THE LAST OF MR. GREY.
"I have put in my last appearance at the old chamber in Lincoln's Inn
Fields," said Mr. Grey, on arriving home one day early in June.
"Papa, you don't mean it!" said Dolly.
"I do. Why not one day as well as another? I have made up my mind that
it is to be so. I have been thinking of it for the last six weeks. It is
done now."
"But you have not told me."
"Well, yes; I have told you all that was necessary. It has come now a
little sudden, that is all."
"You will never go back again?"
"Well, I may look in. Mr. Barry will be lord and master."
"At any rate he won't be my lord and master!" said Dolly, showing by the
tone of her voice that the matter had been again discussed by them since
the last conversation which was recorded, and had been settled to her
father's satisfaction.
"No;--you at least will be left to me. But the fact is, I cannot have any
farther dealings with the affairs of Mr. Scarborough. The old man who is
dead was too many for me. Though I call him old, he was ever so much
younger than I am. Barry says he was the best lawyer he ever knew. As
things go now a man has to be accounted a fool if he attempts to run
straight. Barry does not tell me that I have been a fool, but he clearly
thinks so."
"Do you care what Mr. Barry thinks or says?"
"Yes, I do,--in regard to the professional position which I hold. He is
confident that Mountjoy Scarborough is his father's eldest legitimate
son, and he believes that the old squire simply was anxious to supersede
him to get some cheap arrangement made as to his debts."
"I supposed that was the case before."
"But what am I to think of such a man? Mr. Barry speaks of him almost
with affection. How am I to get on with such a man as Mr. Barry?"
"He himself is honest."
"Well;--yes, I believe so. But he does not hate the absolute utter
roguery of our own client. And that is not quite all. When the story of
the Rummelsburg marriage was told I did not believe one word of it, and
I said so most strongly. I did not at first believe the story that there
had been no such marriage, and I swore to Mr. Scarborough that I would
protect Mountjoy and Mountjoy's creditors against any such scheme as
that which was intended. Then I was convinced. All the details of the
Nice marriage were laid before me. It was manifest that the lady had
submitted to be married in a public manner and with all regular forms,
while she had a baby, as it were, in her arms. And I got all the dates.
Taking that marriage for granted, Mountjoy was clearly illegitimate, and
I was driven so to confess. Then I took up arms on behalf of Augustus.
Augustus was a thoroughly bad fellow,--a bully and a tyrant; but he was
the eldest son. Then came the question of paying the debts. I thought
it a very good thing that the debts should be payed in the proposed
fashion. The men were all to get the money they had actually lent, and
no better arrangement seemed to be probable. I helped in that, feeling
that it was all right. But it was a swindle that I was made to assist
in. Of course it was a swindle, if the Rummelsburg marriage be true, and
all these creditors think that I have been a party to it. Then I swore
that I wouldn't believe the Rummelsburg marriage. But Barry and the rest
of them only shake their heads and laugh, and I am told that Mr.
Scarborough was the best lawyer among us!"
"What does it matter? How can that hurt you?" asked Dolly.
"It does hurt me;--that is the truth. I have been at my business long
enough. Another system has grown up which does not suit me. I feel that
they all can put their fingers in my eyes. It may be that I am a fool,
and that my idea of honesty is a mistake."
"No!" shouted Dolly.
"I heard of a rich American the other day who had been poor, and was
asked how he had suddenly become so well off. 'I found a partner,' said
the American, 'and we went into business together. He had the capital
and I had the experience. We just made a change. He has the experience
now and I have the capital.' When I knew that story I went to strip his
coat off the wretch's back; but Mr. Barry would give him a fine fur
cloak as a mark of respect. When I find that clever rascals are
respectable, I think it is time that I should give up work altogether."
Thus it was that Mr. Grey left the house of Grey & Barry, driven to
premature retirement by the vices, or rather frauds, of old Mr.
Scarborough. When Augustus went to work, which he did immediately on his
father's death, to wrest the property from the hands of his brother,--or
what part of the property might be possible,--Mr. Grey absolutely
declined to have anything to do with the case. Mr. Barry explained how
impossible it was that the house, even for its own sake, should
absolutely secede from all consideration of the question. Mountjoy had
been left in possession, and, according to all the evidence now before
them, was the true owner. Of course he would want a lawyer, and, as Mr.
Barry said, would be very well able to pay for what he wanted. It was
necessary that the firm should protect themselves against the
vindictiveness of Mr. Tyrrwhit and Samuel Hart. Should the firm fail to
do so, it would leave itself open to all manner of evil calumnies. The
firm had been so long employed on behalf of the Scarboroughs that now,
when the old squire was dead, it could not afford to relinquish the
business till this final great question had been settled. It was
necessary, as Mr. Barry said, that they should see it out, Mr. Barry
taking a much more leading part in these discussions than had been his
wont. Consequently Mr. Grey had told him that he might do it himself,
and Mr. Barry had been quite contented. Mr. Barry, in talking the matter
over with one of the clerks, whom he afterward took into partnership,
expressed his opinion that "poor old Grey was altogether off the hooks."
"Old Grey" had always been Mr. Grey when spoken of by Mr. Barry till
that day, and the clerk remarking this, left Mr. Grey's bell unanswered
for three or four minutes. Mr. Grey, though he was quite willing to
shelf himself, understood it all, and knocked them about in the chambers
that afternoon with unwonted severity. He said nothing about it when he
came home that evening: but the next day was the last on which he took
his accustomed chair.
"What will you do with yourself, papa?" Dolly said to him the next
morning.
"Do with myself?"
"What employment will you take in hand? One has to think of that, and to
live accordingly. If you would like to turn farmer, we must live in the
country."
"Certainly I shall not do that. I need not absolutely throw away what
money I have saved."
"Or if you were fond of shooting or hunting?"
"You know very well I never shot a bird, and hardly ever crossed a horse
in my life."
"But you are fond of gardening."
"Haven't I got garden enough here?"
"Quite enough, if you think so; but will there be occupation sufficient
in that to find you employment for all your life?"
"I shall read."
"It seems to me," she said, "that reading becomes wearisome as an only
pursuit, unless you've made yourself accustomed to it."
"Sha'n't I have as much employment as you?"
"A woman is so different! Darning will get through an unlimited number
of hours. A new set of underclothing will occupy me for a fortnight.
Turning the big girl's dresses over there into frocks for the little
girls is sufficient to keep my mind in employment for a month. Then I
have the maid-servants to look after, and to guard against their lovers.
I have the dinners to provide, and to see that the cook does not give
the fragments to the policeman. I have been brought up to do these
things, and habit has made them usual occupations to me. I never envied
you when you had to encounter all Mr. Scarborough's vagaries; but I knew
that they sufficed to give you something to do."
"They have sufficed," said he, "to leave me without anything that I can
do."
"You must not allow yourself to be so left. You must find out some
employment." Then they sat silent for a time, while Mr. Grey occupied
himself with some of the numerous papers which it would be necessary
that he should hand over to Mr. Barry. "And now," said Dolly, "Mr.
Carroll will have gone out, and I will go over to the Terrace. I have to
see them every day, and Mr. Carroll has the decency to take himself off
to some billiard-table so as to make room for me."
"What are they doing about that man?" said Mr. Grey.
"About the lover? Mr. Juniper has, I fancy, made himself extremely
disagreeable, not satisfying himself with abusing you and me, but poor
aunt as well, and all the girls. He has, I fancy, got some money of his
own."
"He has had money paid to him by Captain Scarborough; but that I should
fancy would rather make him in a good humor than the reverse."
"He is only in a good humor, I take it, when he has something to get.
However, I must be off now, or the legitimate period of Uncle Carroll's
absence will be over."
Mr. Grey, when he was left alone, at once gave up the manipulation of
his papers, and, throwing himself back into his chair, began to think of
that future life of which he had talked so easily to his daughter. What
should he do with himself? He believed that he could manage with his
books for two hours a day; but even of that he was not sure. He much
doubted whether for many years past the time devoted to reading in his
own house had amounted to one hour a day. He thought that he could
employ himself in the garden for two hours; but that would fail him when
there should be hail, or fierce sunshine, or frost, or snow, or rain.
Eating and drinking would be much to him; but he could not but look
forward to self-reproach if eating and drinking were to be the joy of
his life. Then he thought of Dolly's life,--how much purer and better and
nobler it had been than his own. She talked in a slighting, careless
tone of her usual day's work, but how much of her time had been occupied
in doing the tasks of others? He knew well that she disliked the
Carrolls. She would speak of her own dislike of them as of her great
sin, of which it was necessary that she should repent in sackcloth and
ashes.
But yet how she worked for the family! turning old dresses into new
frocks, as though the girls who had worn them, and the children who were
to wear them, had been to her her dearest friends. Every day she went
across to the house intent upon doing good offices; and this was the
repentance in sackcloth and ashes which she exacted from herself. Could
not he do as she did? He could not darn Minnie's and Brenda's stockings,
but he might do something to make those children more worthy of their
cousin's care. He could not associate with his brother-in-law, because
he was sure that Mr. Carroll would not endure his society; but he might
labor to do something for the reform even of this abominable man. Before
Dolly had come back to him he had resolved that he could only redeem his
life from the stagnation with which it was threatened by working for
others, now that the work of his own life had come to a close. "Well,
Dolly," he said, as soon as she had entered the room, "have you heard
any thing more about Mr. Juniper?"
"Have you been here ever since, papa?"
"Yes, indeed; I used to sit at chambers for six or seven hours at a
stretch, almost without getting out of my chair."
"And are you still employed about those awful papers?"
"I have not looked at them since you left the room."
"Then you must have been asleep."
"No, indeed; I have not been asleep. You left me too much to think of to
enable me to sleep. What am I to do with myself besides eating and
drinking, so that I shall not sleep always on this side of the grave?"
"There are twenty things, papa,--thirty, fifty, for a man so minded as
you are." This she said trying to comfort him.
"I must endeavor to find one or two of the fifty." Then he went back to
his papers, and really worked hard on that day.
On the following morning, early, he went across to Bolsover Terrace, to
begin his task of reproving the Carroll family, without saying a word to
Dolly indicative of his purpose.
He found that the task would be difficult, and as he went he considered
within his mind how best it might be accomplished. He had put a
prayer-book in his pocket, without giving it much thought; but before he
knocked at the door he had assured himself that the prayer-book would
not be of avail. He would not know how to begin to use it, and felt that
it would be ridiculed. He must leave that to Dolly or to the clergyman.
He could talk to the girls; but they would not care about the affairs of
the firm; and, in truth, he did not know what they would care about.
With Dolly he could hold sweet converse as long as she would remain with
him. But he had been present at the bringing up of Dolly, and did think
that gifts had been given to Dolly which had not fallen to the lot of
the Carroll girls. "They all want to be married," he said to himself,
"and that at any rate is a legitimate desire."
With this he knocked at the door, and when it was opened by Sophia, he
found an old gentleman with black cotton gloves and a doubtful white
cravat just preparing for his departure. There was Amelia, then giving
him his hat, and looking as pure and proper as though she had never been
winked at by Prince Chitakov. Then the mother came through from the
parlor into the passage. "Oh, John! how very kind of you to come. Mr.
Matterson, pray let me introduce you to my brother, Mr. Grey. John, this
is the Rev. Mr. Matterson, a clergyman who is a very intimate friend of
Amelia."
"Me, ma! Why me in particular?"
"Well, my dear, because it is so. I suppose it is so because Mr.
Matterson likes you the best."
"Laws, ma; what nonsense!" Mr. Matterson appeared to be a very shy
gentleman, and only anxious to escape from the hall-door. But Mr. Grey
remembered that in former days, before the coming of Mr. Juniper upon
the scene, he had heard of a clerical admirer. He had been told that the
gentleman's name was Matterson, that he was not very young nor very
rich, that he had five or six children, and that he could afford to
marry if the wife could bring with her about one hundred pounds a year.
He had not then thought much of Mr. Matterson, and no direct appeal had
been made to him. After that Mr. Juniper had come forward, and then Mr.
Juniper had been altogether abolished. But it occurred to Mr. Grey that
Mr. Matterson was at any rate better than Mr. Juniper; that he was by
profession a gentleman, and that there might be a beginning of those
good deeds by which he was anxious to make the evening of his days
bearable to himself.
"I am delighted to make Mr. Matterson's acquaintance," he said, as that
old gentleman scrambled out of the door.
Then his sister took him by the arm and led him at once into the parlor.
"You might as well come and hear what I have to say, Amelia." So the
daughter followed them in. "He is the most praiseworthy gentleman you
ever knew, John," began Mrs. Carroll.
"A clergyman, I think?"
"Oh yes; he is in orders,--in priest's orders," said Mrs. Carroll,
meaning to make the most of Mr. Matterson. "He has a church over at
Putney."
"I am glad of that," said Mr. Grey.
"Yes, indeed; though it isn't very good, because it's only a curate's
one hundred and fifty pounds. Yes; he does have one hundred and fifty
pounds, and something out of the surplice fees."
"Another one hundred pounds I believe it is," said Amelia.
"Not quite so much as that, my dear, but it is something."
"He is a widower with children, I believe?" said Mr. Grey.
"There are children--five of them; the prettiest little dears one ever
saw. The eldest is just about thirteen." This was a fib, because Mrs.
Carroll knew that the eldest boy was sixteen; but what did it signify?
"Amelia is so warmly attached to them."
"It is a settled thing, then?"
"We hope so. It cannot be said to be quite settled, because there are
always money difficulties. Poor Mr. Matterson must have some increase to
his income before he can afford it."
"Ah, yes!"
"You did say something, uncle, about five hundred pounds," said Amelia.
"Four hundred and fifty, my dear," said Mr. Grey.
"Oh, I had forgotten. I did say that I hoped there would be five
hundred."
"There shall be five hundred," said Mr. Grey, remembering that now had
come the time for doing to one of the Carroll family the good things of
which he had thought to himself. "As Mr. Matterson is a clergyman of
whom I have heard nothing but good, it shall be five hundred." He had in
truth heard nothing either good or bad respecting Mr. Matterson.
Then he asked Amelia to take a walk with him as he went home, reflecting
that now had come the time in which a little wholesome conversation
might have its effect. And an idea entered his head that in his old age
an acquaintance with a neighboring clergyman might be salutary to
himself. So Amelia got her bonnet and walked home with him.
"Is he an eloquent preacher, my dear?" But Amelia had never heard him
preach. "I suppose there will be plenty for you to do in your new home."
"I don't mean to be put upon, if you mean that, uncle."
"But five children!"
"There is a servant who looks after them. Of course I shall have to see
to Mr. Matterson's own things, but I have told him I cannot slave for
them all. The three eldest have to be sent somewhere; that has been
agreed upon. He has got an unmarried sister who can quite afford to do
as much as that." Then she explained her reasons for the marriage. "Papa
is getting quite unbearable, and Sophy spoils him in everything."
Poor Mr. Grey, when his niece turned and went back home, thought that,
as far as the girl was concerned, or her future household, there would
be very little room for employment for him. Mr. Matterson wanted an
upper servant who instead of demanding wages, would bring a little money
with her, and he could not but feel that the poor clergyman would find
that he had taken into his house a bad and expensive upper servant.
"Never mind, papa," said Dolly, "we will go on and persevere, and if we
intend to do good, good will come of it."