Chapter XII: Twenty Thousand Pounds

HERMIONE was not in the library when the will was read. Somehow she could not make up her mind to it.

As they drove home she grew paler, and the tearless eyes had a strained look. If Harry had seen her then, the severity of his judgment on her want of feeling would surely have relaxed. When Harvey handed her out she gave a bewildered glance round as if suddenly missing something. Did she only then begin in very truth to realise her loss?

"Must I come too? Is it necessary?" she asked of Mr. Fitzalan in her gentle voice, when a move was made to the library; and without waiting for an answer she added, "I should like to go to my own room. You can tell me afterwards anything that I ought to know." Before he could protest she had glided away.

The library interview came to an end, and all, with the exception of Hermione, knew the state of affairs. It seemed a strange state, considering Mr. Dalrymple's great love for Hermione.

For everything came to Harvey—everything without exception, beyond a few small legacies. The will had been made and signed twenty years earlier, before the birth of Hermione, and while Harvey's father was living. The bulk of Mr. Dalrymple's possessions had been then left to his only brother's son, Henry Dalrymple, and to his heirs—Henry's son, Harvey, being the next heir. Later codicils named the sum of one hundred pounds for Harry Fitzalan, and various lesser legacies for old friends and retainers, but nothing touched the original arrangement. Hermione was not so much as mentioned.

"Inexplicable! extraordinary!" Harvey said more than once, when talking afterwards in subdued tones with Mr. Fitzalan, and with the lawyer, Mr. Selwyn; yet he was not without a secret clue to an explanation.

"Mr. Dalrymple's fixed intention has been to make ample provision for Miss Rivers," Mr. Selwyn said. "I happen to be well aware of this fact. He spoke of the intention repeatedly, delaying only until your return."

"Why should he have delayed?"

Mr. Selwyn bent his head slightly.

"It was a fancy of Mr. Dalrymple's—I can hardly give a more weighty name to his reason—an old man's fancy. I have used influence to bring about an immediate settlement, but without result. He always insisted that there was no need for haste, that a few months more or less could not signify; and he appeared to live in a constant expectation of your coming. In a man of his good sense and good business habits, this procrastination has been the more singular."

"And Hermione has nothing of her own?" Mr. Fitzalan observed.

"Not much. About one hundred and twenty pounds per annum, the amount which was settled upon her mother. Unfortunately, the remainder of Hermione Dalrymple's marriage portion lay at her husband's discretion—and William Rivers made short work with that, as with everything else that he possessed."

"Miss Dalrymple was averse to any larger settlement on herself," said Mr. Fitzalan.

"Yes—woman-like, trusting one who was not worthy of her trust. Mr. Dalrymple yielded to her wishes—weakly, I have always thought. Her child is the loser now, though not according to her wish or intention."

"I only wish I had come home sooner," Harvey almost said, but somehow he changed the sentence into— "I wish Hermione had been present. How can one tell her?"

Mr. Fitzalan wondered silently— "Will not Harvey feel bound to carry out his uncle's intentions?" The same thought was in Mr. Selwyn's mind, less hopefully couched. The lawyer had perhaps seen even more than the clergyman of the money-loving side of human nature, and he knew from experience how gold-greed is apt to grow with gold-possession. Moreover, both were well acquainted with the mental indolence which made Harvey slow in arriving at any practical decision.

Mr. Selwyn drew a letter from his pocket, and handed it to Harvey— an opened envelope, addressed to himself. "I think you ought to see this," he said. "I received it by the morning post on Monday."

The sheet within was written upon as follows, in a tremulous hand:—

"WESTFORD HALL, Saturday evening."

"DEAR MR. SELWYN,—Can you spend Monday night here? I wish for some conversation with you. My nephew has returned, and will remain until Tuesday. He is lately married."

"I have resolved to settle the sum of twenty thousand pounds upon my grandchild, Hermione, at once."

"Pray telegraph an answer. I have acted reprehensibly in delaying so long, and I am impatient to have everything in train.—"

"Yours sincerely," "GILBERT DALRYMPLE."

Harvey read the letter twice, and gave it back without comment.

"I telegraphed, as you know, to say that I would come," observed Mr. Selwyn. "The answering telegram from Miss Rivers, probably sent by yourself in her name, acquainted me with what had unhappily occurred."

"No; I heard nothing of any telegram," Harvey said, in a tone of surprise.

"Then Miss Rivers acted independently. She is quite capable of standing alone. A clever girl, with remarkable self-command."

"The sum named in that note would have been a heavy drag on the estate," Harvey said gravely, as if to quash any hopes for Hermione which the other might entertain.

"Possibly; but it was the amount which lay at Mr. Dalrymple's own disposal—which it may be he has always destined for Miss Rivers— unless—"

Mr. Selwyn left his sentence unfinished, and Harvey made no inquiries.

It was of course needful that the true condition of affairs should be revealed to Hermione, but nobody was anxious to undertake the task, and Hermione was long in reappearing. Mr. Fitzalan had to depart, on account of another engagement; and Mr. Selwyn was compelled to catch a certain train to London from a similar reason. Therefore, when Hermione did at length come downstairs, Harvey alone was at hand.

He could not make up his mind to go into the question with her. Harvey always shirked disagreeable duties if possible, and this duty seemed to him especially disagreeable.

No doubt there lay lurking at the back of his disinclination a distinct consciousness of what would be expected of him. He did not suppose for a moment that Mr. Selwyn would publish the fact of the twenty thousand pounds which might have been Hermione's. Probably no living person except himself and Mr. Selwyn would know it. The letter had not been shown even to Mr. Fitzalan, seated in the same room with themselves. But everybody would be aware that Mr. Dalrymple had not intended to leave his darling portionless.

It would have been an easy thing for Harvey to say to his cousin, "Hermione, your grandfather meant to make ample provision for you, and as he has been taken away before carrying out his intention, I will do it instead."

The difficulty in the way of such a speech was that Harvey had not made up his mind. He meant to do something, certainly, but the question was—what?—how much?

He would consider the matter, would perhaps consult Julia. Apart from the specified twenty thousand pounds, "ample provision" could mean no paltry sum. And the estate was not one which would endure unlimited demands. Harvey had been a degree disappointed at the income which would be his. He had expected more.

Not that he was an avaricious man in the bold sense of the world. He was simply a man who valued money for what it would buy, who liked to get and to have whatever ministered to his comfort or pleased his fancy, who never could be happy with less than the best of everything. This of necessity means the command of considerable wealth. Harvey would do any kindness to anybody, so long as it was not too much trouble—Mr. Fitzalan had spoken thus of him truly— but his own needs were always first supplied, and his own wishes might never go unfulfilled. The word "self-denial" did not exist in Harvey's vocabulary. He would now have Hermione on his hands, besides his wife's relatives. These things had to be weighed in the scale. While Mr. Dalrymple yet lived, he had of course the right to settle what he chose of his own upon Hermione; but Harvey counted twenty thousand pounds an unduly large amount, considering the heavy expenses involved in the keeping up of Westford estate—an amount so large that it really seemed as if the old man's mind must have been a good deal weakened before he could arrive at so startling a decision.

This was a comfortable view of the question for Harvey, helping him to shake off the incubus of the private letter to Mr. Selwyn, together with the feeling that in some measure he might be counted morally bound to carry out his uncle's intention. Legally of course he was free. The law could not touch him. But there is a moral side to everything as well as a legal side, and the question of right and wrong thrust itself obtrusively before Harvey's averted gaze, insisting on being seen whether he would or no.

Well, and he meant to do his duty, of course—who could doubt it?—his duty as a gentleman and a man of honour. Opinions might differ as to what constituted his duty, as to what was for him "the right," and there he must be permitted to decide for himself. Certainly he did not intend to subtract twenty thousand pounds from the estate, neither would Mr. Dalrymple have contemplated any such step but for the weakness of old age. Harvey very soon regarded this as a settled truth. But he meant to make "ample provision" for his young cousin.

If "ample provision" for Hermione should imply a call for the curtailing of his own expenditure—

No, Harvey declined to face that question. It was easy to take refuge in vagueness and delay. He would do all that duty and kindness demanded of him. He had not the smallest intention of curtailing his own expenditure for Hermione's sake or anybody's sake. But people seldom say definitely, "I will do what is wrong." It is always a roundabout road which leads to this goal. Harvey only told himself that he would "think," and then he tried as much as possible to drive thought away.

Hermione seemed scarcely to have begun to realise her own position, or to look forward. It was not till late in the evening that she remarked, as if casually, "Are you going back to Paris?"

"For a short time—a month or so," he said, seizing on the opportunity. "You know that the Fitzalans have kindly asked you to the Rectory until we can come."

"Mr. Fitzalan spoke of it," she said doubtfully. Her eyes were a little heavy, as if from tear-shedding, but her manner was composed.

"It will be best. You cannot stay here alone, and the break will be a good thing."

She said slowly, "You are willing to come now—when he—and all those years—"

"I don't know about being willing. I like the Continent best. But of course we shall have to spend part of the year at Westford." Hermione made no answer, and he felt himself impelled to add, "You know about the entail."

"Yes."

Hermione stood up, as if to move away, and Harvey said, "I think we ought to settle something. Julia will be expecting me."

"Why do you stay away from her?"

"I must know what day you can go to the Rectory before I can settle anything. Of course your home will be with us now, Hermione."

She did not thank him, but said simply, "When you are at Westford."

"I hope—always. It would have been his wish for you."

Hermione went away, offering no response. "Impracticable girl!" he muttered impatiently. She might almost have heard the words. At the door she lingered to say, "Mr. Fitzalan asked me to go to the Rectory to-morrow. You can arrange what you like about your own plans."