CHAPTER X.
Thus was I, and, what mattered much more, my mother, reduced quitesuddenly from a position of rank and luxury, and a prospective income ofL15,000 a-year (so much had the land increased in value) to a revenue ofnothing, and no home. Even to me it was a heavy blow, but what could mypoor mother do?
We were assured by counsel that a legal struggle could end in expensealone, and advised by the family lawyers to throw ourselves on the goodfeeling and appeal to the honour of Mr. Edgar Vaughan. Mr. Vaughan hemust henceforth be called. I cannot well understand, still less can Iexplain, small and threadbare technicalities (motes, which too often arethe beam of Justice), but the circumstances which robbed me of myfather's home were somewhat as follows:--
By the will of my father's grandfather, Hubert Vaughan, who died in theyear 1782, the whole of the family property was devised to his son,Vaughan Powis Vaughan, for life, and after his decease, to his sonssuccessively _in tail male_, failing these to his right heirs ingeneral. This will was said to have been prepared in haste: it was, infact, drawn by a country attorney, when the testator was rapidlysinking. It was very brief, and by no means accurately worded; neitherdid it contain those powers to meet family exigencies, which I am told aproper practitioner would have inserted.
There was no reason to suppose that the testator had contemplatedanything more than a strict settlement of the usual kind, _i.e._ acommon estate entail, expectant upon a life-interest; and under which Ishould have succeeded my father, as his heiress, in the ordinary course.But it is the chief fault of smatterers in the law (and countryattorneys at that time were no better) that they will attempt to be toodefinite. The country lawyer in this case, grossly ignorant of hisprofession, and caught by the jangle of the words _tail male_, hadinserted them at hazard, possibly not without some idea that they wouldinsure a stricter succession than a common entail would do.
When my father became of age, measures were taken for barring the entailcreated by the will of Hubert Vaughan; and at the time it was believedthat these were quite effectual, and therefore that my father was nowentitled in fee-simple, and could dispose of the property.
Upon his marriage with my mother, she, with worthy pride, refused mostfirmly to accept a jointure charged on his estates, alleging that as shebrought no fortune into the family, she would not incumber the familyproperty, which had but recently been relieved of incumbrances. Morethan this--she had even insisted upon expressly abandoning, by hermarriage settlement, all claim to dower. This unusual course she hadadopted, because of some discontent expressed by relatives of my fatherat his marriage with a portionless bride, whereby her self-respect hadbeen deeply wounded. So nothing was settled upon her, except her ownlittle estate in Devonshire, which was secured to her separate use.
My father had never permitted this excess of generosity on her part, butthat he was by nature careless upon such subjects, and hoped to provideamply for her interests by his will: moreover he was hot to remove allobstacles to their marriage. But it was now discovered that he had nopower to charge the real estate for her benefit, in the manner his willimported; that he had never been more than a tenant in tail, and thatentail such that I could not inherit. Neither, of course, could I takeunder his will, as he possessed no power of disposition. One quarter ofall that has been written upon the subject I never could understand; andeven as to the simplest points, sometimes I seem to apprehend themclearly, and then I feel that I do not. My account of the matter iscompressed from what I remember of the legal opinions.
The leading fact, at any rate, and the key to all the mischief, was,that the entail had never been barred at all: the legal process (calleda "recovery") which was to have had that effect, being null and voidthrough some absurd informality. They told me something about a tenantto a precipice, but they must have made a mistake, for there was noprecipice on the estate, unless some cliffs near the church could becalled so, and they were never let.
Be that as it may, my father's will was declared to be waste paper,except as regarded what they called the personalty, or, in good English,the money he had to bequeath. And of this there was very little, for,shortly before his death, he had spent large sums in drainage,farm-buildings, and other improvements. Furthermore, he had alwaysmaintained a profuse hospitality, and his charity was most lavish. Thelawyers told us that, under the circumstances (a favourite expression oftheirs when they mean some big robbery), a court of equity would perhapsconsider our application to be "recupped," as they called it, out of theestate, for the money laid out in improvements under a false impression.But we had been cupped enough already. Grossly plundered by legaljargon, robbed by statute, and scourged by scriveners' traditions, weflung away in disgust the lint the bandits offered, and left them "allestate, right, title, interest, and claim, whether at law or in equity,in to or out of" the licking of our blood.
But now my long suspicions, and never-discarded conviction of myguardian's guilt, were, by summary process, not only revived, butredoubled. This arose partly from the discovery of the stake he had onmy father's life, and partly, perhaps, from a feeling of hatred towardsour supplanter. That he knew not till now the flaw in our title, andhis own superior claim, was more than I could believe. I felt sure thathe had gained this knowledge while in needy circumstances and sharplegal practice, brought, as he then most probably was, into frequentcontact with the London agents who had the custody of the documents.
To be in the same room with him, was now more than I could bear, and itbecame impossible that we should live any longer in the same house. He,indeed, wished, or feigned to wish, that we should remain there, andeven showed some reluctance to urge his unrighteous rights. But neithermy mother (who bore the shock with strange resignation) nor myself wouldhear of any compromise, or take a farthing at his hands, and he was tooproud and stern to press upon us his compunctions.
Statements of our case had been prepared and submitted to three mosteminent conveyancers, and the three opinions had been found to agree,except upon some trivial points. More than two months had been thusconsumed, and it was now once more the anniversary of my father's death.I had spent the time in narrowly watching my ex-guardian's conduct,though keeping aloof, as much as possible, from any intercourse withhim.
One night, I stole into the room which he called his study, and where(with a child's simplicity) I believed him to keep his privatedocuments. Through Thomas Kenwood, to whom I now confided almosteverything, and whose suspicions were even stronger than mine, Iobtained clandestine possession of the keys of the large bureau. As Istood before that massive repository in the dead of night, the strugglewithin me was intense and long. What letters, what journals, documents,or momentous relics of a thousand kinds, might be lurking here, waitingonly for a daughter's hand to turn the lock, and cast the light she boreon the death-warrant of her father! How easy then to snatch away theproof, clutching it, though it should burn the hand or bosom, to waveit, with a triumph wilfully prolonged, before the eyes of justice'sdull-visioned ministers; and then to see, without a shudder or a thrillof joy, but with the whole soul gazing, the slow, struggling, ghastlyexpiation. As this thought came crawling through my heart, lighting upits depth as would a snake of fire, the buhl before me grew streaks ofblood, and the heavy crossbars a gallows. I lifted my hand to open theouter lock. Already the old cruciform key was trembling in the silverscutcheon. I raised the lamp in my left hand to show the lunette guardwhich curved above the hole, when a heavy mass all cold and dark fellacross my eyes. I started, and thought for the moment, in my strongexcitement, that it was my father's hand. One instant more, and,through the trembling of my senses, I saw that it was only a thick foldof my long black hair, shaken down on the face by my bending andquivering posture. But the check was enough. A Vaughan, and that thelast one of so proud and frank a race, to be prowling meanly, with astolen tool, to violate confidence, and pry through letters! Nosuspicion, however strong, nothing short of certainty (if e
ven that)could warrant it. Driven away by shame combined with superstition, Iglided from the cold silent room, and restored the keys to my faithfulfriend, whom I had left in the passage, ordering him at once to replacethem, and never touch them again.
"Well, miss," he whispered, with a smile, "I knew you couldn't do it,because I seemed, somehow, it wasn't like a Vaughan."
We were already preparing to quit the house, no longer ours, when ourdismissal became abrupt, through another act of mine. What drove me tosuch a wild deed I can scarcely tell. Shame, perhaps, for the furtivenature of my last attempt hurried me into the other extreme; and now Iwas so shaken by conflicting impulse, that nothing was too mad for me.
On the seventh anniversary of my father's death, and the last which Iwas likely ever to spend beneath that roof, I passed the whole day inalternate sadness and passion, in the bedroom where he died. All therelics I possessed, both of his love and of his death, I broughtthither; and spread them out, and wept upon the one, and prayed upon theother. I also brought my choicest histories of murder and revenge, andpored over them by the waning daylight and the dull lamp, and so onthrough the night, until my mind became the soul's jetsam.
Then I procured four very large wax candles, and lit them at the head ofthe bed, two on each side, and spread a long white cloth between, as ifmy father were lying in state; and hung a row of shorter lights above,to illuminate the letters of blood. Then I took a small alarum clock,given me by dear father, that I might rise for early walks with him, andset it upon a chest by the door, and fixed it so as to ring five minutesbefore the hour at which the murder befell. A cold presentiment crawledthrough me that, at the fatal time, I should see the assassin. Afterall these arrangements I took my volume again, and sat in the shade ofthe curtain, with a strong light on the page. I was deep in somehorrible record, and creeping with terror and hope, when the clear bellrang a long and startling peal. I leaped up, like one shot through theheart, and what I did was without design or purpose. My glance fell onthe dagger; I caught it up, and snatched the lamp, and hurried downcorridor and staircase, straight to my guardian's private room.
He was sitting at the table, for he never passed that night in bed. Atthe sound of the lock he leaped up, and pointed a pistol, then hid it.Straight up to him I went, as swiftly and quietly as a spirit, andspoke:
"Seven years ago, at this very moment, my father was killed. Do youknow this dagger?" He started back, as if I had stabbed him with it,then covered his eyes with both hands.
"You know it, then?" I said, with a triumph chill all over me. "It wasyour hand that used it."
Another moment, and I should have struck him with it. I lifted it in myfrenzy; when he looked at me by some wonderful effort, calmly, steadily,even coldly. "Yes," he said, "I have seen that weapon before. Alas mypoor dear brother!"
Whether it was true feeling that made his voice so low and deep, or onlyfierce self-control, I knew not then, nor tried to think.
"You know who owned it?" I asked, with my life upon his answer.
"Yes. I know who owned it once; but many years ago. And I know not inthe least what is become of him now."
The baffled fury and prostrate hope--for at the moment I fully believedhim--were too much for my reeling brain and fasting body. For oneminute's command of my faculties, I would have sold them for ever; but Ifelt them ebbing from me, as the life does from a wound. Thehemispheres of my brain were parting one from the other, and a grey voidspreading between them. I tried to think, but could not. I strove tosay _anything_, but failed. Fainter and fainter grew the room, thelamp, the ceiling, the face at which I tried to look. Things went toand fro with a quicker quiver, like flame in the wind, then, round andround like whirling water; my mouth grew stiff, and the tongue betweenmy teeth felt like a glove; and with a rush of sound in my brain andthroat, and a scream pent up, yet bursting, I fell, as I thought,through the earth. I was only on the floor, in a fit.
When I came to myself, I was in my own bed, and my own dear motherbending over me, pale, and haggard, and full of tears. The broaddaylight was around us, and the faint sunshine on her face. She hadbeen with me ever since. In my weakness, I looked up at her with a pangof self-reproach, to think how little I had valued her love; and I vowedto myself to make up for it by future care and devotion.
That violent convulsion, and the illness after it, changed me not alittle both in mind and body.
Clara Vaughan, Volume 1 (of 3) Page 10
