Chapter XXIV: "BEATRICE, Miss Pelham is dead."

Lord Carnelly was the speaker, and his wife the only listener to the news thus conveyed.

"At last!" was her response. "Now there will be an end of the miserable pinching and cheeseparing which I have had to practise through all my married life. The money to which I am absolutely entitled will secure this result, and the children will be well provided for. I wonder whether my aunt will have left her savings to them or to me. She has lived on next to nothing. She was too penurious either to spend on herself or to give to others. She never made me a present of anything that was worth a 'thank you' in her whole life. I suppose there can be no mistake about the news," added Lady Carnelly, turning quickly to her husband. "How did you hear it?"

"From Miss Pelham's lawyers. They wrote to me, thinking that I should break the tidings of your lamented aunt's decease less abruptly than could be done by a direct written communication addressed to yourself. The precaution was perhaps scarcely necessary."

"You need not be satirical, Lindsay. I am no hypocrite, and it is scarcely likely that I should be much distressed by the death of a relative who cared nothing for me, and who kept me out of all she could, and as long as she could."

"Miss Pelham could scarcely be expected to die before her time in order to accommodate you, Beatrice," said Lord Carnelly.

"Who ever insinuated anything so ridiculous?" replied his wife, whose sense of approaching wealth rendered her more than usually lofty in tone and manner. "She might have helped us from her hoards if she had chosen, but people of my aunt's miserly disposition never can appreciate those of more generous natures than their own."

Sadly as Lord Carnelly listened to his wife's hard words, he could not help feeling that they had a ludicrous side. For a woman like Lady Carnelly, with whom self had always been preeminent, to talk of generous natures was almost too absurd. Her lavish expenditure, which had brought no home enjoyment, but involved her husband in debt and caused him to live in perpetual dread of importunate creditors, was dignified as generosity by the lips of her who had indulged in it.

Lord Carnelly hardly dared to hope that Miss Pelham's death would bring much relief to him. The money was strictly secured to his wife, and he feared that she might refuse to free him from his embarrassments.

Whilst he mused, Lady Carnelly was silent for a short time.

Then, turning a triumphant face towards her husband, she said, "Lindsay, I have been calculating how much Miss Pelham must have saved during the last forty years, for she came into her mother's property so long since. I shall very likely get—"

The interruption was abrupt and stern.

"You had much better give up calculating on anything beyond what is absolutely certain. I do not think Miss Pelham would add a penny to it," said Lord Carnelly.

"She might have passed me by if there had been any one else for it. But I am her nearest relative, and the children come next. My aunt had a good deal of family pride, which would, I think, prevent her from overlooking her own flesh and blood."

"Well, Beatrice, you knew Miss Pelham better than I did. The fact of her wealth often kept me from paying her the attentions that I should have liked to render to the solitary old woman. I did not wish to be misunderstood. If you do get the large savings you spoke of, I trust you will dedicate a few thousands of them to paying our debt to my sister. Poor Ida! The thought that her little fortune went because we were living beyond our means is a perpetual trouble to me."

"Our debt!" exclaimed Lady Carnelly. "You surely do not consider that I have any share in that. Have you forgotten that when in India you reminded me that you were Ida's guardian, not I? The idea that I shall find money to replace the fortune for which you are accountable is a little too much!"

Lady Carnelly might have considered herself a deeply injured woman, to judge by the expression of her face as she spoke. It quickly changed as, glancing towards the window, she exclaimed,—

"The blinds have not been drawn down. What will people think of us, if there is a notice of Miss Pelham's death in the 'Times?' There may be, if the lawyers inserted it at once. Why did you not order the blinds to be pulled down?"

"As the bereavement was on your side of the house, I deemed it better to leave all melancholy details to you, Beatrice. However, I will ring if you wish it," was Lord Carnelly's reply.

It was sarcastic enough, and spoken in the bitterness of his heart, as he thought of the way in which his one request for help had been answered.

The refusal of Lady Carnelly to relieve him from the weight of responsibility on account of Ida's fortune meant more than the continuance of the burden.

What were his troubles and anxieties to her? And yet he had brought them upon himself, sooner than refuse her even an unreasonable indulgence, for he had loved this selfish woman, who was still his wife and the mother of his children.

Lord Carnelly was, however, to be relieved in an unexpected manner, though greatly to the mortification and indignation of his wife.

Miss Pelham, though far advanced in years, retained her faculties unimpaired to the last, and was well able to gauge the characters of those with whom she had to do. She was not slow to blame her niece's conduct, and, while she felt the good-humoured contempt which strong natures often entertain for weak ones, and was often heard to censure Lord Carnelly for his folly in yielding to his wife's extravagance, she yet liked the kindly colonel.

Miss Pelham proved both her shrewdness and her regard for her niece's husband by her will. Not one penny of her large savings came into Lady Carnelly's hands.

"She will have far more than she will use well, and than I would allow her to have, if I could help it," the old lady told her lawyers. "Her husband is weak but good-hearted. I have made myself acquainted with his circumstances, and find that he is over head and ears in debt. I mean to free him, and I look to you so to arrange matters that he shall not be able to place himself in a similar fix."

How the lawyers managed this is not for unprofessional persons to narrate. But it was done, and, to Lord Carnelly's deep joy and thankfulness, he found himself freed at a stroke from all his liabilities, through the will of his wife's eccentric relative. If there had been no restraint with regard to future expenditure, past experience would have been enough. Lord Carnelly had known what it was to groan under a load of debt for several past years, and had no inclination to risk it again.

Miss Pelham showed her eccentricity by one legacy in particular. Though the money owing to Mrs. Crawford was paid in full, and with compound interest from the date at which it was due, along with the rest of Lord Carnelly's debts, the old lady left an additional five thousand pounds to the doctor. She gave no reason for so doing, but it may well be imagined that she bequeathed it to make amends for any inconvenience which Dr. Crawford and Ida might have suffered through the nonpayment of the girl's little fortune at the proper time. Miss Pelham knew that her niece's extravagance had caused the money to be withheld, and knowing also Lady Carnelly's disposition, was determined not to trust her to make amends.

The contents of Miss Pelham's will made Lady Carnelly very angry, especially that part which referred to the Crawfords. She found, too, that, large as was the sum bequeathed by her aunt, it fell far short of her calculations.

Miss Pelham's charities had been of a very unostentatious character, and only after her death was it known how many homes had been cheered and mourners comforted by means of the well-timed and discriminating benevolence of her who had been called miserly.

Lord Carnelly had to listen to many bitter words respecting the disposition of Miss Pelham's money. Under the circumstances, he was able to bear the infliction with a grim sense of humour, which almost rendered his wife's tirades enjoyable.

Still, the thought would come, "If only Beatrice were different, how happy we might now be!"

Lord Carnelly, at least, was thankful, and humbly anxious that, by God's help, the future might in some degree repair the past.

To Mrs. Crawford, Miss Pelham's unexpected bequest brought great joy. The knowledge, so long withheld, that Dr. Crawford had never received the money bequeathed to her by her father caused her great trouble. Never during her married life had she felt so much inclined to reproach her husband for want of confidence in her as when he at length told her the truth about her little fortune. Happily, she refrained from uttering the words which were on her lips, for at the same moment, the thought came, "For whose sake did my dear husband keep silence? Was it not for mine, and to spare me the pain of knowing that my only brother had betrayed the trust reposed in him?"

One secret was never told—namely, the true story of the jewellery sent as a birthday gift to Ida, but for which Dr. Crawford paid. One of Lord Carnelly's first acts on becoming possessed of the means was to make the gift a real one, by repaying to his brother-in-law the amount of the jeweller's bill. It was not likely that the doctor would ever spoil Ida's pleasure in the possession of the ornaments by telling her one passage in their history.

Need it be told that, on the actual payment of her little fortune, Mrs. Crawford at once insisted that the doctor should engage another assistant?

"You work far too hard now, Andrew," she said. "I am not a clever woman of business, but I doubt whether your doing without competent professional help effects a real saving. Your practice occupies your whole time, so it would be impossible for you to extend it without another assistant. You need have no fear that I shall break out into any extravagances, though my little fortune has become a reality instead of a myth."

Dr. Crawford agreed that there was something in what Ida said. He had lately doubted whether he had begun his scheme of domestic retrenchment in the right direction. There could be no true economy in overtaxing his strength, and, at the same time, unnecessarily limiting his practice. The doctor therefore announced his intention of filling up the post vacated by Mr. Soames, and was a good deal surprised when Mr. Carnally applied for it.

"You cannot be in earnest," he said. "For a man of your means to fill such a position would be an anomaly."

"In one sense it would, but not in another. I am a fully qualified medical man, and have had some experience, though not within the last three years. I can produce testimonials which would, I think, satisfy you; and as to salary, I care nothing," replied Mr. Carnelly.

"But I do," responded the doctor. "Whoever I engage as my assistant will have to be fit for the work, and to take his full share of it, as well as the remuneration. It is too absurd to think of your filling the post of medical assistant. If you cared for your profession, why did you give it up?"

"I had two reasons. The one was, that I did not wish to be tied to any particular locality, as I had then travelled very little, and I wanted to see something of other countries. Since then, I have had above two years of travel—enough for the present. Is not this satisfactory?"

"Perfectly. Now for your second," said the doctor.

"That I thought it scarcely right, seeing there were so many men struggling to get into practice, for me to enter the arena against them, when I had such abundant means of my own. In my travels, however, I strove to increase my professional information, and I believe I have gained, instead of losing, by my wandering and apparently lazy life."

The doctor shook his head.

"The second reason for not practising on your own account holds good to-day, unless you have become poorer," he said.

"I almost regret to say that I am richer, for my tastes are too simple to allow of a large expenditure upon myself. You want to know how it is that I am now anxious to become your assistant. It is principally that I may convince a—a person, who, I fear, considers me a very useless individual, that I am capable of steady and continuous effort in the service of my fellow-creatures. I might not desire to keep the post for a very long time. I daresay twelve months would suffice."

The doctor's face assumed an expression of intelligence and amusement. "Would it be forcing your confidence if I ventured to ask, 'Is the person a young lady?'"

The colour which overspread Mr. Carnelly's brow vied with that which Grace Steyne could display upon occasion, as he answered, "It is."

"I will not suggest any name," said Dr. Crawford, "but I think it would be quite possible for you to convince her of her mistake without taking a place as medical assistant. I will be very frank with you, Mr. Carnelly. I will not accept your offer, but I hope to convince you that I am equally your friend in refusing it. I feel sure you would wish me to forget everything but the fact that you had engaged to fulfil certain duties, and I have not the smallest doubt of your ability, or that we should work well together. But there are men who need the salary that would be nothing to you, and the experience they would gain under an older medical man. Besides, you say you would not wish to remain here above twelve months. With such a prospect, ought I to introduce you to my patients, and accustom them to your attendance? People do not like strange faces by sick-beds, and object to frequent changes."

"You are right; it would be a mistake for you to engage me," said Mr. Carnelly.

Nevertheless he looked as much disappointed as if his livelihood had depended on gaining the post.

When this conversation took place, Mr. Carnelly had paid several visits to Steynes-Cote, where Grace Steyne was still a guest. Hillstead Magna and Shelverton being within a short railway ride on a main line, and with plenty of trains, what could be more easy than for him to keep up friendly relations with his newly-found kinswoman, Mrs. Crawford?

Those who wish to find excuses are never at a loss, and Mr. Carnelly was constantly running over, always with some excellent reason for taking the journey. The small people in the Steynes-Cote nursery invariably set up a shout of welcome as they caught sight of him; and but for the peremptory interference of their mother, that apartment would soon have been blocked by the toys with which he came laden almost daily.

"Cousin David" was equally a favourite with Mrs. Crawford, and speedily won the good-will of Mrs. Prattely, whose acquaintance he had made. This good lady was very fond of expatiating on Grace Steyne's excellences, and on one occasion she remarked enthusiastically, "What a wife she would make for a poor man!"

Mr. Carnelly replied, with commendable promptitude, "Why not for a rich one? Should not the girl who bravely bears a heavy weight of responsibility in her youth have a lighter burden as she grows older?"

"Grace deserves to have," said Mrs. Prattely; "but she is a born worker, and will always take a full share of whatever her hand finds to do."

From which remarks it is not difficult to guess the tendency of Mr. Carnelly's thoughts.