Chapter XVI: An Unexpected Will

That Sir Geoffrey's violent end should have an almost paralysing effect upon the household that loved him so much was, of course, only to be expected, but it is impossible to tell beforehand how great grief will manifest itself in different people. Thus Ralph, who enjoyed a reputation of being bright and frank and open-hearted beyond the common, became morose and even sullen, nursing his wrath against the unknown murderer and allowing the iron to enter into his soul. Melville, on the contrary, hitherto self-centred and indifferent to the happiness of others, seemed to be softened by the tragedy, and in many little ways displayed an eagerness to comfort the rest and a regard for their sorrow that was very winning. The inquest which was held two days after the outrage was ineffective: a verdict of wilful murder was returned against some person unknown, and the case was recommended by the coroner to the attention of the police. So far they preserved a sphinx-like silence, and although conjecture was rife in the neighbourhood it received no assistance or corroboration from the detectives engaged.

The evidence given at the inquest was little more than formal; the doctor's testimony was brevity itself, Ralph's was concise to the point of curtness, and the police inspector had no suggestions to offer; the facts were self-evident, and of the only details that seemed to promise any interest, namely, the bloodstains upon Ralph's jacket and in the water in the basin, his explanation was so obviously simple that comment was superfluous. Yet upon the people in the court Ralph's manner had an effect not wholly favourable. He appeared to resent their natural curiosity, was brusque, and even in bowing to the coroner, when that functionary gave expression to the sympathy felt by his court for Sir Geoffrey's relatives, did not err upon the side of graciousness. But if Ralph thus failed to maintain the family traditions of courtesy, Melville atoned for it. He was merely asked whether he could throw any light upon the crime by suggesting any motive which might have prompted it, and this, it is needless to say, he could not do. But his quiet dignity in this moment of sorrow and his air of engaging candour won all hearts, and he quitted the scene in full possession of the sympathy of the audience.

There followed two most miserable days, during which Ralph smoked in solitude upon his houseboat, and Melville, for the most part, idled at The Grange. Music fits every mood, and there was no disrespect to the uncle by the nephew turning to his Amati for comfort in this dark hour, and so he played--played as if inspired by Saint Cecilia--and stole a little further into Gwendolen's heart.

It was with a sense of genuine relief that the two brothers returned to the Manor House after the funeral. There was a certain restraint between them and an odd embarrassment as to their mutual attitude in the small matters of daily life; thus Sir Geoffrey's chair at the head of the table was left empty by consent, but it stood as a constant reminder that for one of them it symbolised possession, and now that its late tenant was laid to rest with his fathers, the question as to which of the two should sit in it by right was about to be decided.

With the closing of the inquest Melville's first fears of detection were allayed, and his mind was engaged almost exclusively with the problem of his future. He took it for granted that his uncle had died intestate, and the only complication he could foresee in the division of the estate was brought about by the existence of Lavender, of which he believed he was the only person who knew. Mr. Tracy might know, and if he did, Melville supposed that half the estate would be held, pending Lady Holt's instructions, and that the other half would be divided between his brother and himself without undue delay. What action he should take with regard to Lavender it was too early to decide, but in a vague way he was beginning to incline to the policy of persuading her never to come forward, which he was confident he could do, and, by-and-bye, her share, too, might be obtainable for himself, or, at any rate, half of it.

The brothers were standing in the hall, both feeling rather aimless and self-conscious, when Martin joined them.

"Mr. Tracy mentioned that he had to return to London soon after the funeral, so I have taken some luncheon into the library. I thought, perhaps, you would have business to do before he left."

The butler directed his remarks diplomatically between the two young men. He assumed that the Manor House would be left to Ralph, as being the elder, but he did not wish to make any invidious distinctions between them at present. They looked at each other and went into the library, where they found Mr. Tracy contemplating a substantial pie as if wondering what description of animal food it might contain. The old lawyer looked up at them with a smile, and settled all difficulties of precedence by sitting down in the nearest chair, which happened to be at the head of the table. He knew the utility of a meal as a preparation for an unpleasant discussion, and although as Sir Geoffrey's solicitor he was only the mouthpiece by which the dead man's disposition of his property was to be communicated, he felt uncomfortable.

"I'm not ashamed to say that I am particularly hungry," he remarked. "With your permission, I will discuss this pie before discussing business," and he proceeded to make an excellent luncheon, talking all the while of everything except that which was uppermost in all their minds.

But, luncheon disposed of, his manner changed.

"I have had two copies of Sir Geoffrey's will prepared," he said, "and perhaps you would like to look at them while I read the original. It is not a long document, but the technical phraseology may, perhaps, seem confusing to the lay mind."

He turned to a table in the window, where he had placed a bag containing his papers, and so did not observe the slight start of surprise which Melville could not repress. So there was a will after all! Was fortune about to play him a scurvy trick after he had dared so much? He lighted a cigarette and sat down in a chair where the light would not fall upon his face.

"In its main features," continued Mr. Tracy, who seemed to be taking an unconscionable time fumbling in his bag, "the will, as I have said, is sufficiently simple, but it contains at least one element of surprise. I will read it without further comment, and you can follow from the copies," and, giving a type-written copy of the will to Ralph and another to Melville, he read the original clearly and distinctly.

Beginning with legacies to the servants, ranging from a year's wages to the youngest maid to life provision for Martin Somers, the will ordained that a charge should be made upon the estate sufficient to give an annuity of four hundred pounds a year to the testator's widow, Dame Lavinia Holt, to be paid quarterly to her in person, on application at Mr. Tracy's office, the first instalment to be paid upon her first making such personal application, and not necessarily to accrue from the date of her husband's death; subject only to these legacies and this one charge, everything real and personal was bequeathed to "my dear nephew, Ralph Ashley," for his uncontrolled use and enjoyment. Of Melville's name no mention whatever was made.

Mr. Tracy folded up the document and waited. The silence grew painful. Ralph did not know what to say, and Melville could not trust himself to speak. He was white with mortification and rage, and could have cursed himself for having with his own hand destroyed his last chance for the future. He cleared his throat and tried to speak, but the words would not come. Ralph looked enquiringly at the solicitor.

"I suppose there can be no mistake," he said; "but this lady--who is she? I have never heard until this minute that my uncle ever married."

"I can throw no light upon the mystery," Mr. Tracy said. "Sir Geoffrey was not the man to give confidences. He drafted this will himself, less than a month ago, and all I have done is to engross it and procure his signature. I should like to say that I ventured to ask certain questions and even make certain suggestions, but they were received with unmistakable disapproval, and, of course, I could not pursue the matter."

"It is iniquitous," said Melville hoarsely. He rose abruptly from his chair and faced his brother. "This is your work, you scoundrel! For years you have left nothing undone to estrange Sir Geoffrey from me. You have schemed and plotted for this, and at the last minute, curse you, you have succeeded. Well, you may be hugging yourself now, but I swear you will live to be sorry."

Mr. Tracy tried to pacify him, but in his heart he was not a little sorry for him. It must be a terrible shock to find himself thus ignored by the uncle from whom, for all the lawyer knew to the contrary, he had every right to expect munificent provision. And the lawyer spoke the truth when he said he had ventured to plead Melville's cause with Sir Geoffrey, although he reduced to the lowest possible terms the substance of the old man's answer to his pleading; yet even at that interview, when Sir Geoffrey might reasonably have been expected to confide entirely in the lawyer engaged to give legal effect to his last testament, he had refrained; his native pride forbade him to dilate upon his story, and kindly, but quite firmly, he declared his intention not to swerve from the course which he had chosen. Now that the thing was done, however, Mr. Tracy preferred that the possible quarrel between the two young men should be deferred until after his own departure, so he reverted to the matter immediately in hand.

"Subject to your approval," he said, addressing Ralph, whom alone it was now necessary to consult, "I will take steps to ascertain Lady Holt's address. Sir Geoffrey told me he knew she was alive, but did not know where she was to be found. I rather inferred that she was in London, and in poor circumstances."

"Act as you think right," said Ralph. He was so surprised by the revelation that he was impatient to learn the whole story. "Make all possible enquiries, and if they fail, why not advertise a reward for information about her? Why should Sir Geoffrey's wife be in poor circumstances at all?"

"Perhaps she was misrepresented to her husband," Melville said bitterly.

"Well, I will see about it," said Mr. Tracy, "and let you know the result. Now I must really hurry away. I ventured to ask the butler to order a conveyance to take me up to the station. Good-bye, Mr. Melville. I quite understand your very natural disappointment, and I do not hesitate to say I am sorry about it. If I can be of any service to you at any time do not hesitate to command me."

Ralph walked to the door with Mr. Tracy.

"I'm all at sixes and sevens for the minute," he said, "but I should like to see you again soon. Uncle Geoffrey may have left Melville nothing, but he has made no conditions in leaving me so much. You can, doubtless, advise me what would be the best thing to do about my brother."

"I shall be particularly glad to do so," the old lawyer replied heartily. "Give me time to confirm any appointment, as I am very busy just now, but, within reason, I can come here or see you in the Fields at any time."

"I suppose I'm in for a quarrel with Melville," Ralph continued seriously, "so I should just like to add this. He's not likely to agree to accept anything from me, but if he turns up later on to consult you, can't you let him have a hundred or so without saying too precisely where it comes from? You can make it right with me afterwards."

"Of course I can," said Mr. Tracy. "Very delicate of you, I'm sure. I shall be delighted to take part in so amiable a conspiracy," and, shaking the new master of the Manor House warmly by the hand, he got into the carriage and drove away.

Ralph watched the carriage disappear, and turned back into the house with a sigh. How was he to deal with his brother in this moment of humiliation, which Melville would with difficulty be persuaded was not due to him? Although they were brothers and so nearly of an age, the difference in their temperaments was such that Ralph felt certain beforehand that he could not hope to appeal successfully to the better part of Melville's character, which surely must exist. If Sir Geoffrey, with all the authority of age and wealth, could not control his younger nephew, how could Ralph hope to succeed? He lingered in the hall, reluctant to open what would be a painful interview, and as he looked at the familiar things, with their evidence of wealth and cultured taste, and realised that they were all his, he became conscious for the first time of the duties and responsibilities which he had inherited with his rights and privileges. There was no mental reservation in the inarticulate expression of regret at his uncle's death that escaped him. Even if it had come in the ordinary course of nature, he would fain have postponed the day, and lived content and happy with the dear old man, as he had done for so many years; but for the end to come so tragically, so treacherously, increased the bitterness a thousandfold, and Ralph's first emotion as he looked upon his goodly heritage was one of unmitigated grief at having thus entered upon his own.

But after a little while he raised his head with a new expression of peace and high purpose on his face. He would strive to be as good a master of the fine old Manor as Sir Geoffrey had ever been, and the moment to begin his duties had arrived. He must offer the hand of brotherhood to Melville, and enlist his help in tracking their uncle's murderer to his doom. More hopefully he went slowly from the hall to join his brother in the library; but as he opened the door a feeling of chill disappointment stole over him, for Melville, too, had shirked the interview and the room was empty. As Ralph turned to the window with a sigh he saw his brother, looking tall and slight in his sombre mourning, moving slowly over the sunlit turf and making evidently in the direction of The Grange.