It is not very easy to conceive of the disappointment felt by persons to
whom a gigantic fortune has been left by a will which is then entirely
set aside, so that they receive absolutely nothing. It would be useless
to attempt an analysis of the state of mind which prevailed in the
households of the Brights and the Crowdies after judgment had been given
against them in the court of probate. The blow was sudden and stunning.
Though they were all very well-to-do, even rich, in the ordinary
acceptation of that word, their joint imagination had of late so
completely outrun their present circumstances, that they felt
impoverished when the hope of millions was removed beyond their reach.
They could not realize that the will was absolutely valueless, and they
still felt sure that something might be done.
Unfortunately for them the matter had been finally settled. In the
presence of witnesses who denied one another’s identity, and threatened
one another reciprocally with actions for perjury, the court could
hardly have done otherwise than it had done. To this day it is still
doubtful--from a legal point of view--which of the John Simonses signed
as a witness, though everything goes to show that the last one produced
was the right one, in spite of the fact that the others denied having
known him. Persimmons had, from the first, denied having had anything to
do with the matter, but he had subsequently sworn to all manner of
statements. The confusion was complete. There was no doubt that the
respectable John Simons who appeared last was a tenant of one of the
Lauderdale houses in MacDougal Street, and he said that he had found
himself at Robert Lauderdale’s house, having gone to complain of a leak
in his roof to old Robert himself, after having vainly laid his
grievance before the agent a number of times. The story was probably
true, but the other witnesses remained firm in their assertion that he
was not the man. They were, perhaps, telling the truth to the best of
their ability. Neither Persimmons nor John Simons were men who had
anything unusual about them to impress itself upon their memory. They
themselves, somewhat awed by the presence of the great millionaire, had
looked at him much more than at their insignificant fellow-witness. The
room had not been light, for the signing had taken place late in the
afternoon, as all agreed in stating, and they had not remained in one
another’s presence more than three minutes altogether. Simons, said the
other two, had stayed behind, whereas they had left the room
immediately. It was not surprising that their memory of the man’s face
should be indistinct.
The Brights, however, threw the whole blame upon the Lauderdales and
their legal advisers. The latter had not the right, they said, to make
the two witnesses sign an affidavit beforehand to the effect that they
recognized the third. The Lauderdales answered that there was no law to
hinder them from requesting any individual with whom they had to do, to
swear to any statement he made. The two need not have signed unless they
pleased. There had been no pressure brought to bear upon them. They had
said that they recognized Persimmons. The Lauderdale lawyers wished to
make sure that they did, so as to avoid any subsequent trouble, because
Persimmons denied that he was the man, and might disappear before the
hearing. What was more natural than that, out of pure caution, they
should have wished to file an affidavit of the man’s identity? The
Brights, amongst themselves, were obliged to admit that they did not
really know who had signed, and that the only person who could have
settled the dispute was dead, so that they could not blame the court for
its decision.
After the judgment John Simons quarrelled with the other two, who turned
upon him in defence of their own reputations. They swore out warrants
against one another which were not served, and they pottered amongst
shysters and legal small fry, until they had spent most of their money,
and disappeared from the horizon with their quarrel. The private opinion
of the judge who had settled the question was that there had been an
unfortunate mistake, and that all three had originally intended to be
perfectly honest. But he also thought it far more just that the fortune
should go to the next of kin, in spite of Robert Lauderdale’s wishes.
Alexander Lauderdale did his best to conceal his delight in his triumph.
It had been a far more easy victory than he had expected, and it was
practically complete. The only drawback was that the fortune had come
into his old father’s hands instead of into his own, but he anticipated
no difficulty in ruling the old gentleman according to his own judgment,
nor in getting control of the whole estate. He intended to treat it as
he had treated his own comparatively small possessions, and he had hopes
of seeing it doubled in his lifetime. He could make it double itself in
twenty years at the utmost, and he was but fifty years of age, or
thereabouts. He should live as long as that, with his iron constitution
and careful habits.
His father received the news with an old man’s chuckle of pleasure, and
one heavy hand fell into the other with a loud slap of satisfaction. He
had but one idea, which was to extend the scope and efficiency of his
charitable institutions, and he saw at last that he had boundless power
to do so.
“I always knew I should live to build that other asylum myself!” he
cried, referring to one of his favourite schemes. “It will only cost a
million or so, and another million as a foundation will run it. I’ll
send for the architects at once.”
Alexander Junior smiled, for he believed that he was quite able to
prevent any such extravagance by getting himself appointed his father’s
guardian, on the ground that the old gentleman would squander everything
in senseless charities. But in the meanwhile it would take some time to
make the division of the property, which was almost wholly in real
estate, as has been seen, and could not be so readily apportioned as
though it had been held in bond and mortgage. Of course the
administrators would allow either of the heirs to draw a large amount on
credit before the settling, if they desired to do so.
Alexander Senior said that he meant to live in Clinton Place for the
rest of his life, and his son considered this a very wise decision. The
people who lived opposite began to watch the old gentleman, who had
inherited over forty millions, when he went out on foot in his shabby
coat for his airing on fine days. They wondered why he did not buy a
new one, as they did, when their overcoats were worn out.
Mrs. Lauderdale was indignant at the idea of continuing to inhabit the
old house. In her mind it was associated with a quarter of a century of
penurious economy, and she longed at last for the luxury she enjoyed so
thoroughly in the houses of others.
“It’s perfectly absurd,” she said to Katharine, indignantly. “I’ve stood
it all these years because I had to--but I won’t stand it any longer. If
ever I paint another miniature! But I’d made up my mind that I wouldn’t
do that, even if we didn’t get all the money.”
“I should think so!” laughed Katharine. “Put away your paints and your
brushes, mother, and say that you’ll never use them any more. You’ll be
at it again as hard as ever in a week, because you really like it, you
know!”
“I suppose so.” And Mrs. Lauderdale laughed, too. “Let’s go out, child.
Let’s take a long drive--somewhere. I suppose we can drive as much as we
like now.”
“From morning till night,” answered Katharine; “why don’t we use the
horses and carriages? They’re all there, you know, and all the grooms
and coachmen and everything, just as though nothing had happened.”
“Do you think we could just go there and order a carriage?” asked Mrs.
Lauderdale, rather doubtfully.
“Why, of course! Whose are they all, if they’re not ours and the
Ralstons’? We have a perfect right--”
“Yes--but if we were to meet people--don’t you know?”
“Well--they’re our carriages, not theirs.” Katharine laughed again. “The
only question is whether they’ll belong to the Ralstons or to us. I
suppose they’ll all be sold and we shall buy new ones.”
“I don’t see why,” answered Mrs. Lauderdale. “They’re perfectly good
carriages, and there are some splendid horses--”
Twenty-five years of rigid economy were not to be forgotten in a day,
and Alexander Junior saw with satisfaction that his wife showed no signs
of developing any very reprehensible extravagance. But she enjoyed that
first drive, lying back in the luxurious carriage with her daughter by
her side, and feeling that it all belonged to her, or, at least, that
she was privileged to consider that it did, as much as though she had
inherited the fortune herself.
Aunt Maggie Bright saw the two in the Park and bent her head rather
stiffly. She recognized the carriage and spoke of the meeting to her son
that evening.
“They’ve a right to do as they please,” answered Hamilton gravely. “As
for the carriages and all the personal belongings, they’d have had them
anyway. I should like to know where that other will is, though. If he
didn’t destroy it, it’s good now.”
“If it’s in existence, it will turn up amongst the papers one of these
days.”
“Unless Alexander gets at them--then it won’t,” said Bright, savagely.
“Perhaps that isn’t quite just, Ham. I don’t think Alexander’s capable
of destroying such a thing.”
“Oh--isn’t he! You don’t know him, mother. If you think anything would
stand in the way of his defending his millions, you’re very much
mistaken. There’s been something very queer about the whole affair. That
affidavit wasn’t straight.”
They argued the case and talked over it, as they had done many times
already, without coming to any conclusion, except that they should have
had the money and Alexander should not. They always considered that he
had got the property, though it was really his father’s. But they both
knew how futile discussion was, and they abandoned it at last, as they
always did, with a hopeless conviction that the truth could never be
known.
Katharine on her side was much disturbed by what she knew of the
previous will, and she took counsel with John Ralston, as to how she
should act. There was not much to be done, since the will itself had
not been found up to the present date, though the administrators had
been already some time engaged in examining the papers. Of these there
was no end, though the agent of the estate was acquainted with most of
them. They consisted chiefly of title deeds and leases.
By this time Alexander had practically admitted that Katharine was
engaged to be married to Ralston, but like every one else concerned, he
thought it better to wait until the summer, before announcing the fact.
To do so now would look as though the family had only waited for Robert
Lauderdale’s death. Moreover, though it is so little the custom to wear
mourning for any but the very nearest nowadays, the inheritance of
wealth requires a corresponding show of grief on the part of the heirs.
There is a sort of tacit understanding about that. When an uncle leaves
a fortune, the particular nephew who gets it must acknowledge the fact
and propitiate the shade of the dear departed with a decently broad
hatband. The position of the Brights caused some amusement. They had
worn something approaching to mourning after old Lauderdale’s death, but
they did not think it necessary to continue to do so after the court had
set aside the will. The Lauderdales and the Ralstons wore half mourning.
As has been said, Katharine’s engagement was accepted as a fact in the
family, and she had no difficulty in seeing Ralston as often as she
pleased, when he was free from his work. He had told Mr. Beman that he
should prefer to stay in the bank for a time and learn something about
business, and Beman had been delighted, especially when he saw that John
came as regularly as ever.