Part 91 (1/2)
”Tell me honestly, then, if you can be honest in the matter, who is to have his money?”
”I can be very honest, for I know nothing. My belief is that neither you nor I will have a s.h.i.+lling of it.”
”Well, then; I'll tell you what. Of course you know that Lady Harcourt is down there?”
”Yes; I know that she is at Hadley.”
”I'll not submit to be treated in this way. I have been a deuced sight too quiet, because I have not chosen to disturb him in his illness. Now I will have an answer from him. I will know what he means to do; and if I do not know by to-morrow night, I will go down, and will, at any rate, bring my wife away with me. I wish you to tell him that I want to know what his intentions are. I have a right to demand as much.”
”Be that as it may, you have no right to demand anything through me.”
”I have ruined myself--or nearly so, for that woman.”
”I wonder, Harcourt, that you do not see that I am not the man you should select to speak to on such a subject.”
”You are the man, because you are her cousin. I went to enormous expense to give her a splendid home, knowing, of course, that his wealth would ent.i.tle her to it. I bought a house for her, and furnished it as though she were a d.u.c.h.ess--”
”Good heavens, Harcourt! Is this anything to me? Did I bid you buy the house? If you had not given her a chair to sit on, should I have complained? I tell you fairly, I will have nothing to do with it.”
”Then it will be the worse for her--that's all.”
”May G.o.d help her! She must bear her lot, as must I mine, and you yours.”
”And you refuse to take my message to your uncle?”
”Certainly. Whether I shall see him or not I do not yet know. If I do, I certainly shall not speak to him about money unless he begins.
Nor shall I speak about you, unless he shall seem to wish it. If he asks about you, I will tell him that you have been with me.”
After some further discussion, Harcourt left him. George Bertram found it difficult to understand what motive could have brought him there. But drowning men catch at straws. Sir Henry was painfully alive to the consideration, that if anything was to be done about the rich man's money, if any useful step could be taken, it must be done at once; the step must be taken now. In another week, perhaps in another day, Mr. Bertram would be beyond the power of will-making.
No bargain could then be driven in which it should be stipulated that after his death his grandchild should be left unmolested--for a consideration. The bargain, if made at all, must be made now--now at once.
It will be thought that Sir Henry would have played his game better by remaining quiet; that his chance of being remembered in that will would be greater if he did not now make himself disagreeable.
Probably so. But men running hither and thither in distress do not well calculate their chances. They are too nervous, too excited to play their game with judgment. Sir Henry Harcourt had now great trouble on his shoulders: he was in debt, was pressed for money on every side, had brought his professional bark into great disasters--nearly to utter s.h.i.+pwreck--and was known to have been abandoned by his wife. The world was not smiling on him. His great hope, his once strong hope, was now buried in those Hadley coffers; and it was not surprising that he did not take the safest way in his endeavours to reach those treasures which he so coveted.
On the following morning, George received Miss Baker's letter, and very shortly afterwards he started for Hadley. Of course he could not but remember that Lady Harcourt was staying there; that she would naturally be attending upon her grandfather, and that it was all but impossible that he should not see her. How were they to meet now?
When last they had been together, he had held her in his arms, had kissed her forehead, had heard the a.s.surance of her undying love. How were they to meet now?
George was informed by the servant who came to the door that his uncle was very ill. ”Weaker to-day,” the girl said, ”than ever he had been.” ”Where was Miss Baker?” George asked. The girl said that Miss Baker was in the dining-room. He did not dare to ask any further question. ”And her ladys.h.i.+p is with her grandfather,” the girl added; upon hearing which George walked with quicker steps to the parlour door.
Miss Baker met him as though there had been no breach in their former intimacy. With her, for the moment, Lady Harcourt and her troubles were forgotten, and she thought only of the dying man upstairs.
”I am so glad you have come!” she said. ”He does not say much about it. You remember he never did talk about such things. But I know that he will be delighted to see you. Sometimes he has said that he thought you had been in Egypt quite long enough.”
”Is he so very ill, then?”
”Indeed he is; very ill. You'll be shocked when you see him: you'll find him so much altered. He knows that it cannot last long, and he is quite reconciled.”
”Will you send up to let him know that I am here?”
”Yes, now--immediately. Caroline is with him;” and then Miss Baker left the room.