CHAPTER XIII.
A BAD BUSINESS.
"Mr. Harmer is dead! Sophy Needham is missing!"
Such was the news a groom, riding into Canterbury for a doctor, brought;such was the telegram which a friend at once sent down to us atRamsgate.
Mr. Harmer dead! Sophy Needham missing! It flashed like wildfire throughCanterbury, and the quiet old town was again shaken out of its lethargyby the intelligence. Mr. Harmer, during his lifetime, had been astanding topic of conversation; he had on several occasions quite rousedit from the even tenor of its way, but this last sensation was greaterand more astounding than any of its predecessors, and Canterbury enjoyedit with proportionate gusto.
"Sophy Needham eloped with that notorious reprobate, RobertGregory"--for the Misses Harmer, by their invectives on reading theletter, at once had told those round them with whom Sophy had fled--"and poor Mr. Harmer gone off in a fit in consequence!!" It was indeed aterrible affair, and it was not mended in the telling. By the time thetale had made its round, it had swollen to extraordinaryproportions--fresh additions were made by each mouth through which itpassed, until at last it was extremely difficult to find out what thetruth of the matter was.
From the simple report that Sophy Needham had eloped with RobertGregory, and that it had killed poor Mr. Harmer, the transition was easyto--"and _he_ had killed poor Mr. Harmer;" and details of the supposedmurder grew till it became a tragedy of the most coldbloodeddescription.
The groom's statement that the Misses Harmer were in a dreadful stateabout it, soon lost the last two words, and grew into,--"The MissesHarmer were also attacked, and were lying in a dreadful state."
Altogether, although Robert Gregory and Sophy were undoubtedly much toblame, and had acted very wrongly, I believe they would hardly haverecognised themselves or their doings, in the two fiends in human shape,whose deeds were commented upon in Canterbury that afternoon.
The next day the real truth of the story became known, and there wassome feeling of disappointment that things were not as bad as had beenreported; but even then the opinion in respect to Sophy and her loverwere hardly modified;--give a dog a bad name and you may as well hanghim.
This couple had been accused of murder and violence, and, although thecharge was now disproved, yet it was universally agreed that thesecrimes might, and in all probability would have been perpetrated, hadthe fugitives been detected at the time of their flight. Sophy's conductwas so atrocious, her ingratitude to Mr. Harmer so base, that there wasno question that a nature so depraved would hesitate at nothing. Theladies of the Canterbury society were the more inclined to insist uponthis, as it justified the views they had originally entertained of theimpropriety of calling upon the young person at Harmer Place, and thedoubts, they now affirmed they had always experienced of the possibilityof such a person ever turning out otherwise than badly. They felt,therefore, that they had attained a great triumph over their husbands,who had been, on the whole, inclined to differ from their opinions. Theyhad always, they said, predicted something of the kind from the timewhen they had heard of Mr. Harmer's intention towards her, and it reallyappeared to them to be almost a judgment upon him, for his infatuation,and for his venturing to fly in the face of the public feelings ofmorality and propriety in the way he had done.
Some of the husbands, indeed, even now ventured to offer excuses forSophy, and to point out that a good deal might be urged in herbehalf--her lonely position, her ignorance of the world, and of thecharacter of the man she had gone off with; and, still more, thetemptation to which she would be exposed by such an unprincipledblackguard as Robert Gregory. But these suggestions were contemptuouslyput aside. The bad character of the man, in place of being a palliation,was an aggravation of the offence, and this was satisfactorily proved bythat _argumentum ad hominem_ in which women so delight.
"You know very well, my dear, that if your own daughter had gone offwith such a man, you would have considered it a very much worsebusiness, and have been far more angry about it, than if she had runaway with some gentleman of position and character; so how can you nowtalk such nonsense as to say that the man's bad character is apalliation of her fault?"
I have often wondered why it is that we women are so much more severeupon offenders of our own sex than men are. Is it that men know so muchmore of life and human nature than we do? Is it that they know howcomparatively few women ever are seriously thus tempted during theirlives, and how hard it is to withstand great trials of this kind? Is itbecause they know, too, that very few of us who are so loud and sobitter in our contempt for those who fall, but would, if placed underthe same circumstances, and exposed to the same temptation, have actedprecisely in the same way? I think it must be that; and when I hearwomen so loud and bitter in their denunciations, and when I see men lookgrieved and sorry, but say nothing, I cannot help thinking sometimes,that it would be better if we judged not so harshly and scornfully ofthose who have fallen under a temptation to which we, through God'smercy, have never been exposed.
Of course, next to the startling events which had taken place, the greatquestion upon which the interest of Canterbury was fixed, was whetherMr. Harmer had destroyed his will or not before he died. But this was apoint upon which no one could enlighten them, and all awaited withintense interest the day of the funeral, after which it would, ofcourse, be known all about it.
To us at Ramsgate the news came with a terrible shock. Papa, who hadsettled to have gone over on that day, had, from some reason or other,postponed it to the next; consequently, he was with me when the boyarrived from the station with the telegram at about twelve o'clock.
It happened to be a wet day, so that, contrary to our usual habit, wewere indoors when the boy came up with the note. Papa signed thereceipt, and the lad left before he opened it. When he did so, heglanced at the contents, and dropped it on the table with almost agroan.
"What is it, papa?" I asked, dreadfully alarmed; "may I read it?" Papamotioned assent, and my heart almost stood still as I read the terribletidings--
"Mr. Harmer is dead; Sophy Needham is missing."
It was a dreadful shock; and yet we had talked and thought so much thelast two days of Sophy and Robert Gregory, and of the consequences thediscovery of their connection might have upon Mr. Harmer, that it couldbe hardly said to come upon us as a surprise. For some time we were tooshocked to speak at all. At last I said--
"Poor Mr. Harmer! how dreadful!"
"Rather poor Sophy," papa said. "Unfortunate, misguided girl, howbitterly she will repent this! What a life-long remorse hers will be!She has sacrificed the happiness of her own life by joining it to thatof Robert Gregory, and she has caused her benefactor's death; andwhatever be the folly, whatever the terrible fault of Sophy's conductnow, undoubtedly she loved him dearly."
While papa was speaking, another telegram arrived, and this time fromMiss Harmer, for the former one was sent by a friend who had heard thenews, and knowing our interest in it, had at once forwarded it to us,while the groom who brought it in, was searching for a doctor to go overat once. Miss Harmer's message was only--
"Please come at once. My brother is dead."
On the receipt of this, we consulted a timetable, found a train wouldstart in half an hour, and in a few minutes papa started, leaving me tocry over the news I had heard--to cry as much for Sophy as for Mr.Harmer--(for, from what papa said, she was indeed to be pitied), and tolook forward anxiously to his return with full particulars of theterrible event.
I shall tell the story of his visit to Harmer Place, and its results, ashe told it to me; and I may here mention that in future, in thisnarrative of mine, I shall always drop the first person when I amtelling of events at which I was not myself present, and shall relatethem in the order in which they happened, and not when they were told tome, which was not, in some cases, till years after.
When Dr. Ashleigh arrived at Harmer Place, he was shown at once into thedrawing-room, where in a few minutes he was joined by the Misses Harmer.
As nothing has been said of the personal appearance of the Misses Harmerfrom the time when their brother met them, twenty-one years before thisdate, and as they will in future play a far more important part in thisnarrative than they have hitherto done, it is proper to say what theywere like at this period.
The Misses Harmer, when their brother left England in the year 1795, aboy of sixteen, were aged respectively twenty and twenty-one, and wereconsequently at the time of his death, in the year 1848, seventy-threeand seventy-four. At the time when they were last described they wereextremely similar in appearance, and, indeed, might almost have beenmistaken one for the other, but there was now a great and markeddifference between them: the younger sister looked the elder of the twoby at least ten years. The ascetic life, the severe self-repressivediscipline to which they had subjected themselves, seemed to have wornout the one sister while it had but hardened the other--hardened hertill her impassive face had a stony and petrified appearance. Of thetwo, she had, perhaps, been originally the woman of the strongerpassions and the more determined will; and yet her more vigorousconstitution had enabled her to support that lonely, hard, lovelesslife, and to come through it harder and sterner than before, while herweaker sister was fast succumbing to the long and weary struggle.
Angela's bended head was more bowed now than of yore, her look more mildand gentle; the light of that peace which was to her fastapproaching--when watching, and penance, and tears should be allover--seemed to shine already on her face, and to soften its hard,unhappy outlines.
Cecilia was more upright than before. The comparatively cheerful lifeshe had led at her brother's house for nearly twenty years, had, to acertain extent, worn off the look and habit of repression and humilitywhich she had gained from her early residence in a convent, andafterwards with her stern elder brothers. She had too, for all theselast twenty years, been working with a purpose--a vague one indeed, and,seemingly, a hopeless one, but yet to her a holy purpose, worthy of herdedicating her life to attain--namely, the hope that her brother mightyet return to the old faith, or that, if he died before them, he mightleave them his property; so that, in either of these cases, the RomanChurch might reap the rich harvest which her elder brothers had intendedfor it. This hope had been to a great extent defeated by the declaredintentions of Herbert Harmer, and yet she clung desperately to it.
The Bishop of Ravenna had cheered them all this time with his lettersand his counsel; but even he had almost given up all hope of everwinning their rich property for the Church; but Cecilia never despaired,and when she had hurried back again on the news of Mr. Harmer's firstparalytic seizure, it was with the strong hope and conviction that hewould yet on his deathbed alter his will, abjure the errors of the faithhe had adopted, and be received and forgiven by Mother Church. However,events had not turned out as she had hoped. Herbert Harmer had died amember of his new faith, and the estate was certainly not willed to thesisters, and Cecilia, while she endured a true sense of sorrow for herbrother's loss, yet mingled with it a deep feeling of disappointment andrage, and a stern determination that the labour of her life should notbe frustrated.
Doctor Ashleigh, when they entered the room, saw at once that bothsisters were much agitated, and yet in a different way. Both hadevidently been crying; but Miss Harmer seemed endeavouring to keep downher grief by a fierce, angry determination; while Angela's sorrow wasmingled with a strange, timid, anxious manner, which Dr. Ashleigh couldnot understand.
"You received our message, Dr. Ashleigh, and are aware of the terribleevent which has taken place here?"
"I am, Miss Harmer, and am indeed shocked to hear it."
"You have heard that our brother was murdered?"
"Murdered!" Dr. Ashleigh said aghast; for he had heard some of thefloating rumours as he passed through the town, but had quitedisbelieved them.
"Yes, Dr. Ashleigh, my brother was murdered--killed by the conduct ofthat wretched, ungrateful woman; murdered as much as if she had stabbedhim to the heart."
"Really, Miss Harmer," the Doctor said, "you alarmed me for a momentinto believing that my old friend had met his end by foul play. Sophy'sconduct is inexcusable, and I do not wish to enter into any defence ofit; but still she can hardly be termed a murderess."
"I can see no distinction, Dr. Ashleigh," Miss Harmer said; and as shespoke her tall figure seemed to gain additional height, her eyesflashed, and her colour rose angrily. "My brother, Dr. Ashleigh, was onthe fair way to perfect recovery--you, yourself, told me so--and thatonly some sudden shock would be likely to throw him back again, but thatanother attack would probably be fatal. That shock, this wretched girldeliberately and knowingly gave him, and I say she is as wilfully themurderess of the man who had picked her from the kennel where she wasborn, as if she had given him poison. I pray that her sin may bepunished by divine law, if it cannot be by human. I pray that the manfor whom she has murdered my brother may turn out a constant retributionand curse to her. May she never know happiness again. May her children,if she bear them, cause her the misery she has brought on us. May----"
"Hold, Miss Harmer!" Dr. Ashleigh said sternly, stepping forward andlaying his hand impressively on the excited woman's arm. "Forbear!Blessings and curses proceed from God alone. At present your grief atthis sad affair urges you to say things which in your calmer moments youwould be, I am sure, the first to regret. This unhappy girl hasassuredly grievously erred, and grievous have been the consequences; andshe will, undoubtedly, have to expiate it by a life-long sorrow andrepentance--and her bitterest enemy need wish her no worse punishmentthan her own thoughts and the husband she has chosen."
"We need not discuss the question, Dr. Ashleigh!" Miss Harmer said,angrily. "Nothing will ever alter my feelings towards this wretched girl!Nothing can ever soften the horror and loathing I feel towards her!Nothing shall ever induce me to see her face again! She may be beyondhuman law, but in my sight she is a murderess!"
Dr. Ashleigh saw that in Miss Harmer's present state of nervous andexcited feeling, any argument which he could urge would be only vain,and would, indeed, tend to heighten her anger. He therefore remainedsilent.
Angela Harmer had not yet spoken, but it was evident that she--as far asher milder nature could go--sympathized with her sister's anger, and yetsorrow was with her predominant. She had seated herself in a largearm-chair by the fire, on entering; and most of the time she sat withher face hidden in her hands, and the Doctor could see the tears tricklethrough her withered fingers. Sometimes, however, when her sister wasspeaking she looked up with an anxious deprecating glance, but Ceciliaheeded her not; but, when she had done speaking, walked up and down theroom with her hands tightly clenched, her eyes flashing with anger--eventhrough the tears of sorrow which rolled unheeded down her cheek;--herwhole form so inspired by her emotion, that Dr. Ashleigh could hardlybelieve her to be the quiet self-contained woman he had known so long.
At last she became more calm, stopped before him, and said, "Dr.Ashleigh, you were our brother's greatest friend; may I ask you to seeto all arrangements connected with his funeral. We should wish him to beburied in such state as is becoming to the last of an old race. Alas!that he cannot be laid where his fore-fathers have been! Will you see toall this?"
"I will, Miss Harmer, willingly. I do not know whether you have anyparticular wishes as to where he should be laid? I have heard himexpress a preference for the village churchyard here. I do not knowwhether he has mentioned his wishes in his will."
"I know nothing of the will whatever!" Miss Harmer said positively, andDr. Ashleigh noticed her sister cast one of the frightened glancestowards her which he had before perceived. "I know nothing whatever ofthe will," she repeated steadily; "but if he expressed any preferencefor Sturry, let it be so. And now, Dr. Ashleigh," and here her voicesoftened, "I do not know that we have any more to say: you will wish, ofcourse, to go up to see our poor brother. We shall see you, I hope,to-morrow or next day." So saying, the Misses Harmer took their leave ofDr. Ashleigh, and retired
to their own rooms, while he took thewell-known way to his old friend's bed-room.
As he went up-stairs he met Mary--the girl who had been Sophy Needham'smaid--coming down. Her eyes were red with crying. She curtsied to theDoctor as he passed--for they all loved him, and he had ever a kind wordfor all he met. "This is a sad affair, Mary!" he said.
"Dreadful, Sir," the girl answered. "Will you please to tell me what hasbecome of Miss Sophy? We are all so anxious to know the real truth."
"I am afraid she has eloped with Mr. Gregory," the Doctor said, gravely;"there is no secret about it."
"I was afraid she was gone, Sir, when I went into her room this morning,and found the bed had not been slept in, and the letter for Mr. Harmeron the table. It gave me such a turn, Sir; you might have knocked medown with a breath."
"Did Mr. Harmer say anything when you gave him the letter?" the Doctorasked, anxiously.
"No, Sir! I gave him the letter and went straight out, for I wasfrightened; he was sitting at the table just as he was when we found himdead--just the same. He was a kind, good master, Sir, as everlived--never angry or put out; and he forgived Miss Sophy with his dyingbreath." And the girl began to cry again.
"How do you know he forgave Miss Sophy?" Dr. Ashleigh asked, stopping,for he was just continuing his way up-stairs. "How do you know heforgave Miss Sophy?"
"This way. Sir. When the Misses Harmer went into the room, I went andstood at the door to listen, for we all wanted to hear what had becomeof poor Miss Sophy. They went up to the table and leant over him, andgave a cry; and I ran in, and they were lifting him up, and on the tablebefore him was a letter he had just begun to write, it was only five orsix words, but I saw it began 'My dearest Sophy;' I did not readanything else, but the last two words were 'I forgive.' They were writvery large indeed, and I could not help seeing them, Sir, as I helped tolift him up. After he had been carried up-stairs I went into the libraryto get that letter, Sir--for I knew it would be a great comfort to poorMiss Sophy--but when I got there it was gone. I asked the servants butnone of them had seen it, so I suppose one of the Misses Harmer hadtaken care of it."
"I am very glad you told me this, Mary, very glad! It will indeed be agreat comfort to your poor young mistress." So saying the Doctor wentinto the dead man's room.
Mr. Harmer lay on his bed, and the warm light of the afternoon sunstreamed bright and full upon his face. It was tranquil and peaceful asin life, and his lips were parted in a calm smile--a smile as of thepeace and forgiveness he felt as he died.
The Doctor looked into his old friend's face, and the tears welled upinto his eyes. "He died as he lived," he said to himself, "forgiving ashe also would be forgiven. Dear old friend, we have spent many a happyhour together; yet, dying as you died, how can I grieve for you?"
The Doctor stood for some time sadly musing by the bed-side; and thenturning softly away, was soon on his way back to Canterbury, where hegave the necessary orders and then returned to Ramsgate.
CHAPTER XIV.
MISSING!
Mr. Harmer died on Friday morning, and it was arranged that his funeralshould take place on that day week. On the day preceding Dr. Ashleighleft Ramsgate early, and went direct to his own house, to see severalpatients who were to call upon him there prior to his going out on hisrounds. Most of those he expected had called, and he was sitting alonein his library when the door opened and the servant announced "Mr.Gregory."
Dr. Ashleigh rose from his seat, with a cold, haughty look on his face,such as had not for many years been seen upon it. Robert Gregory's facewore a mingled air of anxiety and triumph, slightly veiled under anexpression of gravity and decorum which he had assumed as suitable tothe occasion. He was evidently much embarrassed how to begin, and theextremely repellant and hostile expression of Dr. Ashleigh's face didnot assist him in his difficulty.
"May I ask," the Doctor said, "to what I owe this visit?"
"I have called, Dr. Ashleigh," Robert Gregory began, in a voice to whichhe in vain attempted to give its usual loud, careless tone. "I havecalled from my wife to ask you--you to whom she alone could apply at thepresent time--to give her some intelligence respecting the death of hergrandfather."
"If the unfortunate girl who has become your wife will call upon meherself, I will give her every information and assistance in my power.With you I will hold no communication whatever."
Robert Gregory bit his lips angrily, and his eye flashed: he was a manbut little accustomed to be thwarted. However, as he felt that anyoutburst of anger would only injure his cause, and could do him no good,after a momentary, but fierce struggle with himself, he went on quietly.
"You are naturally indignant with me, Dr. Ashleigh. I know that afterthe sad consequences which have ensued you cannot be otherwise, and amaware that it is useless my making any excuses or protestations. I knowthat the only way in which I can ever justify the course I have takenwill be by making Sophy happy, and by proving that her love andconfidence in me are not so greatly misplaced, and that, after all, I amnot so utter a scamp as the world gives me credit for."
Undoubtedly the man had carefully thought over beforehand what heintended to say, and yet he spoke earnestly, for he really meant what hesaid, and Dr. Ashleigh, a shrewd observer of men, saw that he did so,and his face rather softened in its expression. Robert Gregory observedthe change, and went on.
"I myself should never have come on this errand could she have done so.But the truth is a friend telegraphed the news to me, and the messagereached me only on Monday morning, as I was returning leisurely from thenorth. Sophy is nearly out of her mind, and the doctor I called in tosee her fears that she will have an attack of brain fever. I should nothave left, but her cry was unceasing to know the details of his death,and whether he said a word of forgiveness to her. I came down by thismorning's train, and return by the one o'clock to London."
Dr. Ashleigh was softened now; he saw by the man's anxious face andchanged voice that he was truly in earnest, and that although he hadunquestionably wooed and married Sophy for her money, yet that he didreally care for herself, and the Doctor thought that her chance ofhappiness was, after all, better than he had imagined it.
"I am sorry to hear what you say about your wife," he said, in quite adifferent tone to that which he had previously adopted, "although Icannot say I am surprised. The knowledge that the news of her flight hadcaused Mr. Harmer's death must of necessity be a terrible grief andsorrow to her. On that head, however, I truly rejoice that I can giveher some consolation and alleviate her remorse. Mr. Harmer forgave her.Her letter was taken in to him, and he was found dead with it beforehim, and a sheet of paper on which he had begun a letter to her. Thelast words he ever wrote were: 'I forgive.' Tell her this from me."
Robert Gregory's face lit up with pleasure, and this time the emotionwas not purely of a selfish kind. He was glad, very glad for Sophy'ssake to hear that Mr. Harmer had forgiven her before he died; indeed,even for his own sake he felt the news to be a relief. Hardened as hewas, he could not have felt easy with the knowledge that that good oldman had died invoking a curse upon him with his last breath. Butalthough for both these reasons he received the news with pleasure, itwas as nothing to the satisfaction he felt at the account which had beengiven him of Mr. Harmer's death; for it was quite evident from it thathe had died leaving his will unaltered--he had died a few minutes afterfinding Sophy was gone, with his unfinished letter of forgiveness beforehim--had probably never even risen from his chair, and had certainlytaken no steps towards altering or cancelling his will. Gratified as hefelt, however, he speedily repressed all show of his feelings, for hefelt that Dr. Ashleigh was watching him, and he knew that his good willand countenance would be of great service at this time; besides which,for Sophy's sake, he wished to stand well with him, for Sophy, he knew,esteemed and loved Dr. Ashleigh more than any other man, now Mr. Harmerwas dead. He, therefore, after a minute's silence, said with an air offrankness:
"I am, indeed, glad to hear what you tell me,
Dr. Ashleigh. It will bean immense relief to poor Sophy, and even to myself, for it is notpleasant to lie under the curse of a dead man; besides which, it wouldbe idle of me to pretend that I am not very gratified to hear that Mr.Harmer took no steps towards altering his will. As you, a man of theworld, will naturally suppose, Sophy's wealth was the great inducementto me, when I first sought her; and although I trust to prove to her andto you, that I have now learnt to love her truly for herself, I amstill, of course, very glad to hear that her property is not forfeited.It is now time that I should return to the train, and I hope that mynews may have a good effect upon Sophy's health. I shall be down againthe day after to-morrow, not to attend the funeral, but to be present atthe reading of the will, which will, I suppose, take place afterwards."
"It will," Dr. Ashleigh said. "Miss Harmer wrote to the solicitor inLondon yesterday, informing him of her brother's death, and begging himto be down at the funeral, which takes place at two o'clock. And now,Mr. Gregory, will you say to Sophy, that her grandfather forgave herfreely and at once, and that it is not for me, whom she has not injured,to judge more severely than he has done; will you tell her from me, thatin my daughter and myself she will find friends glad to welcome herback, and to forget the past. For yourself, Mr. Gregory, it would befolly to say that a strong prejudice does not exist, you best knowwhether justly or not. However, these days are past, and it is now,according as you treat Sophy, that you will be received, at any rate byus. Make her happy; try and dry the tears which the consequences of herlove for you have caused to flow, and you will find that we shall beglad to know you as Sophy's husband."
So saying, Dr. Ashleigh held out his hand to the man before him, andRobert Gregory, as he grasped it, experienced a feeling of realgratification. He knew that this was a truly good man, and that hiscourse towards Sophy was in no way altered by the fact of her being anheiress, but because she had been forgiven by his old friend Mr. Harmer,and for the sake of the many years of affectionate intercourse he hadhad with herself. He was gratified, too, by what the Doctor had saidrespecting himself, for the countenance and friendship of a good man canbe appreciated even by the worst character. And so Robert Gregory tookhis leave of Dr. Ashleigh and returned to town with a softened, althoughexultant heart. The Doctor then went over to Harmer Place and saw thesisters. They passed most of their time in their own rooms, engaged inearnest prayer for the benefit of their brother's soul; and once, whenthe Doctor had been there, they spoke to him in glowing terms of thepower which their church possessed to forgive all sins, even thegreatest. While they thus spoke their eyes lit up with a strange,passionate fervour of religious zeal--that fierce, burning zeal, whichhas for so many centuries made men equally ready to martyrize others orto die martyrs themselves--that zeal which has led some to give up allworldly goods, and live the life of wandering beggars, and others toallow no scruple to interfere with any deed which can enrich and benefitthe church to which they belong. To these remarks Dr. Ashleigh returnedno answer; he was at all times indisposed to enter into religiousarguments, and with women in the exalted state of mind in which theMisses Harmer were, it would have been worse than useless. On thisoccasion, however, he found them both in a calmer state, and hementioned to them that he had seen Robert Gregory, and that he spoke ofcoming up on the part of his wife after the funeral. For a minute or sothey were silent, and then Miss Harmer said, with stern vehemence,--
"Let him come--I presume it is his right; but never again while I liveshall the murderer of my brother darken this door."
The Doctor half smiled at the idle threat, while Angela Harmer glancedup at her sister from under her drooping eyelids.
"I should, perhaps, rather say," Miss Harmer corrected herself, "as longas I am in this house; if he enter, I leave it. Harmer Place shall neverhold together for one day the sisters of Herbert Harmer and hismurderers."
The Doctor was silent, for he thought that what she said would certainlyturn out correct, for he did not deem it probable that Robert Gregory,when he came into possession, was at all the man to invite the twoMisses Harmer to take up their abode with him.
The next night Dr. Ashleigh did not return to Ramsgate. Harry was toarrive by the late train from the North, and after the funeral they wereto go down to Ramsgate, where it was arranged they should stop for aweek or two. After that, as we should be well able to afford it, papahad settled to go on to the Continent for the winter with me.
Accordingly, the next day Herbert Harmer was laid in his grave in thequiet churchyard of Sturry. Agreeably to Miss Harmer's wishes, thefuneral was celebrated with a pomp which he who had gone had neverdesired for himself while alive. The hearse and mourning-coaches, eachwith their four horses and tossing feathers, the man in front with thetray of sable plumes, the mutes in long array--all was done in the beststyle, and people came in from quite a long distance to see it. A goodmany of his old Canterbury friends sent their carriages to join theprocession, but there were not many real mourners among those whofollowed. The first mourning-coach contained Dr. Ashleigh, his son, andthe solicitor, who had arrived just as the cortege was starting; theother coaches contained the principal tenants, who had liked their latelandlord, and who had always found him compliant and kind in theextreme; they had, however, very seldom seen him, as since his son'sdeath he had gone very little himself among his tenants, although he hadalways kept himself well informed concerning the affairs of each ofthem. As the procession wound through the village many a blessing andprayer was murmured for the dead man; there, indeed, he had been abenefactor; many a sick bed, many an aching heart had his bountyrelieved; and they blessed his memory, blessed him as thousands had donebefore them--thousands lying in agony in London hospitals, some never togo out again alive, many more to be restored in health and strength totheir families; these had poured out countless prayers for the unknownbenefactor who had endowed this ward, added that comfort, or whosemunificent donations had enabled the hospital largely to extend itsbenefits; and doubtless their prayers were not the less heard that noname was uttered, and that they went up for their unknown friend.
And so Herbert Harmer slept the sleep of the blessed in the quietchurchyard, and the funeral cortege went back to Harmer Place.
The doctor had been much affected by the service over his old friend.Harry, too, was much moved, but in his case it was more the thought ofthe grave he had last stood beside, and her over whom he had heard theservice read two months before.
Mr. Petersfield, the solicitor, was calm. With him it was a pure matterof business. He had hardly ever seen the dead man; he knew him only asone of the wealthiest and most eccentric of his clients; he had heardfrom his partner that he was a man of sterling worth; but Mr. Ransomehad always managed Mr. Harmer's business, and he himself knew nothingabout it. Mr. Ransome had died six months before, and it would have beenhis duty, in a short time, to have made himself thoroughly acquaintedwith Mr. Harmer's affairs; as it was, he knew very little about them.
During the short ride to and from the church there was hardly a wordexchanged in the carriage, as Dr. Ashleigh was an entire stranger to thesolicitor. When they reached the house they were shown into thedrawing-room; into which, a few minutes later, Robert Gregory wasushered.
"How is your wife, Mr. Gregory?" the doctor asked, as he shook hands.
"She is very ill, doctor, but I left her certainly calmer and moretranquil, and I trust, from what the medical man said last night, thatshe will escape any serious attack of brain fever. The news you sent herwas a very great consolation to her, but she is still in terribly lowspirits."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of the MissesHarmer, who bowed to Dr. Ashleigh, his son, and the solicitor, all ofwhom they had seen before, but who took no notice whatever of thepresence of Robert Gregory.
The Misses Harmer were accompanied, or rather followed into the room bya gentleman, whom it was easy to see by his dress was an ecclesiastic ofthe Romish Church, and who was an entire stranger to Dr. Ashleigh.
r /> "This gentleman," Miss Harmer said, introducing him, "is Father Eustace,a friend of ours for many years, and who, having heard of our loss, hascome over from abroad to assist and comfort us with his presence andadvice."
Father Eustace was a pale, ascetic looking man, with large, eager brighteyes; his complexion was dark and swarthy, and he looked every inch whathe was--an Italian. He spoke English with a strong foreign accent, butstill grammatically and pretty distinctly. He bowed courteously to thosepresent, and then took his seat, and during what followed occupiedhimself in closely scrutinizing their countenances, especially those ofDr. Ashleigh and Robert Gregory, as if desirous to judge for himself hownearly they tallied with the description he had received of them.
The Misses Harmer were very pale, but had a quiet, fixed look aboutthem, in which Dr. Ashleigh thought he read their determination tolisten with composure to the reading of the will, which would place thehated Robert and Sophy Gregory in the position of master and mistress ofHarmer Place.
For some little time after they had taken their seats there was a deadsilence, as if each were waiting for the other to begin. At last Mr.Petersfield said--
"With your permission, Miss Harmer, I will at once proceed to read thewill of my late client, Mr. Herbert Harmer. Will you be good enough tohand it to me?"
"I have not any will of my brother in my possession," Miss Harmeranswered, coldly.
"Not in your possession, madam? But you are doubtless aware where yourlate brother was in the habit of keeping his important documents?"
"I have looked, Mr. Petersfield, among his papers, but I have found nowill among them."
There was a pause of blank astonishment.
"How is it, Mr. Petersfield," Dr. Ashleigh said, gravely, "that you havenot Mr. Harmer's will in your custody?"
"It was in our hands, doctor, until about two months ago, when Mr.Harmer wrote to me, saying that he was desirous of making some slightalterations in it, and requesting me to forward it. I did so, in chargeof one of my clerks. On the day he came down here, some friend of Mr.Harmer's died--I understood it was Mrs. Ashleigh--and he told my clerkthat he did not feel equal to attend to business, but that if he wouldleave the document with him, he would look it over, and write to me tosend down again in a short time to make the alterations he required. Idid not hear any further from him, and therefore supposed that he hadeither changed his mind in reference to the alteration, or had forgottenthe matter altogether. I remember, when my clerk came back, he told methat he had ventured to suggest that so valuable a document ought to bekept in a safe place, and that Mr. Harmer had smiled, and answered, 'Youneed not be afraid on that score. I have a place to put it in where allthe burglars in the world could not get at it."
There was again a blank silence, and then the solicitor went on--
"In any case, madam, I think it but right that we should search Mr.Harmer's library thoroughly."
"Certainly, Mr. Petersfield; you are quite at liberty to search whereyou like. Father Eustace, will you do me the kindness to accompany thesegentlemen."
Father Eustace at once rose, and preceded the others to the library.
"This looks a very strange business, Mr. Petersfield," Dr. Ashleighsaid, on their way thither.
"Very--very much so indeed, doctor, and I do not think our search hereis likely to be attended with any success."
The library was thoroughly ransacked. Every drawer was pulled out andexamined for secret hiding-places; the books were all taken down fromtheir shelves to look behind them; every place, possible and impossible,was searched, but, as the lawyer had predicted, without the slightestresult. Harry and Robert Gregory performed the active portion of thework, the doctor and Mr. Petersfield directing their operations, andexamining the piles of papers which came to light during the search. Allwere very silent: they were too interested and excited to talk. Fromtime to time Robert Gregory muttered savage execrations between histeeth; but, with that exception, the search was conducted in silence.
The priest sat quietly and watched them--watched them, and not theirproceedings: in these he seemed to have no curiosity, his attentionbeing directed entirely to the way in which they each bore theirdisappointment.
The search lasted for an hour. By that time the place had beencompletely ransacked, and every possible place examined; and the wholefloor of the room was closely covered with books, papers, scientificapparatus, and the accumulated litter of years. When all was done, andit was evident that no corner remained unexplored, the searchers restedfrom their work, wiped the perspiration from their foreheads, and lookedat their leader for further instructions.
Dr. Ashleigh drew the solicitor to a door which led into the garden,opened it, and went out with him, so that they could converse withoutrestraint from the presence of the priest.
"This is an extraordinary business, Mr. Petersfield," Dr. Ashleigh said;"what do you think of it?"
"Do you consult me professionally, Dr. Ashleigh?" the lawyer asked, inreturn.
"Certainly I do," Dr. Ashleigh said vehemently. "Mr. Harmer was one ofmy oldest and my dearest friends; and even were I not so deeplyinterested in the discovery of the will as I am, I would spend everypenny I have in the world in seeing his wishes carried out. You areaware of the nature of the will?"
"In a general way I am. My late partner, Mr. Ransome, who has managedMr. Harmer's business ever since he came to England, some twenty-threeyears ago, told me that Mr. Harmer had left all his property, with theexception of some comparatively small legacies, between your childrenand his illegitimate grandchild, Miss Needham--now, as I understand,Mrs. Gregory."
"Precisely," Dr. Ashleigh said. "This is the disposition he publiclyannounced that he had made of his property; and in the event of thiswill not being found, I presume the Misses Harmer, as his onlyrelations, will inherit everything?"
"Clearly so, doctor. It is a most awkward business. However, we cannotnow determine what steps to take: we shall have plenty of time for thathereafter. Is there any other place you can suggest as worthsearching--his bed-room, for instance?"
"None at all," the doctor answered. "Mr. Harmer was a man of thesimplest personal habits. His bed-room is furnished just as it was inIndia--a plain French bedstead without hangings, an India matting on thefloor, a few cane chairs, and a small chest of drawers. No, it is no usesearching there."
"Or anywhere, I believe, frankly," Mr. Petersfield said. "Wherever thewill may be, we shall never find it."
So saying, they returned into the library. Father Eustace was sittingunmoved in the chair where they had left him. Harry was pacing up anddown that portion of the floor which remained free from the books andinstruments, sometimes stopping and looking out of the window, anddrumming on the panes with his fingers in a state of angry impatience;he was anxious and uneasy, but he could not believe that the will wasmore than mislaid for a time.
Robert Gregory had cast himself sullenly into an arm chair, and sat withhis elbows on the arms, and his chin resting on his hands. His face wasflushed, his eyes wide open, and his lips set hard. A deadly sensationof despair was stealing over him, which he in vain strove against. Wasit possible that, after all these years of scheming and watchfulness,his prize was to be snatched from him in the moment of success? He couldnot and would not believe it, and yet he had a hopeless feeling in himwhich told him that the will was either lost or destroyed, and that itwould never be found or heard of again. When Mr. Petersfield said, "Wecan do no good here--let us return to the drawing-room," he rose, andfollowed the others mechanically.
The Misses Harmer were sitting as they had left them, stiff andcomposed, the stern look upon their faces, a red spot in the centre oftheir cheeks, and a strange light in their eyes.
"You have not found my brother's will?" Miss Harmer asked, as they camein.
"As you are probably pretty well aware, Miss Harmer, we have not foundit. And now let me ask you distinctly, do you, or do you not, know whereyour late brother's will is?"
Miss H
armer paused for a moment, and Mr. Petersfield and the doctor sawthat she glanced towards Father Eustace, who was looking on the ground.
"I do not know where my brother was in the habit of keeping his variousdocuments."
"I said nothing about various documents, Miss Harmer," Dr. Ashleighsaid, sternly. "I asked you, do you, or do you not, know where the willis?"
"I do not," Miss Harmer said, steadily. "Should you find the will, youwill, I presume, let us know?"
"Should I find it, I will do so."
"It is not easy to find what has never been lost," Robert Gregory said,bitterly.
Miss Harmer faced round at once upon this new antagonist, as if glad toturn her face from the stern, searching look of the doctor. She and hersister had risen from their seats now, and none of the others had seatedthemselves. Father Eustace had moved across and taken his place by them,as if to support them by his presence; the others stood in a grouptogether, with Dr. Ashleigh slightly in advance.
"As for you, sir," Miss Harmer broke out, addressing Robert Gregory--"asfor you, as I have already told Dr. Ashleigh, I look upon you and thewoman you call your wife, as the murderers of my brother; and now,having struck him down, and seeing him laid in his grave, you would faincome here to grasp at his property. Why do you come here to ask for hiswill? What is so likely as that, when he heard of that ungrateful girl'sconduct, that conduct which gave him his deathblow, he tore his willinto fragments?"
"But, Miss Harmer," Dr. Ashleigh said, in his quiet, firm voice,motioning Robert Gregory, who had advanced to reply to the attack uponhim, to be silent. "But, Miss Harmer, we know that such was not thecase; we know that he was found in the same position in which he wassitting when he received Sophy's letter. We know that he did not leavethe room, and that no one entered it. We know that there were nofragments of paper scattered about, as there would in all probabilityhave been had he destroyed the will in the way you suggest; and lastly,Miss Harmer," and here the doctor advanced a step nearer and spoke evenmore impressingly, "lastly, we know that such an intention was farthestfrom Mr. Harmer's mind; for that he began a letter, which is, or hasbeen in your possession, a letter to Sophy expressing his fullforgiveness. So that in your bitter anger against the poor girl, you areacting in direct contradiction to the dying words of your brother."
The two Misses Harmer and Father Eustace were evidently staggered bythis attack. Miss Harmer's cheek, which had flushed up when she attackedRobert Gregory, turned deadly pale again, and she shrank back as if shehad received a blow. She was a little time before she answered, and thenthe change of her voice showed how much she was unnerved:
"How do you know what you say, Dr. Ashleigh? Have you been enquiringabout among my servants?"
"I should think, Miss Harmer, you must by this time know me well enoughto be aware that I am not a man given to enquiring among servants. I wassimply told the matter, the truth of which you do not and cannot deny;and for Sophy's sake I was delighted to hear it. I was glad, also, forthe sake of him who is gone to know that he died with words offorgiveness on his lips; a forgiveness which you have taken uponyourself to conceal and to refuse."
Miss Harmer evidently quailed before Dr. Ashleigh's words. He saw hisadvantage, and continued solemnly, pointing with his finger towards heras he spoke--
"And now listen to me, Miss Harmer. I believe, I more than believe, thatwill to be concealed, and that you know its place of concealment. Now I,your dead brother's greatest friend, warn you solemnly. I speak in hisname and my own, and I warn you not to destroy that document. It is yourdead brother's will, and if you destroy it may his curse light uponyou."
"Cease, sir," Father Eustace said, interposing himself between Dr.Ashleigh and the sister, now pale and almost gasping for breath; "ceasethese impious insults!"
Dr. Ashleigh waved him aside, and seeing the effect he was producing,continued in the same earnest voice, never removing his eyes from thesisters' faces--
"I warn you if you destroy it, your dead brother's voice will cry fromthe grave. There will be no more peace for you in this world or thenext. His curse will follow you here, and plead against you at thejudgment-seat of God."
"Come," he said, turning to his companions; for Angela Harmer had sunknearly lifeless in a chair, and Cecilia would have fallen had not thepriest, who had in vain endeavoured to check the doctor's solemndenunciation, supported her. "Come, let us leave this;" and the four menin silence went out, entered Dr. Ashleigh's carriage, which was inwaiting, and drove off.
END OF VOL. I.
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