CHAPTER IV
PEEPING TOM OF WALLINGFORD
To be an attorney-at-law, avid of practice and getting none; to becalled Peeping Tom of Wallingford, in the place where you would faintrot about busy and respected; to be the sole support of an old mother,and to be come almost to the toe of the stocking--these circumstancesmight seem to indicate an existence and prospects bare, not to say arid.Eventually they presented themselves in that light to the person mostnearly concerned--by name Mr. Peter Fishwick; and moving him to grasp atthe forlorn hope presented by a vacant stewardship at one of thecolleges, brought him by coach to Oxford. There he spent three days andhis penultimate guineas in canvassing, begging, bowing, and smirking;and on the fourth, which happened to be the very day of Sir George'sarrival in the city, was duly and handsomely defeated without the honourof a vote.
Mr. Fishwick had expected no other result; and so far all was well. Buthe had a mother, and that mother entertained a fond belief that localjealousy and nothing else kept down her son in the place of his birth.She had built high hopes on this expedition; she had thought that theOxford gentlemen would be prompt to recognise his merit; and for hersake the sharp-featured lawyer went back to the Mitre a rueful man. Hehad taken a lodging there with intent to dazzle the town, and notbecause his means were equal to it; and already the bill weighed uponhim. By nature as cheerful a gossip as ever wore a scratch wig and livedto be inquisitive, he sat mum through the evening, and barely listenedwhile the landlord talked big of his guest upstairs, his curricle andfashion, the sums he lost at White's, and the plate in hisdressing-case.
Nevertheless the lawyer would not have been Peter Fishwick if he had notpresently felt the stirrings of curiosity, or, thus incited, failed tobe on the move between the stairs and the landing when Sir George camein and passed up. The attorney's ears were as sharp as a ferret's nose,and he was notably long in lighting his humble dip at a candle which bychance stood outside Sir George's door. Hence it happened thatSoane--who after dismissing his servant had gone for a moment into theadjacent chamber--heard a slight noise in the room he had left; and,returning quickly to learn what it was, found no one, but observed theouter door shake as if some one tried it. His suspicions aroused, he wasstill staring at the door when it moved again, opened a very little way,and before his astonished eyes admitted a small man in a faded blacksuit, who, as soon as he had squeezed himself in, stood bowing with akind of desperate audacity.
'Hallo!' said Sir George, staring anew. 'What do you want, my man?'
The intruder advanced a pace or two, and nervously crumpled his hat inhis hands. 'If your honour pleases,' he said, a smile feeblypropitiative appearing in his face, 'I shall be glad to be of serviceto you.'
'Of service?' said Sir George, staring in perplexity. 'To me?'
'In the way of my profession,' the little man answered, fixing SirGeorge with two eyes as bright as birds'; which eyes somewhat redeemedhis small keen features. 'Your honour was about to make your will.' 'Mywill?' Sir George cried, amazed; 'I was about to--' and then in anoutburst of rage, 'and if I was--what the devil business is it ofyours?' he cried. 'And who are you, sir?'
The little man spread out his hands in deprecation. 'I?' he said. 'I aman attorney, sir, and everybody's business is my business.'
Sir George gasped. 'You are an attorney!' he cried. 'And--andeverybody's business is your business! By God, this is too much!' Andseizing the bell-rope he was about to overwhelm the man of law with atorrent of abuse, before he had him put out, when the absurdity of theappeal and perhaps a happy touch in Peter's last answer struck him; heheld his hand, and hesitated. Then, 'What is your name, sir?' hesaid sternly.
'Peter Fishwick,' the attorney answered humbly.
'And how the devil did you know--that I wanted to make a will?'
'I was going upstairs,' the lawyer explained. 'And the door was ajar.'
'And you listened?'
'I wanted to hear,' said Peter with simplicity.
'But what did you hear, sir?' Soane retorted, scarcely able to repress asmile.
'I heard your honour tell your servant to lay out pen and paper, and tobring the landlord and another upstairs when he called you in themorning. And I heard you bid him leave your sword. And putting two andtwo together, respected sir, 'Peter continued manfully,' and knowingthat it is only of a will you need three witnesses, I said to myself,being an attorney--'
'And everybody's business being your business,' Sir George mutteredirritably.
'To be sure, sir--it is a will, I said, he is for making. And with yourhonour's leave,' Peter concluded with spirit, I'll make it.'
'Confound your impudence,' Sir George answered, and stared at him,marvelling at the little man's shrewdness.
Peter smiled in a sickly fashion. 'If your honour would but allow me?'he said. He saw a great chance slipping from him, and his voice wasplaintive.
It moved Sir George to compassion. 'Where is your practice?' he askedungraciously.
The attorney felt a surprising inclination to candour. 'At Wallingford,'he said, 'it should be. But--' and there he stopped, shrugging hisshoulders, and leaving the rest unsaid.
'_Can_ you make a will?' Sir George retorted.
'No man better,' said Peter with confidence; and on the instant he drewa chair to the table, seized the pen, and bent the nib on his thumbnail;then he said briskly, 'I wait your commands, sir.'
Sir George stared in some embarrassment--he had not expected to be takenso literally; but, after a moment's hesitation, reflecting that to writedown his wishes with his own hand would give him more trouble, and thathe might as well trust this stranger as that, he accepted the situation.'Take down what I wish, then,' he said. 'Put it into form afterwards,and bring it to me when I rise. Can you be secret?'
'Try me,' Peter answered with enthusiasm. 'For a good client I wouldbite off my tongue.'
'Very well, then, listen!' Sir George said. And presently, after somehumming and thinking, 'I wish to leave all my real property to theeldest son of my uncle, Anthony Soane,' he continued.
'Right, sir. Child already in existence, I presume? Not that it isabsolutely necessary,' the attorney continued glibly. 'But--'
'I do not know,' said Sir George.
'Ah!' said the lawyer, raising his pen and knitting his brows while helooked very learnedly into vacancy. 'The child is expected, but you havenot yet heard, sir, that--'
'I know nothing about the child, nor whether there is a child,' SirGeorge answered testily. 'My uncle may be dead, unmarried, or alive andmarried--what difference does it make?'
'Certainty is very necessary in these things,' Peter replied severely.The pen in his hand, he became a different man. 'Your uncle, Mr. AnthonySoane, as I understand, is alive?'
'He disappeared in the Scotch troubles in '45,' Sir George reluctantlyexplained, 'was disinherited in favour of my father, sir, and has notsince been heard from.'
The attorney grew rigid with alertness; he was like nothing so much as adog, expectant at a rat-hole. 'Attainted?' he said.
'No!' said Sir George.
'Outlawed?'
'No.'
The attorney collapsed: no rat in the hole. 'Dear me, dear me, what asad story!' he said; and then remembering that his client had profited,'but out of evil--ahem! As I understand, sir, you wish all your realproperty, including the capital mansion house and demesne, to go to theeldest son of your uncle Mr. Anthony Soane in tail, remainder to thesecond son in tail, and, failing sons, to daughters--the usualsettlement, in a word, sir.'
'Yes.'
'No exceptions, sir.'
'None.'
'Very good,' the attorney answered with the air of a man satisfied sofar. 'And failing issue of your uncle? To whom then, Sir George?'
'To the Earl of Chatham.'
Mr. Fishwick jumped in his seat; then bowed profoundly.
'Indeed! Indeed! How very interesting!' he murmured under his breath.'Very remarkable! Very remarkable, and flattering.'
&nb
sp; Sir George stooped to explain. 'I have no near relations,' he saidshortly. 'Lord Chatham--he was then Mr. Pitt--was the executor of mygrandfather's will, is connected with me by marriage, and at one timeacted as my guardian.'
Mr. Fishwick licked his lips as if he tasted something very good. Thiswas business indeed! These were names with a vengeance! His face shonewith satisfaction; he acquired a sudden stiffness of the spine. 'Verygood, sir,' he said. 'Ve--ry good,' he said. 'In fee simple, Iunderstand?'
'Yes.'
'Precisely. Precisely; no uses or trusts? No. Unnecessary of course.Then as to personalty, Sir George?'
'A legacy of five hundred guineas to George Augustus Selwyn, Esquire, ofMatson, Gloucestershire. One of the same amount to Sir Charles Bunbury,Baronet. Five hundred guineas to each of my executors; and to each ofthese four a mourning ring.'
'Certainly, sir. All very noble gifts!' And Mr. Fishwick smacked hislips.
For a moment Sir George looked his offence; then seeing that theattorney's ecstasy was real and unaffected, he smiled. 'To myland-steward two hundred guineas,' he said; 'to my house-steward onehundred guineas, to the housekeeper at Estcombe an annuity of twentyguineas. Ten guineas and a suit of mourning to each of my upperservants not already mentioned, and the rest of my personalty--'
'After payment of debts and funeral and testamentary expenses,' thelawyer murmured, writing busily.
Sir George started at the words, and stared thoughtfully before him: hewas silent so long that the lawyer recalled his attention by gentlyrepeating, 'And the residue, honoured sir?'
'To the Thatched House Society for the relief of small debtors,' SirGeorge answered, between a sigh and a smile. And added, 'They will notgain much by it, poor devils!'
Mr. Fishwick with a rather downcast air noted the bequest. 'And that isall, sir, I think?' he said with his head on one side. 'Except theappointment of executors.'
'No,' Sir George answered curtly. 'It is not all. Take this down and becareful. As to the trust fund of fifty thousand pounds'--the attorneygasped, and his eyes shone as he seized the pen anew. 'Take this downcarefully, man, I say,' Sir George continued. 'As to the trust fund leftby my grandfather's will to my uncle Anthony Soane or his heirsconditionally on his or their returning to their allegiance and claimingit within the space of twenty-one years from the date of his will, theinterest in the meantime to be paid to me for my benefit, and theprincipal sum, failing such return, to become mine as fully as if it hadvested in me from the beginning--'
'Ah!' said the attorney, scribbling fast, and with distended cheeks.
'I leave the said fund to go with the land.'
'To go with the land,' the lawyer repeated as he wrote the words. 'Fiftythousand pounds! Prodigious! Prodigious! Might I ask, sir, the date ofyour respected grandfather's will?'
'December, 1746,' Sir George answered.
'The term has then nine months to run?'
'Yes.'
'With submission, then it comes to this,' the lawyer answeredthoughtfully, marking off the points with his pen in the air. 'In theevent of--of this will operating--all, or nearly all of your property,Sir George, goes to your uncle's heirs in tail--if to be found--andfailing issue of his body to my Lord Chatham?'
'Those are my intentions.'
'Precisely, sir,' the lawyer answered, glancing at the clock. 'And theyshall be carried out. But--ahem! Do I understand, sir, that in the eventof a claimant making good his claim before the expiration of the ninemonths, you stand to lose this stupendous, this magnificent sum--even inyour lifetime?'
'I do,' Sir George answered grimly. 'But there will be enough left topay your bill.'
Peter stretched out his hands in protest, then, feeling that this wasunprofessional, he seized the pen. 'Will you please to honour me withthe names of the executors, sir?' he said.
'Dr. Addington, of Harley Street.'
'Yes, sir.'
'And Mr. Dagge, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, attorney-at-law.'
'It is an honour to be in any way associated with him,' the lawyermuttered, as he wrote the name with a flourish. 'His lordship's man ofbusiness, I believe. And now you may have your mind at ease, sir,' hecontinued. 'I will put this into form before I sleep, and will wait onyou for your signature--shall I say at--'
'At a quarter before eight,' said Soane. 'You will be private?'
'Of course, sir. It is my business to be private. I wish you a very goodnight.'
The attorney longed to refer to the coming meeting, and to his sincerehope that his new patron would leave the ground unscathed. But a duelwas so alien from the lawyer's walk in life, that he knew nothing of thepunctilios, and he felt a delicacy. Tamely to wish a man a safe issueseemed to be a common compliment incommensurate with the occasion; and abathos. So, after a moment of hesitation, he gathered up his papers, andtip-toed out of the room with an absurd exaggeration of respect, and aheart bounding jubilant under his flapped waistcoat.
Left to himself, Sir George heaved a sigh, and, resting his head on hishand, stared long and gloomily at the candles. 'Well, better be runthrough by this clown,' he muttered after a while, 'than live to put apistol to my own head like Mountford and Bland. Or Scarborough, or poorBolton. It is not likely, and I wish that little pettifogger had not putit into my head; but if a cousin were to appear now, or before the timeis up, I should be in Queer Street. Estcombe is dipped: and of the moneyI raised, there is no more at the agent's than I have lost in a night atQuinze! D----n White's and that is all about it. And d----n it, I shall,and finely, if old Anthony's lad turn up and sweep off the threethousand a year that is left. Umph, if I am to have a steady handto-morrow I must get to bed. What unholy chance brought me intothis scrape?'
The Castle Inn Page 4
