The Finger of Fate: A Romance. Reid Mayne
No other woman could be meant.
“I do not understand you, papa,” was his evasive response.
“But you do, sir – perfectly. If I gave you the name of this woman, you wouldn’t be any the wiser than you are now; you know it too well. I’ll tell you, for all that. I refer to Miss Belle Mainwaring.”
Henry made no reply, but stood blushing in the presence of his parent.
“And now, sir, about this woman I have only a few words to say —you must give her up.”
“Father!”
“I won’t listen to any of your love-sick appeals. Don’t make them – they’ll only be wasted on me. I repeat, sir, you must give Belle Mainwaring up – at once, absolutely, and for ever!”
“Father,” said the youth, in a firm tone, within his breast love pleading for justice, “you ask me to do what’s not in my power. I acknowledge that between myself and Miss Mainwaring there is something more than the affection of friendship. It has gone further than mere feeling. There have been words – I may say promises – between us. To break them, requires the consent of both parties; and for me to do so, without first consulting her, would be a cruel injustice, to which I cannot lend myself. No, father; not even with the alternative of incurring your displeasure.”
General Harding stood for a moment silent; pretending to reflect, but furtively contemplating his son. A superficial observer could have seen only anger at this filial defiance, where one clever in reading faces might have detected something like admiration mingling with the sentiment. If there was such, however, in his heart, his speech did not show it.
“Enough, sir! You have made up your mind to disobey me? Very well. Understand what this disobedience will cost you. I suppose you know the meaning of an entailed estate?”
The General paused, as if for an answer.
“I know nothing about it, papa. Something connected with a will, I believe.”
“The very reverse. An entailed estate has nothing to do with a will. Now, my estate is not entailed, and is connected with a will. It is about that I am going to talk to you. I can make one, giving my property to whomsoever I please; either to your brother Nigel or yourself. Marry Miss Mainwaring, and it shall be Nigel’s. Still, to you I shall leave just enough to carry you out of the country – that is one thousand pounds sterling. Now, sir, you hear what I have to say.”
“I hear it, father; and with sorrow. I shall be sorry to lose the inheritance I had reason to expect, but far more your esteem. Both, however, must be parted with, if there be no other consideration for my retaining them. Whether I am to marry Miss Mainwaring or not, must depend upon Miss Mainwaring herself. I think, father, you understand me?”
“Too well, sir – too well; and I answer by telling you that I have passed my word, and it shall be kept. You may go and mount the filly, and thank God she don’t do with your neck what you are likely to do with your father’s heart – break it. Begone, sir!”
Without saying a word, Henry walked out of the room, slowly and sadly.
“The image of his mother! Who could not help liking the lad, in spite of his rebellious spirit, and with all his wasteful habits? It won’t do to have such a noble heart sacrificed upon a worthless jade of a woman. He must be saved.”
Once more the General pressed upon the spring-bell, this time more violently than before. It brought the butler back in double quick time.
“Williams!”
“General?”
“My carriage, as soon as the horses can be put to?”
Williams disappeared to cause execution of the order.
A few more turns to and fro across the Turkey carpet, a few muttered soliloquies, and the carriage wheels grated upon the gravel outside.
Williams helped the General to his hat and gloves; saw him down-stairs; handed him into the carriage; and watched it rolling away, just as Henry, on the back of the brown filly, was fighting her across the green sward of the park, endeavouring to keep her head in the opposite direction.
Chapter Nine
The Checkmate
Mr Woolet sat in his office, which was separated from that of his solitary clerk by a thick wall and a narrow doorway between. But there was another wall of slighter dimensions, alongside Mr Woolet’s room, partitioning off a kind of cupboard enclosure, into which, when Mr Woolet required it, the said clerk could introduce himself, and there, standing cat-like and silent, hear what passed between his employer and any client whose conversation it was deemed necessary to make note of.
After this it is scarce necessary to add that Mr Woolet was an attorney; and though the scene of his practice was a quiet country town, in the shire of Bucks, this practice was carried on with as much sharpness and trickery, as if it lay among the low courts surrounding Newgate, or the slums of Clerkenwell.
The great city does not monopolise the plant called pettifogging. It thrives equally as strong in the county town. Even the village knows it to its cost; and the poor cottager, in his leaky shed at three shillings a week, is too often encompassed by its toils.
Of such small fry Mr Woolet had hooked his hundreds, and had prospered by their capture to the keeping of a carriage and pair; but, as yet, none of the big fish had entered his net – the largest being the widow Mainwaring, who had been caught while taking from him a lease of her cottage. The carriage had, therefore, been kept to no purpose, or less than none: since not being in accord with his position it only brought him ridicule. This, however, could not last for ever. The gentry could not always hold out against such a glittering attraction. Some swell must in time stand in need of Mr Woolet’s peculiar services, and enable him to achieve the much wished-for position. And so it seemed to turn out, as one day a carriage much grander than Mr Woolet’s own, with a coachman nearly a quarter of a ton in weight, and a powdered footman beside him, drove through the street of the little town in which Mr Woolet lived, and pulled up opposite his office.
Perhaps the lawyer was never more delighted in his life, than when his clerk protruded his phiz inside the office-door, and announced sotto voce the arrival of General Harding. In a moment after the same individual ushered the General into his presence. A masonic sign communicated to the clerk caused his disappearance; and the instant after that pale-faced familiar was skulking like a ghost within the cupboard enclosure.
“General Harding, I believe?” said the obsequious attorney, bowing to the lowest button of his visitor’s surtout.
“Yes,” bluffly responded the old soldier. “That is my name. Yours is – ”
“Woolet, General; E. Woolet, at your service.”
“Well, I want some service from you – if you’re not otherwise engaged.”
“Any engagement, General, must stand aside for you. What can I do to oblige you?”
“To oblige me, nothing. I want your services as an attorney. You are one, I believe?”
“My name is in the Law List, General. You can see it here.”
Mr Woolet took up a small volume, and was handing it to the General.
“Never mind about the Law List,” bluntly interrupted the soldier, “I see it on your sign; that’s enough for me. What I’m in search of is an attorney who can make a will. I suppose you can do that?”
“Well, General, although I cannot boast of my professional abilities, I think I can manage the making of a will.”
“Enough said; sit down and set about it.”
Considering that he kept a carriage himself, Mr Woolet might have felt a little offended by this brusque behaviour on the part of his new client. It was the first time he had ever been so treated in his own office; but then it was the first time he had ever had a client of such a class, and he knew better than to show feeling under the infliction.
Without saying another word,