Читать книгу A Modern Madonna - Caroline Abbot Stanley - Страница 14

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It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen from a clear sky. Margaret dropped back like one shot. Judge Kirtley and the attorney looked after the disappearing figure and then at each other.

Before they had time to recover from their astonishment Margaret started up in a quiver of excitement.

"Where has he gone? Is he after Philip?"

Before they could remonstrate she was out of the room and hurrying up the stairs.

"Had you any knowledge, sir, of the stand Mr. De Jarnette was going to take?" demanded Judge Kirtley, sternly.

"Not the slightest. It is as much of a surprise to me as to you."

"Did he know the nature of this will before coming here?"

"I think not. He certainly did not know it from me, and I have reason to think that he did not see his brother after it was made until the day he returned, which was the day of his death, I believe."

"It was."

"I was out of the city at the time and did not see Victor De Jarnette after this codicil was added, April thirtieth. I wish to God I had! I think perhaps I could have persuaded him then to alter it. He had had a good many months in which to cool down. He was a hot-headed fellow, you know."

"You say you tried to argue him out of doing it in the first place?"

"I used every effort in my power, but he would listen to nothing. I never saw a man so carried away by passion."

"Well, by the Lord, sir!" said the Judge, bringing his fist down upon the table, "I believe I should have refused to draw up that will!"

The attorney flushed.

"I did so at first," he returned quietly, "but he insisted that if I would not do it he could get somebody that would—which, of course, I knew was true. I thought that when he had had time to think it over he would feel ashamed of it and want to change it, and I felt that if it were between us two I should be in a better position to try to bring this about than if it had gone entirely out of my hands."

"There is something in that," admitted the Judge.

"I hadn't the least idea that he was going off. I wrote to him when I found out where he was, and urged him to make a new will over there, but he replied that he would attend to it when he got home. I really think he intended to do it, but you know how he was cut off."

"Yes, that's it. We never have the warning we suppose we will have. We know that other people drop dead but we never expect to do it ourselves … I hope you are right, for it is rather hard for me to forgive Victor De Jarnette. Living he made her life wretched, and from the grave he has reached up to strike her. He could not have given a crueler blow than this. And the other one—I tell you, Jarvis, that man is going to give us trouble. Weren't you amazed at the stand he took?"

"Astounded. I cannot fathom his motive."

"Nor I," returned the Judge, helplessly. "But as sure as you are a living man he means business. I wouldn't tell Margaret so, but I don't believe there will be any back-down from this. We'll have to fight it out in the courts. … Poor child! she has had trouble enough to break the spirit of an ordinary woman."

"Do you know the De Jarnettes intimately?" asked Mr. Jarvis. "I was wondering what would be the best way to reach him."

"I know them well," said the Judge, energetically. "Better than I wish I did. I would have more hope of a peaceable settlement of this thing if I knew less. There is a cruel streak in the De Jarnettes. You have seen it in Victor and I have seen it in his father. And it was in his grandfather before him. They never forgive and they never forget an injury to any of the blood. I believe that is why Richard De Jarnette had taken this stand. I think he must consider her in some way responsible for his brother's going wrong. You know there are men who always charge everything to a woman. I can't see anything else that would account for his change of front."

"Judge," the attorney said hurriedly—he was expecting Margaret at any moment—"what are you going to do? Of course you will represent Mrs. De Jarnette. You will fight?"

"Fight!" Judge Kirtley drew his somewhat stooping figure up to its full measure. "Yes, sir, we will fight—to the death! I am an old war horse to be going into battle, but I hope there is one fight left in me! We'll see, anyway."

"I should not like to be your opponent, sir—and I'll tell you this: I shall not be."

"The laws of the District are against us," said Judge Kirtley, reflectively. "That's a damnable law, Jarvis!"

"The whole thing is rotten," answered the attorney. "The District of Columbia has laws on her statute books that would make her a laughing stock for civilized communities if they were generally known. This is one of the most infamous, but there are others just as unreasonable. The whole thing ought to be plowed up and weeded out."

"God speed the day! I suppose that child will hold her baby in her arms all night, fearing at every sound that Richard De Jarnette is coming to drag him away from her. And I don't feel sure that he wouldn't if he got a chance. The trouble about these silent fellows is that you never know what they are going to do next. What will be his next move do you suppose?"

"Have the will probated, I suppose, and have himself confirmed as guardian and executor."

"And then?"

"Oh! the Lord knows, Judge! I don't. What could a man do with a child of that age? It is spite work. Nothing short of it." He put his papers carefully away. "Do you think Mrs. De Jarnette is coming down? I shall have to be going. Set me right with her about this matter, will you? I regret exceedingly to have had any part in it."

When he was gone Judge Kirtley sent up for Margaret. She came down with Philip in her arms.

"I would not come," she said, "while that man was here. How could he have done such a thing? … And oh, Judge Kirtley, they can't take him from me, can they? Is there such a cruel law as that?"

It seemed crueler to him to-day than ever before, as he looked at the slight creature clinging to her child.

"There really is such a law. I have never seen it put to the test, but I feel sure it would not be enforced in such a case as this where there is nothing against your character, and the child is so young."

"But when he grows older," she said, quickly, "could he take him then?"

"That would have to be tested in the courts, Margaret. You may feel sure of my doing all that can be done."

"Oh, I do, I do. But it is so dreadful that it needs to be done. Why should he want Philip? I—I can't understand it. It frightens me. And why does he look at me as he does? It—it makes me feel as if I have done something."

"That is doubtless all imagination, but—how long have you noticed this?" the Judge inquired, carelessly.

"Ever since the day of the funeral. And even that day when we were together at the inquest. Judge Kirtley … would he dare to harm Philip if he could get hold of him?"

"Margaret, this is foolish, child. The only thing he could do would be to get possession of the child as testamentary guardian by due process of law, and that is always long."

"And if he got him and I could only get him back by due process of law—would that be long too?"

"Yes, that might be longer still, for being his legal guardian he would have the law presumably on his side. But, my dear, we won't cross that bridge to-day. He hasn't got him yet. I don't believe there is a court on earth—certainly not in this District—that would take your child from you. Cheer up. We'll fight it out if worst comes to worst."

She did not smile. "Do you think it is because he wants the money?"

"I have thought of that, of course. It generally is because of money that most of the deviltry is done. But I had never thought he was that kind of man."

"Oh, I hope it is! That would make it all so simple. Can't you find out if it is and tell him to take it, all of it—I don't want the money—only he must give up all claim to Philip."

"Nonsense, Margaret," said the Judge, testily, "I shall do nothing of the kind. You have no right to relinquish this money—either your own or Philip's. It is willed to you and it ought to stand."

"Yes, but the same will that gives me the money gives him Philip! … Oh, why did Victor do this wicked thing?"

As he went away Judge Kirtley said, "I shall go to Mr. De Jarnette and see what I can do toward settling it out of court. I think it will turn out all right. I have great faith that he can be brought to see it in the right light. And if he can't and it has to go into the courts—" Margaret looked hopelessly at him—the case seemed lost already, so powerful and fearful a thing is the law to the inexperienced—"you must remember always that in any proceedings concerning the custody of children, even in the absence of any express statute, the court is obliged to consider the welfare of the child as paramount to every other consideration, and it has the power even to take a child away from its guardian if that seems best for the child."

"But in this case it seems that there is an express statute, or law, or whatever it is," said Margaret, who had been listening with all the powers of a mind unused to legal terms and technicalities, "and that it is against the mother."

"That does not make it certain that the courts would sustain the will. The court is always apt to favor the claim of the mother unless it can be proved that she is an improper person to have charge of it. So cheer up, my child."

She was standing before him with the boy, who laughed and crowed unheeded, in her arms.

"But if he should come when you are gone and try to take him," she said, her eyes big with fright. "What could I do?"

"Margaret, he will not come. You need not fear it in the least. Richard De Jarnette would not go against the law to secure your child—even if he cannot be persuaded to give him up."

"How can I tell what is law?" she cried passionately. "If anybody had told me yesterday that the law gave a man a right to will away my child before it was born, I should have said he was mad! And when this other man comes and demands that child—as he will, I know he will!—how am I to know that the law does not give him the power to take him?"

"Because I am telling you now that it does not. You can trust me if you can't the law. That isn't the danger to be feared."

"What is?" she asked, quickly.

"Just what I was telling you, that after due process of law the court might decide in favor of his claim—if he should press it—and I don't believe he will."

"He will!" she said, hopelessly. "I know he will. You don't know how vindictively he looked at me."

It was useless to argue against such logic as this, and he went away.

When he was gone Margaret had the great door locked and bolted and gave orders that no one should be admitted. That night she slept fitfully, Philip in her arms.