"BEATRICE, Miss Pelham is dead."
Lord Carnelly was the speaker, and his wife the only listener to the
news thus conveyed.
"At last!" was her response. "Now there will be an end of the miserable
pinching and cheeseparing which I have had to practise through all my
married life. The money to which I am absolutely entitled will secure
this result, and the children will be well provided for. I wonder
whether my aunt will have left her savings to them or to me. She has
lived on next to nothing. She was too penurious either to spend on
herself or to give to others. She never made me a present of anything
that was worth a 'thank you' in her whole life. I suppose there can be
no mistake about the news," added Lady Carnelly, turning quickly to her
husband. "How did you hear it?"
"From Miss Pelham's lawyers. They wrote to me, thinking that I should
break the tidings of your lamented aunt's decease less abruptly than
could be done by a direct written communication addressed to yourself.
The precaution was perhaps scarcely necessary."
"You need not be satirical, Lindsay. I am no hypocrite, and it is
scarcely likely that I should be much distressed by the death of a
relative who cared nothing for me, and who kept me out of all she
could, and as long as she could."
"Miss Pelham could scarcely be expected to die before her time in order
to accommodate you, Beatrice," said Lord Carnelly.
"Who ever insinuated anything so ridiculous?" replied his wife, whose
sense of approaching wealth rendered her more than usually lofty in
tone and manner. "She might have helped us from her hoards if she
had chosen, but people of my aunt's miserly disposition never can
appreciate those of more generous natures than their own."
Sadly as Lord Carnelly listened to his wife's hard words, he could
not help feeling that they had a ludicrous side. For a woman like
Lady Carnelly, with whom self had always been preeminent, to talk of
generous natures was almost too absurd. Her lavish expenditure, which
had brought no home enjoyment, but involved her husband in debt and
caused him to live in perpetual dread of importunate creditors, was
dignified as generosity by the lips of her who had indulged in it.
Lord Carnelly hardly dared to hope that Miss Pelham's death would bring
much relief to him. The money was strictly secured to his wife, and he
feared that she might refuse to free him from his embarrassments.
Whilst he mused, Lady Carnelly was silent for a short time.
Then, turning a triumphant face towards her husband, she said,
"Lindsay, I have been calculating how much Miss Pelham must have saved
during the last forty years, for she came into her mother's property so
long since. I shall very likely get—"
The interruption was abrupt and stern.
"You had much better give up calculating on anything beyond what is
absolutely certain. I do not think Miss Pelham would add a penny to
it," said Lord Carnelly.
"She might have passed me by if there had been any one else for it.
But I am her nearest relative, and the children come next. My aunt had
a good deal of family pride, which would, I think, prevent her from
overlooking her own flesh and blood."
"Well, Beatrice, you knew Miss Pelham better than I did. The fact of
her wealth often kept me from paying her the attentions that I should
have liked to render to the solitary old woman. I did not wish to be
misunderstood. If you do get the large savings you spoke of, I trust
you will dedicate a few thousands of them to paying our debt to my
sister. Poor Ida! The thought that her little fortune went because we
were living beyond our means is a perpetual trouble to me."
"Our debt!" exclaimed Lady Carnelly. "You surely do not consider that
I have any share in that. Have you forgotten that when in India you
reminded me that you were Ida's guardian, not I? The idea that I shall
find money to replace the fortune for which you are accountable is a
little too much!"
Lady Carnelly might have considered herself a deeply injured woman, to
judge by the expression of her face as she spoke. It quickly changed
as, glancing towards the window, she exclaimed,—
"The blinds have not been drawn down. What will people think of us, if
there is a notice of Miss Pelham's death in the 'Times?' There may be,
if the lawyers inserted it at once. Why did you not order the blinds to
be pulled down?"
"As the bereavement was on your side of the house, I deemed it better
to leave all melancholy details to you, Beatrice. However, I will ring
if you wish it," was Lord Carnelly's reply.
It was sarcastic enough, and spoken in the bitterness of his heart,
as he thought of the way in which his one request for help had been
answered.
The refusal of Lady Carnelly to relieve him from the weight of
responsibility on account of Ida's fortune meant more than the
continuance of the burden.
What were his troubles and anxieties to her? And yet he had brought
them upon himself, sooner than refuse her even an unreasonable
indulgence, for he had loved this selfish woman, who was still his wife
and the mother of his children.
Lord Carnelly was, however, to be relieved in an unexpected manner,
though greatly to the mortification and indignation of his wife.
Miss Pelham, though far advanced in years, retained her faculties
unimpaired to the last, and was well able to gauge the characters of
those with whom she had to do. She was not slow to blame her niece's
conduct, and, while she felt the good-humoured contempt which strong
natures often entertain for weak ones, and was often heard to censure
Lord Carnelly for his folly in yielding to his wife's extravagance, she
yet liked the kindly colonel.
Miss Pelham proved both her shrewdness and her regard for her niece's
husband by her will. Not one penny of her large savings came into Lady
Carnelly's hands.
"She will have far more than she will use well, and than I would allow
her to have, if I could help it," the old lady told her lawyers. "Her
husband is weak but good-hearted. I have made myself acquainted with
his circumstances, and find that he is over head and ears in debt. I
mean to free him, and I look to you so to arrange matters that he shall
not be able to place himself in a similar fix."
How the lawyers managed this is not for unprofessional persons to
narrate. But it was done, and, to Lord Carnelly's deep joy and
thankfulness, he found himself freed at a stroke from all his
liabilities, through the will of his wife's eccentric relative. If
there had been no restraint with regard to future expenditure, past
experience would have been enough. Lord Carnelly had known what it
was to groan under a load of debt for several past years, and had no
inclination to risk it again.
Miss Pelham showed her eccentricity by one legacy in particular. Though
the money owing to Mrs. Crawford was paid in full, and with compound
interest from the date at which it was due, along with the rest of Lord
Carnelly's debts, the old lady left an additional five thousand pounds
to the doctor. She gave no reason for so doing, but it may well be
imagined that she bequeathed it to make amends for any inconvenience
which Dr. Crawford and Ida might have suffered through the nonpayment
of the girl's little fortune at the proper time. Miss Pelham knew that
her niece's extravagance had caused the money to be withheld, and
knowing also Lady Carnelly's disposition, was determined not to trust
her to make amends.
The contents of Miss Pelham's will made Lady Carnelly very angry,
especially that part which referred to the Crawfords. She found, too,
that, large as was the sum bequeathed by her aunt, it fell far short of
her calculations.
Miss Pelham's charities had been of a very unostentatious character,
and only after her death was it known how many homes had been cheered
and mourners comforted by means of the well-timed and discriminating
benevolence of her who had been called miserly.
Lord Carnelly had to listen to many bitter words respecting the
disposition of Miss Pelham's money. Under the circumstances, he was
able to bear the infliction with a grim sense of humour, which almost
rendered his wife's tirades enjoyable.
Still, the thought would come, "If only Beatrice were different, how
happy we might now be!"
Lord Carnelly, at least, was thankful, and humbly anxious that, by
God's help, the future might in some degree repair the past.
To Mrs. Crawford, Miss Pelham's unexpected bequest brought great joy.
The knowledge, so long withheld, that Dr. Crawford had never received
the money bequeathed to her by her father caused her great trouble.
Never during her married life had she felt so much inclined to reproach
her husband for want of confidence in her as when he at length told
her the truth about her little fortune. Happily, she refrained from
uttering the words which were on her lips, for at the same moment, the
thought came, "For whose sake did my dear husband keep silence? Was it
not for mine, and to spare me the pain of knowing that my only brother
had betrayed the trust reposed in him?"
One secret was never told—namely, the true story of the jewellery sent
as a birthday gift to Ida, but for which Dr. Crawford paid. One of Lord
Carnelly's first acts on becoming possessed of the means was to make
the gift a real one, by repaying to his brother-in-law the amount of
the jeweller's bill. It was not likely that the doctor would ever spoil
Ida's pleasure in the possession of the ornaments by telling her one
passage in their history.
Need it be told that, on the actual payment of her little fortune,
Mrs. Crawford at once insisted that the doctor should engage another
assistant?
"You work far too hard now, Andrew," she said. "I am not a clever
woman of business, but I doubt whether your doing without competent
professional help effects a real saving. Your practice occupies your
whole time, so it would be impossible for you to extend it without
another assistant. You need have no fear that I shall break out into
any extravagances, though my little fortune has become a reality
instead of a myth."
Dr. Crawford agreed that there was something in what Ida said. He had
lately doubted whether he had begun his scheme of domestic retrenchment
in the right direction. There could be no true economy in overtaxing
his strength, and, at the same time, unnecessarily limiting his
practice. The doctor therefore announced his intention of filling up
the post vacated by Mr. Soames, and was a good deal surprised when Mr.
Carnally applied for it.
"You cannot be in earnest," he said. "For a man of your means to fill
such a position would be an anomaly."
"In one sense it would, but not in another. I am a fully qualified
medical man, and have had some experience, though not within the last
three years. I can produce testimonials which would, I think, satisfy
you; and as to salary, I care nothing," replied Mr. Carnelly.
"But I do," responded the doctor. "Whoever I engage as my assistant
will have to be fit for the work, and to take his full share of it, as
well as the remuneration. It is too absurd to think of your filling the
post of medical assistant. If you cared for your profession, why did
you give it up?"
"I had two reasons. The one was, that I did not wish to be tied to any
particular locality, as I had then travelled very little, and I wanted
to see something of other countries. Since then, I have had above two
years of travel—enough for the present. Is not this satisfactory?"
"Perfectly. Now for your second," said the doctor.
"That I thought it scarcely right, seeing there were so many men
struggling to get into practice, for me to enter the arena against
them, when I had such abundant means of my own. In my travels, however,
I strove to increase my professional information, and I believe I have
gained, instead of losing, by my wandering and apparently lazy life."
The doctor shook his head.
"The second reason for not practising on your own account holds good
to-day, unless you have become poorer," he said.
"I almost regret to say that I am richer, for my tastes are too simple
to allow of a large expenditure upon myself. You want to know how it is
that I am now anxious to become your assistant. It is principally that
I may convince a—a person, who, I fear, considers me a very useless
individual, that I am capable of steady and continuous effort in the
service of my fellow-creatures. I might not desire to keep the post for
a very long time. I daresay twelve months would suffice."
The doctor's face assumed an expression of intelligence and amusement.
"Would it be forcing your confidence if I ventured to ask, 'Is the
person a young lady?'"
The colour which overspread Mr. Carnelly's brow vied with that which
Grace Steyne could display upon occasion, as he answered, "It is."
"I will not suggest any name," said Dr. Crawford, "but I think it
would be quite possible for you to convince her of her mistake without
taking a place as medical assistant. I will be very frank with you,
Mr. Carnelly. I will not accept your offer, but I hope to convince
you that I am equally your friend in refusing it. I feel sure you
would wish me to forget everything but the fact that you had engaged
to fulfil certain duties, and I have not the smallest doubt of your
ability, or that we should work well together. But there are men who
need the salary that would be nothing to you, and the experience they
would gain under an older medical man. Besides, you say you would not
wish to remain here above twelve months. With such a prospect, ought I
to introduce you to my patients, and accustom them to your attendance?
People do not like strange faces by sick-beds, and object to frequent
changes."
"You are right; it would be a mistake for you to engage me," said Mr.
Carnelly.
Nevertheless he looked as much disappointed as if his livelihood had
depended on gaining the post.
When this conversation took place, Mr. Carnelly had paid several visits
to Steynes-Cote, where Grace Steyne was still a guest. Hillstead Magna
and Shelverton being within a short railway ride on a main line, and
with plenty of trains, what could be more easy than for him to keep up
friendly relations with his newly-found kinswoman, Mrs. Crawford?
Those who wish to find excuses are never at a loss, and Mr. Carnelly
was constantly running over, always with some excellent reason for
taking the journey. The small people in the Steynes-Cote nursery
invariably set up a shout of welcome as they caught sight of him; and
but for the peremptory interference of their mother, that apartment
would soon have been blocked by the toys with which he came laden
almost daily.
"Cousin David" was equally a favourite with Mrs. Crawford, and
speedily won the good-will of Mrs. Prattely, whose acquaintance he had
made. This good lady was very fond of expatiating on Grace Steyne's
excellences, and on one occasion she remarked enthusiastically, "What a
wife she would make for a poor man!"
Mr. Carnelly replied, with commendable promptitude, "Why not for a
rich one? Should not the girl who bravely bears a heavy weight of
responsibility in her youth have a lighter burden as she grows older?"
"Grace deserves to have," said Mrs. Prattely; "but she is a born
worker, and will always take a full share of whatever her hand finds to
do."
From which remarks it is not difficult to guess the tendency of Mr.
Carnelly's thoughts.
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