CHAPTER LV.
The Will.
The coming of Mrs. Greenow at this very moment was a great comfortto Kate. Without her she would hardly have known how to bear herselfwith her uncle and her brother. As it was, they were all restrainedby something of the courtesy which strangers are bound to show toeach other. George had never seen his aunt since he was a child, andsome sort of introduction was necessary between them.
"So you are George," said Mrs. Greenow, putting out her hand andsmiling.
"Yes; I'm George," said he.
"And a Member of Parliament!" said Mrs. Greenow. "It's quite anhonour to the family. I felt so proud when I heard it!" She said thispleasantly, meaning it to be taken for truth, and then turned away toher brother. "Papa's time was fully come," she said, "though, to tellthe truth, I had no idea that he was so weak as Kate describes him tohave been."
"Nor I, either," said John Vavasor. "He went to church with us hereon Christmas-day."
"Did he, indeed? Dear, dear! He seems at last to have gone off justlike poor Greenow." Here she put her handkerchief up to her face. "Ithink you didn't know Greenow, John?"
"I met him once," said her brother.
"Ah! he wasn't to be known and understood in that way. I'm awarethere was a little prejudice, because of his being in trade, butwe won't talk of that now. Where should I have been without him,tradesman or no tradesman?"
"I've no doubt he was an excellent man."
"You may say that, John. Ah, well! we can't keep everything in thislife for ever." It may, perhaps, be as well to explain now that Mrs.Greenow had told Captain Bellfield at their last meeting beforeshe left Norwich, that, under certain circumstances, if he behavedhimself well, there might possibly be ground of hope. WhereuponCaptain Bellfield had immediately gone to the best tailor in thatcity, had told the man of his coming marriage, and had given anextensive order. But the tailor had not as yet supplied the goods,waiting for more credible evidence of the Captain's good fortune."We're all grass of the field," said Mrs. Greenow, lightly brushinga tear from her eye, "and must be cut down and put into the oven inour turns." Her brother uttered a slight sympathetic groan, shakinghis head in testimony of the uncertainty of human affairs, and thensaid that he would go out and look about the place. George, in themeantime, had asked his sister to show him his room, and the two werealready together up-stairs.
Kate had made up her mind that she would say nothing about Alice atthe present moment,--nothing, if it could be avoided, till after thefuneral. She led the way up-stairs, almost trembling with fear, forshe knew that that other subject of the will would also give rise totrouble and sorrow,--perhaps, also, to determined quarrelling.
"What has brought that woman here?" was the first question thatGeorge asked.
"I asked her to come," said Kate.
"And why did you ask her to come here?" said George, angrily. Kateimmediately felt that he was speaking as though he were master ofthe house, and also as though he intended to be master of her. Asregarded the former idea, she had no objection to it. She thoroughlyand honestly wished that he might be the master; and though shefeared that he might find himself mistaken in his assumption, sheherself was not disposed to deny any appearance of right that hemight take upon himself in that respect. But she had already begun totell herself that she must not submit herself to his masterdom. Shehad gradually so taught herself since he had compelled her to writethe first letter in which Alice had been asked to give her money.
"I asked her, George, before my poor grandfather's death, when Ithought that he would linger perhaps for weeks. My life here alonewith him, without any other woman in the house beside the servants,was very melancholy."
"Why did you not ask Alice to come to you?"
"Alice could not have come," said Kate, after a short pause.
"I don't know why she shouldn't have come. I won't have that womanabout the place. She disgraced herself by marrying a blacksmith--."
"Why, George, it was you yourself who advised me to go and stay withher."
"That's a very different thing. Now that he's dead, and she's got hismoney, it's all very well that you should go to her occasionally; butI won't have her here."
"It's natural that she should come to her father's house at herfather's death-bed."
"I hate to be told that things are natural. It always means humbug.I don't suppose she cared for the old man any more than I did,--orthan she cared for the other old man who married her. People aresuch intense hypocrites. There's my uncle John, pulling a long facebecause he has come into this house, and he will pull it as long asthe body lies up there; and yet for the last twenty years there'snothing on earth he has so much hated as going to see his father.When are they going to bury him?"
"On Saturday, the day after to-morrow."
"Why couldn't they do it to-morrow, so that we could get away beforeSunday?"
"He only died on Monday, George," said Kate, solemnly.
"Psha! Who has got the will?"
"Mr. Gogram. He was here yesterday, and told me to tell you and uncleJohn that he would have it with him when he came back from thefuneral."
"What has my uncle John to do with it?" said George, sharply. "Ishall go over to Penrith this afternoon and make Gogram give it up tome."
"I don't think he'll do that, George."
"What right has he to keep it? What right has he to it at all? How doI know that he has really got the old man's last will? Where did mygrandfather keep his papers?"
"In that old secretary, as he used to call it; the one that stands inthe dining-room. It is sealed up."
"Who sealed it?"
"Mr. Gogram did,--Mr. Gogram and I together."
"What the deuce made you meddle with it?"
"I merely assisted him. But I believe he was quite right. I think itis usual in such cases."
"Balderdash! You are thinking of some old trumpery of former days.Till I know to the contrary, everything here belongs to me asheir-at-law, and I do not mean to allow of any interference till Iknow for certain that my rights have been taken from me. And I won'taccept a death-bed will. What a man chooses to write when his fingerswill hardly hold the pen, goes for nothing."
"You can't suppose that I wish to interfere with your rights?"
"I hope not."
"Oh, George!"
"Well; I say, I hope not. But I know there are those who would. Doyou think my uncle John would not interfere with me if he could?By ----! if he does, he shall find that he does it to his cost. I'lllead him such a life through the courts, for the next two or threeyears, that he'll wish that he had remained in Chancery Lane, andhad never left it."
A message was now brought up by the nurse, saying that Mrs. Greenowand Mr. Vavasor were going into the room where the old Squire waslying, "Would Miss Kate and Mr. George go with them?"
"Mr. Vavasor!" shouted out George, making the old woman jump. She didnot understand his meaning in the least. "Yes, sir; the old Squire,"she said.
"Will you come, George?" Kate asked.
"No; what should I go there for? Why should I pretend an interest inthe dead body of a man whom I hated and who hated me;--whose verylast act, as far as I know as yet, was an attempt to rob me? I won'tgo and see him."
Kate went, and was glad of an opportunity of getting away from herbrother. Every hour the idea was becoming stronger in her mind thatshe must in some way separate herself from him. There had come uponhim of late a hard ferocity which made him unendurable. And then hecarried to such a pitch that hatred, as he called it, of conventionalrules, that he allowed himself to be controlled by none of theordinary bonds of society. She had felt this heretofore, with anervous consciousness that she was doing wrong in endeavouring tobring about a marriage between him and Alice; but this demeanour andmode of talking had now so grown upon him that Kate began to feelherself thankful that Alice had been saved.
Kate went up with her uncle and aunt, and saw the face of hergrandfather for the last time. "Poor, dear old man!" sa
id Mrs.Greenow, as the easy tears ran down her face. "Do you remember, John,how he used to scold me, and say that I should never come to good. Hehas said the same thing to you, Kate, I dare say?"
"He has been very kind to me," said Kate, standing at the foot of thebed. She was not one of those whose tears stand near their eyes.
"He was a fine old gentleman," said John Vavasor;--"belonging to daysthat are now gone by, but by no means the less of a gentleman on thataccount. I don't know that he ever did an unjust or ungenerous act toany one. Come, Kate, we may as well go down." Mrs. Greenow lingered tosay a word or two to the nurse, of the manner in which Greenow's bodywas treated when Greenow was lying dead, and then she followed herbrother and niece.
George did not go into Penrith, nor did he see Mr. Gogram till thatworthy attorney came out to Vavasor Hall on the morning of thefuneral. He said nothing more on the subject, nor did he break theseals on the old upright desk that stood in the parlour. The twodays before the funeral were very wretched for all the party, except,perhaps, for Mrs. Greenow, who affected not to understand that hernephew was in a bad humour. She called him "poor George," and treatedall his incivility to herself as though it were the effect of hisgrief. She asked him questions about Parliament, which, of course, hedidn't answer, and told him little stories about poor dear Greenow,not heeding his expressions of unmistakable disgust.
The two days at last went by, and the hour of the funeral came. Therewas the doctor and Gogram, and the uncle and the nephew, to followthe corpse,--the nephew taking upon himself ostentatiously theforemost place, as though he could thereby help to maintain hispretensions as heir. The clergyman met them at the little wicket-gateof the churchyard, having, by some reasoning, which we hope wassatisfactory to himself, overcome a resolution which he at firstformed, that he would not read the burial service over an unrepentantsinner. But he did read it, having mentioned his scruples to none butone confidential clerical friend in the same diocese.
"I'm told that you have got my grandfather's will," George said tothe attorney as soon as he saw him.
"I have it in my pocket," said Mr. Gogram, "and purpose to read it assoon as we return from church."
"Is it usual to take a will away from a man's house in that way?"George asked.
"Quite usual," said the attorney; "and in this case it was done atthe express desire of the testator."
"I think it is the common practice," said John Vavasor.
George upon this turned round at his uncle as though about to attackhim, but he restrained himself and said nothing, though he showed histeeth.
The funeral was very plain, and not a word was spoken by GeorgeVavasor during the journey there and back. John Vavasor asked a fewquestions of the doctor as to the last weeks of his father's life;and it was incidentally mentioned, both by the doctor and by theattorney, that the old Squire's intellect had remained unimpairedup to the last moment that he had been seen by either of them. Whenthey returned to the hall Mrs. Greenow met them with an invitation tolunch. They all went to the dining-room, and drank each a glass ofsherry. George took two or three glasses. The doctor then withdrew,and drove himself back to Penrith, where he lived.
"Shall we go into the other room now?" said the attorney.
The three gentlemen then rose up, and went across to thedrawing-room, George leading the way. The attorney followed him, andJohn Vavasor closed the door behind them. Had any observer been thereto watch them he might have seen by the faces of the two latter thatthey expected an unpleasant meeting. Mr. Gogram, as he had walkedacross the hall, had pulled a document out of his pocket, and heldit in his hand as he took a chair. John Vavasor stood behind one ofthe chairs which had been placed at the table, and leaned upon it,looking across the room, up at the ceiling. George stood on the rugbefore the fire, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, andhis coat tails over his arms.
"Gentlemen, will you sit down?" said Mr. Gogram.
John Vavasor immediately sat down.
"I prefer to stand here," said George.
Mr. Gogram then opened the document before him.
"Before that paper is read," said George, "I think it right to saya few words. I don't know what it contains, but I believe it tohave been executed by my grandfather only an hour or two before hisdeath."
"On the day before he died,--early in the day," said the attorney.
"Well,--the day before he died; it is the same thing,--while he wasdying, in fact. He never got out of bed afterwards."
"He was not in bed at the time, Mr. Vavasor. Not that it would havemattered if he had been. And he came down to dinner on that day. Idon't understand, however, why you make these observations."
"If you'll listen to me you will understand. I make them because Ideny my grandfather's fitness to make a will in the last moments ofhis existence, and at such an age. I saw him a few weeks ago, and hewas not fit to be trusted with the management of property then."
"I do not think this is the time, George, to put forward suchobjections," said the uncle.
"I think it is," said George. "I believe that that paper purports tobe an instrument by which I should be villanously defrauded if itwere allowed to be held as good. Therefore I protest against it now,and shall question it at law if action be taken on it. You can readit now, if you please."
"Oh, yes, I shall read," said Mr. Gogram; "and I say that it is asvalid a will as ever a man signed."
"And I say it's not. That's the difference between us."
The will was read amidst sundry interjections and expressions ofanger from George, which it is not necessary to repeat. Nor need Itrouble my readers with the will at length. It began by expressingthe testator's great desire that his property might descend in hisown family, and that the house might be held and inhabited by someone bearing the name of Vavasor. He then declared that he felthimself obliged to pass over his natural heir, believing that theproperty would not be safe in his hands; he therefore left it intrust to his son John Vavasor, whom he appointed to be sole executorof his will. He devised it to George's eldest son,--should Georgeever marry and have a son,--as soon as he might reach the age oftwenty-five. In the meantime the property should remain in the handsof John Vavasor for his use and benefit, with a lien on it of fivehundred a year to be paid annually to his granddaughter Kate. Inthe event of George having no son, the property was to go to theeldest son of Kate, or failing that to the eldest son of his othergranddaughter who might take the name of Vavasor. All his personalproperty he left to his son, John Vavasor. "And, Mr. Vavasor," saidthe attorney, as he finished his reading, "you will, I fear, get verylittle by that latter clause. The estate now owes nothing; but Idoubt whether the Squire had fifty pounds in his banker's hands whenhe died, and the value of the property about the place is very small.He has been unwilling to spend anything during the last ten years,but has paid off every shilling that the property owed."
"It is as I supposed," said George. His voice was very unpleasant,and so was the fire of his eyes and the ghastly rage of his scarredface. "The old man has endeavoured in his anger to rob me ofeverything because I would not obey him in his wickedness when I washere with him a short while before he died. Such a will as that canstand nowhere."
"As to that I have nothing to say at present," said the attorney.
"Where is his other will,--the one he made before that?"
"If I remember rightly we executed two before this."
"And where are they?"
"It is not my business to know, Mr. Vavasor. I believe that I saw himdestroy one, but I have no absolute knowledge. As to the other, I cansay nothing."
"And what do you mean to do?" said George, turning to his uncle.
"Do! I shall carry out the will. I have no alternative. Your sisteris the person chiefly interested under it. She gets five hundred ayear for her life; and if she marries and you don't, or if she has ason and you don't, her son will have the whole property."
George stood for a few moments thinking. Might it not be possib
lethat by means of Alice and Kate together,--by marrying theformer,--perhaps, he might still obtain possession of the property?But that which he wanted was the command of the property atonce,--the power of raising money upon it instantly. The will hadbeen so framed as to make that impossible in any way. Kate's share init had not been left to her unconditionally, but was to be receivedeven by her through the hands of her uncle John. Such a will shut himout from all his hopes. "It is a piece of d---- roguery," he said.
"What do you mean by that, sir?" said Gogram, turning round towardshim.
"I mean exactly what I say. It is a piece of d---- roguery. Who wasin the room when that thing was written?"
"The signature was witnessed by--"
"I don't ask as to the signature. Who was in the room when the thingwas written?"
"I was here with your grandfather."
"And no one else?"
"No one else. The presence of any one else at such a time would bevery unusual."
"Then I regard the document simply as waste paper." After sayingthis, George Vavasor left the room, and slammed the door after him.
"I never was insulted in such a way before," said the attorney,almost with tears in his eyes.
"He is a disappointed and I fear a ruined man," said John Vavasor."I do not think you need regard what he says."
"But he should not on that account insult me. I have only done myduty. I did not even advise his grandfather. It is mean on his partand unmanly. If he comes in my way again I shall tell him so."
"He probably will not put himself in your way again, Mr. Gogram."
Then the attorney went, having suggested to Mr. Vavasor that he shouldinstruct his attorney in London to take steps in reference to theproving of the will. "It's as good a will as ever was made," saidMr. Gogram. "If he can set that aside, I'll give up making willsaltogether."
Who was to tell Kate? That was John Vavasor's first thought whenhe was left alone at the hall-door, after seeing the lawyer startaway. And how was he to get himself back to London without furtherquarrelling with his nephew? And what was he to do at once withreference to the immediate duties of proprietorship which wereentailed upon him as executor? It was by no means improbable, as hethought, that George might assume to himself the position of masterof the house; that he might demand the keys, for instance, whichno doubt were in Kate's hands at present, and that he would takepossession with violence. What should he do under such circumstances?It was clear that he could not run away and get back to his club bythe night mail train. He had duties there at the Hall, and theseduties were of a nature to make him almost regret the position inwhich his father's will had placed him. Eventually he would gain someconsiderable increase to his means, but the immediate effect wouldbe terribly troublesome. As he looked up at the melancholy pineswhich were slowly waving their heads in the wind before the doorhe declared to himself that he would sell his inheritance and hisexecutorship very cheaply, if such a sale were possible.
In the dining-room he found his sister alone. "Well, John," said she;"well? How is it left?"
"Where is Kate?" he asked.
"She has gone out with her brother."
"Did he take his hat?"
"Oh, yes. He asked her to walk, and she went with him at once."
"Then, I suppose, he will tell her," said John Vavasor. After thathe explained the circumstances of the will to Mrs. Greenow. "Bravo,"exclaimed the widow. "I'm delighted. I love Kate dearly: and now shecan marry almost whom she pleases."
Can You Forgive Her? Page 57
