CHAPTER XV.
THE WILL.
The only attendants at old Mr. Bertram's funeral were his nephew,Mr. Pritchett, and the Hadley doctor. The other gentlemen were to bepresent only at the more interesting ceremony of reading the will.Sir Lionel had written to say that he was rather unwell; that hecertainly would come up from Littlebath so as to be present at thelatter performance; but that the very precarious state of his health,and the very inconvenient hours of the trains, unhappily preventedhim from paying the other last sad duty to his brother's remains. SirHenry Harcourt had plainly demanded at what hour the will would beread; and Mr. Stickatit, junior--Mr. George Stickatit--of the firmof Dry and Stickatit, had promised to be at Hadley punctually at twoP.M. And he kept his word.
Mr. Pritchett came down by an early train, and, as was fit on such anoccasion, was more melancholy than usual. He was very melancholy andvery sad, for he felt that that half-million of money was in a greatjeopardy; and, perhaps, even the death of his old friend of fortyyears' standing may have had some effect on him. It was a mingledfeeling that pervaded him. "Oh, Mr. George!" he said, just beforethey went to the churchyard, "we are grass of the field, just grassof the field; here to-day, and gone to-morrow; flourishing in themorning, and cast into the oven before night! It behoves such frail,impotent creatures to look close after their interests--half amillion of money! I'm afraid you didn't think enough about it, Mr.George."
And then the Hadley bells were rung again; but they were not rungloudly. It seemed to Bertram that no one noticed that anythingmore than usually sad was going on. He could hardly realise it tohimself that he was going to put under the ground almost his nearestrelative. The bells rang out a dirge, but they did it hardly abovetheir breath. There were but three boys gathered at the little gatebefore the door to see the body of the rich man carried to his lasthome. George stood with his back to the empty dining-room fireplace:on one side stood Mr. Pritchett, and on the other the Barnet doctor.Very few words passed between them, but they were not in their naturepeculiarly lugubrious. And then there was a scuffling heard on thestairs--a subdued, decent undertaker's scuffling--as some hour or twobefore had been heard the muffled click of a hammer. Feet scuffleddown the stairs, outside the dining-room door, and along the passage.And then the door was opened, and in low, decent undertaker's voice,red-nosed, sombre, well-fed Mr. Mortmain told them that they wereready.
"These are yours, sir," and he handed a pair of black gloves toGeorge. "And these are yours, sir," and he gave another pair tothe doctor. But the doctor held them instead of putting them on;otherwise Mr. Mortmain could not be expected to change them after theceremony for a pair of lighter colour. They understood each other;and what could a country doctor do with twenty or thirty pairs ofblack gloves a year? "And these yours, Mr. Pritchett."
"Oh, Mr. George!" sighed Pritchett. "To think it should come to this!But he was a good gentleman; and very successful--very successful."
There were not ten people in the church or in the churchyard duringthe whole time of the funeral. To think that a man with half amillion of money could die and be got rid of with so little parade!What money could do--in a moderate way--was done. The coffin was asheavy as lead could make it. The cloth of the best. The plate upon itwas of silver, or looked like it. There was no room for an equipageof hearses and black coaches, the house was so unfortunately nearto the churchyard. It was all done in a decent, sombre, useful,money-making way, as beseemed the remains of such a man.
But it was on 'Change that he was truly buried; in Capel Court thathis funeral sermon was duly preached. These were the souls that knewhim, the ears to which his name loomed large. He had been true andhonest in all his dealings--there, at least. He had hurt nobody byword or deed--excepting in the way of trade. And had kept his handsfrom picking and stealing--from all picking, that is, not warrantedby City usage, and from all stealing that the law regards as such.Therefore, there, on 'Change, they preached his funeral sermonloudly, and buried him with all due honours.
Two had been named for the reading of the will, seeing that a trainarrived at 1.45 P.M. And, therefore, when the ceremony was over,George and Mr. Pritchett had to sit together in the dining-room tillthat time arrived. The doctor, who did not expect much from thewill, had gone away, perhaps to prepare other friends for similaroccupation. It was a tedious hour that they so passed, certainly;but at last it did make itself away. Lunch was brought in; and thesherry, which had been handed round with biscuits before the funeral,was again put on the table. Mr. Pritchett liked a glass of sherry,though it never seemed to have other effect on him than to make hissadness of a deeper dye. But at last, between this occupation and themuttering of a few scraps of a somewhat worldly morality, the hourdid wear itself away, and the hand of the old clock pointed to two.
The three gentlemen had come down by the same train, and arrivedin a fly together. Mr. George Stickatit, junior, paid for theaccommodation; which was no more than right, for he could put it inthe bill, and Sir Lionel could not. The mind of Sir Henry was toomuch intent on other things to enable him to think about the fly.
"Well, George," said Sir Lionel; "so it's all over at last. My poorbrother! I wish I could have been with you at the funeral; but it wasimpossible. The ladies are not here?"--This he added in a whisper.He could not well talk about Lady Harcourt, and he was not at thepresent moment anxious to see Miss Baker.
"They are not here to-day," said George, as he pressed his father'shand. He did not think it necessary to explain that they were stayingat good old Mrs. Jones's, on the other side of the Green.
"I should have been down for the funeral," said Mr. Stickatit; "butI have been kept going about the property, ever since the death, upto this moment, I may say. There's the document, gentlemen." And thewill was laid on the table. "The personalty will be sworn under five.The real will be about two more. Well, Pritchett, and how are youthis morning?"
Sir Henry said but little to anybody. Bertram put out his hand to himas he entered, and he just took it, muttering something; and then,having done so, he sat himself down at the table. His face was notpleasant to be seen; his manner was ungracious, nay, more than that,uncourteous--almost brutal; and it seemed as though he were preparedto declare himself the enemy of all who were there assembled. ToSir Lionel he was known, and it may be presumed that some words hadpassed between them in the fly; but there in the room he said no wordto any one, but sat leaning back in an arm-chair, with his hands inhis pockets, scowling at the table before him.
"A beautiful day, is it not, Mr. Pritchett?" said Sir Lionel,essaying to make things pleasant, after his fashion.
"A beautiful day--outwardly, Sir Lionel," sighed Mr. Pritchett. "Butthe occasion is not comfortable. We must all die, though; all of us,Mr. George."
"But we shall not all of us leave such a will as that behind us,"said Mr. Stickatit. "Come, gentlemen, are we ready? Shall we sitdown?"
George got a chair for his father, and put it down opposite to thatof Sir Henry's. Mr. Pritchett humbly kept himself in one corner. Thelawyer took the head of the table, and broke open the envelope whichcontained the will with a degree of gusto which showed that theoccupation was not disagreeable to him. "Mr. Bertram," said he, "willyou not take a chair?"
"Thank you, no; I'll stand here, if you please," said George. And sohe kept his position with his back to the empty fireplace.
All of them, then, were somewhat afraid of having theirdisappointment read in their faces, and commented upon by the others.They were all of them schooling themselves to bear with an appearanceof indifference the tidings which they dreaded to hear. All of them,that is, except the attorney. He hoped nothing, and feared nothing.
Mr. Pritchett nearly closed his eyes, and almost opened his mouth,and sat with his hands resting on his stomach before him, as thoughhe were much too humble to have any hopes of his own.
Sir Lionel was all smiles. What did he care? Not he. If that boy ofhis should get anything, he, as an affectionate father, would, ofcours
e, be glad. If not, why then his dear boy could do without it.That was the intended interpretation of his look. And judging ofit altogether, he did not do it badly; only he deceived nobody. Onsuch occasions, one's face, which is made up for deceit, never doesdeceive any one. But, in truth, Sir Lionel still entertained a higherhope than any other of the listeners there. He did not certainlyexpect a legacy himself, but he did think that George might still bethe heir. As Sir Henry was not to be, whose name was so likely? And,then, if his son, his dear son George, should be lord of two, nay,say only one, of those many hundred thousand pounds, what might not afond father expect?
Sir Henry was all frowns; and yet he was not quite hopeless. Thegranddaughter, the only lineal descendant of the dead man, was stillhis wife. Anything left to her must in some sort be left to him, letit be tied up with ever so much care. It might still be probablethat she might be named the heiress--perhaps the sole heiress. Itmight still be probable that the old man had made no new will sinceCaroline had left his home in Eaton Square. At any rate, there wouldstill be a ground, on which to fight, within his reach, if LadyHarcourt should be in any way enriched under the will. And if so, notenderness on his part should hinder him from fighting out that fightas long as he had an inch on which to stand.
Bertram neither hoped anything, nor feared anything, exceptthis--that they would look at him as a disappointed man. He knewthat he was to have nothing; and although, now that the moment hadcome, he felt that wealth might possibly have elated him, still theabsence of it did not make him in any degree unhappy. But it did makehim uncomfortable to think that he should be commiserated by Mr.Pritchett, sneered at by Harcourt, and taunted by his father.
"Well, gentlemen, are we ready?" said Mr. Stickatit again. They wereall ready, and so Mr. Stickatit began.
I will not give an acute critic any opportunity for telling me thatthe will, as detailed by me, was all illegal. I have not by me theipsissima verba; nor can I get them now, as I am very far fromDoctors' Commons. So I will give no verbal details at all.
The will, moreover, was very long--no less than fifteen folios. Andthat amount, though it might not be amiss in a three-volume edition,would be inconvenient when the book comes to be published foreighteen-pence. But the gist of the will was as follows.
It was dated in the October last gone by, at the time when George wasabout to start for Egypt, and when Lady Harcourt had already left herhusband. It stated that he, George Bertram, senior, of Hadley, beingin full use of all his mental faculties, made this as his last willand testament. And then he willed and devised--
Firstly, that George Stickatit, junior, of the firm of Day andStickatit, and George Bertram, junior, his nephew, should be hisexecutors; and that a thousand pounds each should be given to them,provided they were pleased to act in that capacity.
When Sir Lionel heard that George was named as one of the executors,he looked up at his son triumphantly; but when the thousand poundswere named, his face became rather long, and less pleasant thanusual. A man feels no need to leave a thousand pounds to an executorif he means to give him the bulk of his fortune.
Secondly, he left three hundred pounds a year for life to hisdear, old, trusty servant, Samuel Pritchett. Mr. Pritchett put hishandkerchief up to his face, and sobbed audibly. But he would soonerhave had two or three thousand pounds; for he also had an ambition toleave money behind him.
Thirdly, he bequeathed five hundred pounds a year for life to MaryBaker, late of Littlebath, and now of Hadley; and the use of thehouse at Hadley if she chose to occupy it. Otherwise, the house wasto be sold, and the proceeds were to go to his estate.
Sir Lionel, when he heard this, made a short calculation in his mindwhether it would now be worth his while to marry Miss Baker; and hedecided that it would not be worth his while.
Fourthly, he gave to his executors above-named a sum of four thousandpounds, to be invested by them in the Three per Cent. Consols, forthe sole use and benefit of his granddaughter, Caroline Harcourt. Andthe will went on to say, that he did this, although he was aware thatsufficient provision had already been made for his granddaughter,because he feared that untoward events might make it expedient thatshe should have some income exclusively her own.
Sir Henry, when this paragraph was read--this paragraph from whichhis own name was carefully excluded--dashed his fist down upon thetable, so that the ink leaped up out of the inkstand that stoodbefore the lawyer, and fell in sundry blots upon the document. Butno one said anything. There was blotting-paper at hand, and Mr.Stickatit soon proceeded.
In its fifth proviso, the old man mentioned his nephew George. "Iwish it to be understood," he said, "that I love my nephew, GeorgeBertram, and appreciate his honour, honesty, and truth." Sir Lionelonce more took heart of grace, and thought that it might still beall right. And George himself felt pleased; more pleased than he hadthought it possible that he should have been at the reading of thatwill. "But," continued the will, "I am not minded, as he is himselfaware, to put my money into his hands for his own purposes." It thenwent on to say, that a further sum of four thousand pounds was givento him as a token of affection.
Sir Lionel drew a long breath. After all, five thousand pounds wasthe whole sum total that was rescued out of the fire. What was fivethousand pounds? How much could he expect to get from such a sum asthat? Perhaps, after all, he had better take Miss Baker. But then herpittance was only for her life. How he did hate his departed brotherat that moment!
Poor Pritchett wheezed and sighed again. "Ah!" said he to himself."Half a million of money gone; clean gone! But he never would take myadvice!"
But George felt now that he did not care who looked at him, whocommiserated him. The will was all right. He did not at that momentwish it to be other than that the old man had made it. After alltheir quarrels, all their hot words and perverse thoughts towardseach other, it was clear to him now that his uncle had, at any rate,appreciated him. He could hear the remainder of it quite unmoved.
There were some other legacies to various people in the City, none ofthem being considerable in amount. Five hundred pounds to one, onethousand pounds to another, fifty pounds to a third, and so on. Andthen came the body of the will--the very will indeed.
And so Mr. George Bertram willed, that after the payment of allhis just debts, and of the legacies above recapitulated, his wholeproperty should be given to his executors, and by them expendedin building and endowing a college and alms-house, to be called"The Bertram College," for the education of the children ofLondon fishmongers, and for the maintenance of the widows of suchfishmongers as had died in want. Now Mr. Bertram had been a member ofthe Honourable Company of Fishmongers.
And that was the end of the will. And Mr. Stickatit, having completedthe reading, folded it up, and put it back into the envelope. SirHenry, the moment the reading was over, again dashed his fist uponthe table. "As heir-at-law," said he, "I shall oppose that document."
"I think you'll find it all correct," said Mr. Stickatit, with alittle smile.
"And I think otherwise, sir," said the late solicitor-general, in avoice that made them all start. "Very much otherwise. That documentis not worth the paper on which it is written. And now, I warn youtwo, who have been named as executors, that such is the fact."
Sir Lionel began to consider whether it would be better for him thatthe will should be a will, or should not be a will. Till he had doneso, he could not determine with which party he would side. If thatwere no will, there might be a previous one; and if so, Bertrammight, according to that, be the heir. "It is a very singulardocument," said he; "very singular."
But Sir Henry wanted no allies--wanted no one in that room to sidewith him. Hostility to them all was his present desire; to themand to one other--that other one who had brought upon him all thismisfortune; that wife of his bosom, who had betrayed his interestsand shattered his hopes.
"I believe there is nothing further to detain us at the presentmoment," said Mr. Stickatit. "Mr. Bertram, perhaps you can allow meto spea
k to you somewhere for five minutes?"
"I shall act," said George.
"Oh, of course. That's of course," said Stickatit. "And I also."
"Stop one moment, gentlemen," shouted Harcourt again. "I hereby giveyou both warning that you have no power to act."
"Perhaps, sir," suggested Stickatit, "your lawyer will take any stepshe may think necessary?"
"My lawyer, sir, will do as I bid him, and will require no suggestionfrom you. And now I have another matter to treat of. Mr. Bertram,where is Lady Harcourt?"
Bertram did not answer at once, but stood with his back still againstthe chimney-piece, thinking what answer he would give.
"Where, I say, is Lady Harcourt? Let us have no juggling, if youplease. You will find that I am in earnest."
"I am not Lady Harcourt's keeper," said George, in a very low tone ofvoice.
"No, by G----! Nor shall you be. Where is she? If you do not answermy question, I shall have recourse to the police at once."
Sir Lionel, meaning to make things pleasant, now got up, and wentover to his son. He did not know on what footing, with reference toeach other, his son and Lady Harcourt now stood; but he did know thatthey had loved each other, and been betrothed for years; he did know,also, that she had left her husband, and that that husband and hisson had been the closest friends. It was a great opportunity forhim to make things pleasant. He had not the slightest scruple as tosacrificing that "dear Caroline" whom he had so loved as his futuredaughter-in-law.
"George," said he, "if you know where Lady Harcourt is, it will bebetter that you should tell Sir Henry. No properly-thinking man willcountenance a wife in disobeying her husband."
"Father," said George, "Lady Harcourt is not in my custody. She isthe judge of her own actions in this matter."
"Is she?" said Sir Henry. "She must learn to know that she is not;and that very shortly. Do you mean to tell me where she is?"
"I mean to tell you nothing about her, Sir Henry."
"George, you are wrong," said Sir Lionel. "If you know where LadyHarcourt is, you are bound to tell him. I really think you are."
"I am bound to tell him nothing, father; nor will I. I will have noconversation with him about his wife. It is his affair and hers--andthat, perhaps, of a hundred other people; but it certainly is notmine. Nor will I make it so."
"Then you insist on concealing her?" said Sir Henry.
"I have nothing to do with her. I do not know that she is concealedat all."
"You know where she is?"
"I do. But, believing as I do that she would rather not be disturbed,I shall not say where you would find her."
"I think you ought, George."
"Father, you do not understand this matter."
"You will not escape in that way, sir. Here you are named as hertrustee in this will--"
"I am glad that you acknowledge the will, at any rate," said Mr.Stickatit.
"Who says that I acknowledge it? I acknowledge nothing in the will.But it is clear, from that document, that she presumes herself to beunder his protection. It is manifest that that silly fool intendedthat she should be so. Now I am not the man to put up with this. Iask you once more, Mr. Bertram, will you tell me where I shall findLady Harcourt?"
"No, I will not."
"Very well; then I shall know how to act. Gentlemen, good-morning.Mr. Stickatit, I caution you not to dispose, under that will, ofanything of which Mr. Bertram may have died possessed." And sosaying, he took up his hat, and left the house.
And what would he have done had Bertram told him that Lady Harcourtwas staying at Mr. Jones's, in the red brick house on the other sideof the Green? What can any man do with a recusant wife? We have oftenbeen told that we should build a golden bridge for a flying enemy.And if any one can be regarded as a man's enemy, it is a wife who isnot his friend.
After a little while, Sir Lionel went away with Mr. Pritchett.Bertram asked them both to stay for dinner, but the invitation wasnot given in a very cordial manner. At any rate, it was not accepted.
"Good-bye, then, George," said Sir Lionel. "I suppose I shall see youbefore I leave town. I must say, you have made a bad affair of thiswill."
"Good-bye, Mr. George; good-bye," said Mr. Pritchett. "Make mydutiful compliments to Miss Baker--and to the other lady."
"Yes, I will, Mr. Pritchett."
"Ah, dear! well. You might have had it all, instead of thefishmongers' children, if you had chosen, Mr. George."
And we also will say good-bye to the two gentlemen, as we shall notsee them again in these pages. That Mr. Pritchett will live for theremainder of his days decently, if not happily, on his annuity, maybe surmised. That Sir Lionel, without any annuity, but with a fairincome paid from the country's taxes, and with such extra pecuniaryaid as he may be able to extract from his son, will continue to liveindecently at Littlebath--for he never again returned to activeservice--that also may be surmised. And thus we will make our bows tothese old gentlemen--entertaining, however, very different feelingsfor them.
And soon afterwards Mr. Stickatit also went. Some slight, necessarylegal information as to the executorship was first imparted; SirHenry's threats were ridiculed; the good fortune of the fishmongerswas wondered at, and then Mr. Stickatit took his hat. The fourgentlemen no doubt went up to London by the same train.
In the evening, Miss Baker and Lady Harcourt came back to their ownhouse. It was Miss Baker's own house now. When she heard what her oldfriend had done for her, she was bewildered by his generosity. She,at any rate, had received more than she had expected.
"And what does he mean to do?" said Caroline.
"He says that he will dispute the will. But that, I take it, isnonsense."
"But about--you know what I mean, George?"
"He means to insist on your return. That, at least, is what hethreatens."
"He shall insist in vain. No law that man ever made shall force me tolive with him again."
Whether or no the husband was in earnest, it might clearly be judged,from the wife's face and tone, that she was so. On the next morning,George went up to London, and the two women were left alone in theirdull house at Hadley.
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