Читать книгу Too Clever by Half - Lang John - Страница 10

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WHETHER it was the over exertion at the ball—an exertion she was not accustomed to—or whether it was the excitement which her forthcoming wedding occasioned—or whether it was neither the one nor the other, it is impossible to say: but when Freeport reached the Cliffs, he found Mrs. Missevery "rather poorly." She had a severe headache, and complained of slight fever. Sam very tenderly told her she should be careful of herself; but she declared that she never gave way to illness; and after luncheon, she put on her shawl and bonnet, and showed her husband elect all over the estate. It was her wont to be wheeled about in a Bath chair, but on this occasion she walked, and leant upon Freeport's arm. It was truly a very nice estate, and it was kept in excellent order. The gravel walks of the garden were so nicely rolled, and the trees even were "tidiness" itself. Freeport praised everything; but more than once he exclaimed, "But what are these compared with yourself! They bring comfort with them, it is true; but happiness flows from another spring. It comes from a kindred concatenation of ideas, and a reciprocity of sentiment."

Mrs. Missevery fancied the air had done her good, and towards evening her spirits mounted higher.

Sam parted with her in the library, which was well stocked with elegantly bound and gold lettered books.

The next day, Freeport's anxiety led him early to "The Cliffs." He was grieved to the heart to find that Mrs. Missevery was now very unwell. The expression of his face was sorrowful in the extreme, and he was kindness and attention personified. He read the "Corsair" to her, and several other minor poems by the same author; and he wrung from her a promise that she would take medical advice. She mentioned "Mr. Blink," a rising young man, of whom she had heard a very high opinion expressed. Sam said he had never had an opportunity of judging of Blink's talent, but that the doctor of his corps was a very able practitioner, and he was sure he would most gladly render his advice, and with her (Mrs. Missevery's) permission, he would bring him to see her on the following day. So pressing and importunate was Freeport in this behalf, his intended wife consented, and Dr. Flood was introduced to Mrs. Missevery, having been previously warned by Sam that if he didn't cure her quick he would never speak to him again.

Mrs. Missevery did not improve under Dr. Flood's hands; on the contrary, she grew worse, and was in danger—a matter of which she was duly sensible. She sent one night for Newsham, and dismissing her attendants, she spoke with him in private. It was her intention, she said, to leave all her estate, real and personal, to Captain Freeport, of the——Foot, with the exception of a legacy of £10,000 to her nephew. She begged that the will might be drawn up without delay; but enjoined Newsham, as a professional man, not to break a word of this to a soul until after her demise, should such contingency happen.

It did not take Newsham long to draught a will of that kind. He copied it out on half a sheet of paper, and it was duly signed, sealed, and delivered in the presence of himself, her steward, and the nurse (the two latter witnesses being ignorant of the will's contents). The anxiety of Freeport was beyond description. He was perfectly wretched.

Mrs. Missevery died—and Sam was so "cut up," he nearly did the same.

Newsham called on Freeport one morning, and found him sitting over the fire in a most lugubrious state of mind. "I have come to condole with you," said Newsham.

"What's the use of condolence," said Sam, "when a man has suffered an irreparable loss? Irreparable, Newsham, irreparable!"

"Oh, I don't know that," observed Newsham.

"But I do, my good fellow, and that's enough."

"It's a very fine property," remarked the attorney. "The personalty is considerably above the £10,000 she has disposed of in favour of her nephew."

"Look here, Newsham," said Sam. "No man likes a joke more than I do—but this is past a joke. Don't tantalize me, or I'll get savage."

"No, don't get savage," quoth Newsham, "but listen to this." He withdrew the original will from his pocket, and read as follows:

"I, SUSAN MISSEVERY,

relict of the late John Missevery, late of the Cliffs, in the county of York, do hereby will and bequeath all my estate, real and personal, wheresoever and whatsoever it may be, to Samuel Freeport of the——Regiment of Foot, absolutely and for ever. But I charge the said estate with the following legacy, that is to say the sum of ten thousand pounds to my nephew, Robert Sparrow, of Hollyrook. And I do hereby appoint the said Samuel Freeport to be the sole executor of this my last will and testament. In witness whereof, &c. &c. &c."

"You don't mean to say that is genuine?" said Sam, doubting his own ears as well as Newsham's tongue.

"There's her signature," said Newsham.

"Never saw it before in my life. But if you know it, that's enough. Now, then, what's to be done? Have a glass of Madeira and a biscuit."

"You must take out probate," said Newsham.

"What's probate?"

"You must get the will proved in the diocese. Bat if you like to leave it to me, I'll have it arranged for you."

"Well, do, like a good fellow. Who'd have thought it, eh?"

"I knew of it seven days ago."

"Then, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I was enjoined not to do so. There's a time for all things, Freeport."

"So there is, Newsham. You are quite right. Everything is mine, except £10,000, eh? Very well, I am satisfied. She was a good old creature."

All the attorneys in York were so jealous that Newsham should get the "pickings" out of the testator's estate, that they declared Mrs. Missevery was not of sound mind when she signed the will. This reached the nephew's ear, and he took advice as to whether he could not set the will aside, and claim the whole property as heir at law, and several learned gentlemen said that they were of opinion "if the testator were not of sound mind the will might be set aside, but if the testator were of sound mind, it could not be set aside." They further remarked that "the sanity or otherwise would form the subject of a special issue," and recommended "if the will were contested that a special jury should be applied for."

The nephew of Mrs. Missevery was determined to go to law, and a "caveat"—(that is what they called it)—was entered in the Ecclesiastical Court. Sam was extremely annoyed at these proceedings; but Newsham assured him there was no danger, as the onus of proof would lie on the other side, and no single act of the lady's could be brought forward in support of her insanity. Sam said he was ready to swear she was the most rational woman he ever met; and Newsham coincided with him entirely. When the case was ripe for trial, however, Freeport began to grow nervous, and suggested to his attorney that "it would be advisable to have a compromise with the fellow."

Newsham said, "I thank you are very foolish."

"Not at all," replied Sam. "I should not like the thing brought before the public. Let him consent to give me the £10,000 and the jewels and the plate, and I'll give up everything else. I'd give up all, but the fact is, Newsham, I find my father has not left me anything, and I can't afford it. My brothers are all rich men, and I have not a sixpence."

"Well," said Newsham, "if you are determined on a compromise, let me manage it."

"Do, like a good fellow, Newsham," said Sam; "I don't want to be hard, you know. Settle it. Settle it amicably."

Newsham attended to his instructions. He had agreed that the nephew was to take the real estate, and give up to his (Newsham's) client the whole of the personalty, £17,500 in the funds—the jewellery and plate—the furniture, carriages, horses, &c. &c. &c.

Freeport signed "a release," which by the way he never looked at, and Newsham paid him over £10,000, gave him the tiara of diamonds and emeralds, and a few old rings—the carriage and the horses—and—the residue he put into his own pocket!

It was thus that Sam Freeport gave up some £28,000 worth of real property, independent of the bonus taken by Newsham.

George Harroway was a remarkably close man in his private affairs—the very reverse of his friend Freeport in this particular; and he never once hinted to any one that he had any idea of matrimony, or any partiality for Anne Newsham. The young lady had also been silent or the subject, even with the members of her own family; for Harroway had given her a very good reason why the matter should not be talked about just then.

Sam Freeport persuaded himself that Anne had still a slumbering love for him—which he might as well awaken, and while he was about it, put the question—get accepted—and then married. He had business to settle with Newsham the morning that he made the above resolve, and he thought he might as well communicate to his "father-in-law—that was to be," the matter which hovered about his heart.

"Very well, Newsham, I understand all about this," said Sam, folding up a long deed which the attorney had explained. "And I have signed it, and it's all right. But there's another little matter I should like to talk to you about, Newsham. All through my life I have been straightforward and honest."

"Nothing like it," said Newsham, "and I look upon that £10,000 you are to receive as the reward. Yes, there is truth in the proverb, 'Honesty is the best policy, and virtue reaps her own reward.'"

"Never mind virtue," said Sam impetuously. "Look here, Newsham. You are of course aware that I proposed to your daughter Anne, and that she would not have me at any price?"

"What!" exclaimed the astonished father. "Surely you are mistaken."

"Not I. I never was mistaken in my life. Certainly not in a business of that kind. She must have mentioned it."

"Not she," said Newsham. "You don't know that girl, Freeport. I'll be bound she never mentioned it to a soul."

"She is assuredly a great trump," observed Sam. "I like her ten times better than ever. Well Newsham, what I was going to say is this. I feel very much disposed to renew the suit. I've got this ten thousand pounds, and I dare say you would give her two or three thousand pounds more, and on the interest of that money and my pay, we should be able to make it out very comfortably."

"You ought to," remarked Newsham.

"Well then," said Sam, "if you have no objection, I'll try her again. Of course you must be aware—and so must she—that although I liked Mrs. Missevery very much, and all that sort of thing you know, Newsham, nevertheless the disparity of years, and one thing or other, rendered it absurd to suppose that I was very deeply in love with her. Do you understand, Newsham? Do you see?"

"Oh, perfectly," said Newsham—"perfectly."

"Then you'll put in your good parental word for me," suggested Sam.

"Why, yes. I'll leave her to act as she pleases; but I'll say the match would give me great satisfaction, and get her mother to say the same."

"Give us your hand," cried Sam. "I'll come down quietly to-morrow morning and breakfast with you, and perhaps you will manage to get me an opportunity of putting the question?"

Newsham said, "Oh yes. That shall be done."

After a little further conversation, Freeport left Newsham, and proceeded to his quarters, where he found George Harroway reading the last new novel.

"I say George," said Sam, "what was the price you put upon the grey that I gave to that trump of a girl, Anne Newsham?"

"Nothing, Sam. Don't mention it. I have had such pleasure in seeing the dear girl ride him, that more than once I have been glad to think you made her the present."

"That's all very well, George; but circumstances render it necessary and proper that I should pay you for him, and as I have the money, I wish to do so."

"What circumstances?"

"Why, look here, George. Anne Newsham will be mine, after all. I have this moment got her governor's consent, and the mother, too, is all on my side."

"You don't say so?"

"It's a fact, sir."

"Really?"

Sam asseverated so strongly that George believed him on that occasion.

"Under these circumstances," said George, "you ought to pay for him. He cost me 400 guineas, and I don't want to make anything by him."

"Here you are," said Sam, writing out a cheque for the amount. "What a nice thing it is to have money in a bank to draw on, eh, George?"

"So you have resolved to have Anne, after all?" remarked Harroway, folding up the cheque, and putting it into his waistcoat pocket. "Well, Sam, I wish you luck and happiness with her. But have you said anything to Anne herself on the subject?"

"Not yet; but she'll accept me, sir. Who could resist a man like me?" Freeport rose from his chair, confronted the mirror, and while he arranged his scarf, and adjusted his collar, he sang the chorus of his favourite (by the way his only) song.

"'It's thus I play the enchanter's part,

And scatter bliss around;

And not a tear or aching heart

Shall in the world be found.'"

"George, why don't you take to playing the enchanter's part?"

"It is so difficult, Sam."

"Nonsense, man, strike up to Jane—she is a jolly girl, too. What's the use of remaining single? Blew!"

"Sir!"

"Go over and tell the major I shall dine with him this evening."