CHAPTER VI. THE WILL
The next day, or rather the next evening, Sir Miles St. John was seatedbefore his unshared chicken,--seated alone, and vaguely surprised athimself, in a large, comfortable room in his old hotel, Hanover Square.Yes, he had escaped. Hast thou, O Reader, tasted the luxury of escapefrom a home where the charm is broken,--where Distrust looks askant fromthe Lares? In vain had Dalibard remonstrated, conjured up dangers, andasked at least to accompany him. Excepting his dogs and his old valet,who was too like a dog in his fond fidelity to rank amongst bipeds, SirMiles did not wish to have about him a single face familiar at Laughton,Dalibard especially. Lucretia's letter had hinted at plans and designsin Dalibard. It might be unjust, it might be ungrateful; but he grewsick at the thought that he was the centre-stone of stratagems andplots. The smooth face of the Provencal took a wily expression in hiseyes; nay, he thought his very footmen watched his steps as if to counthow long before they followed his bier. So, breaking from all roughly,with a shake of his head and a laconic assertion of business inLondon, he got into his carriage,--his own old bachelor's lumberingtravelling-carriage,--and bade the post-boys drive fast, fast! Then,when he felt alone,--quite alone,--and the gates of the lodge swungbehind him, he rubbed his hands with a schoolboy's glee, and chuckledaloud, as if he enjoyed, not only the sense, but the fun of his safety;as if he had done something prodigiously cunning and clever.
So when he saw himself snug in his old, well-remembered hotel, in thesame room as of yore, when returned, brisk and gay, from the breezes ofWeymouth or the brouillards of Paris, he thought he shook hands againwith his youth. Age and lameness, apoplexy and treason, all wereforgotten for the moment. And when, as the excitement died, those grimspectres came back again to his thoughts, they found their victim bracedand prepared, standing erect on that hearth for whose hospitality hepaid his guinea a day,--his front proud and defying. He felt yet thathe had fortune and power, that a movement of his hand could raise andstrike down, that at the verge of the tomb he was armed, to punish orreward, with the balance and the sword. Tripped in the smug waiter, andannounced "Mr. Parchmount."
"Set a chair, and show him in." The lawyer entered.
"My dear Sir Miles, this is indeed a surprise! What has brought you totown?"
"The common whim of the old, sir. I would alter my will."
Three days did lawyer and client devote to the task; for Sir Miles wasminute, and Mr. Parchmount was precise, and little difficulties arose,and changes in the first outline were made, and Sir Miles, from the verydepth of his disgust, desired not to act only from passion. In that lastdeed of his life, the old man was sublime. He sought to rise out ofthe mortal, fix his eyes on the Great Judge, weigh circumstances andexcuses, and keep justice even and serene.
Meanwhile, unconscious of the train laid afar, Lucretia reposed onthe mine,--reposed, indeed, is not the word; for she was agitated andrestless that Mainwaring had not obeyed her summons. She wrote to himagain from Southampton the third day of her arrival; but before hisanswer came she received this short epistle from London:--
"Mr. Parchmount presents his compliments to Miss Clavering, and, bydesire of Sir Miles St. John, requests her not to return to Laughton.Miss Clavering will hear further in a few days, when Sir Miles hasconcluded the business that has brought him to London."
This letter, if it excited much curiosity, did not produce alarm. Itwas natural that Sir Miles should be busy in winding up his affairs; hisjourney to London for that purpose was no ill omen to her prospects,and her thoughts flew back to the one subject that tyrannized over them.Mainwaring's reply, which came two days afterwards, disquieted her muchmore. He had not found the letter she had left for him in the tree. Hewas full of apprehensions; he condemned the imprudence of calling on herat Mr. Fielden's; he begged her to renounce the idea of such a risk.He would return again to Guy's Oak and search more narrowly: had shechanged the spot where the former letters were placed? Yet now, not eventhe non-receipt of her letter, which she ascribed to the care with whichshe had concealed it amidst the dry leaves and moss, disturbed herso much as the evident constraint with which Mainwaring wrote,--thecautious and lukewarm remonstrance which answered her passionate appeal.It may be that her very doubts, at times, of Mainwaring's affectionhad increased the ardour of her own attachment; for in some natures theexcitement of fear deepens love more than the calmness of trust. Nowwith the doubt for the first time flashed the resentment, and heranswer to Mainwaring was vehement and imperious. But the next day camea messenger express from London, with a letter from Mr. Parchmount thatarrested for the moment even the fierce current of love.
When the task had been completed,--the will signed, sealed, anddelivered,--the old man had felt a load lifted from his heart. Three orfour of his old friends, bons vivants like himself, had seen his arrivalduly proclaimed in the newspapers, and had hastened to welcome him.Warmed by the genial sight of faces associated with the frank joysof his youth, Sir Miles, if he did not forget the prudent counsels ofDalibard, conceived a proud bitterness of joy in despising them. Whytake such care of the worn-out carcass? His will was made. What wasleft to life so peculiarly attractive? He invited his friends to a feastworthy of old. Seasoned revellers were they, with a free gout for a ventto all indulgence. So they came; and they drank, and they laughed, andthey talked back their young days. They saw not the nervous irritation,the strain on the spirits, the heated membrane of the brain, which madeSir Miles the most jovial of all. It was a night of nights; the oldfellows were lifted back into their chariots or sedans. Sir Milesalone seemed as steady and sober as if he had supped with Diogenes. Hisservant, whose respectful admonitions had been awed into silence, lenthim his arm to bed, but Sir Miles scarcely touched it. The next morning,when the servant (who slept in the same room) awoke, to his surprisethe glare of a candle streamed on his eyes. He rubbed them: could hesee right? Sir Miles was seated at the table; he must have got up andlighted a candle to write,--noiselessly, indeed. The servant looked andlooked, and the stillness of Sir Miles awed him: he was seated on anarmchair, leaning back. As awe succeeded to suspicion, he sprang up,approached his master, took his hand: it was cold, and fell heavily fromhis clasp. Sir Miles must have been dead for hours.
The pen lay on the ground, where it had dropped from the hand; theletter on the table was scarcely commenced: the words ran thus,--
"LUCRETIA,--You will return no more to my house. You are free as if Iwere dead; but I shall be just. Would that I had been so to your mother,to your sister! But I am old now, as you say, and--"
To one who could have seen into that poor proud heart at the momentthe hand paused forever, what remained unwritten would have been clear.There was, first, the sharp struggle to conquer loathing repugnance, andaddress at all the false and degraded one; then came the sharp sting ofingratitude; then the idea of the life grudged and the grave desired;then the stout victory over scorn, the resolution to be just; then thereproach of the conscience that for so far less an offence the sisterhad been thrown aside, the comfort, perhaps, found in her gentle andneglected child obstinately repelled; then the conviction of all earthlyvanity and nothingness,--the look on into life, with the chillingsentiment that affection was gone, that he could never trust again,that he was too old to open his arms to new ties; and then, before feltsingly, all these thoughts united, and snapped the cord.
In announcing his mournful intelligence, with more feeling than mighthave been expected from a lawyer (but even his lawyer loved Sir Miles),Mr. Parchmount observed that "as the deceased lay at a hotel, and asMiss Clavering's presence would not be needed in the performance ofthe last rites, she would probably forbear the journey to town.Nevertheless, as it was Sir Miles's wish that the will should be openedas soon as possible after his death, and it would doubtless containinstructions as to his funeral, it would be well that Miss Clavering andher sister should immediately depute some one to attend the readingof the testament on their behalf. Perhaps Mr. Fielden would kindlyundertake that melancholy offi
ce."
To do justice to Lucretia, it must be said that her first emotions,on the receipt of this letter, were those of a poignant and remorsefulgrief, for which she was unprepared. But how different it is to counton what shall follow death, and to know that death has come! Susan'ssobbing sympathy availed not, nor Mr. Fielden's pious and tearfulexhortations; her own sinful thoughts and hopes came back to her,haunting and stern as furies. She insisted at first upon going toLondon, gazing once more on the clay,--nay, the carriage was at thedoor, for all yielded to her vehemence; but then her heart misgave her:she did not dare to face the dead. Conscience waved her back from thesolemn offices of nature; she hid her face with her hands, shrank againinto her room; and Mr. Fielden, assuming unbidden the responsibility,went alone.
Only Vernon (summoned from Brighton), the good clergyman, and thelawyer, to whom, as sole executor, the will was addressed, and in whosecustody it had been left, were present when the seal of the testamentwas broken. The will was long, as is common when the dust that itdisposes of covers some fourteen or fifteen thousand acres. But out ofthe mass of technicalities and repetitions these points of interest rosesalient: To Charles Vernon, of Vernon Grange, Esq., and his heirs byhim lawfully begotten, were left all the lands and woods and manorsthat covered that space in the Hampshire map known by the name of the"Laughton property," on condition that he and his heirs assumed thename and arms of St. John; and on the failure of Mr. Vernon's issue, theestate passed, first (with the same conditions) to the issue of SusanMivers; next to that of Lucretia Clavering. There the entail ceased; andthe contingency fell to the rival ingenuity of lawyers in hunting out,amongst the remote and forgotten descendants of some ancient St. John,the heir-at-law. To Lucretia Clavering, without a word of endearment,was bequeathed 10,000 pounds,--the usual portion which the house of St.John had allotted to its daughters; to Susan Mivers the same sum, butwith the addition of these words, withheld from her sister: "and myblessing!" To Olivier Dalibard an annuity of 200 pounds a year; toHonore Gabriel Varney, 3,000 pounds; to the Rev. Matthew Fielden, 4,000pounds; and the same sum to John Walter Ardworth. To his favouriteservant, Henry Jones, an ample provision, and the charge of his dogsDash and Ponto, with an allowance therefor, to be paid weekly, and ceaseat their deaths. Poor old man! he made it the interest of their guardiannot to grudge their lease of life. To his other attendants, suitable andmunificent bequests, proportioned to the length of their services.For his body, he desired it to be buried in the vault of his ancestorswithout pomp, but without a pretence to a humility which he had notmanifested in life; and he requested that a small miniature in hiswriting-desk should be placed in his coffin. That last injunction wasmore than a sentiment,--it bespoke the moral conviction of the happinessthe original might have conferred on his life. Of that happiness hispride had deprived him; nor did he repent, for he had deemed pride aduty. But the mute likeness, buried in his grave,--that told the mightof the sacrifice he had made! Death removes all distinctions, and in thecoffin the Lord of Laughton might choose his partner.
When the will had been read, Mr. Parchmount produced two letters, oneaddressed, in the hand of the deceased, to Mr. Vernon, the other inthe lawyer's own hand to Miss Clavering. The last enclosed the fragmentfound on Sir Miles's table, and her own letter to Mainwaring, redirectedto her in Sir Miles's boldest and stateliest autograph. He had, nodoubt, meant to return it in the letter left uncompleted.
The letter to Vernon contained a copy of Lucretia's fatal epistle, andthe following lines to Vernon himself:--
MY DEAR CHARLES,--With much deliberation, and with natural reluctance toreveal to you my niece's shame, I feel it my duty to transmit to you theaccompanying enclosure, copied from the original with my own hand, whichthe task sullied.
I do so first, because otherwise you might, as I should have donein your place, feel bound in honour to persist in the offer of yourhand,--feel bound the more, because Miss Clavering is not my heiress;secondly, because had her attachment been stronger than her interest,and she had refused your offer, you might still have deemed her hardlyand capriciously dealt with by me, and not only sought to augment herportion, but have profaned the house of my ancestors by receivingher there as an honoured and welcome relative and guest. Now, CharlesVernon, I believe, to the utmost of my poor judgment, I have done whatis right and just. I have taken into consideration that this youngperson has been brought up as a daughter of my house, and what thedaughters of my house have received, I bequeath her. I put aside, as faras I can, all resentment of mere family pride; I show that I do so, whenI repair my harshness to my poor sister, and leave both her children thesame provision. And if you exceed what I have done for Lucretia, unless,on more dispassionate consideration than I can give, you conscientiouslythink me wrong, you insult my memory--and impugn my justice. Be it inthis as your conscience dictates; but I entreat, I adjure, I command,at least that you never knowingly admit by a hearth, hitherto sacredto unblemished truth and honour, a person who has desecrated itwith treason. As gentleman to gentleman, I impose on you this solemninjunction. I could have wished to leave that young woman's childrenbarred from the entail; but our old tree has so few branches! Youare unwedded; Susan too. I must take my chance that Miss Clavering'schildren, if ever they inherit, do not imitate the mother. I concludeshe will wed that Mainwaring; her children will have a low-born father.Well, her race at least is pure,--Clavering and St. John are names toguarantee faith and honour; yet you see what she is! Charles Vernon, ifher issue inherit the soul of gentlemen, it must come, after all, notfrom the well-born mother! I have lived to say this,--I who--But perhapsif we had looked more closely into the pedigree of those Claverings--.
Marry yourself,--marry soon, Charles Vernon, my dear kinsman; keep theold house in the old line, and true to its old fame. Be kind and good tomy poor; don't strain on the tenants. By the way, Farmer Strongbow owesthree years' rent,--I forgive him. Pension him off; he can do no good tothe land, but he was born on it, and must not fall on the parish. But tobe kind and good to the poor, not to strain the tenants, you must learnnot to waste, my dear Charles. A needy man can never be generous withoutbeing unjust. How give, if you are in debt? You will think of thisnow,--now,--while your good heart is soft, while your feelings aremoved. Charley Vernon, I think you will shed a tear when you see myarmchair still and empty. And I would have left you the care of my dogs,but you are thoughtless, and will go much to London, and they are usedto the country now. Old Jones will have a cottage in the village,--hehas promised to live there; drop in now and then, and see poor Pontoand Dash. It is late, and old friends come to dine here. So, if anythinghappens to me, and we don't meet again, good-by, and God bless you.
Your affectionate kinsman, MILES ST. JOHN.