Phineas Redux

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LII.

  MR. KENNEDY'S WILL.

  Mr. Kennedy had fired a pistol at Phineas Finn in Macpherson's Hotelwith the manifest intention of blowing out the brains of his presumedenemy, and no public notice had been taken of the occurrence. Phineashimself had been only too willing to pass the thing by as a triflingaccident, if he might be allowed to do so, and the Macphersons hadbeen by far too true to their great friend to think of giving him incharge to the police. The affair had been talked about, and had cometo the knowledge of reporters and editors. Most of the newspapers hadcontained paragraphs giving various accounts of the matter; and oneor two had followed the example of The People's Banner in demandingthat the police should investigate the matter. But the matter had notbeen investigated. The police were supposed to know nothing aboutit,--as how should they, no one having seen or heard the shot butthey who were determined to be silent? Mr. Quintus Slide had beenindignant all in vain, so far as Mr. Kennedy and his offence hadbeen concerned. As soon as the pistol had been fired and Phineashad escaped from the room, the unfortunate man had sunk back inhis chair, conscious of what he had done, knowing that he hadmade himself subject to the law, and expecting every minute thatconstables would enter the room to seize him. He had seen his enemy'shat lying on the floor, and, when nobody would come to fetch it, hadthrown it down the stairs. After that he had sat waiting for thepolice, with the pistol, still loaded in every barrel but one, lyingby his side,--hardly repenting the attempt, but trembling for theresult,--till Macpherson, the landlord, who had been brought homefrom chapel, knocked at his door. There was very little said betweenthem; and no positive allusion was made to the shot that had beenfired; but Macpherson succeeded in getting the pistol into hispossession,--as to which the unfortunate man put no impediment inhis way, and he managed to have it understood that Mr. Kennedy'scousin should be summoned on the following morning. "Is anybody elsecoming?" Robert Kennedy asked, when the landlord was about to leavethe room. "Naebody as I ken o', yet, laird," said Macpherson, "butlikes they will." Nobody, however, did come, and the "laird" hadspent the evening by himself in very wretched solitude.

  On the following day the cousin had come, and to him the whole storywas told. After that, no difficulty was found in taking the miserableman back to Loughlinter, and there he had been for the last twomonths in the custody of his more wretched mother and of his cousin.No legal steps had been taken to deprive him of the management eitherof himself or of his property,--so that he was in truth his ownmaster. And he exercised his mastery in acts of petty tyranny abouthis domain, becoming more and more close-fisted in regard to money,and desirous, as it appeared, of starving all living things about theplace,--cattle, sheep, and horses, so that the value of their foodmight be saved. But every member of the establishment knew that thelaird was "nae just himself," and consequently his orders were notobeyed. And the laird knew the same of himself, and, though he wouldgive the orders not only resolutely, but with imperious threats ofpenalties to follow disobedience, still he did not seem to expectcompliance. While he was in this state, letters addressed to him camefor a while into his own hands, and thus more than one reached himfrom Lord Brentford's lawyer, demanding that restitution should bemade of the interest arising from Lady Laura's fortune. Then he wouldfly out into bitter wrath, calling his wife foul names, and swearingthat she should never have a farthing of his money to spend upon herparamour. Of course it was his money, and his only. All the worldknew that. Had she not left his roof, breaking her marriage vows,throwing aside every duty, and bringing him down to his present stateof abject misery? Her own fortune! If she wanted the interest of herwretched money, let her come to Loughlinter and receive it there. Inspite of all her wickedness, her cruelty, her misconduct, which hadbrought him,--as he now said,--to the verge of the grave, he wouldstill give her shelter and room for repentance. He recognised hisvows, though she did not. She should still be his wife, though shehad utterly disgraced both herself and him. She should still be hiswife, though she had so lived as to make it impossible that thereshould be any happiness in their household.

  It was thus he spoke when first one and then another letter camefrom the Earl's lawyer, pointing out to him the injustice to whichLady Laura was subjected by the loss of her fortune. No doubt theseletters would not have been written in the line assumed had not Mr.Kennedy proved himself to be unfit to have the custody of his wifeby attempting to shoot the man whom he accused of being his wife'slover. An act had been done, said the lawyer, which made it quiteout of the question that Lady Laura should return to her husband.To this, when speaking of the matter to those around him,--which hedid with an energy which seemed to be foreign to his character,--Mr.Kennedy made no direct allusion; but he swore most positively thatnot a shilling should be given up. The fear of policemen coming downto Loughlinter to take account of that angry shot had passed away;and, though he knew, with an uncertain knowledge, that he was not inall respects obeyed as he used to be,--that his orders were disobeyedby stewards and servants, in spite of his threats of dismissal,--hestill felt that he was sufficiently his own master to defy the Earl'sattorney and to maintain his claim upon his wife's person. Let herreturn to him first of all!

  But after a while the cousin interfered still further; and RobertKennedy, who so short a time since had been a member of theGovernment, graced by permission to sit in the Cabinet, was notallowed to open his own post-bag. He had written a letter to oneperson, and then again to another, which had induced those whoreceived them to return answers to the cousin. To Lord Brentford'slawyer he had used a few very strong words. Mr. Forster had repliedto the cousin, stating how grieved Lord Brentford would be, how muchgrieved would be Lady Laura, to find themselves driven to take stepsin reference to what they conceived to be the unfortunate conditionof Mr. Robert Kennedy; but that such steps must be taken unless somearrangement could be made which should be at any rate reasonable.Then Mr. Kennedy's post-bag was taken from him; the letters whichhe wrote were not sent;--and he took to his bed. It was during thiscondition of affairs that the cousin took upon himself to intimateto Mr. Forster that the managers of Mr. Kennedy's estate were byno means anxious of embarrassing their charge by so trumpery anadditional matter as the income derived from Lady Laura's fortythousand pounds.

  But things were in a terrible confusion at Loughlinter. Rents werepaid as heretofore on receipts given by Robert Kennedy's agent; butthe agent could only pay the money to Robert Kennedy's credit at hisbank. Robert Kennedy's cheques would, no doubt, have drawn the moneyout again;--but it was almost impossible to induce Robert Kennedyto sign a cheque. Even in bed he inquired daily about his money,and knew accurately the sum lying at his banker's; but he could bepersuaded to disgorge nothing. He postponed from day to day thesigning of certain cheques that were brought to him, and alleged veryfreely that an attempt was being made to rob him. During all his lifehe had been very generous in subscribing to public charities; butnow he stopped all his subscriptions. The cousin had to provide evenfor the payment of wages, and things went very badly at Loughlinter.Then there arose the question whether legal steps should be taken forplacing the management of the estate in other hands, on the groundof the owner's insanity. But the wretched old mother begged thatthis might not be done;--and Dr. Macnuthrie, from Callender, was ofopinion that no steps should be taken at present. Mr. Kennedy wasvery ill,--very ill indeed; would take no nourishment, and seemed tobe sinking under the pressure of his misfortunes. Any steps such asthose suggested would probably send their friend out of the world atonce.

  In fact Robert Kennedy was dying;--and in the first week of May, whenthe beauty of the spring was beginning to show itself on the braes ofLoughlinter, he did die. The old woman, his mother, was seated by hisbedside, and into her ears he murmured his last wailing complaint."If she had the fear of God before her eyes, she would come backto me." "Let us pray that He may soften her heart," said the oldlady. "Eh, mother;--nothing can soften the heart Satan has hardened,till it be hard as the nether millstone
." And in that faith he diedbelieving, as he had ever believed, that the spirit of evil wasstronger than the spirit of good.

  "He may soften her heart."]

  For some time past there had been perturbation in the mind of thatcousin, and of all other Kennedys of that ilk, as to the nature ofthe will of the head of the family. It was feared lest he should havebeen generous to the wife who was believed by them all to have beenso wicked and treacherous to her husband;--and so it was found to bewhen the will was read. During the last few months no one near himhad dared to speak to him of his will, for it had been known thathis condition of mind rendered him unfit to alter it; nor had heever alluded to it himself. As a matter of course there had been asettlement, and it was supposed that Lady Laura's own money wouldrevert to her; but when it was found that in addition to this theLoughlinter estate became hers for life, in the event of Mr. Kennedydying without a child, there was great consternation among theKennedys generally. There were but two or three of them concerned,and for those there was money enough; but it seemed to them now thatthe bad wife, who had utterly refused to acclimatise herself to thesoil to which she had been transplanted, was to be rewarded for herwicked stubbornness. Lady Laura would become mistress of her ownfortune and of all Loughlinter, and would be once more a free woman,with all the power that wealth and fashion can give. Alas, alas! itwas too late now for the taking of any steps to sever her from herrich inheritance! "And the false harlot will come and play havochere, in my son's mansion," said the old woman with extremestbitterness.

  The tidings were conveyed to Lady Laura through her lawyer, but didnot reach her in full till some eight or ten days after the news ofher husband's death. The telegram announcing that event had come toher at her father's house in Portman Square, on the day after thaton which Phineas had been arrested, and the Earl had of course knownthat his great longing for the recovery of his wife's fortune hadbeen now realised. To him there was no sorrow in the news. He hadonly known Robert Kennedy as one who had been thoroughly disagreeableto himself, and who had persecuted his daughter throughouttheir married life. There had come no happiness,--not evenprosperity,--through the marriage. His daughter had been forced toleave the man's house,--and had been forced also to leave her moneybehind her. Then she had been driven abroad, fearing persecution, andhad only dared to return when the man's madness became so notoriousas to annul his power of annoying her. Now by his death, a portionof the injury which he had inflicted on the great family of Standishwould be remedied. The money would come back,--together with thestipulated jointure,--and there could no longer be any question ofreturn. The news delighted the old Lord,--and he was almost angrywith his daughter because she also would not confess her delight.

  "Oh, Papa, he was my husband."

  "Yes, yes, no doubt. I was always against it, you will remember."

  "Pray do not talk in that way now, Papa. I know that I was not to himwhat I should have been."

  "You used to say it was all his fault."

  "We will not talk of it now, Papa. He is gone, and I remember hispast goodness to me."

  She clothed herself in the deepest of mourning, and made herself athing of sorrow by the sacrificial uncouthness of her garments. Andshe tried to think of him;--to think of him, and not to think ofPhineas Finn. She remembered with real sorrow the words she hadspoken to her sister-in-law, in which she had declared, while stillthe wife of another man, that she would willingly marry Phineas atthe foot even of the gallows if she were free. She was free now; butshe did not repeat her assertion. It was impossible not to think ofPhineas in his present strait, but she abstained from speaking of himas far as she could, and for the present never alluded to her formerpurpose of visiting him in his prison.

  From day to day, for the first few days of her widowhood, she heardwhat was going on. The evidence against him became stronger andstronger, whereas the other man, Yosef Mealyus, had been alreadyliberated. There were still many who felt sure that Mealyus had beenthe murderer, among whom were all those who had been ranked amongthe staunch friends of our hero. The Chilterns so believed, and LadyLaura; the Duchess so believed, and Madame Goesler. Mr. Low felt sureof it, and Mr. Monk and Lord Cantrip; and nobody was more sure thanMrs. Bunce. There were many who professed that they doubted; men suchas Barrington Erle, Laurence Fitzgibbon, the two Dukes,--though theyounger Duke never expressed such doubt at home,--and Mr. Greshamhimself. Indeed, the feeling of Parliament in general was one ofgreat doubt. Mr. Daubeny never expressed an opinion one way or theother, feeling that the fate of two second-class Liberals couldnot be matter of concern to him;--but Sir Orlando Drought, and Mr.Roby, and Mr. Boffin, were as eager as though they had not beenConservatives, and were full of doubt. Surely, if Phineas Finn werenot the murderer, he had been more ill-used by Fate than had been anyman since Fate first began to be unjust. But there was also a verystrong party by whom no doubt whatever was entertained as to hisguilt,--at the head of which, as in duty bound, was the poor widow,Mrs. Bonteen. She had no doubt as to the hand by which her husbandhad fallen, and clamoured loudly for the vengeance of the law. Allthe world, she said, knew how bitter against her husband had beenthis wretch, whose villainy had been exposed by her dear, graciouslord; and now the evidence against him was, to her thinking,complete. She was supported strongly by Lady Eustace, who, much asshe wished not to be the wife of the Bohemian Jew, thought even thatpreferable to being known as the widow of a murderer who had beenhung. Mr. Ratler, with one or two others in the House, was certainof Finn's guilt. The People's Banner, though it prefaced eachone of its daily paragraphs on the subject with a statement as tothe manifest duty of an influential newspaper to abstain from theexpression of any opinion on such a subject till the question hadbeen decided by a jury, nevertheless from day to day recapitulatedthe evidence against the Member for Tankerville, and showed howstrong were the motives which had existed for such a deed. But, amongthose who were sure of Finn's guilt, there was no one more sure thanLord Fawn, who had seen the coat and the height of the man,--and thestep. He declared among his intimate friends that of course he couldnot swear to the person. He could not venture, when upon his oath,to give an opinion. But the man who had passed him at so quick apace had been half a foot higher than Mealyus;--of that there couldbe no doubt. Nor could there be any doubt as to the grey coat. Ofcourse there might be other men with grey coats besides Mr. PhineasFinn,--and other men half a foot taller than Yosef Mealyus. And theremight be other men with that peculiarly energetic step. And the manwho hurried by him might not have been the man who murdered Mr.Bonteen. Of all that Lord Fawn could say nothing. But what he didsay,--of that he was sure. And all those who knew him were well awarethat in his own mind he was convinced of the guilt of Phineas Finn.And there was another man equally convinced. Mr. Maule, Senior,remembered well the manner in which Madame Goesler spoke of PhineasFinn in reference to the murder, and was quite sure that Phineas wasthe murderer.

  For a couple of days Lord Chiltern was constantly with the poorprisoner, but after that he was obliged to return to HarringtonHall. This he did a day after the news arrived of the death of hisbrother-in-law. Both he and Lady Chiltern had promised to returnhome, having left Adelaide Palliser alone in the house, and alreadythey had overstayed their time. "Of course I will remain with you,"Lady Chiltern had said to her sister-in-law; but the widow hadpreferred to be left alone. For these first few days,--when she mustmake pretence of sorrow because her husband had died; and had suchreal cause for sorrow in the miserable condition of the man sheloved,--she preferred to be alone. Who could sympathise with her now,or with whom could she speak of her grief? Her father was talking toher always of her money;--but from him she could endure it. She wasused to him, and could remember when he spoke to her of her fortythousand pounds, and of her twelve hundred a year of jointure, thatit had not always been with him like that. As yet nothing had beenheard of the will, and the Earl did not in the least anticipate anyfurther accession of wealth from the estate of the man whom they hadall hated. Bu
t his daughter would now be a rich woman; and was yetyoung, and there might still be splendour. "I suppose you won't careto buy land," he said.

  "Oh, Papa, do not talk of buying anything yet."

  "But, my dear Laura, you must put your money into something. You canget very nearly 5 per cent. from Indian Stock."

  "Not yet, Papa," she said. But he proceeded to explain to her howvery important an affair money is, and that persons who have gotmoney cannot be excused for not considering what they had better dowith it. No doubt she could get 4 per cent. on her money by buying upcertain existing mortgages on the Saulsby property,--which would nodoubt be very convenient if, hereafter, the money should go to herbrother's child. "Not yet, Papa," she said again, having, however,already made up her mind that her money should have a differentdestination.

  She could not interest her father at all in the fate of Phineas Finn.When the story of the murder had first been told to him, he had beenamazed,--and, no doubt, somewhat gratified, as we all are, at tragicoccurrences which do not concern ourselves. But he could not be madeto tremble for the fate of Phineas Finn. And yet he had known the manduring the last few years most intimately, and had had much in commonwith him. He had trusted Phineas in respect to his son, and hadtrusted him also in respect to his daughter. Phineas had been hisguest at Dresden; and, on his return to London, had been the firstfriend he had seen, with the exception of his lawyer. And yet hecould hardly be induced to express the slightest interest as tothe fate of this friend who was to be tried for murder. "Oh;--he'scommitted, is he? I think I remember that Protheroe once told methat, in thirty-nine cases out of forty, men committed for seriousoffences have been guilty of them." The Protheroe here spoken of asan authority in criminal matters was at present Lord Weazeling, theLord Chancellor.

  "But Mr. Finn has not been guilty, Papa."

  "There is always the one chance out of forty. But, as I was saying,if you like to take up the Saulsby mortgages, Mr. Forster can't betold too soon."

  "Papa, I shall do nothing of the kind," said Lady Laura. And then sherose and walked out of the room.

  At the end of ten days from the death of Mr. Kennedy, there came thetidings of the will. Lady Laura had written to Mrs. Kennedy a letterwhich had taken her much time in composition, expressing her deepsorrow, and condoling with the old woman. And the old woman hadanswered. "Madam, I am too old now to express either grief or anger.My dear son's death, caused by domestic wrong, has robbed me of anyremaining comfort which the undeserved sorrows of his latter yearshad not already dispelled. Your obedient servant, Sarah Kennedy."From which it may be inferred that she had also taken considerabletrouble in the composition of her letter. Other communicationsbetween Loughlinter and Portman Square there were none, but therecame through the lawyers a statement of Mr. Kennedy's will, as far asthe interests of Lady Laura were concerned. This reached Mr. Forsterfirst, and he brought it personally to Portman Square. He asked forLady Laura, and saw her alone. "He has bequeathed to you the use ofLoughlinter for your life, Lady Laura."

  "To me!"

  "Yes, Lady Laura. The will is dated in the first year of hismarriage, and has not been altered since."

  "What can I do with Loughlinter? I will give it back to them." ThenMr. Forster explained that the legacy referred not only to the houseand immediate grounds,--but to the whole estate known as the domainof Loughlinter. There could be no reason why she should give it up,but very many why she should not do so. Circumstanced as Mr. Kennedyhad been, with no one nearer to him than a first cousin, with aproperty purchased with money saved by his father,--a property towhich no cousin could by inheritance have any claim,--he could nothave done better with it than to leave it to his widow in fault ofany issue of his own. Then the lawyer explained that were she to giveit up, the world would of course say that she had done so from afeeling of her own unworthiness. "Why should I feel myself to beunworthy?" she asked. The lawyer smiled, and told her that of courseshe would retain Loughlinter.

  Then, at her request, he was taken to the Earl's room and thererepeated the good news. Lady Laura preferred not to hear her father'sfirst exultations. But while this was being done she also exulted.Might it not still be possible that there should be before her ahappy evening to her days; and that she might stand once more besidethe falls of Linter, contented, hopeful, nay, almost glorious, withher hand in his to whom she had once refused her own on that veryspot?