Mr. Hale had a limp, cold hand. He said “How do you do, Miss Standing?” and cleared his throat. Then Margot sat down, and he sat down, and there was a silence, during which Mr. Hale laid the dispatch-case he had been carrying upon a chair at his side and proceeded to open it.
He looked up to find a box of chocolates under his nose.
“Do have one. The long ones are hard, but the round ones are a dream.”
“No thank you,” said Mr. Hale.
Margot took one of the round ones herself. She had eaten so many chocolates already that it was necessary to crunch it quickly in order to get the flavour. She crunched it, and Mr. Hale waited disapprovingly until she had finished. He wished to offer her his condolences upon her father’s death, and it appeared to him in the highest degree unseemly that he should do so whilst she was eating chocolates.
As she immediately replaced the chocolate by another, he abandoned the condolences altogether and plunged into business.
“I have come, Miss Standing, to ask you if you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of Mr. Standing’s will.”
Margot shook her head.
“Why, how on earth should I?”
“I don’t know. Your father might have spoken to you on the subject.”
“But I haven’t seen him for three years.”
“So long as that?”
Miss Standing nodded.
“He was very seldom here for the holidays, anyhow, and the last three years he was always in America, or Germany, or Italy, or some of those places.”
“Not Switzerland? You were at school in Switzerland, I believe.”
“Never Switzerland,” declared Miss Standing taking another chocolate.
“Did he ever write to you about his will?”
Margot’s eyes opened to their fullest extent.
“Good gracious no! Why, he practically never wrote to me at all.”
“That,” said Mr. Hale, “is unfortunate. You see, Miss Standing, we are in a difficulty. Your father’s affairs have been in our hands for the last fifteen years. But it was my father who had full knowledge of them. I know that he and the late Mr. Standing were upon terms of considerable intimacy; and if my father was still with us, the whole matter would probably be cleared up in a few minutes.”
“Isn’t your father with you?”
Mr. Hale cleared his throat and fingered a black tie.
“My father died a month ago.”
“Oh,” said Miss Standing. Then she paused, leaned forward with a sudden graceful change of attitude, and said, “Nobody’s told me anything about Papa. M’amselle said she didn’t know-only what was in the telegram, you know. You sent it, didn’t you? And so I don’t really know anything at all.”
“Mr. Standing died very suddenly,” said Mr. Hale. “He was in his yacht off Majorca.”
Margot repeated the name.
“Where is Majorca?”
Mr. Hale informed her. He also put her in possession of what he termed “the sad particulars” of her father’s death. It appeared that the yacht had been caught in a heavy gale, and that Mr. Standing, who refused to leave the deck, had been washed overboard.
Mr. Hale at this point offered his belated condolences, after which he cleared his throat and added:
“Unfortunately we are quite unable to trace any will, or to obtain any evidence that would lead us to suppose that he had ever made one.”
“Does it matter?” asked Margot indifferently.
Mr. Hale frowned. “It matters a good deal to you, Miss Standing.”
“Does it?”
“I am afraid that it does.”
“But I am his daughter anyway. Why should it matter about a will? There’s only me, isn’t there?” Her tone was still indifferent. Mr. Hale was an old fuss-pot. He wasn’t a man at all; he was just a suit of black clothes and a disapproving frown. She said with sudden irrelevance: “Please, I want some money. I haven’t got any. I bought the chocolates with my last bean. I made M’amselle stop the taxi whilst I rushed in and got them. Everything was so frightfully dismal I felt I should expire if I didn’t have chocs-it takes me that way, you know.”
Mr. Hale took no notice of this. Instead, he asked, with a gravity that was almost severe.
“Do you remember your mother at all?”
“No-of course not. I was only two.”
“When she died?”
“I suppose so.”
“Miss Standing, can you tell me your mother’s maiden name?”
She shook her head.
“Come! Surely you must know it!”
“I don’t.” She hesitated and then added, “I think I was called after her.”
“Yes? What are your names?”
“I’ve only got one. I think I was christened Margaret, and I think perhaps it was my mother’s name. I’ve always been called Margot.”
“Miss Standing, did your father never speak about your mother?”
“No, he didn’t. I keep telling you he practically never spoke to me at all. He was always frightfully busy. He never talked to me.”
“Then what makes you think you were called after your mother?”
A slight blush made Miss Standing prettier than before.
“There was a picture that he kept locked. You know-the sort with doors and a keyhole, and a miniature inside. I always wanted to know what was in it.”
“Well?”
Miss Standing shut her lips tightly.
“I don’t know that I ought to tell you,” she said with an air of virtue.
“I think you must tell me,” said Mr. Hale.
Something in his voice frightened her. She drew back, looked at him out of startled eyes, and began to tell him in a hurrying, uncertain voice.
“I wasn’t supposed to go into the study. But one evening I went because I thought he was out. And he wasn’t. And when I heard him coming I had only just time to get behind the curtains. It was frightful, because I thought he was never going to go away, and I thought I should be there all night.”
“Yes? Go on.”
“He wrote letters, and he walked up and down. And then he gave a sort of groan, and I was so frightened I looked out. And he was opening the picture. He opened it with a little key off his watch-chain. And when he’d opened it he went on looking at it for simply ages. And once he gave another groan, and he said ‘Margaret’ twice in a sort of whisper.”
“Quite so,” said Mr. Hale.
The colour rushed to Margot’s cheeks.
“Why do you say that, just as if I was telling you about the weather, instead of a frightfully secret, romantic sort of thing like I was telling you about?”
“My dear Miss Standing!”
“It was frightfully thrilling.”
“Did you see the picture?”
“N-no. Well, I just got a peep at it-when he turned round you know.”
“Yes?”
“It was a miniature, and it had little diamonds all round it. They sparkled like anything, and I could just see that she was fair like me. And that’s all. I just saw her for a moment. She was awfully pretty.”
Mr. Hale cleared his throat.
“There is, of course, no evidence to show that the miniature was a portrait of your mother.”
“Why, of course it was!”
“It may have been. May I ask if the picture is in the house?”
“He always took it away with him. Perhaps it’s on the yacht.”
“I’m afraid it went overboard with him. The steward spoke of a portrait such as you describe; he said Mr. Standing carried it about with him. Now, Miss Standing, you are quite sure that you have no knowledge of your mother’s maiden name?”
“I told you I hadn’t.”
“Or where your father met her?”
Margot shook her head.
“You don’t know where they were married?”
“No. I don’t know anything at all-I told you I didn’t.”
“Do you know where you
were born?”
“N-no. At least-No, I don’t know.”
“What were you going to say? You were going to say something.”
“Only-no, I don’t know anything-only I don’t think I was born in England.”
“Ah! Can you tell me why?”
“He said-it was long ago when I was a little girl-he said, talking about himself, that he was born in Africa. And I said ‘Where was I born?’ and he said ‘A long way from here.’ So I thought perhaps I wasn’t born in England.”
Mr. Hale made the clicking noise with his tongue which is generally written “Tut-tut!” It expressed contempt for this reminiscence. As evidence it simply didn’t exist. He cleared his throat more portentously than before.
“Miss Standing, if no will is found, and no certificate of your mother’s marriage or of your own birth is forthcoming, your position becomes extremely serious.”
Margot paused with a chocolate on its way to her mouth.
“Why does it become serious? I’m Papa’s daughter.”
“There is no proof even of that,” said Mr. Hale.
Margot burst out laughing.
“Oh!” she said. “How frightfully funny that sounds! Why everyone knows I’m his daughter! How frightfully funny you are! Who do you think I am, if I’m not Margot Standing? Why, it’s too silly!”
Mr. Hale frowned.
“Miss Standing, this is a very serious matter, and I beg that you will treat it seriously. I do not believe that Mr. Standing made a will. I know that he had not made one six weeks ago, for he paid my father a visit on the twentieth of August, and after he had gone my father told me that he had been urging upon Mr. Standing the necessity of making his will. My father then used these words: ‘It is a very strange thing,’ he said, ‘that a man in Mr. Standing’s circumstances should have deferred such a simple and necessary action as the making of a will. And in his daughter’s peculiar circumstances he certainly owes it to her to make sure of her provision.’ Now, Miss Standing, those are the exact words my father used, and I take them to mean that he was cognizant of some irregularity in your position.”
Margot opened her eyes very wide indeed.
“What on earth do you mean?”
“In the absence of any information about your mother, and in the light of what my father said-”
“Good gracious! What do you mean?”
“I mean,” said Mr. Hale, “that it is possible that there was no marriage.”
“But good gracious, there’s me!” said Miss Standing.
“It’s possible that you are illegitimate.”
Miss Standing gazed at him in silence. After a moment she repeated the word illegitimate in a tentative way; it seemed to touch a chord. She brightened visibly and said in a tone full of interest,
“Like William the Conqueror-and all those sons of Charles II?”
“Quite so,” said Mr. Hale.
“How frightfully thrilling!” exclaimed Miss Standing.
CHAPTER VI
When Mr. Hale had finished explaining the exact legal position of an illegitimate daughter whose father had died intestate, Miss Standing’s eyes were round with indignation.
“I never heard anything so frightfully unjust in all my life,” she said firmly.
“I’m afraid that doesn’t alter the law.”
“What’s the good of women having the vote then? I thought all those frightful unjust laws were going to be altered at once when women got the vote. Miss Clay always said so.”
Mr. Hale had never heard of Miss Clay, who was in fact an undermistress at Mme. Mardon’s. He himself had always been opposed to women’s suffrage.
“Do you mean to say”-Miss Standing sat bolt upright with her plump hands clasped on her blue serge knee-“do you actually mean to say that I don’t get anything?”
“You are not legally entitled to anything.”
“How absolutely disgraceful! Do you mean to say that Papa had millions and millions, and I don’t get any of it at all? Who gets it if I don’t? I suppose somebody does get it. Or does Government just steal it all?”
“Your cousin, Mr. Egbert Standing, is the heir-at-law. He will-er-doubtless consider the propriety of making you an allowance.”
Miss Standing sprang to her feet.
“Egbert! You’re joking-you must be joking!”
Mr. Hale looked the offence which he felt.
“Really, Miss Standing!”
Margot stamped her foot.
“I don’t believe a single word of it. Papa didn’t even like Egbert. He said he was a parasite. I remember quite well, because I didn’t know what the word meant, and I asked him, and he made me look it up in the dictionary. And he said he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve having Egbert for a nephew. He said it was a great pity someone hadn’t drowned his brother Robert when he was a baby, because then he couldn’t have had Egbert. That’s what Papa said, and do you suppose he’d want his money, and all his things, and his pictures to go to someone he felt like that about? Papa simply adored those horrible gloomy pictures, and he’d hate Egbert to have them. Egbert adores them too-I can’t think why-and that used to make Pap angrier than anything else. Aren’t people funny?”
When Mr. Hale had taken his leave, Margot continued her letter to Stephanie.
Oh, Stephanie, he’s been! Mr. Hale, the lawyer, I mean. He’s the most frightful old stiff, with the sort of boring voice that makes you go to sleep in church when a parson has it. Only I didn’t go to sleep, because he was saying the most frightfully devastating sort of things. There are a whole heap of the most frightful family secrets, and he says he thinks I’m illegitimate like the people in history. And I didn’t know anyone ever was except in history books. But he says he thinks I am, because he doesn’t think my father was ever married to my mother. And I don’t understand about it, but he says there isn’t any certificate of their being married, and there isn’t any certificate of my being born. And doesn’t that just show how stupid the whole thing is? Because if I hadn’t been born, I shouldn’t be here. So I can’t see what on earth anyone wants a certificate for. And he says I shan’t have any money…
Mr. Hale returned to his office, where he presently interviewed Mr. Egbert Standing. He had not met him before, and he looked at him now with some disfavour. Mr. Hale did not like fat young men; he did not like young men who lolled; he disapproved of bow ties with loose ends, and of scented cigarettes. He regarded the curl in Egbert’s hair with well-founded suspicion. For a short moment he shared a sentiment with Miss Margot Standing-he did not like Egbert. The young clerk who took notes in the corner did not like him either.
Everything else apart, Mr. Egbert Standing was a most difficult person to do business with. He lolled, and yawned, and ran his fingers through the artificial waves of his mouse-colored hair. He had a round featureless face with light eyes, light lashes, and no eyebrows. Mr. Hale disliked him very much indeed. It seemed impossible to get him to take any interest either in Miss Standing’s predicament or his own position as heir-at-law.
Mr. Hale repeated Mr. Hales senior’s remarks very much as he had repeated them to Margot.
“My father left me in no doubt that there was some irregularity in Miss Standing’s position. He pressed Mr. Standing to make a will, but Mr. Standing put the matter aside. I am quite sure that my father knew more than he told me. I believe that he was in Mr. Standing’s confidence. May I ask whether your uncle ever spoke to you on the matter?”
Egbert lolled and yawned.
“I believe he did.”
“You believe he did!”
“I have some slight recollection-I-er-I’m not a business man. I-er-don’t take much interest in business.”
“Can you tell me what your uncle said?”
Egbert ran his hands through his hair.
“I-er-really I have a very poor memory.”
“Mr. Standing, this is a very important matter. Do you assert that your uncle spoke to you in such a sense as
to lead you to suppose that your cousin was illegitimate?”
“Something of that sort.” Egbert’s voice was languid in the extreme.
“What did he say?”
“I-er-really can’t remember. I don’t take much interest in family matters.”
“You must have some recollection.”
“My uncle was, I believe, excited-I seem to remember that. He was, in fact, annoyed-with me-yes, I think it was with me. And I have some recollection of his saying” -Egbert paused and regarded his right thumb-nail critically.
“Yes? What did he say?”
“I don’t remember exactly. It was something about his will.”
“Yes? That is important.”
“I don’t remember really what he said. But he seemed annoyed. And it was something about making his will, because he’d be hanged if he’d let the property come to me. But he didn’t make a will after all, did he?”
“We haven’t been able to find one. Was that all he said, Mr. Standing?”
“Oh no, there was a lot more-about my cousin, you know.”
“What did he say about your cousin?” Egbert yawned.
“I didn’t take any interest in her, I’m afraid.”
Mr. Hale strove for patience.
“What did your uncle say about his daughter’s position?”
“I don’t remember,” said Egbert vaguely. “Something about it’s being irregular-something like he said before, when he wrote to me.”
Mr. Hale sat bolt upright.
“Your uncle wrote to you about his daughter’s position?”
Egbert shook his head.
“He wrote to me about the club I was putting up for-said he’d blackball me.”
Mr. Hale tapped on the table.
“You said he wrote to you about his daughter.”
“No, he wrote to me about blackballing me for the club. He just mentioned his daughter.
“In a letter of that sort? Mr. Standing!”
“Come to think of it, it wasn’t that letter at all. I told you my memory was awfully bad.”
Grey Mask Page 3