TWENTY THOUSAND POUNDS.
HERMIONE was not in the library when the will was read. Somehow she
could not make up her mind to it.
As they drove home she grew paler, and the tearless eyes had
a strained look. If Harry had seen her then, the severity of his
judgment on her want of feeling would surely have relaxed. When
Harvey handed her out she gave a bewildered glance round as if
suddenly missing something. Did she only then begin in very truth
to realise her loss?
"Must I come too? Is it necessary?" she asked of Mr. Fitzalan in her
gentle voice, when a move was made to the library; and without
waiting for an answer she added, "I should like to go to my own room.
You can tell me afterwards anything that I ought to know." Before he
could protest she had glided away.
The library interview came to an end, and all, with the exception
of Hermione, knew the state of affairs. It seemed a strange state,
considering Mr. Dalrymple's great love for Hermione.
For everything came to Harvey—everything without exception, beyond
a few small legacies. The will had been made and signed twenty years
earlier, before the birth of Hermione, and while Harvey's father was
living. The bulk of Mr. Dalrymple's possessions had been then left
to his only brother's son, Henry Dalrymple, and to his heirs—Henry's
son, Harvey, being the next heir. Later codicils named the sum of one
hundred pounds for Harry Fitzalan, and various lesser legacies for
old friends and retainers, but nothing touched the original
arrangement. Hermione was not so much as mentioned.
"Inexplicable! extraordinary!" Harvey said more than once, when
talking afterwards in subdued tones with Mr. Fitzalan, and with the
lawyer, Mr. Selwyn; yet he was not without a secret clue to an
explanation.
"Mr. Dalrymple's fixed intention has been to make ample provision
for Miss Rivers," Mr. Selwyn said. "I happen to be well aware of this
fact. He spoke of the intention repeatedly, delaying only until your
return."
"Why should he have delayed?"
Mr. Selwyn bent his head slightly.
"It was a fancy of Mr. Dalrymple's—I can hardly give a more weighty
name to his reason—an old man's fancy. I have used influence to bring
about an immediate settlement, but without result. He always insisted
that there was no need for haste, that a few months more or less
could not signify; and he appeared to live in a constant expectation
of your coming. In a man of his good sense and good business habits,
this procrastination has been the more singular."
"And Hermione has nothing of her own?" Mr. Fitzalan observed.
"Not much. About one hundred and twenty pounds per annum, the amount
which was settled upon her mother. Unfortunately, the remainder
of Hermione Dalrymple's marriage portion lay at her husband's
discretion—and William Rivers made short work with that, as with
everything else that he possessed."
"Miss Dalrymple was averse to any larger settlement on herself,"
said Mr. Fitzalan.
"Yes—woman-like, trusting one who was not worthy of her trust.
Mr. Dalrymple yielded to her wishes—weakly, I have always thought.
Her child is the loser now, though not according to her wish
or intention."
"I only wish I had come home sooner," Harvey almost said, but somehow
he changed the sentence into— "I wish Hermione had been present.
How can one tell her?"
Mr. Fitzalan wondered silently— "Will not Harvey feel bound to carry
out his uncle's intentions?" The same thought was in Mr. Selwyn's
mind, less hopefully couched. The lawyer had perhaps seen even more
than the clergyman of the money-loving side of human nature,
and he knew from experience how gold-greed is apt to grow with
gold-possession. Moreover, both were well acquainted with the mental
indolence which made Harvey slow in arriving at any practical
decision.
Mr. Selwyn drew a letter from his pocket, and handed it to Harvey—
an opened envelope, addressed to himself. "I think you ought to see
this," he said. "I received it by the morning post on Monday."
The sheet within was written upon as follows, in a tremulous hand:—
"WESTFORD HALL, Saturday evening."
"DEAR MR. SELWYN,—Can you spend Monday night
here? I wish for some conversation with you.
My nephew has returned, and will remain
until Tuesday. He is lately married."
"I have resolved to settle the sum of
twenty thousand pounds upon my grandchild,
Hermione, at once."
"Pray telegraph an answer. I have acted
reprehensibly in delaying so long, and
I am impatient to have everything in train.—"
"Yours sincerely,"
"GILBERT DALRYMPLE."
Harvey read the letter twice, and gave it back without comment.
"I telegraphed, as you know, to say that I would come," observed Mr.
Selwyn. "The answering telegram from Miss Rivers, probably sent by
yourself in her name, acquainted me with what had unhappily
occurred."
"No; I heard nothing of any telegram," Harvey said, in a tone
of surprise.
"Then Miss Rivers acted independently. She is quite capable
of standing alone. A clever girl, with remarkable self-command."
"The sum named in that note would have been a heavy drag on the
estate," Harvey said gravely, as if to quash any hopes for Hermione
which the other might entertain.
"Possibly; but it was the amount which lay at Mr. Dalrymple's
own disposal—which it may be he has always destined for Miss Rivers—
unless—"
Mr. Selwyn left his sentence unfinished, and Harvey made
no inquiries.
It was of course needful that the true condition of affairs should be
revealed to Hermione, but nobody was anxious to undertake the task,
and Hermione was long in reappearing. Mr. Fitzalan had to depart,
on account of another engagement; and Mr. Selwyn was compelled
to catch a certain train to London from a similar reason. Therefore,
when Hermione did at length come downstairs, Harvey alone was
at hand.
He could not make up his mind to go into the question with her.
Harvey always shirked disagreeable duties if possible, and this duty
seemed to him especially disagreeable.
No doubt there lay lurking at the back of his disinclination
a distinct consciousness of what would be expected of him. He did not
suppose for a moment that Mr. Selwyn would publish the fact of the
twenty thousand pounds which might have been Hermione's. Probably no
living person except himself and Mr. Selwyn would know it. The letter
had not been shown even to Mr. Fitzalan, seated in the same room
with themselves. But everybody would be aware that Mr. Dalrymple
had not intended to leave his darling portionless.
It would have been an easy thing for Harvey to say to his cousin,
"Hermione, your grandfather meant to make ample provision for you,
and as he has been taken away before carrying out his intention,
I will do it instead."
The difficulty in the way of such a speech was that Harvey had not
made up his mind. He meant to do something, certainly, but the
question was—what?—how much?
He would consider the matter, would perhaps consult Julia. Apart from
the specified twenty thousand pounds, "ample provision" could mean
no paltry sum. And the estate was not one which would endure
unlimited demands. Harvey had been a degree disappointed at the
income which would be his. He had expected more.
Not that he was an avaricious man in the bold sense of the world.
He was simply a man who valued money for what it would buy, who liked
to get and to have whatever ministered to his comfort or pleased his
fancy, who never could be happy with less than the best of
everything. This of necessity means the command of considerable
wealth. Harvey would do any kindness to anybody, so long as it was
not too much trouble—Mr. Fitzalan had spoken thus of him truly—
but his own needs were always first supplied, and his own wishes
might never go unfulfilled. The word "self-denial" did not exist
in Harvey's vocabulary. He would now have Hermione on his hands,
besides his wife's relatives. These things had to be weighed in the
scale. While Mr. Dalrymple yet lived, he had of course the right
to settle what he chose of his own upon Hermione; but Harvey counted
twenty thousand pounds an unduly large amount, considering the heavy
expenses involved in the keeping up of Westford estate—an amount
so large that it really seemed as if the old man's mind must have
been a good deal weakened before he could arrive at so startling
a decision.
This was a comfortable view of the question for Harvey, helping him
to shake off the incubus of the private letter to Mr. Selwyn,
together with the feeling that in some measure he might be counted
morally bound to carry out his uncle's intention. Legally of course
he was free. The law could not touch him. But there is a moral side
to everything as well as a legal side, and the question of right and
wrong thrust itself obtrusively before Harvey's averted gaze,
insisting on being seen whether he would or no.
Well, and he meant to do his duty, of course—who could doubt it?—his
duty as a gentleman and a man of honour. Opinions might differ as to
what constituted his duty, as to what was for him "the right," and
there he must be permitted to decide for himself. Certainly he did
not intend to subtract twenty thousand pounds from the estate,
neither would Mr. Dalrymple have contemplated any such step but for
the weakness of old age. Harvey very soon regarded this as a settled
truth. But he meant to make "ample provision" for his young cousin.
If "ample provision" for Hermione should imply a call for the
curtailing of his own expenditure—
No, Harvey declined to face that question. It was easy to take refuge
in vagueness and delay. He would do all that duty and kindness
demanded of him. He had not the smallest intention of curtailing his
own expenditure for Hermione's sake or anybody's sake. But people
seldom say definitely, "I will do what is wrong." It is always
a roundabout road which leads to this goal. Harvey only told himself
that he would "think," and then he tried as much as possible to drive
thought away.
Hermione seemed scarcely to have begun to realise her own position,
or to look forward. It was not till late in the evening that she
remarked, as if casually, "Are you going back to Paris?"
"For a short time—a month or so," he said, seizing on the
opportunity. "You know that the Fitzalans have kindly asked you
to the Rectory until we can come."
"Mr. Fitzalan spoke of it," she said doubtfully. Her eyes were
a little heavy, as if from tear-shedding, but her manner was
composed.
"It will be best. You cannot stay here alone, and the break will be
a good thing."
She said slowly, "You are willing to come now—when he—and all those
years—"
"I don't know about being willing. I like the Continent best. But of
course we shall have to spend part of the year at Westford." Hermione
made no answer, and he felt himself impelled to add, "You know about
the entail."
"Yes."
Hermione stood up, as if to move away, and Harvey said, "I think
we ought to settle something. Julia will be expecting me."
"Why do you stay away from her?"
"I must know what day you can go to the Rectory before I can settle
anything. Of course your home will be with us now, Hermione."
She did not thank him, but said simply, "When you are at Westford."
"I hope—always. It would have been his wish for you."
Hermione went away, offering no response. "Impracticable girl!"
he muttered impatiently. She might almost have heard the words.
At the door she lingered to say, "Mr. Fitzalan asked me to go to the
Rectory to-morrow. You can arrange what you like about your own
plans."