Chapter XXVI

THE READING OF THE WILL--JEAN MACKINNON’S TOCHER.

At last the black-coated company came back from their melancholy errand, like soldiers, who on similar occasions exchange the ‘Dead March in Saul’ for ‘The Roast Beef of Old England,’ interchanging ordinary talk and gossip all the more briskly for its temporary suspension, even laughing a little at passing jests, in undertones. The party filed into the study--by courtesy--where they found the three big-boned, hoary-headed Miss Mackinnons in their places before the others, seated in three chairs ranged in a row, as on the sack in the cart which had brought the sisters to the fateful door of Strathdivie. But they were not the only women present--considerably to Miss Janet’s disgust, Mrs. Todd came in with her husband, and seated herself near the door unforbidden by the lawyer, who was the master of the ceremonies, as he took the chair at the head of the table and produced from the desk at his elbow a paper with black seals, proceeding to read the document with due gravity and emphasis.

The will took most of the people there by surprise--not because it showed Archie Fenton to have been growing more and more an impoverished man. All present, with the exception of the Miss Mackinnons, had used their faculties of observation and become acquainted with that fact. The astonishment was roused by the information that he had not clutched what remained to him of this world’s goods to his last moment; on the contrary, he had used such power as the law gave him to strip himself beforehand of the bulk of his property by executing a deed of gift in favour of his cousins in New Zealand--thus putting them at once in possession of what he had destined for them, and saving them the payment of legacy-duty. When Archie Fenton had set his house in order betimes, relieving a sensitive, nervous mind, and doing his best to make a dying bed easier, he had also bought an annuity which provided for his remaining wants, and spared him the trouble of disposing of the capital laid down in the purchase. There were only two reservations to the course, which had, perhaps, as much selfishness as justice or generosity in it. The first had to do with a moderate bequest to his servants. The second referred to the claim which the descendants of the Virginian Mackinnons had on a portion of his estate.

With some elaboration, the late Fenton of Strathdivie detailed by the lips of the lawyer the amount of the claim, the manner in which the money had been originally laid out, the casualties which had befallen it from time to time, the legal opinion which he had troubled himself to get to certify his exemption from the necessity of refunding these losses--the most of them occurring before his day--the whole suggesting forcibly the tyrannical and vexatious character which the provision for the Mackinnons had ultimately assumed. In the end Fenton, with a vindictive length of memory which the nearness of death had not cut short, indemnified himself as far as possible for the annoyance he had suffered, by exercising the right of choice which had been left to him, in apportioning, as he saw fit, the two hundred and seventy pounds to which Jean Mackinnon’s tocher had dwindled away. To May and Janet Mackinnon, the elder daughters of the late Gavin Mackinnon, of St. Mungo’s Square, Glasgow, who, on account of their years, were not likely to derive much benefit from the legacy--a clause framed to deal a double blow to the unfortunate legatees--twenty pounds each. To Elizabeth or Bethia Mackinnon, third daughter of the said Gavin Mackinnon, whom the testator had never seen, whose forward greed had not therefore offended him, whom he judged of an age better suited to profit by any reversion of property--two hundred and thirty pounds.

Miss Janet listened with eyes that glittered like Miss Mackinnon’s. Miss Bethia’s mouth gaped helplessly.

The next thing which happened was that, without a moment’s hesitation, Miss Janet stated plainly to the assembled company:

‘It’s a shamefu’ cheat. Jean Mackinnon’s marriage portion maun have been liker ten than twa thousand, let alane hunders; somebody is answerable for the defalcation.’

‘Mem, compose yourself, I beg,’ said the lawyer, at whom she glared, speaking with the maddening coolness and politeness of a practised hand in such circumstances.

The audience, which had gathered there without much hope of pecuniary gain, and on that very account found themselves in an easy, disengaged frame of mind, were ready, in the absence of any other source of excitement, to welcome the diversion of listening to an angry woman mulcted of what she believed her due, and, according to a woman’s notions, insulted to boot. And not many insulted and aggrieved expectants, even of the female sex, spoke their minds with the refreshing plainness which Miss Janet Mackinnon had already displayed.

‘We are willing to make allowance for ruffled feelings’--Mr. Mair again attempted to throw oil on the troubled waters in the storm which had arisen--‘but I would warn you, mem, against making vague accusations. It is hard to say to whom your words refer. If it is to the late Mr. Fenton--who has vouchsafed a candid explanation of misadventures over which he had no control, and who, as you have heard, took counsel more than once to satisfy himself that he could not be held responsible for them--although there is a good rule “_de mortuis nil nisi bonum_,” I do not pretend that your speech is actionable. But if you have any other person in your mind, I can only repeat to you my advice to be more careful of what you say.’

‘What do I care for your advice ony mair than for your writer’s Latin?’ cried Miss Janet defiantly. ‘You insult the memory of auld Eneas Mackinnon, who, when he was in the body, would have garred [made] every notary-public among you stand about, by lettin’ it be said for an instant that his dochter’s tocher was a paltry twa or three hunder!’

‘Mem, it was two thousand in the beginning--nobody disputes it. But it was badly invested in the sourest land in all the three Wards; the more’s the pity for your sake.’

‘Wha are you peetyin’? Leddies who are Mackinnons dinna crave pity from men of business. Keep yours till it is asked for. What I insist on is that Jean Mackinnon’s tocher had mair chance of being ten than twa thousand.’

‘And what I say, mem, is that the law takes no account of chances, hardly of probabilities. Can you produce documents to substantiate your statement?’ demanded Mr. Mair with inflexible gravity, intended to rebuke the twinkling eyes around him.

‘I daur say no!’ said Miss Janet, unabashed. ‘The Bible says riches have wings and tak’ to flicht, but I think lawyers’ papers maun have as long legs as cowardly loons of sodgers in a retreat. What is the use of wulls and contracts, such as my late nephew Gauvin’s marriage contract, when they vanish like smoke the moment they are wanted?’

‘I have not heard of the casualty,’ said Mr. Mair drily; ‘but I thought the office in Edinburgh was a provision against such accidents.’

‘The Coort of Session!’ exclaimed Miss Janet disdainfully, misunderstanding his meaning. ‘He or she maun be daft, indeed, wha has recoorse to that refuge. I’ve had enough to encounter in my day from lawyers’ gab, but a coortfu’ o’ them---- ’

‘I’m not sure that one woman would not be a match for them all,’ muttered Mr. Mair. Then he said in a louder key: ‘I regret, mem, that you have been misinformed--I must say it, with regard to your legacy from Strathdivie, but, at least, it has not failed your family altogether. Suffer me to tell you I am not sure that my friend, the late Mr. Fenton, might not have successfully contested your claim, and refused to acknowledge it in his will.’

‘Oh, Janet,’ broke in Miss Bethia, in desperation, ‘say nae mair, lest we lose what we’ve got. A bird in the hand, ye ken, is worth twa in the buss. Twa hunder and seventy pounds is a gude lump of money, and you are sensible that the only tidin’s we could ever pick up about Jean Mackinnon’s gear, was that it had maist melted awa’, though you would not hear a word to that effect.’

‘Haud your tongue, Betheye!’ said Miss Janet angrily. ‘And what did the man mean by treatin’ Meye and me as gin we were superannuate? She’s glowerin’ at me for word, but somebody else maun write it down for her to read--I have not the heart. Archie Fenton maun hae been daft and no fit to mak’ a wull. Even if we had been as auld as the hills, could he not trust us to hand over our shares, when we were done wi’ them, to Betheye--our ain sister?’

‘There is something to be said there,’ admitted Mr. Mair. ‘You have ground for complaint on that score. But a lawyer can only act on his instructions, and I must bear witness that Mr. Fenton was in his sound mind when he caused that deed to be drawn up, and when he signed it. Why, it was two years ago, when he was in little worse health than was customary with him.’

‘The wull is a whole hatterell [collection] of mistakes,’ said Miss Janet doggedly. ‘He maun have confused our names, and our standin’ in the family.’

‘By no means, mem; you forget that he gives both correctly, and that he mentions Miss Bethia as the third daughter.’

‘I wudna believe it, though you were to preach it doon my throat,’ maintained Miss Janet.

In such a case there was no more to be said; but the announcement that dinner was on the table was welcome as putting an end to the discussion.

Then Miss Janet gave way by a hair’s-breadth. In place of taking possession of what she wanted as her simple right, she asked Mr. Mair if he had any objection to leave the will, to be looked over by the sisters, and read by Miss Mackinnon.

‘No objection in the world,’ said the lawyer, courteous by nature, and really willing, as he had been during the whole affair, to do the poor old ladies any service in his power. But it was not business-like for such papers to lie about, so he entrusted Miss Janet with the key of the desk, which contained nothing else of any consequence.

According to old usage in Scotland, the women of the family were not present at the dinner after the funeral--a withdrawal on their part doubtless due in the past to the wild orgies which, like Irish wakes, were wont to establish the respectable standing as well as the hospitable practice of the house, and at once to commemorate the worth of the dead and solace the grief of the male relatives among the living. Such ghastly orgies had long since passed away, but the peculiar reserve which forbade the attendance of women at funerals still made ladies, as a rule, keep their rooms in what was supposed to be the depth of their sorrow. Maiden ladies like the Miss Mackinnons were the last to change old customs.

The three sisters sat still in the room where the will had been read, and after the last man had shut the door behind him, looked in each other’s faces. That is, Miss Mackinnon and Miss Janet looked, for poor Miss Bethia, in her innocence, was unable to meet the eyes of the others. She turned away, while Miss Janet did not wait to take possession of the will, but wrote its purport on the slate which had been provided for the enlightenment of Miss Mackinnon. She expressed herself in a feeble version of Miss Janet’s passion that it was a cheat and ‘havers.’

During the explanation Mrs. Todd came into the room, with a tray for the ladies, and cast a lynx-eye on the desk with the key in it.

The injured women ate and drank--where would have been the gain in letting good food be lost? Miss Bethia had felt as if every morsel she ate must choke her. But the hotch-potch, roast fowl, and pancakes, which did credit to Mrs. Todd’s plain but efficient cookery, were not without a solacing influence, neither were the glasses of Madeira which Mr. Mair had taken care should be added to the meal. What the ladies would have called the generous fare restored some strength to their shaken frames, and with strength came a little reasonableness.

Two hundred and seventy pounds _was_ a lump of money. In spite of what might have seemed grasping and avaricious in their natures, the Miss Mackinnons had no right sense of the value of money, any more than if they had been children. The ladies had been poor and growing poorer all their lives. They had even known abject poverty. It was not wonderful that they felt inclined to exaggerate the amount of shillings and pence in two hundred and seventy pounds, and to think they would never come to an end. The sisters had been startled and deeply mortified, in the middle of their extravagant fancies, by the first sound of what the legacy had dwindled to. After they had got accustomed to the truth, and had begun to realize that it was inevitable; after they had found time to recall what Miss Bethia had already remembered, of whispers of the diminution of the property--not listened to when breathed long before in the Miss Mackinnons’ hearing--a change came over the spirit of their dreams. They commenced to say to themselves that a little thing was better than nothing--a great deal better--that it was not little after all. For two hundred and seventy pounds was a lump of money; enough, with what the sisters had enjoyed lately, to secure them from want all the days of their lives; nay, even to enable them to make a ‘hochie’ (hidden treasure) for the Lieutenant. With the wonderful adaptability of human nature--above all, of woman’s nature--the Miss Mackinnons, including Miss Janet, were remoulding their plans, and reconciling themselves to hundreds instead of thousands, and twos instead of tens. It was no longer the sum itself, it was the heinous injustice and inequality of the division of it, which continued to trouble the ladies. Yet ‘it was not lost that a friend got,’ and, in their honest family affection, it was possible they would end by not only facing the fact, but by accepting it without a grudge against the favoured individual.

END OF VOL. II.

BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.