Part 6 (1/2)
”I couldn't imagine the place without them,” agreed Dulcie.
On the afternoon before the funeral, Mr. Bowden, who had motored over to make some final arrangements, concluded his business, drank a cup of tea in the drawing-room, and was escorted by Everard and Lilias through the hall.
”The pa.s.sing of the Squire is a sad loss to the neighborhood,” he remarked. ”He was a true type of the good old school of country gentlemen, and most of us feel 'we shall not look upon his like again.'”
”No,” replied Everard. ”It will be very hard to succeed him, I know, but I shall try to do my best.”
Mr. Bowden started, looked at him musingly for a moment, knitted his brows, then apparently came to a decision. Instead of taking his hat and coat from Winder, he waved the two young people into the study, followed them, and shut the door.
”I want a word with you in private,” he began. ”I'm going to do a very unprofessional thing, but, as I've known you for years, I feel the case justifies me. I can't let you come into the dining-room to-morrow, after the funeral, and hear your grandfather's will read aloud, without giving you some warning beforehand of its contents. I hinted to you, Everard, at Christmas-time, not to count too much upon expectations.”
”Why, but surely I am the heir?” burst out Everard with white lips.
”My poor boy, you are nothing of the sort. Your grandfather has willed the property to the child of his elder son, Tristram.”
At that critical moment there was a rap at the door, and Winder, the butler, entered, respectfully apologetic, to summon Mr. Bowden to the telephone. The lawyer answered the call, which was apparently a very urgent one, for, without another word to Everard and Lilias, he took hat and coat, hurried from the house, mounted his motor-cycle, and was gone.
He left utter consternation behind him. The two young people, returning to the study, tried to face the disastrous news. He had indeed told them no details, but the main outline was quite sufficient. They could scarcely accustom themselves to believe it for a moment or two.
”To bring me up as the heir, and then disinherit me!” gasped Everard.
”Why, everybody called you 'the young squire'!” exclaimed Lilias. ”It's unthinkable!”
”Unthinkable or not, I'm afraid it's true,” said Everard bitterly.
”Bowden wouldn't have told me otherwise. I suppose he drew up the will, so he knows what's in it. Nice position to be in, isn't it? Turned out to make room for some other chap!”
”Who is this child of Uncle Tristram's? We've never heard of him.”
”It'll be the kid who is in that photo, I suppose--Leslie. He looked about a year old in the portrait, and it's thirteen years since Uncle Tristram died, so he's probably fourteen or so now. To think of a kid of fourteen taking _my_ place here! It's monstrous!”
”Oh, Everard, what _shall_ we do?”
”I don't know. I'm going out to think it over. Don't say a word about it to anybody yet. Promise me you won't!”
Everard seized his cap and waterproof, and plunged out-of-doors into the rain. He did not return till dinner-time. If he was silent and preoccupied at that meal, both Cousin Clare and Dulcie set it down as natural to his new sense of responsibility. Lilias looked at him uneasily. There was a hardness in his face which she had never seen there before. She longed to catch him alone and question him, but after dinner he purposely avoided her, and left a message that he had gone to the stables. She would have liked to confide in Cousin Clare, but she had given her promise to keep the secret, and even Dulcie must not share it yet. The girls slept in separate rooms at home, so that when Lilias had said good night to the family she was alone. She went to bed, as a matter of course, but tossed about with throbbing heart and whirling brain. Mr. Bowden's information had effectually banished sleep. In about an hour, when the house was absolutely quiet, came a soft tap at her door. She jumped up hastily, threw on her dressing-gown, and opened it.
Everard stood in the pa.s.sage outside.
”May I come in? I want to speak to you, Sissy! It's important,” he whispered.
”I thought you had gone to bed,” said Lilias, admitting him, and dragging forward two basket chairs. ”What is it, Everard? Don't look like that--you frighten me!”
Her brother had seated himself wearily, and buried his head in his hands. He raised two haggard eyes at her words.
”I've come to say good-by to you, Sis. I'm going away to-night! Don't speak to me, for I'm not in a mood for argument! Do you think that I could stand by Grandfather's grave to-morrow, when I know he has disinherited me? I tell you, I can't. I'm not going to stay and hear the will read! If I'm kicked out of the property, at least I'll keep my dignity. Why, everybody on the estate believed I was the heir! Only this afternoon, Rogerson, the new under-gardener, asked me to keep him on, and Hicks said he'd serve me as faithfully as he'd served the old Squire. How could I face the servants when they knew the Chase wasn't mine after all! The humiliation would be intolerable! No! I've all the Ingleton pride in me, and if I'm not to be master here, I'll shake the dust of the place off my feet for ever. Grandfather will have made some provisions for you younger ones; he always promised to do that, and it's right you should take it, but as for me, if he's left me anything, I don't mean to touch a penny of it--it must be all or nothing! You others are welcome to my share, whatever it is. I'm going out into the world to earn my own living.”
He spoke forcibly, and with desperate earnestness. To Lilias, watching him anxiously, he seemed in these few hours to have changed from a boy into a man. Eager words rose to her lips, but he stood up and stopped her.
”I've told you it's no use arguing! My mind's absolutely made up. I've ordered Elton to have the small car ready, and to drive me to Balderton to catch the midnight express to town. It's the last order I shall give in this house. He looked surprised, but he didn't dare to question me.