Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli

by Marie Corelli

  He went, as desired, — and was received with a murmur of sympathy by those assembled — a gathering made up of the head men about the farm, and a few other personages less familiar to the village, but fairly well known to him, such as corn and cattle dealers from the neighbouring town who had for many years done business with Jocelyn in preference to any other farmer. These came forward and cordially shook hands with Robin, entering at once into conversation with him concerning his future intentions.

  “We should like things to go on the same as if th’ old man were alive,” said one, a miller,— “We don’t like changes after all these years. But whether you’re up to it, my lad, or not, we don’t know — and time’ll prove—”

  “Time WILL prove,” answered Clifford, steadily. “You may rely upon it that Briar Farm will be worked on the same methods which my uncle practised and approved — and there will be no changes, except — the inevitable one” — and he sighed,— “the want of the true master’s brain and hand.”

  “Eh well! You’ll do your best, lad! — I’m sure of that!” and the miller grasped his hand warmly— “And we’ll all stick by you! There’s no farm like Briar Farm in the whole country — that’s my opinion! — it gives the finest soil and the soundest crops to be got anywhere — you just manage it as Farmer Jocelyn managed it, with men’s work, and you’ll come to no harm! And, as I say, we’ll all stick by you!”

  Robin thanked him, and then moved slowly in and out among the other funeral guests, saying kindly things, and in his quiet, manly way creating a good impression among them, and making more friends than he himself was aware of. Presently Mr. Bayliss, a mild-looking man with round spectacles fixed very closely up against his eyes, approached him, beckoning him with one finger.

  “When you’re ready, Mr. Clifford,” he said, “I should like to see you in the best parlour — and the young lady — I believe she is called Innocent? — yes, yes! — and the young lady also. Oh, there’s no hurry — no hurry! — better wait till the guests have gone, as what I have to say concerns only yourself — and — er — yes — er, the young lady before mentioned. And also a — a” — here he pulled out a note-book from his pocket and studied it through his owl-like glasses— “yes! — er, yes! — a Miss Priscilla Priday — she must be present, if she can be found — I believe she is on the premises?”

  “Priscilla is our housekeeper,” said Robin— “and a faithful friend.”

  “Yes — I — er — thought so — a devoted friend,” murmured Mr. Bayliss, meditatively— “and what a thing it is to have a devoted friend, Mr. Clifford! Your uncle was a careful man! — very careful! — he knew whom to trust — he thoroughly knew! Yes — WE don’t all know — but HE did!”

  Robin made no comment. The murmuring talk of the funeral party went on, buzzing in his ears like the noise of an enormous swarm of bees — he watched men eating and drinking the good things Priscilla had provided for the “honour of the farm” — and then, on a sudden impulse he slipped out of the hall and upstairs to Innocent’s room, where he knocked softly at the door. She opened it at once, and stood before him — her face white as a snowdrop, and her eyes heavy and strained with the weight of unshed tears.

  “Dear,” he said, gently— “you will be wanted downstairs in a few minutes — Mr. Bayliss wishes you to be present when he reads Uncle Hugo’s will.”

  She made a little gesture of pain and dissent.

  “I do not want to hear it,” she said— “but I will come.”

  He looked at her with anxiety and tenderness.

  “You have eaten nothing since early morning; you look so pale and weak — let me get you something — a glass of wine.”

  “No, thank you,” she answered— “I could not touch a morsel — not just yet. Oh, Robin, it hurts me to hear all those voices in the great hall! — men eating and drinking there, as if he were still alive! — and they have only just laid him down in the cold earth — so cold and dark!”

  She shuddered violently.

  “I do not think it is right,” she went on— “to allow people to love each other at all if death must separate them for ever. It seems only a cruelty and wickedness. Now that I have seen what death can do, I will never love anyone again!”

  “No — I suppose you will not,” he said, somewhat bitterly— “yet, you have never known what love is — you do not understand it.”

  She sighed, deeply.

  “Perhaps not!” she said— “And I’m not sure that I want to understand it — not now. What love I had in my heart is all buried — with Dad and the roses. I am not the same girl any more — I feel a different creature — grown quite old!”

  “You cannot feel older than I do,” he replied— “but you do not think of me at all, — why should you? I never used to think you selfish, Innocent! — you have always been so careful and considerate of the feelings of others — yet now! — well! — are you not so much absorbed in your own grief as to be forgetful of mine? For mine is a double grief — a double loss — I have lost my uncle and best friend — and I shall lose you because you will not love me, though I love you with all my heart and only want to make you happy!”

  Her sad eyes met his with a direct, half-reproachful gaze.

  “You think me selfish?”

  “No! — no, Innocent! — but—”

  “I see!” she said— “You think I ought to sacrifice myself to you, and to Dad’s last wish. You would expect me to spoil your life by marrying you unwillingly and without love—”

  “I tell you you know nothing about love!” he interrupted her, impatiently.

  “So you imagine,” she answered quietly— “but I do know one thing — and it is that no one who really loves a person wishes to see that person, unhappy. To love anybody means that above all things in the world you desire to see the beloved one well and prosperous and full of gladness. You cannot love me or you would not wish me to do a thing that would make me miserable. If I loved you, I would marry you and devote my life to yours — but I do not love you, and, therefore, I should only make you wretched if I became your wife. Do not let us talk of this any more — it tires me out!”

  She passed her hand over her forehead with a weary gesture.

  “It is wrong to talk of ourselves at all when Dad is only just buried,” she continued. “You say Mr. Bayliss wants to see me — very well! — in a few minutes I will come.”

  She stepped back inside her little room and shut the door. Clifford walked away, resentful and despairing. There was something in her manner that struck him as new and foreign to her usual sweet and equable nature, — a grave composure, a kind of intellectual hardness that he had never before seen in her. And he wondered what such a change might portend.

  Downstairs, the funeral party had broken up — many of the mourners had gone, and others were going. Some lingered to the last possible moment that their intimacy or friendship with the deceased would allow, curious to hear something of the will — what the amount of the net cash was that had been left, and how it had been disposed. But Mr. Bayliss, the lawyer, was a cautious man, and never gave himself away at any point. To all suggestive hints and speculative theories he maintained a dignified reserve — and it was not until the last of the guests had departed that he made his way to the vacant “best parlour,” and sat there with his chair pulled well up to the table and one or two legal-looking documents in front of him. Robin Clifford joined him there, taking a seat opposite to him — and both men waited in more or less silence till the door opened softly to admit Innocent, who came in with Priscilla.

  Mr. Bayliss rose.

  “I’m sorry to have to disturb you, Miss — er — Miss Innocent,” he said, with some awkwardness— “on this sad occasion—”

  “It is no trouble,” she answered, gently— “if I can be of any use—”

  Mr. Bayliss waited till she sat down, — then again seated himself.

  “Well, there is really no occasion to go over legal formalities,” he s
aid, opening one of the documents before him— “Your uncle, Mr. Clifford, was a business man, and made his will in a business-like way. Briefly, I may tell you that Briar Farm, its lands, buildings, and all its contents are left to you — who are identified thus— ‘to my nephew, Robin Clifford, only son of my only sister, the late Elizabeth Jocelyn, widow of John Clifford, wholesale trader in French wines, and formerly resident in the City of London, on condition that the said Robin Clifford shall keep and maintain the farm and house as they have always been kept and maintained. He shall not sell any part of the land for building purposes, nor shall he dispose of any of the furniture, pewter, plate, china, glass, or other effects belonging to Briar Farm House, — but shall carefully preserve the same and hand them down to his lawful heirs in succession on the same terms as heretofore’ — etc., etc., — yes! — well! — that is the gist of the business, and we need not go over the details. With the farm and lands aforesaid he leaves the sum of Twenty Thousand Pounds—”

  “Twenty Thousand Pounds!” ejaculated Robin, amazed— “Surely my uncle was never so rich — !”

  “He was a saving man and a careful one,” said Mr. Bayliss, calmly,— “You may take it for granted, Mr. Clifford, that his money was made through the course of his long life, in a thoroughly honest and straightforward manner!”

  “Oh — that, of course! — but — Twenty Thousand Pounds!”

  “It is a nice little fortune,” said Mr. Bayliss— “and you come into it at a time of life when you will be able to make good use of it. Especially if you should be inclined to marry—”

  His eyes twinkled meaningly as they glanced from Clifford’s face to that of Innocent — the young man’s expression was absorbed and earnest, but the girl looked lost and far away in a dream of her own.

  “I shall not marry,” said Robin, slowly— “I shall use the money entirely for the good of the farm and the work-people—”

  “Then, if you do not marry, you allow the tradition of heritage to lapse?” suggested Mr. Bayliss.

  “It has lapsed already,” he replied— “I am not a real descendant of the

  Jocelyns—”

  “By the mother’s side you are,” said Mr. Bayliss— “and your mother being dead, it is open to you to take the name of Jocelyn by law, and continue the lineage. It would be entirely fair and reasonable.”

  Robin made no answer. Mr. Bayliss settled his glasses more firmly on his nose, and went on with his documents.

  “Mr. Jocelyn speaks in his Last Will and Testament of the ‘great love’ he entertained for his adopted child, known as ‘Innocent’ — and he gives to her all that is contained in the small oak chest in the best parlour — this is the best parlour, I presume?” — looking round— “Can you point out the oak chest mentioned?”

  Innocent rose, and moved to a corner, where she lifted out of a recess a small quaintly made oaken casket, brass-bound, with a heavy lock.

  Mr. Bayliss looked at it with a certain amount of curiosity.

  “The key?” he suggested— “I believe the late Mr. Jocelyn always wore it on his watch-chain.”

  Robin got up and went to the mantelpiece.

  “Here is my uncle’s watch and chain,” he said, in a hushed voice— “The watch has stopped. I do not intend that it shall ever go again — I shall keep it put by with the precious treasures of the house.”

  Mr. Bayliss made no remark on this utterance, which to him was one of mere sentiment — and taking the watch and chain in his hand, detached therefrom a small key. With this he opened the oak casket — and looked carefully inside. Taking out a sealed packet, he handed it to Innocent.

  “This is for you,” he said— “and this also” — here he lifted from the bottom of the casket a flat jewel-case of antique leather embossed in gold.

  “This,” he continued, “Mr. Jocelyn explained to me, is a necklet of pearls — traditionally believed to have been given by the founder of the house, Amadis de Jocelin, to his wife on their wedding-day. It has been worn by every bride of the house since. I hope — yes — I very much hope — it will be worn by the young lady who now inherits it.”

  And he passed the jewel-case over the table to Innocent, who sat silent, with the sealed packet she had just received lying before her. She took it passively, and opened it — a beautiful row of pearls, not very large, but wonderfully perfect, lay within — clasped by a small, curiously designed diamond snap. She looked at them with half-wondering, half-indifferent eyes — then closed the case and gave it to Robin Clifford.

  “They are for your wife when you marry,” she said— “Please keep them.”

  Mr. Bayliss coughed — a cough of remonstrance.

  “Pardon me, my dear young lady, but Mr. Jocelyn was particularly anxious the pearls should be yours—”

  She looked at him, gravely.

  “Yes — I am sure he was,” she said— “He was always good — too good and generous — but if they are mine, I give them to Mr. Clifford. There is nothing more to be said about them.”

  Mr. Bayliss coughed again.

  “Well — that is all that is contained in this casket, with the exception of a paper unsealed — shall I read it?”

  She bent her head.

  “The paper is written in Mr. Jocelyn’s own hand, and is as follows,” continued the lawyer: “I desire that my adopted child, known as ‘Innocent,’ shall receive into her own possession the Jocelyn pearls, valued by experts at L2,500, and that she shall wear the same on her marriage-morning. The sealed packet, placed in this casket with the pearls afore-said, contains a letter for her own personal and private perusal, and other matter which concerns herself alone.”

  Mr. Bayliss here looked up, and addressed her.

  “From these words it is evident that the sealed packet you have there is an affair of confidence.”

  She laid her hand upon it.

  “I quite understand!”

  He adjusted his glasses, and turned over his documents once more.

  “Then I think there is nothing more we need trouble you with — oh yes! — one thing — Miss — er — Miss Priday — ?”

  Priscilla, who during the whole conversation had sat bolt upright on a chair in the corner of the room, neither moving nor speaking, here rose and curtsied.

  The lawyer looked at her attentively.

  “Priday-Miss Priscilla Priday?”

  “Yes, sir — that’s me,” said Priscilla, briefly.

  “Mr. Jocelyn thought very highly of you, Miss Friday,” he said— “he mentions you in the following paragraph of his will— ‘I give and bequeath to my faithful housekeeper and good friend, Priscilla Priday, the sum of Two Hundred Pounds for her own personal use, and I desire that she shall remain at Briar Farm for the rest of her life. And that, if she shall find it necessary to resign her duties in the farm house, she shall possess that cottage on my estate known as Rose Cottage, free of all charges, and be allowed to live there and be suitably and comfortably maintained till the end of her days. And, — er — pray don’t distress yourself, Miss Priday!”

  For Priscilla was crying, and making no effort to hide her emotion.

  “Bless ’is old ‘art!” she sobbed— “He thort of everybody, ’e did! An’ what shall I ever want o’ Rose Cottage, as is the sweetest o’ little places, when I’ve got the kitchen o’ Briar Farm! — an’ there I’ll ‘ope to do my work plain an’ true till I drops! — so there! — an’ I’m much obliged to ye, Mr. Bayliss, an’ mebbe ye’ll tell me where to put the two ‘underd pounds so as I don’t lose it, for I never ‘ad so much money in my life, an’ if any one gets to ‘ear of it I’ll ‘ave all the ‘alt an’ lame an’ blind round me in a jiffy. An’ as for keepin’ money, I never could — an’ p’raps it ‘ud be best for Mr. Robin to look arter it—” Here she stopped, out of breath with talk and tears.

  “It will be all right,” said Mr. Bayliss, soothingly, “quite all right, I assure you! Mr. Clifford will no doubt see to any little business matter fo
r you with great pleasure—”

  “Dear Priscilla!” — and Innocent went to her side and put an arm round her neck— “Don’t cry! — you will be so happy, living always in this dear old place! — and Robin will be so glad to have you with him.”

  Priscilla took the little hand that caressed her, and kissed it.

  “Ah, my lovey!” she half whispered— “I should be ‘appy enough if I thought you was a-goin’ to be ‘appy too! — but you’re flyin’ in the face o’ fortune, lovey! — that’s what you’re a-doin’!”

  Innocent silenced her with a gesture, and stood beside her, patiently listening till Mr. Bayliss had concluded his business.

  “I think, Mr. Clifford,” he then said, at last— “there is no occasion to trouble you further. Everything is in perfect order — you are the inheritor of Briar Farm and all its contents, with all its adjoining lands — and the only condition attached to your inheritance is that you keep it maintained on the same working methods by which it has always been maintained. You will find no difficulty in doing this — and you have plenty of money to do it on. There are a few minor details respecting farm stock, etc., which we can go over together at any time. You are sole executor, of course — and — and — er — yes! — I think that is all.”

  “May I go now?” asked Innocent, lifting her serious blue-grey eyes to his face— “Do you want me any more?”

  Mr. Bayliss surveyed her curiously.

  “No — I — er — I think not,” he replied— “Of course the pearls should be in your possession—”

  “I have given them away,” she said, quickly— “to Robin.”

  “But I have not accepted them,” he answered— “I will keep them if you like — for YOU.”