Читать книгу The Yellow Hunchback - Fergus Hume - Страница 7

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Alice was surprised at the request, and all the way home she wondered what possible advantage she was likely to obtain from hearing the will read. The second will, which left the money to her, was hidden away, and, according to Evan, Mrs. Berrow did not know of its existence. He had intended—as he told her at the villa—to tell his step-mother, but death had prevented his doing so. The will, then, which would be read would be that made three years ago in accordance with the instructions of the dwarf’s father, and Mrs. Berrow would inherit everything. Why, then, should she wish Alice to be present, since she had frequently shown that she had no love for the girl? Alice asked herself this question in vain.

Twice it was on the tip of her tongue to question her father about the second will, since he was one of the witnesses, and would be able to tell her the contents. It might be that he would know where it was to be found. But her knowledge of the lie told by Marvel prevented her speaking. Having an imaginative mind, Alice speedily built up a whole story of which the lie about the spectacles was the germ. Her father, knowing she would inherit, had killed Berrow, and had taken her down the High Street to find the corpse, so that all suspicion might be diverted from him. No one would ever think that a murderer would dare to act so boldly; and in the very boldness of taking anyone to the body of the victim would lie the safety. Then Alice rebuked herself for such fancies. Her father had assuredly spoken falsely, but he might have another reason than the one which so readily presented itself to her imagination. Lawrence Marvel was weak and easily led; he was fond of luxury, and would do much to gain money so as to gratify his artistic tastes. But Alice, when calmly considering the matter, could not think that he would wilfully murder one who had shown him kindness. Moreover, all these years since the death of her mother, Marvel had been kind and thoughtful, and in every way was devoted to his beautiful daughter. No! He could not be guilty, and yet—the doubt would ever present itself. It was then that Alice wished to have Rupert by her side, that she might ask what he thought.

But Rupert never appeared. He had promised to call at the villa the next morning, but had not presented himself. More, he had not written to explain the reason for his non-appearance. Even on the third day he still remained absent and silent. Alice could bear the strain no longer. She wanted someone to advise her, and Treffry, whom she loved, was the sole person in whom she could safely confide. While walking to the Manor House, to hear the will read, she called in at the Railway Hotel, where Rupert had been staying, and there learnt that he had left for London at seven in the morning.

“This morning?” she asked the waiter.

“No, miss. Yesterday morning. He took a cup of coffee, and caught the early train, saying he had important business in town.”

It was apparent that Rupert had left Chadston on the morning after the murder. And yet he had promised to call and see her. It was very strange.

“What time did Mr. Treffry come in on the previous night?” she asked, after a pause.

“About eleven o’clock, miss. I let him in myself.”

“Had he heard of Mr. Berrow’s murder?”

“I don’t think so, miss. He never said anything about it. And I didn’t hear of it myself, miss,” added the chatty waiter, “until nine next day, while Mr. Treffry left at seven.”

“Did he leave any note for me—for Miss Marvel?”

“No, miss. He was in too great a hurry to write.”

Alice gave the friendly waiter a shilling out of her lean purse, and walked on to the Manor House in a perplexed state of mind. The strange behaviour of Treffry puzzled her as much as did the action of her father; and the politeness of Mrs. Berrow, requesting her to be present at the reading of the will puzzled her still more. She seemed to be involved in a web of mysteries, and felt as helpless as an entangled fly. The more she thought the more puzzled she became; so very wisely she resolved to think no more, but to wait, as calmly as she could for the development of events. The reason why Mrs. Berrow wished her to be present would soon be made manifest, and Rupert would either return to explain, or write and account for his unforeseen absence. These two mysteries being solved, the reason for her father’s behaviour might be arrived at.

As though Mrs. Berrow wished to rid herself of Evan at once, no time had been lost in placing him in the vault where his father and mother reposed. The poor little man had been murdered on Monday, the inquest had been held on Tuesday, and by three o’clock on Wednesday the door of the vault was closed on the tiny body, which he had so hated. When Alice arrived at the Manor House the blinds were up, the butler who admitted her seemed sufficiently cheerful, and there were no signs of mourning in the great house. The king was dead, and the queen reigned, or was about to reign. The change from the old to the new had taken place with miraculous swiftness.

At the door Alice paused to look at the expanse of snow-covered park, where the gaunt, leafless trees stood up bleak and weird. She glanced up at the grey stone house, so ancient, yet beautiful in its antiquity. The walls were covered with ivy, and over the door was the escutcheon of the Tait family, which had been driven from a mansion wherein they and their ancestors had dwelt since the reign of Henry the Seventh. It was hard on Polly Tait that she should be a dependent in the very house where she ought to have been queen. No wonder Captain Tait, who alone represented the old family, was morose and savage at his exclusion from this paradise.

“I am so glad to see you, dear,” said Mrs. Berrow, when Alice entered the drawing-room. “Do sit down. Mr. Clyde will be here soon with the will.”

Miss Marvel’s brown eyes lingered searchingly on the fresh face of the lady who thus endearingly addressed her. Mrs. Berrow was a hard woman, and not given to terms of politeness, especially towards those members of her own sex who were pretty. Yet she was sufficiently pretty herself to prevent any petty jealousies of this kind. Tall and slim, extremely graceful, with small feet and slender white hands, she looked very aristocratic. Her hair was black, and carefully dressed; her skin a pale olive, and her lips vividly red. The worst part about her were her eyes, which were small, black, and hard in expression. But she carried herself well, and was almost constantly smiling. Her age was thirty, but she looked much younger, as she was a woman whose aim in life was to keep herself juvenile. A casual spectator would have thought her to be of a cold nature, and possessed of little affection. But Alice, with the shrewdness of one woman judging another, fancied that Mrs. Berrow was a slumbering volcano, and when aroused, either to love or hate, could be extremely demonstrative and violent.

“It is very kind of you to ask me here,” replied Alice, as Mrs. Berrow’s small dark eyes fell before her steady gaze; “and, indeed, I think it is rather unnecessary. There can be nothing in the will likely to interest me.”

“Oh, but indeed there is, Miss Marvel. Mr. Clyde hinted that it would be as well you should be present. Evan, poor boy, was fond of you, and I fancy he has not forgotten you in his will. He certainly said nothing to me, but I only obeyed the instructions of Mr. Clyde in asking you to be present. I really don’t know what form Evan’s legacy will take. You know Captain Tait, do you not?”

Mrs. Berrow seemed to break off at this point, to avoid entering into further explanations, and pointed towards a well-preserved man of fifty, who rose and bowed stiffly. Captain Tait looked a thorough gentleman, and was dressed to perfection, in a quiet and unassuming manner. His hair and moustache were white, and he wore the first cut extremely short and the latter twirled up smartly in military fashion. In the distance he looked about forty, and it was only when one was near that the myriad wrinkles which seamed his pale skin could be seen. He was stiff and haughty in manner, and apparently regarded everyone else as dirt beneath his feet. Yet Alice was sorry for him, as he stood under the roof which should have been his. It was hard, she thought, that he should be driven from his ancestral home.

Polly was with him, looking pretty and demure as usual, but hardly as aristocratic as her father. She took after her mother, who was the plebeian daughter of a wealthy grocer, and one who had brought money to the handsome, penniless Captain. Tait, in his usual manner, had soon got rid of the money, and his neglected wife shortly sought the next world, as more preferable to this one where she had to put up with the whims and fancies of a selfish husband. Tait was different from Lawrence Marvel, also left a widower, with one child. He had never troubled about Polly, and was perfectly willing that she should earn her own living by acting as Evan Berrow’s secretary. Also, as soon as Teddy Smith could support her, he was ready to hand her over in marriage. The man cared only for himself, and so long as he had the luxuries which he termed necessities, troubled very little about anyone. At the present moment he was living on what odd sums of money he could borrow from more wealthy relatives, and had come to hear the will read, in the hope of receiving a legacy. Considering how Berrow the elder had swindled him over the transfer of the Chadston estate, it would only be justice for Berrow the younger to make amends.

There were also present one or two friends of the family, but no relative of either the Berrow family or the step-mother. Evan had no relations, and Mrs. Berrow’s parents had long since been dead. She moved amongst the friends on this occasion, talking in low voice about her step-son’s many virtues. That she had never discovered these, or commented upon them, during his life did not trouble her. To praise the dead was part of the business connected with the funeral, and Mrs. Berrow was great at observing the rules of society. She played her sorrowing part well enough to deceive many, but Alice saw through the shallow pretence. That conversation with Evan previous to his death had opened her eyes to Mrs. Berrow’s real character.

Mason Clyde duly arrived with the will in his pocket. He was a tall, bulky man, with a round, fat face, and china-blue eyes, like those of a Persian cat. His red lips—and they were extremely red—always wore a smile, and he had soft, white hands, which he constantly rubbed together in an obsequious way. Bland, smiling, with a slow, heavy, rich voice, and a deferential manner, Clyde impressed people with the idea that he was all heart and generosity. But some clients could have told a different tale.

“The will is very short,” he said, opening out the document, and glancing towards the end of the room, where the servants had now assembled. “My late client, in deference to the express wishes of his deceased father, instructed me to draw up this will three years ago, and did not see fit to alter it. I shall now proceed to read it. But I may add,” continued Clyde, clearing his throat, “that Mr. Berrow made a codicil two months ago, which will prove of interest to some one here.”

Captain Tait brightened. Had Berrow remembered what was due to him, and would he receive a sum of money? In his selfishness he never thought that the codicil could refer to any one but himself. Had he been more observant he would have noted the look which Mrs. Berrow shot at Alice Marvel. The girl herself caught it, and knew as well as though the matter had been explained that the codicil concerned herself.

Clyde read the will slowly, and in a dramatic manner. It was very short, as he had stated. A few legacies were left to those servants who had been long in the Berrow family, and some small bequests were given to intimate friends. But the whole of the property was left unreservedly to Mrs. Berrow. Every one looked enviously towards that lady, who was now the undisputed mistress of ten thousand a year. She smiled faintly when Clyde ended, and murmured something about making good use of the money. Alice smiled contemptuously. She knew very well that Mrs. Berrow was no philanthropist, and would spend every penny upon herself.

“We now come to the codicil,” said Clyde, “which concerns Miss Alice Marvel—”

“And me,” broke in Captain Tait.

Clyde looked towards the man blandly. “I do not see your name, sir,” he said, without emotion. “My client mentions that of Miss Marvel only. He leaves her an income of three hundred a year, on condition that she and her father go to Australia within six months. The wording of this codicil is as follows—”

But, Alice did not allow him to proceed. “Why did Evan—I mean Mr. Berrow—wish me to go to Australia?”

“I cannot say,” replied Clyde, blandly; “but the codicil is plain, my dear young lady. If you and Mr. Marvel go to Australia within six months, you will receive three hundred a year for the rest of your life.”

“And when can we return?” she demanded.

“Never,” answered the lawyer, and again Alice caught the gleam of Mrs. Berrow’s eyes. Clyde hurriedly read the codicil, which set forth the condition he mentioned, and then looked at Alice. “Do you consent?”

“I must have time to think,” she said, faintly. “It was good of Mr. Berrow to remember me, but—”

“But he should have remembered me also,” broke in Tait, indignantly. “There is nothing left either to me or to my daughter. Yet you know, Clyde, how Berrow’s father treated me. Shameful!”

He rose to denounce the dead, and doubtless would have said more than was decent but that an interruption came. The door of the room opened, and on the threshold stood the small figure of a man, arrayed in a yellow oilskin coat, with a sou’-wester hat. It might have been Evan Berrow returned to hear the reading of his own will.

“This is the heir to the property,” said a loud, domineering voice, and from behind the yellow hunchback stepped a strange figure.