Elizabeth's Pretenders/Part 3/Chapter 1
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
It is necessary to go back a fortnight, and follow George Daintree to England, in order to understand the course of events. On the morning of his arrival he stood by his uncle's bedside at Hampstead. Mr. Twisden was suffering from the severest fit of the gout he had ever known, and it was small consolation to the old man to be told by his doctor that it was "much better out than in." He devoutly wished it had remained "in" a few days longer. He had several cases on hand that required his attention, and among those that worried him most was that of Mr. William Shaw. His old client had written to say that, in consequence of his niece's conduct, he desired to alter his will. By the provisions of the existing one, his wife, besides her ample jointure, had a life-interest in his landed estate, which was to pass to Elizabeth at Mrs. Shaw's death. He now desired to leave it, and all his money in the funds, absolutely at his widow's disposal. His brother's child had a large fortune of her own; she had behaved with black ingratitude—she had cast him and his dear wife off. He need no longer consider her, but reward his dear Molly for her unremitting devotion to him, by leaving more power in her hands at his death. The staunch old family solicitor saw clearly the influence that had been brought to bear on a weak mind, brooding for the past four months over his niece's defection. Could this evil influence be counteracted by any means? Only by Elizabeth herself, if she could be brought to return. George's letter had informed him of the amazing coincidence which had brought him and Miss Shaw together. He must see his nephew; he must sound him as to the girl's frame of mind; if expedient, he must send him down to Farley. In the mean time the new will was being engrossed; but Mr. Twisden was resolved to put as many delays in the way of its execution as possible. He regarded it as little short of iniquitous. William Shaw had not made one penny of the money himself; it was an inheritance from his father, and, as such, should in justice return to the only representative of the family. All this had been fully explained to George by his uncle after breakfast that morning. He now asked the young man if he could suggest any means whereby Miss Shaw could, in her own interests, be brought to England.
"My opinion is that nothing will bring her," replied the young man—"unless, perhaps, it were her uncle's dangerous illness. Of course, you understand that family matters were never touched on between us. She had no idea that I knew who she was, or had ever heard of Mr. William Shaw. But there could be no mistaking her horror at the thought of returning to England."
"Then there is nothing to be done. For, even if it were not for this confounded foot, my going down to Farley would be of no good. He writes to-day, urging me to be expeditious with the draft of the will, and suggesting that you should go there with it, if I cannot."
"Have you any idea what caused Miss Shaw to leave her uncle's house in this strange way?"
"I may have an idea. I have no knowledge; and if I had, I should not be at liberty to tell you. I may say this, however. I have not a good opinion of Mrs. Shaw. I have a great regard for William Shaw himself but you know what he is—good-natured, well-meaning, easily influenced. His wife may have driven Miss Shaw from the house by some devilry or other, on purpose to bring this very thing about—I mean, to induce her husband to alter his will."
"I see. It is not impossible. I never belieyed that rumour of her having escaped to prevent being forced into a marriage she abhorred. Girls can't be forced in the present day."
"Especially such a girl as Miss Shaw. Did it seem to you that Lord Robert made any way in his suit? Curious his finding her out in Paris! I certainly never told him she was there."
"She was annoyed at first. Afterwards she got over it, but he made no way. He has only been there a few days, and yesterday, when I wished him good-bye, he said he feared he should have to return to England immediately. He is not the sort of man to waste his time. I saw at once that he had met with no encouragement. Miss Shaw is not ambitious."
"Not for mere position; and money she has. Yet I take it, she wants a man with brains, and therefore Lord Robert———"
"His order of brains does not appeal to her. She prefers a more artistic temperament."
"Artistic? Dear me! Was there any one at the pension, whom—whom she seemed at all drawn towards?"
"She was intimate with an American girl, and through her she saw something of her brother. But they did not hit it off particularly well. Frankly, I think she preferred talking to me to any other man. As she said herself, our views on art were so very much the same."
He said this with intention, watching his uncle's face closely as he spoke. The old lawyer looked up shrewdly.
"God bless my soul! Perhaps it is as well you came away. It would never do to have her falling in love with you, George!"
The young man paused a moment. "Why should it not do, supposing I fell in love with her?"
"Nonsense! I could never tolerate it for a moment. People would at once say it was a plot I had hatched—especially as you went there under an assumed name. No; it would never do. You forget I am her trustee, and literally the only person on whom she does rely."
"Cannot she rely on me, as your nephew? Sooner or later, she must learn who I really am."
"You have not been encouraging any foolish ideas of this kind, George?" Mr. Twisden looked sternly at his nephew. "I repeat—I would never tolerate it. You have, by accident, made the young lady's acquaintance. Henceforward, except in matters of business, I do not wish you to have anything more to say to her."
"Is not this rather hard, uncle? Why should Miss Shaw and I not be friends? There is no disparity in our station, that I can see; and why, because you are her solicitor and trastee, your nephew is the only man who must avoid her, I cannot understand. As to my dropping my real name at the pension, she will see at once why I did so. When I learnt she was there, knowing that she wished to remain unknown, I thought it would annoy her to find your nephew—for she knew my name, though not my face—under the same roof. We have parted good friends; nothing more. But I should regret to think that I was forbidden ever to meet her again upon the same footing."
"I can't forbid your being good friends with Miss Shaw—how can I? If I die, you will have the conduct of her affairs, I suppose, and it is very advisable that you should be good friends. But I won't have any of these meetings at pensions—it may be dangerous."
"There seems no chance of it at present, sir," replied George, stiffly; and, taking up some letters on another case, he turned his uncle's attention into a different currents
The following morning brought a few lines again from William Shaw. Neither Mr. Twisden nor his nephew need trouble himself to come to Farley; he was not feeling very well, and his wife urged his seeing a London physician. He would run up to town for a night, and if Mr. Twisden was not able to be in Gray's Inn the following day, Mr. Shaw would drive down to Hampstead to see him. Thereupon Mr. Twisden, believing, like George, that here was the one chance of bringing Elizabeth to England, wired to her—
"Your uncle ill in London and alone. Important for your interests you should see him at once. Pray come."
Elizabeth's reply by post the next day was—
"Dear Mr. Twisden,
"I am very sorry, but it is impossible for me to meet my dear uncle at present. I regret this doubly, as you say he is ill. As to my "interests," if you mean that I run the risk, by my absence, of forfeiting my uncle's inheritanoe, I can truly assure you that the possession of money has brought with it so much disillusion to me, that I have no desire to be burthened with more. If you think well, pray tell my uncle this. I hope to see him often in years to come; but not at present. Explanations would be demanded of me now which I cannot give. The only escape from this is a long separation, during which the wound he has suffered at my hand may be partially healed, and the cause which led me to inflict it will cease to be a matter of any interest to him.
"Lord Robert Elton has been here—and is gone. I had more than one conversation with him, the result of which I hope may be that we shall continue to be friends. Between him and me there could never be any strong sympathy. But, in spite of all his oddity, I rather like him.
"P.S.—I have just decided to go to Mentone for the winter with a sick friend who is ordered there. We shall leave Paris in about three days, after which my address will be "Poste Restante, Mentone." I hope to hear from you that my uncle is much better."
Mr. Twisden, in announcing Miss Shaw's rejection of his proposal to George Daintree, took good care not to mention the decision named in her postscript. If the young man still entertained any foolish idea of renewing his intimacy at Madame Martineau's pension during the winter, he would find the attraction fled. For the rest, if Elizabeth was resolute not to come back, Mr. Twisden was as well pleased that she should go South.
William Shaw was detained some days in London by his doctor, and during that time paid two visits to Hampstead. On the first occasion the old solicitor did his utmost to persuade his client not to alter his will. After pointing out that Shaw's money should not go out of the family as long as a Shaw by blood was alive, he went on—
"There is another point, perhaps, you have not considered. Your widow would possibly marry again, and equally possibly marry a worthless man. Women, you know, my dear Shaw, are weak on such subjects. Leaving your fortune to her absolutely, as you do, what happens? Supposing her to marry an unprincipled fellow; either he will squander her money during her lifetime—possibly upon other women—or make her leave him every penny of it at her death. Can you wish this? I speak to you as an old friend—not as your solicitor, whose sole business is to carry oot your instructions."
William fidgeted in his chair; his red face grew one shade redder. He raised one shaky hand to his collar, as though he felt it tight.
"You see, Twisden," he began, "'twould ha' been all right if my niece hadn't ran away like that. If she had married the colonel, as we wished her———"
"What has her not marrying the colonel to do with it?" interrupted the other. "Your leaving your money away from your niece, after telling your brother it should be hers if you had no children, is not to be justified by the plea that she threw over a man whom I suppose she found she did not care about. Admitted that she did this in a foolish way; admitted that she ought not to have run away—that she is self-willed, obstinate, unreasonable;—all this is not sufficient cause for disinheriting her."
"Elizabeth is well enough off, you see, Twisden, without my money; and when I told Anthony I should leave it to her, after my wife's death, I thought she would be like a daughter to me. I'm sure I've felt like a father to her ever since Anthony died. But she has cast me off, Twisden, and, as my wife says, how can I consider her as a child now? My wife is a sensible woman—she would never do anything foolish when I am gone; but she may make other ties. I'm not saying anything against that; it's but natural. She's thirty years younger than I, Twisden; and I may go any day—I know that. She has been a good little wife to me, and it's but fair and right that she should be rewarded."
"A life-interest in the whole of your fortune would surely be thought very liberal! However, if you have made up your mind, I have nothing more to say."
"I have promised, Shaw; I can't go back from my word," he replied rather indistinctly. Then he drew out his large silk pocket-handkerchief and blew his nose with violence.
"The new will be ready for your signature tomorrow. But"—here Mr. Twisden paused a moment and looked his old friend full in the face—"in case you ever wish it destroyed, I shall keep the old one to be acted upon."
"All right—all right," returned William Shaw, with a kind of nervous precipitation. "You can keep the old one, if it's only to show why I altered it, and—and I can tell my wife when I go home that it's done."
Poor old William! He returned to Farley two days later, patched up for the time being by his doctor, and easy in the knowledge that he would have a radiant welcome when he announced that the new will was actually signed.
A fortnight later, at a meet of the hounds, he heard a rumour that Colonel Wybrowe's engagement to the American heiress was at an end. It was said that the girl's father had refused to settle a large sum upon his future son-in-law, and that Wybrowe would not marry without this The transaction was said to have been carried on upon purely mercantile principles: so much for so much. Miss Krupp was greatly taken with the colonel's fine appearance and social standing. As the wife of a man not only highly connected, but the darling of so many drawing-rooms in the very highest circles, she was assured that her "position" would be better than that of many a peeress. If so worldly a little nature could be said to be in love, she was so—with the idea of becoming Mrs. Wybrowe. But the colonel was a practical man, and would stand no nonsense. The pill was very distasteful; he must be well paid, or he would not swallow it. And so there was a rupture.
William Shaw, had he been a man of any observation, would have seen that all this was no news to his wife. Mrs. Shaw regretted the failure of their poor friend's matrimonial prospects, but expressed no surprise. Her husband wondered whether the colonel would try to forget the past, and would pay them a visit at Farley, where he had been so shamefully treated less than six months ago. Mrs. Shaw thought that "a little later, perhaps," when time had softened bitter recollections, he might be persuaded to come. Her tone throughout, it may here be added, was always that his affections had been cruelly wounded by Elizabeth's conduct, and that pique alone had driven him to propose to Miss Krupp.
Her good easy husband took his cue from her. The colonel's engagement to his niece had been one of sentiment, that to the heiress one of reason. He pitied him; he never for an instant doubted the fortune-hunter's singleness of purpose. The firm, gallant soldier, who had been "a bit wild, maybe, in his youth," had been deceived and disappointed in his honest attachment, and had then recklessly offered himself to the girl who had "thrown herself at his head," as Mrs. Shaw expressed it. William felt as if he were almost responsible for his ward's treatment of the ill-used man. They must testify their sympathy for him as best they could, and assure him that he would always be welcome at Farley.