by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XXII.--RIGHT IS RIGHT.
When Rupert Lovel and his boy left the gloomy lodgings where Rachel'sand Kitty's mother was spending a few days, they went home in absolutesilence. The minds of both were so absorbed that they did not care tospeak. Young Rupert was a precocious lad, old and manly beyond hisyears. Little Phil scarcely exaggerated when he drew glowing pictures ofthis fine lad. The boy was naturally brave, naturally strong, and allthe circumstances of his bringing-up had fostered these qualities. Hishad been no easy, bread-and-butter existence. He had scarcely knownpoverty, for his father had been well off almost from his birth; but hehad often come in contact with danger, and latterly sorrow had met him.He loved his mother passionately; even now he could scarcely speak ofher without a perceptible faltering in his voice, without a dimnesssoftening the light of his bright eagle eyes. Rupert at fifteen was inall respects some years older than an English boy of the same age. Itwould have struck any parent or guardian as rather ridiculous to sendthis active, clever, well-informed lad to school. The fact was, he hadbeen to Nature's school to some purpose, and had learned deeply fromthis most wonderful of all teachers.
When Rupert and his father reached the hotel in Jermyn Street where theywere staying, the boy looked the man full in the face and broke thesilence with these words:
"Now, father, is it worth it?"
"Is it worth what, my son?"
"You know, father. After hearing that lady talk I don't want Avonsyde."
The elder Lovel frowned. He was silent for a moment; then he laid hishand on the boy's shoulder.
"Look me in the face, lad, and answer me a question."
"Yes, father."
"Do you trust me?"
"Why, of course. Can you doubt it?"
"Then go to bed and to sleep, and believe that nothing shall be donewhich in the slightest degree shall tarnish your honor. Go to bed, boy,and sleep peacefully, but just put one thought under your pillow. Rightis right and wrong is wrong. It sometimes so happens, Rupert, that it isnot the right and best thing to be simply magnanimous."
Rupert smiled.
"I am quite certain you will decide as my mother would have liked best,sir," he said, and then he took his candle and left the room.
The greater part of the night the elder Lovel sat up. Early the nextmorning he paid the family lawyers a visit.
"I have made up my mind, Mr. Baring," he said to the younger of thesegentlemen. "For the next few months I shall remain in England, but Ishall not bring my son forward as an heir to the Avonsyde property untilI can claim for him unbroken and direct descent. As I told youyesterday, there are two unexpected obstacles in my way. I havesustained a loss--I don't know how. An old tankard and a parcel ofvaluable letters cannot be found. I am not leaving a stone unturned torecover them. When I can lay my hand on the tankard and when, even moreimportant, I can produce the letters, I can show you by an unbrokenchain of evidence that my boy is the eldest son of the eldest son indirect descent. I make no claim until I make all claim, Mr. Baring."
"I have to-day had a letter from the old ladies at Avonsyde," answeredMr. Baring. "They seem pleased with the boy who is at present claimingthe property. From the tone of Miss Griselda's letter, I should judgethat if your boy does not put in his appearance the child who is atpresent at Avonsyde will be publicly recognized as the heir. Even apublic recognition does not really interfere with your son if you canprove his title; but undoubtedly it will be best for all parties thatyou should make your claim before the other child is put into a falseposition."
"When do you anticipate that the old ladies will absolutely decide?"
"They name a date--the 5th of May."
"I think I can promise one thing: after the 5th of May neither Rupertnor I will interfere. We make claim before or on that date, notafterward. The fact is, we know something of the child who is now atAvonsyde."
Mr. Lovel, after enjoining absolute secrecy on the lawyers, went hisway, and that evening had a long interview with Mrs. Lovel.
"I fear," he said in conclusion, "that in no case would your girls comeinto the place, except indeed under certain conditions."
"What are they?" asked Mrs. Lovel.
"That we find neither tankard nor letters and in consequence do not makeour claim, and that little Philip Lovel dies."
"Is he so ill as that?"
"He is physically unsound. The best doctors in Melbourne have examinedhim and do not believe he will live to manhood. His mother comes of anunhealthy family, and the boy takes after her physically--not mentally,thank God!"
"Poor little Phil! He has a wonderfully sweet face."
"He has the bravest nature I ever met. My boy and girls would almost diefor Phil. The fact is, all this is most complicated and difficult, andmuch of the mischief would have been avoided if only that wretchedsister-in-law of mine had been above-board."
"Yes," answered Mrs. Lovel; "but even her stealing a march on you doesnot give you back the tankard nor the letter."
"True; and I don't suppose even she could have stolen them. Well,Rachel, we must all hope for the best."
* * * * *
"If there is a thing that worries me," said Nancy White to herself--"ifthere is a thing that keeps coming and coming into my dreams and gettingthat fantastic and that queer in shape--one time being big enough to holdquarts and quarts of water, and another time so small that you'd thinkit would melt before your very eyes--it's this wretched silver can. It'sin my mind all day long and it's in my dreams all night long. There! Iwonder if the bit of a thing is bright enough now."
As Nancy spoke to herself she rubbed and polished and turned round andround and tenderly dusted the lost tankard of the house of Lovel untilit really shone like a mirror.
"It takes a deal of trouble, and I'm sure it isn't worth it," she saidto herself. "I just kept it more out of a bit of mischief than anythingelse in the beginning; but it just seems to me now as if I hated it, andyet I couldn't part with it. I believe it's a bit of a haunted thing, orit wouldn't come into my dreams after this fashion."
Nancy kept the tankard up in her bedroom. After giving it a last fondrub and looking at it queerly with an expression half of admiration,half of fear, she locked it up in a little cupboard in the wall andtripped downstairs to attend to her mistress' comforts.
Mrs. Lovel kept no secrets from her old servant, and Nancy knew abouther mistress' adventures in London and her unexpected meeting with thefriend of her early days, Rupert Lovel. Still, Nancy had a shrewdsuspicion that not quite all was told her; she had a kind of idea thatthere was something in the background.
"It comes over me," she said to herself--"it comes over me that unless I,Nancy White, am as sharp as sharp and as cunning as cunning, my missusand my young ladies will be done. What is it that the missus is keepingin the back of her head to make her look that dreamy, and that wistful,and that despairing, and yet that hopeful? My word, if I haven't seenher smile as if she was almost glad once or twice. Poor dear! maybe sheknows as that little delicate chap can't be the heir; and as to theothers--the old gentleman and the fine young lad from the other side ofthe earth--why, if they have a claim to make, why don't they make it? Andif they don't make it, then, say I, it's because they can't. Well, now,anything is better than suspense, and I'll question my missus on thatvery point straight away."
Accordingly, when Nancy had arranged the tea-tray in the most temptingposition and stirred the fire into the cheeriest blaze, she knelt downbefore it and began to make some crisp and delicious toast. Nancy knewthat Mrs. Lovel had a weakness for the toast she made, and she also knewthat such an employment was very favorable to confidential conversation.
"Well, ma'am," she said suddenly, having coughed once or twice and gonethrough one or two other little maneuvers to attract attention--"well,ma'am, I wants to have my mind eased on a certain point. Is it, ma'am,or is it not the case that the old gentleman from Australia means to doyou a mischief?"
"Wha
t do you mean, Nancy?" exclaimed Mrs. Lovel, laying down the lacewhich she was embroidering and gazing at her old servant in someastonishment. "The old gentleman from Australia? Why, Rupert Lovelcannot be more than forty. He is a man in his prime, splendidly strong;and as to his doing me a mischief, I believe, you silly old woman, thathe is one of my best friends."
"The proof of the pudding is in the eating," snorted Nancy. "You'llexcuse me, ma'am, but I'd like to prove that by his actions. He meansthat young son of his to get possession of Avonsyde--don't he, ma'am?"
"His son is the real heir, Nancy. Dear Nancy, I wish to say something. Imust not be covetous for my little girls. If the real and lawful heirturns up I have not a word to say. Nay, more, I think if I can be gladon this subject I am glad that he should turn out to be the son of myearly and oldest friend."
"Oh, yes, ma'am, I'm not a bit surprised about you. Bother that toast,how it will burn! It's just like you, ma'am, to give up everything forsix blessed years, and to have your heart well-nigh broke and your pooreyes dimmed with crying, and then in the end, when the cup that you havebeen so longing for is almost to your lips, to give up everything againand to be glad into the bargain. That's just like you, ma'am; but,you'll excuse me, it ain't like Nancy White, and if you can be glad inthe prospect of seeing your children beggared, I can't; so there!"
"Dear Nancy," said Mrs. Lovel, laying her hand on the old servant'sshoulder, "how am I to help myself? Both might and right are against me.Had I not better submit to the inevitable with a good grace?"
"That bonny little Miss Rachel," continued Nancy, "don't I see her now,with her eyes flashing as she looked up at me and that fine, imperiousway she had, and 'tell the lady to wear my ring, Nancy,' says she,'andtell her that I love her,' says she."
"Little darling," whispered the mother, and raising her hand she presseda tiny ring which she wore to her lips.
"Miss Rachel isn't meant for poverty," continued Nancy, "and what'smore, I'm very sure Miss Kitty isn't either; so, ma'am, I'd like to besure whether they are to have it or not; and a question I'd dearly liketo have answered is this: If the middle-aged man, Mr. Rupert Lovel, andhis son have a claim to Avonsyde, why don't they make it? Anything isbetter than suspense, say I. Why don't we know the worst and have donewith it?"
"Why, Nancy, I thought I had told you everything. Mr. Lovel won't make aclaim until he can make a perfect claim. The fact is, some of hiscredentials are lost."
"The toast is done, ma'am. May I make bold to ask what you mean by that?You had better eat your toast while it is hot and crisp, Mrs. Lovel. Thegood gentleman from Australia hasn't to go to the old ladies with acharacter in his hand, like a servant looking for a situation?"
"No, no. Nancy; but he has to bring letters and other tokens to provehis son's descent, to prove that his son is a true Lovel of Avonsyde ofthe elder branch, and unfortunately Mr. Lovel has lost some valuableletters and an old silver tankard which has been for hundreds of yearsin the family, and which was taken from Avonsyde by the Rupert Lovel whoquarreled with his relations."
Mrs. Level's head was bent over her lace, and she never noticed how redNancy's face grew at this moment, nor how she almost dropped thesteaming kettle with which she was about to replenish the tea-pot.
"Oh, my word!" she exclaimed hastily. "It seems as if toast and kettleand all was turned spiteful to-night. There's that boiling water flowedover on my hand. Never mind, ma'am--it ain't nothing. What was it youwere saying was lost, ma'am?"
"Letters, Nancy, and a tankard."
"Oh, letters and a tankard. And what may a tankard be like?"
"This was an old-fashioned silver can, with the Lovel coat of arms andthe motto of their house, 'Tyde what may,' graved on one side. Why,Nancy, you look quite pale."
"It's the burn, ma'am, that smarts a little. And so the silver can islost? Dear, dear, what a misfortune; and the fine young gentleman can'tget the place noway without it. Is that so or not, ma'am?"
"Well, Nancy, the tankard seems to be considered a very important pieceof evidence, and Mr. Lovel is not inclined to claim the property for hisson without it. However, he is having careful search made in Australia,and will probably hear tidings of it any day."
"That's as Providence wills, ma'am. It's my belief that if themiddle-aged gentleman was to search Australia from tail to head hewouldn't get no tidings of that bit of a silver mug. Dear, dear, howthis burn on my hand do smart!"
"You had better put some vaseline on it, Nancy. You look quite upset. Ifear it is worse than you say. Let me look at it."
"No, no, ma'am; it will go off presently. Dear, what a taking thegentleman must be in for the silver mug. Well, ma'am, more unlikelythings have happened than that your bonny little ladies should come infor Avonsyde. Did I happen to mention to you, ma'am, that I saw MasterPhil Lovel yesterday?"
"No, Nancy. Where and how?"
"He was with one of the old ladies, ma'am, in the forest. He was talkingto her and laughing and he never noticed me, and you may be sure I keptwell in the background. Eh, but he's a dear little fellow; but if everthere was a bit of a face on which the shadow rested, it's his."
"Nancy, Nancy, is he indeed so ill? Poor, dear little boy!"
"No, ma'am, I don't say he's so particular ill. He walked strong enoughand he looked up into the old lady's face as bright as you please; buthe had the look--I have seen it before, and I never could be mistakenabout that look on any face. Not long for this world was written allover him. Too good for this world was the way his eyes shone and hislips smiled. Dear heart, ma'am, don't cry. Such as them is the blessedones; they go away to a deal finer place and a grander home than anyAvonsyde."
"True," said Mrs. Lovel. "I don't cry for that, but I think the childsuffers. He spoke very sorrowfully to me."
"Well, ma'am, we must all go through it, one way or another. My oldmother used to say to me long ago, 'Nancy, 'tis contrasts as do it. I'mso tired out with grinding, grinding, and toiling, toiling, that just torest and do nothing seems to me as if it would be perfect heaven.' Andthe little fellow will be the more glad some day because he has had abit of suffering. Dear, dear, ma'am, I can't get out of my head the lossof that tankard."
"So it seems, Nancy; the fact seems to have taken complete possession ofyou. Were it not absolutely impossible, I could even have said that mypoor honest old Nancy was the thief! There, Nancy, don't look sostartled. Of course I was only joking."
"Of course, ma'am; but you'll just excuse me if I go and bind up myburned hand."
