by John Trevena
CHAPTER X
THE FIRST PERSON SINGULAR PARAMOUNT
"This is easier than catching flies," was George's comment, when thecheque for the furniture arrived, together with a document whichpretended to be a receipt, but was unable to disguise the fact that itwas also an agreement; for it contained a clause, by which Georgeundertook to quit Windward House within three calendar months, and toaccept Miss Yard as his tenant for life at a yearly rental of thirtypounds.
He looked forward to a busy day without flinching. Some forms of labourwere fascinating, and quashing lawyers was one of them. George did notwrite to Mr. Hunter returning thanks, but walked into the market townand opened an account with the post office savings bank by paying in thecomfortable cheque. Returning to Highfield, he lured Nellie into thegarden, and informed her he was piling up money in a reckless fashion.
"Two hundred pounds this morning," he said. "Another two hundred nextweek. And so it will go on."
"Where's it all coming from?" she asked.
"Money Aunt left me. They don't know what a lot she _did_ leave. It's agreat secret and I wouldn't tell any one but you. I'm refusingmoney--that gentleman who called the other day begged me to accept athousand pounds, but I wouldn't look at it. I can retire any day now."
"From what?" she laughed.
"From business. Making money is business, and I'm making it like theMint."
"Did you really get two hundred pounds this morning?"
"Look at this, if you can't believe me," George replied, showing her thebank book. "It's nothing--just a flea bite--what the French call a gameof bagatelle. Still it would give many an honest soul a start in life."
"You had better lend the money to your cousin," suggested Nellie.
"I'd let it perish first," cried George. "Whatever made you think ofsuch a thing?"
"Mr. Taverner wrote to Miss Sophy this morning--she shows me all herletters now--and asked her to lend him two hundred pounds, as he hadsuddenly discovered another mortgage he had forgotten to pay off."
"The fellow's a ruffian!" exclaimed George, not without some admirationfor Percy's methods of finance, which compared favourably with his own.
"He had learnt the profession of begging, and isn't ashamed to practiseit. I think he might wait until Miss Sophy is dead."
"Percy has no moral sense," said George, with the utmost severity. "Hehas visited here, and I have entertained him; but he has never given meanything except superciliousness, and on one occasion a cigar which wasuseless except as a germicide. I have never yet heard your opinion ofhim."
"He's a name and nothing else," she said.
"I did have an idea he wanted to be something to you."
"What rubbish! He never even looked at me properly. When he didn't gazeat my boots he stared over my head; and he spoke to me like agramophone."
"You didn't exactly like him?" George suggested.
"I positively dislike him."
"You never looked at him softly with your nice blue eyes?"
"My eyes are not blue."
"They seem very blue sometimes, but I'm not good at colours. I am gladyou don't like Percy. It has removed a great weight from my mind. I hada dreadful suspicion, Nellie, and--and I was afraid it might interferewith my sleep; but I won't say anything more about it now. Don't youthink we had better meet this evening, when it is getting dusk," Georgerambled on heavily, "and go a little walk, and talk about plans?"
"I have no plans," said Nellie. "I shall just go on living here untilMiss Yard dies, and then I shall pack up my belongings--including theround table in the parlour--and disappear from Highfield forever."
"Not you," said George. "I have a quantity of plans, Nellie; a lot foryou as well as for myself."
"Tell me all about them."
"This is not the time."
"Can't you speak while we stand here in the sunshine?"
"It would be easier if we were walking about in the dark."
"That might be bad for me," she reminded him. "When a couple talk in thedark, other couples talk about them. I will listen to some of yourplans--with a decided preference for those about myself. You shall tellme four," she said, tapping the first finger of her right hand. "What isplan number one?"
"About Aunt Sophy," replied George promptly:
"Unless there's a sudden change in temperature," murmured Nellie, "I amto be frozen out again."
"You come last," said tactless George.
"Just as I expected, and perhaps a little more," she answered.
"Aunt Sophy must die," said George firmly. "That sad event should happenany time now. The first plan is to get rid of her."
"Let it be done decently," she begged.
"I don't want her to die, for, of course, one is always sorry to loseold relations. Aunt Maria's death was a great shock to me," Georgeexplained. "But for Aunt Sophy it would be a happy release, especiallyas I cannot be master in my own house while she lives. She ought to havegone before Aunt Maria."
"I suppose she forgot."
"Do you notice any signs of breaking down?"
"In yourself?" asked Nellie gently.
"In Aunt Sophy. I--I don't much like to be made fun of, Nellie."
"I was trying to cheer you up, as this is not Miss Sophy's funeral.Don't worry about the dear lady; she is perfectly well and thoroughlyhappy; her health has been much better since we came to Highfield; and Ishall be quite astonished if she doesn't live another twenty years. Sheis a great admirer of the giant tortoise--"
"He's over five hundred years old," cried George in anguish.
"That makes Miss Yard the smallest kind of infant."
"If she lives another two years, I must give her notice. I cannot haveher upsetting all my plans--though I quite agree with you she is a dearold lady."
"Plan number two!" cried Nellie.
"That concerns myself," said George.
"You should have been number one," she said reproachfully.
"I had to put Aunt Sophy first, because I cannot arrange my own futurewhile she occupies the house. I don't want to say too much aboutmyself."
"I know," said Nellie sympathetically. "That's your way. But you shouldtry to be a little selfish sometimes."
"You are quite right, Nellie; we must think of our own interests. I havewasted far too much time bothering about Aunt Sophy, Kezia, Bessie--"
"And me!!" cried Nellie. "Do let me come in somewhere."
"Not with them. You come in a class by yourself."
"The fourth," she murmured.
"As Aunt Sophy is so good and religious we cannot want her to live on,knowing how much happier she will be in the next world; and then I cansettle down as the big man of Highfield--quite the biggest man in theplace, and I hope the most respectable. Mr. and Mrs. George Drake, ofWindward House, in the parish of Highfield and county of Devon, Esquire,as the lawyers say."
"How unkind! You introduce Mrs. Drake, and then ignore her. You marriedher at one end of your sentence and divorced her, for no fault whatever,at the other end."
"Married ladies are not credited with separate existences," explainedGeorge.
"They generally insist upon taking one."
"By lawyers, I mean. They are not distinct entities like spinsters andwidows."
"I see: while I am single I have a personality, when I marry I lose it,when I am a widow I regain it. You could not have improved upon thatsentence."
"Why not?" asked George.
"In its repetition of the most important letter in the alphabet. Now forplan number three."
"But I have said nothing about myself yet!" cried George.
"Don't try. You are finding it very disagreeable, I am sure; and afterall I can guess. This house ought to be converted into a mansion, andyou mean to do it. This village sadly needs a squire, residentmagistrate, pillar of uprightness; and you fully intend to supply thatwant."
George nodded, and hoped she would go on talking like that, blinkingafter the fashion of a tomcat who has just enjoyed a
bowl of cream.
"I have all sorts of plans for my future, but they are not properlyarranged yet. Aunt Sophy blocks them all. I am not ambitious," Georgeblundered on, "but I do mean to have a comfortable home, luxuriousarmchairs, piles of cushions, deep carpets, felt slippers, and goodcigars. I don't care how simple my food is, so long as I have goodtobacco, and the very finest tea obtainable. I should like to turn theparlour into a tea house, with a divan at one end where I could lie andsmoke--sometimes."
"A dream of Turkish delight!" laughed Nellie. "What is the third plan?"
"Concerning finance, and there I can't be beaten," replied Georgepromptly.
"I thought you were rolling in money."
"It is coming in nicely now," George admitted, "but after a time theflow will cease; while I shall still be spending. The problem before meis how to invest my capital so that I shall be certain of a comfortableincome. Government securities are treacherous things, and I have verylittle confidence in railways. The secret of wealth is to invest yourcash in those things which everybody must have. Now every man must buytobacco and drink beer; they are necessities of life. And every womanmust carry an umbrella. What is a woman's principal necessity next to anumbrella?"
"No respectable girl would even think of anything except umbrellas,"replied Nellie. "But most girls are not respectable, I'm afraid, and,though it is a horrible confession to make, they cannot be happy unlessthey are constantly supplied with chocolates."
"Is that really the truth?" asked George, with much interest.
"It is, indeed. My kind of girl must have chocolates, just as your kindof man must drink beer."
"Now that you mention it, I seem to remember there are anextraordinarily lot of sweet shops in every town."
"And I should visit them all, just as naturally as you would go into thepublic houses."
"That's a very valuable suggestion," said George. "I shall invest thewhole of my capital in beer, tobacco, umbrellas, and chocolates. Yousee, Nellie, that will practically cover the prime necessities of eithersex. A man goes to work with a pipe in his mouth, and he walks straightinto a public-house. A woman comes out with an umbrella, and the firstthing she does is to buy chocolates."
"There are sure to be exceptions," said Nellie. "A bishop, for instance,might not go to his cathedral with a pipe in his mouth, while a CabinetMinister would probably walk straight past several public-houses."
"But they all smoke and drink at home."
"I don't fancy somehow that bishops drink beer."
"Bottled beer," said George eagerly.
"Surely some are teetotallers!"
"Then they drink cocoa, and that's chocolate melted down. On the otherhand, plenty of ladies drink beer. You can see them carrying jugs--"
"Not ladies!" cried Nellie.
"Well, charwomen--they are ladies from a business point of view. I cansee myself making tons of money," said George delightedly. "If only AuntSophy--"
"Do please let the poor old lady live on and enjoy herself. You wouldn'tlike to be hunted out of the world to suit anybody's plans. And now,"said Nellie, "we reach the fourth subject, which I flatter myself hassome connection with a certain person who is quite used to beingregarded as an afterthought."
"Three persons--Kezia, Bessie, Robert. They must go, all of them."
"Really this is the last straw!" cried Nellie. "I was almost certain Ishould be at least honourably mentioned."
"But I am talking to you, not about you. I'm telling you my secrets--andI wouldn't do that to anyone but you. Nellie, you don't think I amplaying with your affections?"
"I'll not listen any longer. I couldn't expect to come first, but I didhope to be placed last."
"If you would walk after dark--"
"I'm not a ghost; besides, I will not be ashamed to stand in thelight."
"Then we might talk about something that means love," said George, who,being wound up for that sentence, was bound to finish it.
"Oh, George!" exclaimed one of the parrots.
"I wonder what it would be like," said Nellie, when she had donelaughing.
"You teach those birds to say things," he muttered crossly.
"They are so intelligent. That one can say, 'Nellie's the belle of theball.' Even that sort of compliment is better than none."
"I am thinking, Nellie, that you like chocolates. I had better get yousome," George continued, believing it might be threepence well invested.
"That wouldn't be a bad idea."
"And you would take them as a compliment from me?"
"I'll take all I can get," she promised.
"You know, Nellie, I'm older than you, but I'm reliable. I'm not muchgood at silly talk, but I do mean what I say. I can quite understandsome men would say very silly things to you, but I can't."
"People will talk rubbish when they are in love," she admitted.
"It's a very serious matter. I wouldn't joke about such a thing," saidGeorge.
"Of course, when a man tells his own particular girl she is a star, aflower, an angel, and a goddess, he is only joking; but most girls areso sweet tempered they can take a joke."
"I never made a joke," cried George.
"And I hope you will never try."
"But I'm full of affection."
"I have never seen any one quite so seriously in love as you are."
"I'm so glad you can see it. You have quite sensible eyes, Nellie, and Ithink you may improve a good deal as you get older. I am easy-going, andyou are pleasant, so we ought to get along very well."
"You are so much in love," cried Nellie, "that you can't help sayingsilly things. You regard the person that you love as the most angeliccreature possible; and angels are always masculine in spite of lovers'talk."
"I take people as I find them; I never look for their faults," said thevirtuous George.
"Try! If you could discover a few faults in the person that you love, itmight help you to stop saying, 'I am,' and to begin learning, 'Thouart,'" replied Nellie, as she ran off towards the house.
"There, George!" cried one of the parrots; while the giant tortoisethoughtfully advanced one millimetre.
"She is not nearly serious enough," said George, "and I'm afraid herwords sometimes have a double meaning; but she is useful and quiteornamental. She pours out tea beautifully, and I do admire the way sheputs on Aunt Sophy's slippers."
The next duty--a more simple one--was to win the sympathy of Miss Yard.Every evening, when fine enough, the lady walked once round the gardenand, upon returning to the house, was packed into her chair till suppertime; although she refused to remain quiescent, and would wander aboutthe room hiding her valuables in secret corners. On this particularevening she fell asleep and, when George entered the parlour, she didnot recognise him until he had introduced himself.
"I shall soon be getting quite stupid," she said. "I was just going toask you to sit down and wait for yourself. But I'm thankful to say mymemory is just as good as ever."
"Then you remember Percy?" began George, seating himself close besideher.
"Oh dear yes! I often hear from Percy. He tells me he has a fine crop ofpotatoes."
"Tomatoes."
"He dug up two hundred pounds' worth last week. I had a letter from himthis morning telling me that."
"And you remember Mr. Hunter?" George went on.
"I've just sent him a subscription for his new church," replied MissYard.
"Ah, that's somebody else. I mean Mr. Hunter, your family solicitor."
"Oh, yes, I remember him quite well. He came to see me when I livedsomewhere else. It must have been a long time ago, because he's beendead for years."
"He's back again at his office now, and has written to me. He tells me Iam to leave you," said George solemnly.
Miss Yard gasped and looked frightened at this message from the grave.She seized George's arm and ordered him to say it all over again, moreslowly.
"Mr. Hunter is afraid that, if I live here, I may rob you; so he says Imust go ou
t into the world and make my own living. That's impossible atmy time of life," said George warmly.
"You wouldn't do such a thing," cried Miss Yard, almost in tears. "Youare so kind to me; you find my money when the others hide it away. If Ibreak anything you are always the first to run for the doctor--I meanwhen I bump my head. I shall write to Mr. Hunter and tell him his newchurch will never prosper if he does this sort of thing."
"It is hard to be ordered out of my own house," said George.
"Whatever can the man be thinking of! I really cannot understand aclergyman being so wicked. Perhaps I ought to write to the bishop."
"He's a lawyer, Aunt," George shouted.
"Now why didn't you tell me that before?" said Miss Yard crossly. "Ofcourse, lawyers will do anything. The people who did my father'sbusiness were the only honest lawyers I ever came across. This housebelongs to me, and you shall stay here as long as you like. If you'llfind my cheque-book I will write to this man at once--I mean, if youwill bring my pen, you shall have a little present, for you are alwaysso thoughtful. I am so sorry your poor dear mother didn't leave youmuch."
George had not time to correct her error; besides, it was useless. Hebrought her writing materials after a vain search for the cheque-book,for Nellie had taken possession of that, and said, "I don't want toconfuse you, Aunt, but I suppose you will be leaving Nellie something?"
"Everything I have," replied Miss Yard earnestly. "I am leaving her thehouse, and all the furniture, my clothes and jewels, and as much moneyas I can save. I could not rest if I thought dear Nellie would be leftunprovided for. You will look after Nellie, won't you? I should be sopleased if you would adopt her as your daughter."
"I'm not quite old enough," George stammered.
"Nonsense, you look quite elderly," said Miss Yard encouragingly. "AndNellie is such a child."
"If I had been younger I might have thought about marrying her," saidGeorge awkwardly.
"Now that would have been a nice idea! What a pity it is you are notforty years younger."
"You are thinking of someone else," cried George despairingly.
"Oh, I'm sure you are sixty. Your mother married when I was quite agirl. I do remember that, for I got so excited at the wedding that, whenthe clergyman asked her if she wanted the man, I thought he was speakingto me, and I said, 'Yes, please,' and poor Louisa gave me such a look,and I went into hysterics. Girls can't go into hysterics in these dayslike we used to do. It's funny how well I remember all these things thathappened in our young days, but then for an old woman my memory iswonderful. What were we talking about before you mentioned your mother'swedding?"
"About Mr. Hunter, the lawyer who has ordered me to leave you," repliedGeorge, deciding to say no more of his matrimonial intentions.
"I never heard of such impertinence in my life. He will be telling menext I don't own the place," cried Miss Yard, stabbing with her pen inthe direction of the ink pot. "What am I to say to the wretch?"
"Remind him I am your nephew, and I have every right to enjoy yourhospitality. Tell him I am indispensable to you. Then you might addsomething about the wickedness of depriving an orphan of his home, andconclude by mentioning that you will never consent to my leaving you."
"I'll tell him, if he persecutes you any more, I will put the matterinto the hands of my own solicitor," Miss Yard declared, scribbling awaybriskly, for her greatest delight, next to chattering, was letterwriting.
"I wouldn't do that," said George piously. "It sounds too much like athreat, and after all we must try to forgive our enemies."
"Thank you for reminding me. That's a beautiful idea of yours. I wish Iwas a good and clever old woman like you are."
George was stooping over her at the moment, and this compliment made himgroan. "It's my poor back," he explained.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed the innocent old lady. "When you have gone to bed,I shall send Nellie to wrap you up in red flannel. We old people cannotbe too careful."
Miss Yard wrote letters to all manner of persons, living, dead, andimaginary; but very few found their way to the post office. George tookpossession of the letter to Mr. Hunter and despatched it himself; and,knowing exactly when the answer would be received, he took theprecaution of going out to meet the postman. By this time he wasprepared for action, as the cheque for two hundred pounds had beencleared, and the amount was deposited safely to his account.
There were two letters, and one was addressed to himself. Miss Yard'swas merely a note, acknowledging the receipt of her communication andmentioning that Mr. Taverner would shortly be writing with a view toclearing away the misunderstanding which had arisen since the death ofMrs. Drake. George opened a phial of malice and poured out its contentsupon the name of Percy. Then he examined his own letter, which was bulkyand of a strongly acid tendency.
Mr. Hunter was astonished and pained to think that Mr. Drake should havetaken advantage of the age and infirmities of Miss Yard to such anextent as to have made her the instrument of his plans; as it wasperfectly evident Mr. Drake had dictated, or at least had inspired, theletter which had been addressed to his firm by Miss Yard. Mr. Hunterearnestly desired to avoid anything of an unpleasant nature, and hehoped therefore Mr. Drake would not venture to repeat an experimentwhich suggested a state of ethics with which he had not previously beenacquainted; and would adhere to his undertaking, given as a conditionto Mr. Taverner's purchase of the furniture, namely, to leave Miss Yardin undisturbed possession of the premises bequeathed to Mr. Drake by hislate aunt, and better known and described as Windward House. Mr. Hunterhad also just been informed, to his soul's amusement, that Mr. Drake hadnot yet subscribed to this form of agreement, nor had he acknowledgedthe receipt of a cheque for two hundred pounds forwarded him some dayspreviously. Mr. Hunter continued to be sorry to the end of his letter,which was a memorable piece of philosophic morality, suggesting that thelawyer's office had been quite recently taken over by some institutionfor reforming wicked people.
George expressed a hope that Mr. Hunter some day might be sorry forhimself. He had under-rated the powers of the lawyer, who had now provedhimself to possess the ordinary malevolent, orphan-baiting, legal soul.However, George had no intention of surrendering without a struggle. Hetook his pen and obliterated the highly offensive clause which referredto his expulsion from Windward House. He then added his signature andcomposed an epistle complaining bitterly of the oriental methods ofoppression which were being brought to bear upon him. He mentioned thathe was an invalid Englishman residing in Devonshire; and laid particularstress upon the fact he never had been an Armenian living somewhere inthe Turkish Empire. He especially desired to draw Mr. Hunter's attentionto the phenomenon that the present age was democratic, and Britishworkmen--with whom he did not disdain to be associated--were becomingimpatient of high-handed methods. He enclosed the receipt and regrettedthe delay, which had been unavoidable owing to the insertion of theclause--now deleted, as Mr. Hunter would observe--which seemed to strikefar too harshly against his personal liberty. He had given this clausehis serious attention for some days, but had arrived at the conclusion,regretfully, that it involved a principle he was quite unable to accept.Messrs. Hunter and Taverner, in their joint capacity as trustees of theYard estate, had apparently conspired--he did not use the word in anobjectionable sense, although in his opinion it had but one meaning--tosecure his eviction from premises to which he was legally entitled. Theyhad offered him a wholly inadequate sum of money for the furniture, andthis offer he had accepted with the sole idea of rendering Miss Yard akindness; but now, it appeared, the money had been intended as a bribeto induce him to quit his home. Was this altogether legal? Was ithonest? Could it be respectable? He felt compelled to remind Mr. Hunter,again regretfully, that a bribe was something given to corrupt theconduct of poor but decent men.
Then he went to Miss Yard and told her the lawyer was still tormentinghim, and he was very much afraid it might soon be necessary to go awayand find some hiding place.
"Has the
man written to me?" asked Miss Yard, when the whole matter hadbeen recalled to her memory.
"Don't you remember? He said you were a silly old woman, and you had nobusiness to interfere."
"Where is the letter? Find it for me, George, and I'll do something,"she cried indignantly.
"You were so angry that you threw it on the fire. Don't worry, Aunt; Ishall know how to defend myself. The man tried to bribe me to leave you,and now he's threatening to send me to prison by means of falseevidence."
"I wish you would let me write to my own man, what's his name?"
"That would lead to expense, and you must not spend money on me. If Idon't go away I'm afraid the man may come to Highfield with a gang ofruffians, and break into the house--and I won't have you worried."
"I'll give you some money," said the generous lady. "Where's mycheque-book? Tell Nellie to find my cheque-book."
"Thank you, Aunt. A little money will be very useful. This man is just ablackmailer, and if I hide for a few weeks he will forget all about me.Then you can write and invite me to come back," said George tenderly.
"I'll write this moment," cried Miss Yard.
"But I haven't gone yet. You are mistress here and, if you like toinvite me, of course, I can come and stay as long as you care to haveme."
"And if that horrid man tries to turn you out again, I shall let Percyknow about it, and I shall get advice from Hunter--I wonder how I cameto remember his name. Do write to Hunter and tell him all about it,"Miss Yard pleaded.
"To please you, I will," George promised.
That evening he received a letter in strange handwriting, and bearingthe illegible postmark which signified that it came from London. Georgeopened it and, perceiving the signature of Mr. Crampy, expert in ancientporcelain, read the contents with interest:
"Since visiting you I have spoken with several collectors about yourpair of vases, which, I have no doubt whatever, are excellent specimensdating from the Tsing dynasty, although I admit forgeries of this periodare exceedingly difficult to detect. My object in writing is to warn youagainst being imposed upon, and to remind you of your promise to giveme first refusal up to a thousand pounds, which sum I am still perfectlywilling to risk.
"It is highly probable some wealthy collectors may call upon you as,when the existence of such vases as you possess becomes known, there isinvariably a hue and cry after them. I enclose, on a separate sheet ofpaper, a list of names; these are all gentlemen whom you can trustabsolutely. The two against whose names I have pencilled the letters,U.S.A. are, I know, very keen to get your vases. If you should dobusiness with any of the gentlemen on my list I get a commission. Idon't suppose you will let yourself be humbugged, but I beg you not tomake any offer in writing unless you intend to stick to it, as any ofthese collectors would convert your scrap of writing into a stampedlegal document at once, and then sue you for breach of contract if youtried to get out of it.
"So long as you refuse to part with the vases for less than a thousand,you'll be all right."