Читать книгу The Frobishers - Baring-Gould Sabine - Страница 7

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FACING THE WORST

Mr. Shand, the family solicitor, was seated in the library with the two girls, Joan and Sibylla Frobisher, a few days after the funeral. He was a formal man, with the complexion of an under-baked seedcake. The girls were, as a matter of course, in deep mourning. The face of Joan bore the marks of wearing and protracted anxiety. She realised, in a manner impossible to her shallow sister, that a crisis in their lives had been reached. That they must leave Pendabury neither doubted, but Joan shrewdly suspected there were unpleasant revelations that would have to be made shortly, concerning the matter of the gold mine. The younger girl had dismissed the telegram from her thoughts, occupied only with her father's death and funeral, but it was not possible for Joan to disguise from herself that the brief message which had brought about her father's fatal ride to Lichfield was fraught with further trouble. She accordingly fixed her eyes on the lawyer with intensity of attention, and with a heart within her bosom that quivered with apprehension. Nevertheless, she was aware of a sense of relief at the prospect of now at last learning everything, of having her worst fears either dissipated or confirmed. Certainly she could bear that better than prolonged suspense.

"Young ladies," said the solicitor, "I have some very distressing news to communicate. I would have asked the rector to relieve me of a painful duty, but that the matter belongs to my province rather than to his, and that to me alone all the particulars are known." He coughed behind his hand. "After your irreparable loss of a father, which we all deplore, comes a second blow that I fear will also prove irreparable, and will be equally felt, though of a different kind. I presume that you are aware that the former squire—I mean the penultimate, Mr. Hector Beaudessart, left to your father, the son of his wife by a first husband, the enjoyment of the manor and estate and mansion of Pendabury during the term of his natural life, with reversion to the issue, lawfully begotten, of his son Walter, that is to say, to the present Mr. Hector Beaudessart, now of Rosewood Cottage, who was not born at the time that the elder Mr. Hector made the testamentary disposition of his estate. It was never his intention to permanently alienate from his family the property which it had held in possession for many generations, but to mark with his displeasure his son Walter, in a most sensible manner. I use the expression sensible not in its popular significance, but in that which is more legitimate, as implying a manner that would be felt. Whether Mr. Walter Beaudessart's conduct was of a nature deserving of such severe notice, it is, happily, not my place to consider, and therefore I will pass no opinion either upon that or upon the method adopted by his father to emphasise his reprobation. It suffices me to state the fact that Mr. Walter, now deceased, was debarred from entering upon the estate of Pendabury, and from deriving any pecuniary or other advantage from it. Your father, whose decease we so profoundly deplore, had no power left him of imposing any charge on the estate, on behalf of his widow, had his wife survived him, or of any child he might have. Consequently, all that he was able to do, so as to make provision for your future, was to lay by annually a certain sum deducted from the revenues of the property. You understand me, young ladies?"

"Perfectly," said Joan.

"I cry shame on old Hector," said Sibyll; "I should like to poke my parasol through his picture. We have better right to Pendabury than any whippersnapper from the Colonies, for we were born here."

"If your father had acted in accordance with my advice," pursued Mr. Shand, ignoring Sibylla's words, "you would be now in a very different position from that in which you actually are placed. He ought to have heavily insured his life for your benefit. This. however, he would not do. He preferred to invest his savings. Unhappily, of late, he sold out all his securities, and transferred the proceeds to a gold mine in South Africa, in which your uncle was largely interested, and of the prospects of which he was vastly sanguine. Mr. James Frobisher was a man by nature hopeful and confident, and, to employ a serviceable colloquialism, all his geese were swans. He was assured that the Willjoens Reef was auriferous, and would yield an enormous interest on capital spent developing it. Your father—whose deplorable decease we cannot forget—implicitly believed in him, and caught fire at the representations of Mr. James Frobisher, when he came to England for the purpose of forming a company for the working of the mine. Your lamented and ever to be lamented father withdrew his money, sold all his investments that were absolutely safe, and yielded from four to four and a half per cent. actually, one only was at three and a quarter, and against my advice, I may say my urgent entreaty, sank everything he had amassed on your behalf in this South African venture. As I pointed out to him at the time—you will excuse another colloquialism, though vulgar—it is ill to put all your eggs into one basket. I need hardly inform you that your father whom we so profoundly deplore—was not a man to turned from his purpose when he had formed such."

"Indeed he was not," threw in Sibyll, "and in that my sister Joan takes after him."

"Quite so. And in spite of my grave and reiterated remonstrances, he put every penny that he had saved through twenty-eight years into that—to my mind—most risky speculation. I am sorry to have to inform you that my worst anticipations have been realised. Those who were shareholders, not feeling satisfied with the report that had been received, before embarking further in the matter, privately despatched an expert to investigate the Willjoens Reef. To this I believe your father was either not a party or a reluctant party. No sooner did this independent report reach home—than your uncle disappeared. The report was most unsatisfactory; it represented the estate which was to have proved an Eldorado as practically worthless. It lies outside the fringe of profitable gold-producing reefs. Your uncle, no doubt quite unconsciously, had been associated with a party of eminently unscrupulous men, Jews for the most part, who have been thrusting Willjoens and other valueless properties on the market. Some properties in the Transvaal are gold - producing, because gold is found in them. Such Willjoens is not. Others are gold-producing only so far that gold is got by them out of the pockets of credulous speculators in England and elsewhere—and such gold goes into the pockets of the men who float the concern. I regret to say that such is Willjoens Reef."

"Then, what has become of all our money?" asked

"Gone, young lady. A parcel of unprincipled Jews have it, who will never be made to disgorge. It is lost utterly and beyond recovery."

"What, then, shall we have to live upon?"

"There remains nothing of the accumulations made by your father so sadly removed from us. As your mother had no private means, no income comes to you in that way. You will receive what is brought in by a sale at Pendabury, but that will not furnish a considerable sum. The late Mr. Hector Beaudessart made a list of pictures, books, and the amount and kind of plate, all which he decided were to remain as heirlooms, and were to be inalienable. Consequently, in a sale, only furniture can be offered, glass and china, the horses, carriages, and contents of the saddle-room, the bulbs in the beds and plants in the greenhouses and conservatories."

"Fudge!" said Sibyll, "we cannot possibly live on that. We will cut down the timber on the estate, and raise several thousand pounds by that means."

"You have no power to do so," said Mr. Shand, in dry, monotonous voice. "By your father's most lamentable decease, everything has passed to Mr. Hector Beaudessart except such contents of the house and its appurtenances as are not scheduled as heirlooms."

"I never heard the like. I do not agree to it," said Sibyll.

"Dear Miss Sibylla, your consent is not asked or required. As I have stated, so the matter stands, and is unalterable. To use a vulgarism, for which I know you will pardon me, and for which I apologise beforehand, what can't be cured must be endured. With your leave, Miss Frobisher, I will give notice to the domestics. There will, perhaps, be something in the bank that will defray their wages and the cost of the funeral, and provide for your immediate necessities. The court day for the half-year that terminates at Michaelmas has not yet been held, as a month's grace is always allowed to the tenants. You will be entitled, of course, to the money that then comes in, less certain charges and the payment of property bills out of it. That will be yours, when your father's will has been proved, young ladies. If you will take my advice, you will be so wise as to remove at your earliest possible convenience from Pendabury, and install yourselves in some place less expensive to keep up. To employ a vulgarism once more, for which I crave excuse—you must cut your coat according to your cloth."

"Probably our best course will be to go to our aunts Benigna and Charlotte," said Joan, "our

father's sisters at Stafford."

"Aunt Benigna may whistle for me," exclaimed Sibylla. "Why, Joan, you know I could never abide either. Benigna belies her name; she is always scolding and finding fault: she has never a good word to say to one—but harangues and sermonises till it makes one sick. As to Charlotte—she is an old stupid, who smiles and sips tea, and has not an idea in her head."

"I am afraid, young lady," said the solicitor, "that these ladies will be found in no position to receive you. I am apprised that they also have lost everything in this Willjoens Reef. They were talked over by their brother James into intrusting their little fortune in his hands. It is infinitely sad and unfortunately true."

"Good heavens! Poor dear old ladies!" gasped Joan. "At their age, what can they do?"

"That settles their hash," said Sibylla; "so talk no more to me of aunts Benigna and Charlotte."

"Mr. Shand," said Joan, "under the circumstances, what is your advice?"

"A sale of everything that can be sold," answered the lawyer, "is not likely to bring in sufficient to maintain you in even moderate comfort. What your father's liabilities are I cannot yet tell. I greatly fear he has risked money of his own apart from what he had laid by for you, and that this may make a sad hole in the half-year's rent. Have you relatives who would come to your aid?"

Joan shook her head.

"Not one. Uncle James Frobisher is now out of the question. My aunts are also out of the question. I really know of none other—that is, none to whom I would care to apply. My dear mother belonged to the Hopgoods—a respectable but not wealthy manufacturing family. My father kept up no relations with them. He considered that his position debarred him from so doing. I would not, indeed I could not consistently with self-respect apply to those whom my dear father so persistently held all these years at arm's length. To appeal as a pauper to them is more than my pride could endure."

"Do not even think of such a thing," said Sibyll. "I wash my hands of the whole Hopgood lot."

"And your father's family?"

"On that side—no relatives other than Uncle James and my two impoverished aunts."

"There is one thing." Mr. Shand spoke hesitatingly, and looked down on the table as he spoke. "Your case is sure to evoke much sympathy. I do not quite know how you will take it—there is a homely and good proverb—but I will not venture to quote it. I have talked the matter over with the Reverend Mr. Barker, your rector, without, of course, entering into particulars, merely indicating the broad outlines of the case. We both think that under the exceptional circumstances, and seeing how widely respected your father was, chairman on the bench and patron of so many societies for the benefiting of the agriculture, and horticulture, and poultry-raising of the country, that some little collection might possibly be suggested that would be warmly taken up by—of course—the county people to—to"—

"Sir!" Joan flamed through throat, cheeks, and temples. "Not another word to that effect."

"I confess I have no other suggestion to make," said the solicitor.

"I thank you, Mr. Shand. I am glad that you have stated the condition of our affairs so plainly," said Joan. "Practically we are left, if not absolutely destitute, yet without a sufficiency to maintain us, unless we eat up our little capital. That capital, whatever it may prove to be, is best left to fall back upon in an emergency. Now that we know the very worst, there is but one thing that can be done—and that is to face it, and face it with good heart, frankly."