the books of a Ladies' Association, of which she was
treasurer. She had a letter before her from the missionary employed by
the society, which was a very interesting letter, and likely to make a
considerable sensation when read before the next meeting. Miss Leonora
was taking the cream off this piece of correspondence, enjoying at
once itself and the impression it would make. She was slightly annoyed
when her nephew came in to disturb her. "The others are in the
drawing-room, as usual," she said. "I can't imagine what Lewis could
be thinking of, to bring you here. Louisa's coming can make no
difference to you."
"So Louisa has come? I thought I heard her voice. What has happened to
bring Louisa here?" said the Curate, who was not sorry to begin with
an indifferent subject. Miss Leonora shook her head and took up her
letter.
"She is in the drawing-room," said the strong-minded aunt. "If you
have no particular business with me, Frank, you had better ask
herself: of course, if you want me, I am at your service--but
otherwise I am busy, you see."
"And so am I," said Mr Wentworth, "as busy as a man can be whose
character is at stake. Do you know I am to be tried to-morrow? But
that is not what I came to ask you about."
"I wish you would _tell_ me about it," said Miss Leonora. She got up
from her writing-table and from the missionary's letter, and abandoned
herself to the impulses of nature. "I have heard disagreeable rumours.
I don't object to your reserve, Frank, but things seem to be getting
serious. What does it mean?"
The Curate had been much braced in his inner man by his short
interview with John Brown; that, and the representative position he
held, had made a wonderful change in his feelings: besides, a matter
which was about to become so public could not be ignored. "It means
only that a good many people in Carlingford think me a villain," said
Mr Wentworth: "it is not a flattering idea; and it seems to me, I
must say, an illogical induction from the facts of my life. Still it
is true that some people think so--and I am to be tried to-morrow. But
in the mean time, something else has happened. I know you are a good
woman, aunt Leonora. We don't agree in many things, but that does not
matter. There are two ladies in Carlingford who up to this day have
been rich, well off, well cared for, and who have suddenly lost all
their means, their protector, even their home. They have no relations
that I know of. One of them is good for any exertion that may be
necessary," said the Curate, his voice softening with a far-off
masculine suggestion as of tears; "but she is young--too young to
contend with the world--and she is now suffering her first grief. The
other is old enough, but not good for much--"
"You mean the two Miss Wodehouses?" said Miss Leonora. "Their father
has turned out to be--bankrupt?--or something?--"
"Worse than bankrupt," said the Curate: "there is a brother who takes
everything. Will you stand by them--offer them shelter?--I mean for a
time. I don't know anybody I should care to apply to but you."
Miss Leonora paused and looked at her nephew. "First tell me what you
have to do with them," she asked. "If there is a brother, he is their
natural protector--certainly not you--unless there is something I
don't know of. Frank, you know you can't marry," said Miss Leonora,
with a little vehemence, once more looking in her nephew's face.
"No," said Frank, with momentary bitterness; "I am not likely to make
any mistake about that--at present, at least. The brother is a
reprobate of whom they know nothing. I have no right to consider
myself their protector--but I am their friend at least," said the
Curate, breaking off with again that softening in his voice. "They may
have a great many friends, for anything I know; but I have confidence
in you, aunt Leonora: you are not perhaps particularly sympathetic,"
he went on, with a laugh; "you don't condole with Louisa, for
instance; but I could trust you with--"
"Lucy Wodehouse!" said Miss Leonora; "I don't dislike her at all, if
she would not wear that ridiculous grey cloak; but young men don't
take such an interest in young women without some reason for it. What
are we to do for you, Frank?" said the strong-minded woman, looking at
him with a little softness. Miss Leonora, perhaps, was not used to be
taken into anybody's confidence. It moved her more than might have
been expected from so self-possessed a woman. Perhaps no other act on
the part of her nephew could have had so much effect, had he been able
to pursue his advantage, upon the still undecided fate of Skelmersdale.
"Nothing," said the Curate. He met her eye very steadily, but she was
too clear-sighted to believe that he felt as calmly as he looked.
"Nothing," he repeated again--"I told you as much before. I have been
slandered here, and here I must remain. There are no parsonages or
paradises for me."
With which speech Mr Wentworth shook hands with his aunt and
went away. He left Miss Leonora as he had left her on various
occasions--considerably confused in her ideas. She could not enjoy any
longer the cream of the missionary's letter. When she tried to resume
her reading, her attention flagged over it. After a while she put on her
bonnet and went out, after a little consultation with her maid, who
assisted her in the housekeeping department. The house was tolerably
full at the present moment, but it was elastic. She was met at the green
door of Mr Wodehouse's garden by the new proprietor, who stared
excessively, and did not know what to make of such an apparition. "Jack
Wentworth's aunt, by Jove!" he said to himself, and took off his hat,
meaning to show her "a little civility." Miss Leonora thought him one of
the attendants at the recent ceremonial, and passed him without any
ceremony. She was quite intent upon her charitable mission. Mr
Wentworth's confidence was justified.