Part 11 (1/2)
Now at length we had slowed down at the Dunchester signal-box, and now we were running into the town. If my friend the lawyer had anything really striking to tell me he would send to meet me at the station, and, if it was something remarkable, he would probably attend there himself.
Therefore, if I saw neither the managing clerk nor the junior partner, nor the Head of the Firm, I might be certain that the news was trivial, probably--dreadful thought which had not occurred to me before--that I was appointed executor under the will with a legacy of a hundred guineas.
The train rolled into the station. As it began to glide past the pavement of wet asphalt I closed my eyes to postpone the bitterness of disappointment, if only for a few seconds. Perforce I opened them again as the train was stopping, and there, the very first thing they fell upon, looking portly and imposing in a fur coat, was the rubicund-faced Head of the Firm himself. ”It _is_ good,” I thought, and supported myself for a moment by the hat-rack, for the revulsion of feeling produced a sudden faintness. He saw me, and sprang forward with a beaming yet respectful countenance. ”It is _very_ good,” I thought.
”My dear sir,” he began obsequiously, ”I do trust that my telegram has not incommoded you, but my news was such that I felt it necessary to meet you at the earliest possible moment, and therefore wired to you at every probable address.”
I gave the porter who took my bag a s.h.i.+lling. Practically it was my last, but that lawyer's face and manner seemed to justify the expenditure which--so oddly are our minds const.i.tuted--I remember reflecting I might regret if I had drawn a false inference. The man touched his hat profusely, and, I hope, made up his mind to vote for me next time. Then I turned to the Head of the Firm and said:--
”Pray, don't apologise; but, by the way, beyond that of the death of my poor friend, _what_ is the news?”
”Oh, perhaps you know it,” he answered, taken aback at my manner, ”though she always insisted upon its being kept a dead secret, so that one day you might have a pleasant surprise.”
”I know nothing,” I answered.
”Then I am glad to be the bearer of such good intelligence to a fortunate and distinguished man,” he said with a bow. ”I have the honour to inform you in my capacity of executor to the will of the late Mrs.
Martha Strong that, with the exception of a few legacies, you are left her sole heir.”
Now I wished that the hat-rack was still at hand, but, as it was not, I pretended to stumble, and leant for a moment against the porter who had received my last s.h.i.+lling.
”Indeed,” I said recovering myself, ”and can you tell me the amount of the property?”
”Not exactly,” he answered, ”but she has led a very saving life, and money grows, you know, money grows. I should say it must be between three and four hundred thousand, nearer the latter than the former, perhaps.”
”Really,” I replied, ”that is more than I expected; it is a little astonis.h.i.+ng to be lifted in a moment from the position of one with a mere competence into that of a rich man. But our poor friend was--well, weak-minded, so how could she be competent to make a binding will?”
”My dear sir, her will was made within a month of her husband's death, when she was as sane as you are, as I have plenty of letters to show.
Only, as I have said, she kept the contents a dead secret, in order that one day they might be a pleasant surprise to you.”
”Well,” I answered, ”all things considered, they have been a pleasant surprise; I may say a _very_ pleasant surprise. And now let us go and have some dinner at the club. I feel tired and thirsty.”
Next morning the letter that I had posted from London to the chairman of my committee was, at my request, returned to me unopened.
CHAPTER X
JANE MEETS DR. MERCHISON
n.o.body disputed my inheritance, for, so far as I could learn, Mrs.
Strong had no relatives. Nor indeed could it have been disputed, for I had never so much as hypnotised the deceased. When it was known how rich I had become I grew even more popular in Dunchester than I had been before, also my importance increased at headquarters to such an extent that on a change of Government I became, as I have said, Under-Secretary to the Home Office. Although I was a useful man hitherto I had always been refused any sort of office, because of the extreme views which I professed--on platforms in the const.i.tuencies--or so those in authority alleged. Now, however, these views were put down to amiable eccentricity; moreover, I was careful not to obtrude them.
Responsibility sobers, and as we age and succeed we become more moderate, for most of us have a method in our madness.
In brief, I determined to give up political knight-errantry and to stick to sober business. Very carefully and in the most conservative spirit I took stock of the situation. I was still a couple of years on the right side of fifty, young looking for my age (an advantage), a desirable _parti_ (a great advantage, although I had no intention of re-marrying), and in full health and vigour. Further, I possessed a large fortune all in cash or in liquid a.s.sets, and I resolved that it should not diminish.
I had experienced enough of ups and downs; I was sick of vicissitudes, of fears and uncertainties for the future. I said to my soul: ”Thou hast enough laid up for many days; eat, drink and be merry,” and I proceeded to invest my modest competence in such a fas.h.i.+on that it brought in a steady four per cent. No South African mines or other soul-agonising speculations for me; sweet security was what I craved, and I got it. I could live with great comfort, even with modest splendour, upon about half my income, and the rest of it I purposed to lay out for my future benefit. I had observed that brewers, merchants and other magnates with cash to spare are in due course elevated to the peerage. Now I wished to be elevated to the peerage, and to spend an honoured and honourable old age as Lord Dunchester. So when there was any shortage of the party funds, and such a shortage soon occurred on the occasion of an election, I posed as the friend round the corner.
Moreover, I had another aim. My daughter Jane had now grown into a lovely, captivating and high-spirited young woman. To my fancy, indeed, I never saw her equal in appearance, for the large dark eyes s.h.i.+ning in a fair and _spirituelle_ face, encircled by ma.s.ses of rippling chestnut hair, gave a _bizarre_ and unusual distinction to her beauty, which was enhanced by a tall and graceful figure. She was witty also and self-willed, qualities which she inherited from her American mother, moreover she adored me and believed in me. I, who since my wife's death had loved nothing else, loved this pure and n.o.ble-minded girl as only a father can love, for my adoration had nothing selfish in it, whereas that of the truest lover, although he may not know it, is in its beginnings always selfish. He has something to gain, he seeks his own happiness, the father seeks only the happiness of his child.