Complete Works of F Marion Crawford

by F. Marion Crawford

  Then Persimmons, finding that eighty millions of money depended upon his having signed or not signed the will, and that no one had, as yet, offered him so much as a drink, save Leek, the butler, went privately to Alexander Lauderdale Junior, and made certain propositions which immediately resulted in his being kicked into the middle of Broad Street by an unfeeling person in brass buttons, who answered to the name of Donald McCracken, having red hair, large bones, and a Scotch accent — very terrible.

  On the advice of friends, Persimmons attempted to recover damages for indignities and bruises received on the premises of the Trust Company, and the popular feeling in the stables was with him. But he got nothing but the promise of more kicks, payable at sight, by Donald McCracken, and the hexecrations of Mister Leek who perceived that ’is hannuity was vanishing before ’is very heyes.

  And now no lawyer would make bold to say in his heart whether Persimmons had signed or had not signed, and the war raged furiously, and the Lauderdales, being in possession of the will, swore that they would bring it to probate without delay, and that the Brights ought to be very much pleased at this, as they had been so anxious to get the will probated without delay. But the Brights were less anxious to do so than they had been a few days earlier, and looked about them for means of strengthening testimony. Also, the whole story was well ventilated in the newspapers.

  Then came a man privately to Hamilton Bright and said that he was John Simons, who spelled his name in the right way, and had been the witness of the will. He was in difficulties, and was obliged to hide from his creditors; but if a small sum of money were forthcoming — and so forth. Bright looked at him, and he was clean-shaven, and of average height, and wore a brown jacket. Bright hesitated, and then called the other witnesses, who unhesitatingly swore that the man who had signed was Persimmons and not this Simons. And nothing more was heard of the man in the brown jacket to this day. But another clean-shaven man of average height with another sort of brown jacket appeared the next morning, and many more after him, very much alike. But the departure of them from the office was much more precipitate than that of the first. And this also was in the morning and evening papers, and still the will was unprobated, and lay in Mr. Allen’s safe. After that the lawyers on each side began to accuse one another of causing delay, and while they were quarrelling about it the delay continued, and the public jeered, and the actors at Harrigan and Hart’s introduced jokes about the Lauderdale will which brought the house down, until Teddy Van De Water, chancing to be in the audience, took friendly action, and requested that the name should not be introduced in future. At this the public of the theatre took offence, and called all the Lauderdales gilt-edged galoots, and by other similar epithets commonly applied to the Four Hundred by a godless population which has not the fear of millions before its eyes, but rather a desire for the same.

  About this time the quality of the cigars smoked by Alexander Lauderdale Senior suddenly improved at a wonderful and miraculous rate, so that in a few days he was brought by successive stages of delight from the ‘Old Virginia Cheroot,’ at ten cents for a package of five, to the refinement of Havanas, at thirty cents apiece, after which of his own accord he returned to what are known as Eden Bouquets from Park and Tilford’s. He smoked in silent surprise, not unmixed with an old man’s cunning curiosity, and not without much internal amusement. Reporters also came often to see him, ostensibly to make enquiries about the vast charities in which he was chiefly interested; but in reality they came cynically to have a look at him, and to tell the public what probabilities of life remained to him in which to enjoy his half of the Lauderdale fortune. Most of them came to the conclusion that he might live many years longer.

  In the Lauderdale household there was peace during these days. Katharine had returned, and had been received by her father with reticent affection, and nothing more had been said about her offering an apology for her hasty speeches. From time to time the Ralstons were spoken of in connection with the family affairs, and then Alexander suggested to his wife that they might be asked to dinner. It would, in his favourite phrase, tend to cement the union between the two branches of the family which stood together in the great contention, pitted against the Brights and the Crowdies.

  They came, and their coming was an event. Even the servants took an interest in it. Ralston and Lauderdale shook hands rather spasmodically, and each looked at Katharine’s arm a moment later, recalling the words they had exchanged when they had last met, and the blow and the struggle after it, and many other things of a similar nature. The Ralstons were very quiet, but behaved naturally and made conversation, avoiding the subject of the will as much as possible. After dinner John and Katharine sat in a corner for nearly half an hour, as they used to do long ago in the early days of their love-making, and Alexander Junior seemed well satisfied, and resolutely turned his back on them and talked with Mrs. Ralston.

  John remembered having told his mother, when Katharine was still at the Brights’, that the next time Katharine entered her father’s house she should go as his wife; but fate had managed matters otherwise. Until the question of the fortune was settled, it would be as well to keep the marriage a secret. It could only be a question of days now. That was clear enough from Alexander’s face, which expressed his certainty of triumph as clearly as his cold features could express anything. His electric smile flashed more frequently than it had done for many years, and his steely eyes glittered in the light. But he had grown thin of late, for it was hard to wait so long before realizing the miser’s dream.

  In the night, when he lay awake, he had a wild idea which haunted him in the dark hours, though it never crossed his brain during the daylight. He thought of realizing a whole million in gold coin, and of revelling in the delight of pouring it from one hand to another. He had a million of his own, in a very realizable shape, but somehow he would not have risked that, so long as he had not a second. Some one might rob him — one could never tell. He should like to be alone with the gold in his own room for one hour, and then know that it was safe. He considered whether the gas-light in his dressing-room were strong enough to make the metal glitter. Electric light would be better.

  It was a childish thought, and in the daytime he paid no attention to it, but at night it came upon him like hunger or thirst, drying his lips and driving away sleep. Then, in order to quiet his brain, he had to promise himself that he would really do the thing he longed to do as soon as it lay in his power. But in the morning, when he stood before his shaving-glass, and looked into his own hard eyes, he laughed scornfully.

  So things went on for a few days more. Then Alexander arose and said that there should be no more delay, but that the will should be brought to probate at the next session of the court, which does not sit every day. And then the excitement grew more intense, and the Brights and the Lauderdales avoided one another in the street. Ralston still went regularly to the bank and saw Hamilton Bright every day. But though they were friends still, and there had been no unfriendly word spoken between them, they met as little as possible and merely nodded quickly when a meeting was unavoidable. But Ralston was displeased by the notice he attracted whenever he got up from his seat or sat down again. Occasionally an acquaintance of one of the numerous young gentlemen in the bank came in, and it was rarely that, after exchanging a few words with his friend, the stranger did not turn and glance at John, where he sat. Ralston did not like it, but he could do nothing against it.

  Then came the day of judgment. Without warning the Brights produced a man whom they believed to be the real John Simons, and who swore that he had signed the will in the presence of the testators and in the presence of the other witnesses.

  This was a terrible blow to the Lauderdale side. But the other witnesses had previously sworn to and signed a statement, extracted from them by the Lauderdales, to the effect that Persimmons was the man who had signed with them; and whether the John Simons now present, who was a genuine John Simons of some kind, were the right on
e or not, they had no intention of laying themselves open to a possible action for perjury, and stuck to their original testimony, regardless of the fact that the witness now confronted with them, being also clean shaven, of average height, and possibly the possessor of a brown jacket, was a perfectly respectable citizen of New York. At this the legal advisers of the Brights were thunderstruck, and the court was surprised. But with the fear of prosecution by the Lauderdales before their eyes, the other two would not budge, though the real John Simons, whether he had signed or not, immediately threatened to prosecute them for perjury on his own account. But he did not look imposing enough, and they preferred that risk to the other.

  In the face of such conflicting evidence the court ruled that, the witnesses not agreeing, the will could not be admitted to probate, and there was clearly nothing to be done but to give judgment that the deceased had died intestate, and that administrators must dispose of the property between the next of kin, Alexander Lauderdale Senior, and Katharine Lauderdale, widow of the late Admiral Ralston of the United States Navy.

  When Alexander Junior heard the judgment he laughed hysterically, and showed his brilliant teeth. Hamilton Bright said nothing, but he, who generally reddened under emotion, turned white to his neck and under his ears.

  “That’s all very well,” said Mr. Allen to Mr. Henry Brett, as they walked away together. “But if he didn’t happen to destroy the will I made for him, there may be trouble yet. I wonder where it is!”

  But nobody seemed to know.

  CHAPTER XXV.

  IT IS NOT very easy to conceive of the disappointment felt by persons to whom a gigantic fortune has been left by a will which is then entirely set aside, so that they receive absolutely nothing. It would be useless to attempt an analysis of the state of mind which prevailed in the households of the Brights and the Crowdies after judgment had been given against them in the court of probate. The blow was sudden and stunning. Though they were all very well-to-do, even rich, in the ordinary acceptation of that word, their joint imagination had of late so completely outrun their present circumstances, that they felt impoverished when the hope of millions was removed beyond their reach. They could not realize that the will was absolutely valueless, and they still felt sure that something might be done.

  Unfortunately for them the matter had been finally settled. In the presence of witnesses who denied one another’s identity, and threatened one another reciprocally with actions for perjury, the court could hardly have done otherwise than it had done. To this day it is still doubtful — from a legal point of view — which of the John Simonses signed as a witness, though everything goes to show that the last one produced was the right one, in spite of the fact that the others denied having known him. Persimmons had, from the first, denied having had anything to do with the matter, but he had subsequently sworn to all manner of statements. The confusion was complete. There was no doubt that the respectable John Simons who appeared last was a tenant of one of the Lauderdale houses in MacDougal Street, and he said that he had found himself at Robert Lauderdale’s house, having gone to complain of a leak in his roof to old Robert himself, after having vainly laid his grievance before the agent a number of times. The story was probably true, but the other witnesses remained firm in their assertion that he was not the man. They were, perhaps, telling the truth to the best of their ability. Neither Persimmons nor John Simons were men who had anything unusual about them to impress itself upon their memory. They themselves, somewhat awed by the presence of the great millionaire, had looked at him much more than at their insignificant fellow-witness. The room had not been light, for the signing had taken place late in the afternoon, as all agreed in stating, and they had not remained in one another’s presence more than three minutes altogether. Simons, said the other two, had stayed behind, whereas they had left the room immediately. It was not surprising that their memory of the man’s face should be indistinct.

  The Brights, however, threw the whole blame upon the Lauderdales and their legal advisers. The latter had not the right, they said, to make the two witnesses sign an affidavit beforehand to the effect that they recognized the third. The Lauderdales answered that there was no law to hinder them from requesting any individual with whom they had to do, to swear to any statement he made. The two need not have signed unless they pleased. There had been no pressure brought to bear upon them. They had said that they recognized Persimmons. The Lauderdale lawyers wished to make sure that they did, so as to avoid any subsequent trouble, because Persimmons denied that he was the man, and might disappear before the hearing. What was more natural than that, out of pure caution, they should have wished to file an affidavit of the man’s identity? The Brights, amongst themselves, were obliged to admit that they did not really know who had signed, and that the only person who could have settled the dispute was dead, so that they could not blame the court for its decision.

  After the judgment John Simons quarrelled with the other two, who turned upon him in defence of their own reputations. They swore out warrants against one another which were not served, and they pottered amongst shysters and legal small fry, until they had spent most of their money, and disappeared from the horizon with their quarrel. The private opinion of the judge who had settled the question was that there had been an unfortunate mistake, and that all three had originally intended to be perfectly honest. But he also thought it far more just that the fortune should go to the next of kin, in spite of Robert Lauderdale’s wishes.

  Alexander Lauderdale did his best to conceal his delight in his triumph. It had been a far more easy victory than he had expected, and it was practically complete. The only drawback was that the fortune had come into his old father’s hands instead of into his own, but he anticipated no difficulty in ruling the old gentleman according to his own judgment, nor in getting control of the whole estate. He intended to treat it as he had treated his own comparatively small possessions, and he had hopes of seeing it doubled in his lifetime. He could make it double itself in twenty years at the utmost, and he was but fifty years of age, or thereabouts. He should live as long as that, with his iron constitution and careful habits.

  His father received the news with an old man’s chuckle of pleasure, and one heavy hand fell into the other with a loud slap of satisfaction. He had but one idea, which was to extend the scope and efficiency of his charitable institutions, and he saw at last that he had boundless power to do so.

  “I always knew I should live to build that other asylum myself!” he cried, referring to one of his favourite schemes. “It will only cost a million or so, and another million as a foundation will run it. I’ll send for the architects at once.”

  Alexander Junior smiled, for he believed that he was quite able to prevent any such extravagance by getting himself appointed his father’s guardian, on the ground that the old gentleman would squander everything in senseless charities. But in the meanwhile it would take some time to make the division of the property, which was almost wholly in real estate, as has been seen, and could not be so readily apportioned as though it had been held in bond and mortgage. Of course the administrators would allow either of the heirs to draw a large amount on credit before the settling, if they desired to do so.

  Alexander Senior said that he meant to live in Clinton Place for the rest of his life, and his son considered this a very wise decision. The people who lived opposite began to watch the old gentleman, who had inherited over forty millions, when he went out on foot in his shabby coat for his airing on fine days. They wondered why he did not buy a new one, as they did, when their overcoats were worn out.

  Mrs. Lauderdale was indignant at the idea of continuing to inhabit the old house. In her mind it was associated with a quarter of a century of penurious economy, and she longed at last for the luxury she enjoyed so thoroughly in the houses of others.

  “It’s perfectly absurd,” she said to Katharine, indignantly. “I’ve stood it all these years because I had to — but I won’t stand i
t any longer. If ever I paint another miniature! But I’d made up my mind that I wouldn’t do that, even if we didn’t get all the money.”

  “I should think so!” laughed Katharine. “Put away your paints and your brushes, mother, and say that you’ll never use them any more. You’ll be at it again as hard as ever in a week, because you really like it, you know!”

  “I suppose so.” And Mrs. Lauderdale laughed, too. “Let’s go out, child. Let’s take a long drive — somewhere. I suppose we can drive as much as we like now.”

  “From morning till night,” answered Katharine; “why don’t we use the horses and carriages? They’re all there, you know, and all the grooms and coachmen and everything, just as though nothing had happened.”

  “Do you think we could just go there and order a carriage?” asked Mrs. Lauderdale, rather doubtfully.

  “Why, of course! Whose are they all, if they’re not ours and the Ralstons’? We have a perfect right—”

  “Yes — but if we were to meet people — don’t you know?”