Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “Hush, John. Do you not see the gentleman?” his wife interposed, with the simplicity of habit. “He will show you out,” she added rapidly to me, “as soon as his lordship has gone in, if you do not mind waiting another minute.”

  “Not at all,” I said, drawing back into the corner as they went on their errands. But though I said, “Not at all,” mine was an odd position. The way in which I had come into the house, and my present situation in a kind of hiding, would have made most men only anxious to extricate themselves. But I, while I listened to John parleying with some one at the door, conceived a strange desire, or a desire which would have been strange in another man, to see this thing to the end — conceived it and acted upon it.

  The library? That was the room on the right of the hall, opposite to Mrs. Wigrams’s sitting-room. Probably, nay I was certain, it had another door opening on the passage in which I stood. It would cost me but a step to confirm my opinion. When John ushered in the visitor by one door I had already, by way of the other, ensconced myself behind a screen, which I seemed to know would mask it. I was going to listen. Perhaps I had my reasons. Perhaps — but there, what matter? As a fact, I listened.

  The room was spacious but sombre, wainscoted and vaulted with oak. Its only visible occupant was a thin, dark man of middle size, with a narrow face, and a stubborn feather of black hair rising above his forehead; a man of Welsh type. He was standing with his back to the light, a roll of papers in one hand. The fingers of the other, drumming upon the table, betrayed that he was both out of temper and ill at ease. While I was still scanning him stealthily — I had never seen him before — the door opened, and Mrs. Wigram came in. I sank back behind the screen. I think some words passed, some greeting of the most formal; but, though the room was still, I failed to hear it, and when I recovered myself he was speaking.

  “I am here at your wish, Mrs. Wigram, and your service, too,” he said, with an effort at gallantry which sat ill upon him. “Although I think it would have been better if we had left the matter to our solicitors.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Yes. I thought you were aware of my opinion.”

  “I was; and I perfectly understand, Lord Wetherby,” she replied, with a coldness which did not hide her dislike for him, “your preference for that course. You naturally shrink from telling me your terms face to face.”

  “Now, Mrs. Wigram! Now, Mrs. Wigram! Is not this a tone to be deprecated?” he answered, lifting his hands. “I come to you as a man of business upon business.”

  “Business!” she retorted. “Does that mean wringing advantage from my weakness?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “I do deprecate this tone,” he repeated. “I come in plain English to make you an offer; one which you can accept or refuse as you please. I offer you five hundred a-year for this house. It is immensely too large for your needs, and too expensive for your income, and yet you have in strictness no power to let it. Very well, I, who can release you from that restriction, offer you five hundred a-year for the house. What can be more fair?”

  “Fair? In plain English, Lord Wetherby, you are the only possible purchaser, and you fix the price. Is that fair? The house would let easily for fifteen hundred.”

  “Possibly,” he retorted, “if it were in the open market. But it is not.”

  “No,” she answered rapidly. “And you, having the forty thousand a year which, had my husband lived, would have been his and mine; you who, a poor man, have stepped into this inheritance — you offer me five hundred for the family house! For shame, my lord! for shame!”

  “We are not acting a play,” he answered doggedly, but I could see that her words stung him. “The law is the law. I ask for nothing but my rights, and one of those I am willing to waive in your favour. You have my offer.”

  “And if I refuse it? If I let the house? You will not dare to enforce the restriction.”

  “Try me,” he rejoined, drumming with his fingers upon the table. “Try me, and you will see.”

  “If my husband had lived — —”

  “But he did not live,” he broke in, losing patience, “and that makes all the difference. Now, for Heaven’s sake, Mrs. Wigram, do not make a scene! Do you accept my offer?”

  For a moment she seemed about to break down, but, her pride coming to the rescue, she recovered herself with wonderful quickness.

  “I have no choice,” she said with dignity.

  “I am glad you accept,” he answered, so much relieved that he gave way to an absurd burst of generosity. “Come!” he cried, “we will say guineas instead of pounds, and have done with it!”

  She looked at him in wonder. “No, Lord Wetherby,” she said, “I accepted your terms. I prefer to keep to them. You said that you would bring the necessary papers with you. If you have done so I will sign them now, and my servants can witness them.”

  “I have the draft, and the lawyer’s clerk is doubtless in the house,” he answered. “I left directions for him to be here at eleven.”

  “I do not think that he is in the house,” the lady answered. “I should know if he were here.”

  “Not here!” he answered angrily. “Why not, I wonder! But I have the skeleton lease; it is very short, and to save delay I will fill in the particulars, names, and so forth myself, if you will permit me to do so. It will not take twenty minutes.”

  “As you please. You will find a pen and ink on the table. If you will ring the bell when you are ready, I will come and bring the servants.”

  “Thank you. You are very good,” he said smoothly, adding, when she had left the room, “and the devil take your impudence, madam! As for your cursed pride — well, it has saved me twenty-five pounds a-year, and so you are welcome to it. I was a fool to make the offer.” With that, now grumbling at the absence of the lawyer’s clerk, and now congratulating himself on the saving of a lawyer’s fee, my lord sat down to his task.

  A hansom cab, on its way to the East India Club rattled through the square, and, under cover of the noise, I stole out from behind the screen, and stood in the middle of the room, looking down at the unconscious worker. If for a minute I felt the desire to raise my hand and give his lordship such a surprise as he had never in his life experienced, any other man might have felt the same; and as it was I put it away and only looked quietly about me. Some rays of sunshine, piercing the corner pane of a dulled window, fell on the Wetherby coat of arms blazoned over the wide fireplace, and so created the one bright spot in the bare, dismantled room; which had once, unless the tiers of empty shelves and the lingering odour of Russia lied, been lined from floor to ceiling with books. My lord had taken the furniture; my lord had taken the books; my lord had taken — nothing but his rights.

  Retreating softly to the door by which I had entered, and rattling the handle, I advanced afresh into the room. “Will your lordship allow me?” I said, after I had in vain coughed to gain his attention.

  He turned hastily and looked at me with a face full of suspicion. Some surprise on finding another person in the room was natural; but possibly also there was something in the atmosphere of that house which threw his nerves off their balance. “Who are you?” he cried in a tone which matched his face.

  “You left orders, my lord,” I explained, “with Messrs. Duggan and Poole that a clerk should attend here at eleven. I very much regret that some delay has been caused.”

  “Oh, you are the clerk!” he replied ungraciously. “You do not look much like a lawyer’s clerk.”

  Involuntarily I glanced aside, and saw in a mirror the reflection of a tall man with a thick beard and moustaches, grey eyes, and an ugly scar seaming the face from nose to ear. “Yet I hope to give you satisfaction, my lord,” I murmured, dropping my eyes. “It was understood that you needed a confidential clerk.”

  “Well, well, sir, to your work!” he replied irritably. “Better late than never; and after all it may be better that you should be here and see it executed. Only you will not forget,” he continued, with
a glance at the papers, “that I have myself copied four — well, three — three full folios, for which an allowance must be made. But there! Get on with your work. The handwriting will speak for itself.”

  I obeyed, and wrote on steadily, while the earl walked up and down the room, or stood at a window. Upstairs sat Mrs. Wigram, schooling herself, I dare swear, to take this one favour that was no favour from the man who had dealt out to her such hard measure. Outside a casual passer through the square glanced up at the great house, and seeing the bent head of the secretary and the figure of his companion, saw as he thought nothing unusual; nor had any presentiment — how should he? — of the strange scene which the room with the dingy windows was about to witness.

  I had been writing for five minutes when Lord Wetherby stopped in his passage behind me and looked over my shoulder. With a jerk his eyeglasses fell, touching my shoulder.

  “Bless my soul!” he exclaimed, “I have seen your handwriting somewhere! And lately, too. Where, I wonder?”

  “Probably among the family papers, my lord,” I answered. “I have several times been engaged in the family business in the time of the late Lord Wetherby.”

  “Indeed.” There was both curiosity and suspicion in his utterance of the word. “You knew him?”

  “Yes, my lord. I have written for him in this very room, and he has walked up and down, and dictated to me, as you might be doing now.”

  His lordship stopped his pacing to and fro, and on the instant retreated to the window. But I could see that he was interested, and I was not surprised when he continued with transparent carelessness. “A strange coincidence. And may I ask what it was upon which you were engaged?”

  “At that time?” I answered, looking him full in the face. “Upon a will, my lord.”

  He started and frowned, and abruptly resumed his walk up and down. But I saw that he had a better conscience than I had given him credit for possessing. My shot had not struck where I had looked to place it; and, finding this was so, I turned the thing over afresh, while I pursued my copying. When I had finished, I asked him — I think he was busy at the time cursing the absence of tact in the lower orders — if he would go through the instrument. And he took my seat.

  Where I stood behind him, I was not far from the fireplace. While he muttered to himself the legal jargon in which he was as well versed as a lawyer bred in an office, I moved to it; and; neither missed nor suspected, stood looking from his bent figure to the blazoned shield, which formed part of the mantelpiece. If I wavered, my hesitation lasted but a few seconds. Then, raising my voice, I called sharply, “My lord, there used to be here — —”

  He turned swiftly, and saw where I was. “What the deuce are you doing there, sir?” he cried in astonishment, rising to his feet and coming towards me, the pen in his hand and his face aflame with anger. “You forget — —”

  “A safe — a concealed safe for papers,” I continued, cutting him short in my turn. “I have seen the late Lord Wetherby place papers in it more than once. The spring worked from here. You touch this knob.”

  “Leave it alone, sir!” he cried furiously.

  He spoke too late. The shield had swung outwards on a hinge, door-fashion; and where it had been, gaped a small open safe lined with cement. The rays of sunshine, that a few minutes before had picked out the gaudy quarterings, now fell on a large envelope which lay apart on a shelf. It was as clean as if it had been put there that morning. No doubt the safe was air-tight. I laid my hand upon it. “My lord!” I cried, turning to look at him with ill-concealed exultation, “here is a paper — I think, a will!”

  A moment before the veins of his forehead had been swollen, his face had been dark with the rush of blood. But his anger died down at sight of the packet. He regained his self-control, and a moment saw him pale and calm, all show of resentment confined to a wicked gleam in his eye. “A will?” he repeated, with a certain kind of dignity, though the hand he stretched out to take the envelope shook. “Indeed, then it is my place to examine it. I am the heir-at-law, and I am within my rights, sir.”

  I feared that he was going to put the parcel into his pocket and dismiss me, and I was considering what course I should take, when instead he carried the envelope to the table by the window, and tore off the cover without ceremony. “It is not in your handwriting?” were his first words. And he looked at me with a distrust that was almost superstitious. No doubt my sudden entrance, my ominous talk, and my discovery seemed to him to savour of the devil.

  “No,” I replied unmoved. “I told your lordship that I had written a will at the late Lord Wetherby’s dictation. I did not say — for how could I know? — that it was this one.”

  “Ah!” He hastily smoothed the sheets, and ran his eyes over their contents. When he reached the last page there was a dark scowl on his face, and he stood awhile staring at the signatures; not now reading, I think, but collecting his thoughts. “You know the provisions of this?” he presently burst forth, dashing the back of his hand against the paper. “I say, sir, you know the provisions of this?”

  “I do not, my lord,” I answered. Nor did I.

  “The unjust provisions of this will?” he repeated, passing over my negative as if it had not been uttered.

  “Fifty thousand pounds to a woman who had not a penny when she married his son! And the interest on another fifty thousand for her life! Why, it is a prodigious income, an abnormal income — for a woman! And out of whose pocket? Out of mine, every stiver of it! It is monstrous! I say it is! How am I to support the title on the income left to me, I should like to know?”

  I marvelled. I remembered how rich he was. I could not refrain from suggesting that he had remaining all the real property. “And,” I added, “I understood, my lord, that the testator’s personalty was sworn under four hundred thousand pounds.”

  “You talk nonsense!” he snarled. “Look at the legacies! Five thousand here, and a thousand there, and hundreds like berries on a bush! It is a fortune, a decent fortune, clean frittered away! A barren title is all that will be left to me!”

  What was he going to do? His face was gloomy, his hands were twitching. “Who are the witnesses, my lord?” I asked in a low voice.

  So low — for under certain conditions a tone conveys much — that he shot a stealthy glance towards the door before he answered, “John Williams.”

  “Blind,” I replied in the same low tone.

  “William Williams.”

  “He is dead. He was Mr. Wigram’s valet. I remember reading in the newspaper that he was with his master, and was killed by the Indians at the same time.”

  “True. I fancy that that was the case,” he answered huskily. “And the handwriting is Lord Wetherby’s.”

  I assented.

  Then for fully a minute we were silent, while he bent over the will, and I stood behind him looking down at him with thoughts in my mind which he could no more fathom than the senseless wood upon which I leaned. Yet I mistook him. I thought him, to be plain, a scoundrel; and — so he was — but a mean one. “What is to be done?” he muttered at length, speaking rather to himself than to me.

  I answered softly, “I am a poor man, my lord,” while inwardly I was quoting “quem Deus vult perdere.”

  My words startled him. He answered hurriedly, “Just so! just so! So shall I be when this cursed paper takes effect. A very poor man! A hundred and fifty thousand gone at a blow! But there, she shall have it! She shall have every penny of it; only,” he concluded slowly, “I do not see what difference one more day will make.”

  I followed his downcast eyes, which moved from the will before him to the agreement for the lease of the house; and I did see what difference a day would make. I saw and understood and wondered. He had not the courage to suppress the will; but if he could gain a slight advantage by withholding it for a few hours, he had the mind to do that. Mrs. Wigram, a rich woman, would no longer let the house; she would not need to do so; and my lord would lose a cheap residence as w
ell as his hundred and fifty thousand pounds. To the latter loss he had resigned himself; but he could not bear to forego the petty gain for which he had schemed. “I think I understand, my lord,” I replied.

  “Of course,” he resumed nervously, “you must be rewarded for making this discovery. I will see that it is so. You may depend upon me. I will mention the case to Mrs. Wigram, and — and, in fact, my friend, you may depend upon me.”

  “That will not do,” I said firmly. “If that be all, I had better go to Mrs. Wigram at once, and claim my reward a day earlier.”

  He grew very red in the face at receiving this check. “You will not in that event get my good word,” he said.

  “Which has no weight with the lady,” I answered.

  “How dare you speak so to me?” his lordship cried. “You are an impertinent fellow! But there! How much do you want?”

  “A hundred pounds.”

  “A hundred pounds for a mere day’s delay? Which will do no one any harm?”

  “Except Mrs. Wigram,” I retorted drily. “Come, Lord Wetherby, this lease is worth a thousand a year to you. Mrs. Wigram, as you know, will not voluntarily let the house to you. If you would have Wetherby House you must pay me. That is the long and the short of it.”

  “You are an impertinent fellow!” he cried.

  “So you have said before, my lord.”

  I expected him to burst into a furious passion, but I suppose there was a hint of power in my tone, beyond the defiance which the words expressed; for, instead of doing so, he eyed me with a thoughtful gaze, and paused to consider. “You are at Poole and Duggan’s,” he said slowly. “How was it that they did not search this cupboard, with which you were acquainted?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I have not been in the house since Lord Wetherby died,” I said. “My employers did not consult me when the papers he left were examined.”

  “You are not a member of the firm?”

  “No, I am not,” I answered. I was thinking that, if I knew those respectable gentlemen, no one of them would have helped my lord in this for ten times a hundred pounds.