The following week she visited the Captain's grave, staying longer than usual, and scribbling industriously on scraps of paper the whole evening. Next day the exodus took place, Kezia and Nellie accompanying the ladies to the seaside, while George remained in solitary possession. As any pretence of industry was no longer necessary, he settled down to enjoy a honeymoon with indolence, until a letter arrived to waken him completely.
It appeared that Mrs. Drake had written to Percy, informing him of all George had said and not done; also asking for information about the floating of companies and the construction of railways, as, she explained, George had decided to build one across Dartmoor, and was inviting Miss Yard and herself to become debenture holders.
Percy's answer had crushed the poor lady entirely. He explained that, as George of course was perfectly well aware, to obtain a position as station-master it would be necessary to enter the service of the railway company as a clerk, and work upwards gradually. As for building a railway, that was not the recreation of a single individual, but a superhuman undertaking, which in the first place would require to be discussed by some of the greatest financial magnates upon earth for half a century – at least such was his own impression – before Parliament could even be approached; and then another half century would probably be demanded for the arrangement of preliminary details; and after that a new generation would have to begin the work all over again. While the suggestion of a railway across Dartmoor could appeal only to a Parliament with a sense of humour.
Accordingly Mrs. Drake disowned her nephew. She ordered him to depart from Highfield, declaring also her intention of not returning to Windward House while he remained there. For his maintenance she was prepared to allow the sum of ten shillings weekly so long as she might live. Should he delay in taking his departure, Percy would instruct some gentleman learned in the law to hasten the eviction. And if he took anything in the house away with him, he would thereby forfeit all benefits under her will.
This letter made the world seem cold to George, who strongly suspected Percy had dictated the punitory clauses. It was clear that his reign as first gentleman of Highfield was over. Not being of that faint-hearted disposition which abdicates without a struggle, George wrote a touching letter which was also, he considered, a complete vindication of his conduct; for, as Mrs. Drake must have been aware, he had suffered from his spine since childhood.
Then he packed his belongings and travelled an hour's journey into the next parish, where he arranged with the landlord of a wayside inn, which bore the hospitable title of "Drink and be Thankful," to accommodate him with board and lodging upon especially reduced terms; and from this alcoholic address he despatched a daily apology for his existence to Mrs. Drake, each document more poignant than the one preceding it. His aunt sent a cheque for a quarter's allowance, which George cashed gratefully; but she did not write. That business was entrusted to Percy, who sent an ultimatum, giving George forty-eight hours to retire from the "Drink and be Thankful," and warning him that, if at any future time he should be discovered within twenty miles of Highfield village without obtaining a permit, his prospects would be marred considerably.
George pronounced a malediction against Percy and all his tomatoes. Then, as compliance seemed necessary – for he was terribly afraid his aunt might destroy her will – he decided to make a farewell visit to Highfield, in order that he might muse amid the scenes of his former slothfulness, and inform the villagers he was going away to oppose on their behalf the promoters of the Dartmoor Railway Company.
George was not surprised to discover the door of Windward House standing open, as he supposed Bessie would be cleaning; but he was considerably astonished to behold Miss Yard nodding in the parlour, with Nellie on her knees hard by extracting the indifferent lady from a web of wool which, with amazing thoroughness, she had wound about herself. George made a sign to the girl not to disturb her mistress, but to follow him as soon as possible into the garden.
"What's the meaning of this?" he asked, hastily, adding that he was not at all sorry to see her.
"Miss Sophy was so miserable I had to bring her back. When we went away she thought she was going back to her old home; and then, when she couldn't recognise anybody she kept on saying she was forsaken. She would stop people in the street and ask them where she lived, and if they didn't remember her. As she got worse every day I had to bring her back. Aren't you living here now?" asked Nellie.
"No," said George sadly. "You gave me no encouragement."
"So you waited until I was out of the house, and then you ran away!"
"My aunt and I have now agreed to differ. How did you leave her?" asked George pompously.
"Oh, very well. In fact, Kezia said she had not seen her in such good health for years."
"Miss Yard is breaking up, I think," said George, thinking of his programme, which was suffering sadly from interference.
"Indeed she's not. She is just mazed after the journey, as they say about here. Then you are really not going to live here again?"
"Not for the present. But I shall write to you, Nellie, at least once a week, and I shall think of you nearly every day."
"Thank you. Are you going to turn blacksmith?"
"Why do you ask a ridiculous question?"
"We have been playing at rhymes lately; and the only rhyme I can find for your name is forge."
"Nellie," said George heavily, "it is frivolous conduct like this which breaks a man up completely."
"I'll be serious then. When are you coming back?"
"Not until the place becomes my own. My aunt has injured me; she has upset all my plans. I do not intend to speak to her again until she has asked for my forgiveness."
"There goes the gate!" cried Nellie. "It's sure to be Bessie. If you don't want to be seen here – run!" she laughed.
"I do not stir for Elizabeth Mudge."
"Or budge for any man," sang teasing Nellie. Then her note changed, for the postmistress appeared from behind the rhododendrons.
"Why, it's Mrs. Cann! And she's got a telegram!"
"Vor you, Miss Blisland. Very bad news, miss. Terrible news. But she wur an old lady, and 'tis better to be took avore you knows where you be than to see it coming. I hopes and prays as how I'll be took the like way – selling a penny stamp, or licking a label, or doing some poor soul a gude turn by giving her an old-age pension."
She went rambling on, while Nellie tore open the telegram and read, "Mistress passed away in her sleep. Kezia."
She shivered slightly, then handed it to George.
"Cruel bad news vor you, sir, especially as we'm all so sorry to hear you be a leaving us," said the postmistress.
"I had meant to go away," replied the self-sacrificing and sorrowful reprobate. "But I'm afraid I shall have to change my plans now."
CHAPTER VIII
A TANGLED INHERITANCE
George formally took over Windward House, with the exception of his aunt's bedroom, the door of which was locked. Bessie admitted she held the key, but was not going to give it up to anybody except Kezia. In the meantime, Miss Yard wandered about the house, declaring that Maria had always been able to look after herself, scolding Nellie for wearing black, "and making yourself look so small I can't see you," driving away Bessie by waving her hands and calling "Shoo!" but delighted with George because he looked bright and cheerful.
"Maria has been making up the past again," she said plaintively. "She told me I was good for nothing, and she wouldn't have me here any longer. She keeps all my friends away from me – and now she has hidden my money."
"We'll look for it," said Nellie, glad of the excuse to lure her back into the parlour. "I expect it is hidden in one of the usual places – inside the clock, or on top of the bookcase."
"It's no good looking there, Nellie. I have searched the whole house – and my cheque-book has gone too. My sister takes everything away from me."
A pleasant quarter of an hour was spent in searching for the missing bag of money, which had been secreted with more than usual ingenuity. These games of hide-and-seek were of daily occurrence, as Miss Yard would hide away everything she possessed, and then accuse the others of robbery by violence. On this occasion the little bag containing her spare cash had been deposited behind the register; George made the discovery after noticing a heap of soot upon the fender; and Miss Yard was more delighted with him than ever.
"Percy always does the right thing," she declared. "He wrote to that horrid man who said he was going to come and live here. Nellie, remind me tomorrow to pay off a mortgage on his railway."
"Percy grows tomatoes, Aunt. I am George, and I'm here to look after you," explained that gentleman uncomfortably.
"How silly people are!" said Miss Yard. "Of course it's tomatoes, and not railways. I don't know why they talk about railways, but I suppose it's because Nellie and I missed a train the other day. Everybody mixes up George and Percy, but one is quite as good as the other. One quality only, and that's the best. Now I wonder where I read that."
Then she opened the canvas bag and gave George ten shillings because he was so clever; and she gave a sovereign to Nellie because she was so good; but she refused to give Bessie a present, as she felt positive that young woman had conspired with Mrs. Drake to hide away her money.
"I must write to Maria and tell I've found it, and ask her to forget the past like I do and begin all over again," she said, shuffling to her writing table, where nearly every day she wrote letters which Nellie subsequently destroyed.
"Don't try to make her understand," said this young lady to George. "I have told her Mrs. Drake is dead, and she quite realised it, but a minute later had forgotten all about it. It's no use worrying her. She has no memory, and hardly any mind, left; but she is perfectly healthy and enjoys life thoroughly. Really, it isn't such a bad state to be in after all."
George rather looked forward to the funeral, as he meant to enjoy a settlement with Percy, who arrived only just in time to join the others in the churchyard. Mrs. Drake's bedroom had been opened the day before: George discovered the will, while Kezia made off with the box which had always stood upon the chest of drawers.
After the ceremony they returned to Windward House. Presently George and Percy went into the garden to discuss business, assuming a brotherly affection, although George felt sure Percy entertained nothing but evil thoughts concerning him.
"That was rather a nasty letter you wrote to me, old chap – about clearing out of the place, you know," he began reproachfully.
"Aunt asked me to write it, and of course I had to. I don't want to rub it in, George, but you deceived the old lady badly, and you've been a frightful slacker," replied Percy.
"If it comes to deceit, I expect you put your best tomatoes on top of the basket," said George, opening a line of attack which made Percy cough uneasily, before he attempted to point out the difference between deceiving hostile tradesmen and affectionate relatives. "What do you propose doing?" he asked.
"This is my home," replied George firmly. "Somebody must be here to look after Aunt Sophy, keep up the property, and look after the servants."
"I suppose the place belongs to Aunt Sophy now, and in that case it will come to me," said Percy sternly.
"Grab it all, old chap!" exclaimed George mockingly.
"It's like this," said Percy sharply. "I'm one of the trustees of the Yard estate, and Hunter is the other. I dare say you have heard the aunts mention Hunter; he's a partner in Martin and Cross, the family solicitors. I needn't go into the details of Mr. Yard's will, but of course you know Aunt Maria enjoyed only a life interest in her share. Aunt Sophy now inherits the lot, but she can't touch the capital, all of which comes to me at her death. That's the position."
"And here's mine! Oblige me by running your eye over this, my dear chap," invited George, producing his aunt's will.
Percy did so, frowning considerably, and when he had finished tried to mutter a few words of congratulation.
"Not so bad," chuckled George. "The whole place is mine, and everything in it. Aunt Sophy is now my tenant."
"There's no mention of the house," objected Percy.
"Read this – 'all I die possessed of.' The property belonged to aunt; left her by my uncle."
"But she bought the ground and built the house," cried Percy.
"Out of income," said the triumphant George.
"I suppose you'll be sending this to Martin and Cross?"
"It goes this evening by registered post. Aunt Sophy won't leave Highfield. She will be enjoying the use of my house and my furniture. In return she can give me board and pocket-money. Quite a decent scheme, old chap. Everybody satisfied! No grumblers!"
"I didn't know anything about this will," muttered Percy.
"You can't object to my staying here now – you can't order me out, my dear old chap. Nice little property, isn't it?" cried George riotously.
Percy had not much more to say, especially as he seemed in a hurry to catch a train which would carry him towards London and Mr. Hunter's office. Immediately he had departed, Kezia approached and asked, "Can I speak to you vor a minute, please?"
"Certainly," replied the prosperous George, following her into the dining room, where Bessie towered beside the table upon which reposed the sandalwood box taken from the late mistress's bedroom. George could not help noticing what a quantity of waste paper appeared to be lying about.
"This wur lying on the top," explained Kezia, presenting a slip upon which was written in his late aunt's handwriting, "This box is the property of Kezia, who has served me faithfully since her childhood."
"I ha' been wi' her forty years, and I don't know how I shall get along without her. I feels as though she can't be gone vor ever, and will soon be coming back again maybe," Kezia continued.
"She knows what be going on. She can see me, and you, and Mr. George, and she can tell what he'm thinking of," added Bessie.
"Went just like the Captain, all to once and no fuss. She said to me many a time, 'I wants to go like him, Kezia, nice and quick.' So she did, poor dear! Lay down, and went to sleep, and never woke up again this side Jordan. And the last thing she said wur, 'Kezia, I ain't felt so well as I be feeling now vor I can't tell ye how long.'"
"They'm always like that," said Bessie.
"What are all these papers?" asked George.
"These be mine," said Kezia, taking one bundle. "Those belong to Bess. This one is vor Miss Sophy. And this one is vor Nellie."
"Wasn't there one vor Mr. Percy?" inquired Bessie.
"Here's something on the floor," said George. He picked up the scrap of paper and read, "I should like Percy to have something to remember me by. He can take the pair of silver candlesticks given me by his mother as a wedding present."
"He can't have them," said Bessie, looking across at Kezia.
"No, that he can't," said Kezia, staring rather uneasily at Bessie.
"What are all these papers?" George demanded, feeling in his pocket, to make sure that the will was safe.
"Will ye please to read 'em?" replied Kezia, extending her bundle.
George opened the first and read, "I want Kezia to have all the furniture in her bedroom, also six dining room chairs, my sofa, and the largest bookcase." The second paper included, for Kezia's benefit, much of the furniture in the parlour, together with "the pair of silver candlesticks given me by Louisa as a wedding present." The third paper mentioned most of the articles in Mrs. Drake's bedroom, with the grandfather clock, the Chinese vases, "and anything else Mr. George does not want." And so the lists ran on, until Kezia had been left everything in the house several times over.
Then Bessie proffered her bundle with a sorrowful smile. First of all she was to have the bed she had once slept on, then all the furniture in her bedroom, much of that in the parlour, half of that in the dining room, with "the pair of silver candlesticks given me by Louisa as a wedding present," most of the ornaments including the Chinese vases, the Egyptian mummy, and "any other little thing Mr. George does not care about."
Nellie was to have the round table in the parlour, which had been already bestowed upon both Kezia and Bessie. While Sophy was requested to take the musical box and "the pair of silver candlesticks given me as a wedding present by Louisa."
"This is a nice business!" George muttered.
"Seems to be rather a lot of mixing up, don't it!" said Bessie.
"I can see what has happened," George continued. "Poor old aunt never had much of a memory, and, when she put away one of these papers in the box, she forgot about the others. Some of them were written when I was a child – the ink is beginning to fade – while others are quite recent."
"She would write 'em in the evening. I've seen her doing it. And when she went into her bedroom, she would put it into the box quick and lock it up. She wouldn't let no one touch that box," said Kezia.
"You see she wanted to leave you something to remember her by, and she never looked into the box to see what she had written."
"I suppose we mustn't take the things now?" asked Bessie hurriedly.
"Nothing wur to be touched, Bess, while Miss Sophy lived. Even Mr. George warn't to touch anything," said Kezia with unnecessary irony; since, according to these scraps of paper, George had nothing to take.
"I have the will which was made soon after I came to live with my uncle and aunt. There is no mention of Miss Yard," said George firmly.
"Mrs. Drake wrote a paper and gave it to Miss Sophy. And Miss Sophy wrote a paper and gave it to Mrs. Drake. Here it is!" exclaimed Kezia, diving to the bottom of the box, which contained brooches and other trinkets dropped in from time to time. "You see, Mr. George,' If I die before Maria, all my furniture is to belong to her.' And 'tis signed Sophy Yard."
"What did my aunt write on her paper?" cried George, as a horrible thought flashed across his mind.
"Just the same. If she died avore Miss Sophy, everything she possessed wur to belong to her."
"And she has died before Aunt Sophy after all," George muttered.
"Why, so she has! I never thought of that avore," said Bessie.
George refused to discuss the matter further, pointing out that nothing could be done during Miss Yard's lifetime, although he had no intention of remaining inactive until then. Escaping into a quiet place, he sought to find a solution of the problem thus suddenly presented to him. By a properly attested will the entire furniture of Windward House had been left to him; this furniture had been left also to Miss Yard by a rough kind of agreement; the same furniture had been bestowed upon Kezia by means of a number of scraps of paper which were certainly not legal documents; while the greater part of the furniture had been also bequeathed to Bessie by means of similar scraps of paper. The conclusion arrived at by George was that the will must prevail over all other documents, although it was difficult to see how he could prevent pilfering; and his final wise decision was to preserve silence concerning these scraps of paper in all his subsequent dealings with Messrs. Martin and Cross and Mr. Percy Taverner.
"I feel sure Kezia and Bessie cannot claim anything, but I'm afraid the lawyers may say the will is cancelled by the document given to Aunt Sophy," George muttered. "But then they needn't know anything about it. All the business will be done through the trustees and myself. They don't know, and I shan't tell them. I'd better strike up a friendship with Percy; I'll conciliate him; I'll sacrifice the pair of silver candlesticks."
He went home, sealed the will in an envelope, and addressed it to Messrs. Martin and Cross. Then wrote to Percy, explaining his discovery of a scrap of paper written by their late aunt, expressing a wish that the candlesticks should be given to him upon her death. "Of course they are mine really," he wrote, "but I feel that I ought to respect her wishes, especially as the candlesticks were given her as a wedding present by your mother."
Kezia and Bessie remained chattering vigorously after George departed from them, but neither ventured to speak upon the subject which threatened to convert friendship into rivalry. It was true, owing to an unfortunate slip of the tongue, Bessie mentioned how grand the silver candlesticks would look upon her mantelpiece; but Kezia merely replied that Mrs. Drake had been very generous to Mr. George in leaving him a will as a remembrance of her, although she presently administered a rebuke by speaking about her future retirement, when she looked forward to reading her books of religious instruction by the light of wax candles set in the candlesticks aforesaid. To which Bessie replied somewhat feebly they wouldn't be of any use to Miss Yard because she used a reading lamp. She could not trust herself to say more, but, when gathering up her share of the testamentary documents preparatory to departure, another idea occurred, and she asked, "Who do the house belong to?"
"Mrs. Drake said to me a lot of times it wur to go to Miss Sophy."
"Who gets it when she dies?"
"I don't know. If nobody else wants it, I don't mind taking it," said Kezia.
"Mr. George is sure to ask vor it," said Bessie, moving slowly towards the door.
"Well, he won't get it," replied Kezia sharply.
Bessie crossed the road and welcomed Robert from the bakery with the announcement that a domestic crisis was impending. Robert studied the documents, and agreed with his wife they would certainly be called upon to fight for their rights. Then he asked for information concerning George, and Bessie replied, "He ain't to get nothing."
"Didn't Mrs. Drake leave 'en a will?" questioned the cautious Robert.
"Kezia ses it ain't really a will. It's a codicil, and that means he gets nothing 'cept the little bit o' money in the bank, and he'll have to pay out all that vor the funeral expenses. Miss Sophy gets the house, and me and Kezia has the furniture."
"Then Mr. George is ruined!" exclaimed Robert.
"Best thing what could happen to 'en," said Bessie.
Robert had his tea, then went out into the village to report. Since the days when he had first gazed upward, fascinated by the altitude of Bessie's windswept features, he had acted as an intermediary between Windward House and the general public, bringing the scandal, fresh and greasy as his own doughnuts; and bearing to the village green – which was not so green as it sounded, for the signpost represented a rising sun – valuable items of information regarding Mrs. Drake's most recent act of charity, or Miss Yard's latest partition of a tea service. On this occasion he brought news which was to set all the tongues wagging: George Drake, the most respected man in Highfield, the sole gentleman, the fearless idler, was now a homeless fellow, a destitute person, without a scrap of inheritance he could call his own. The Drake whom they had honoured as a swan was hardly worth the price of a goose.
A gentleman was not defined by the worthies of Highfield as a man of good birth, but as one who declined all labour. George had fulfilled this definition admirably. An idler, it was argued, possessed ample means, and for that cause he was respected. Highfield required nothing further of him, except that he should wear decent clothing and not be seen with his coat off, digging potatoes or nailing two pieces of board together; even the picking of peas was a dangerous pastime, while mowing the lawn would have meant an irremediable loss of caste. It could honestly be said of George that he had done nothing disgraceful; he had kept his hands clean; he was far more of a gentleman than his uncle had been. And now he was exposed as a common impostor who had been wearing an order of chivalry to which he was not entitled.
"I always thought," said the Wallower in Wealth, who, above all men, had respected George, "that when Mrs. Drake died he would have her money."
Everybody in the place had thought the same; and were now to realise that George had bitterly deceived them.
"He don't get nothing," declared Robert. "The furniture comes to Bessie, and the house goes to Miss Yard."
"What do old Kezia get?" inquired a charitable voice.
"What me and Bessie like to give her," replied Robert.
George went to sleep that night sure of his position as the most popular man in Highfield parish; for everybody knew how the odious scheme of a Dartmoor railway had been brought to nothing owing to his strenuous opposition. Nor did he suppose, upon going into the village the following morning, that his glory had departed. He was therefore unpleasantly surprised to be greeted by nodding of heads, and no longer by hands uplifted to the forehead. Highfield nodded to equals, and touched hats to superiors. George did not like the omen.
The Yellow Leaf was enjoying a large slice of bread upon which butter, cream, and jam were piled in lavish quantities; and when George inquired after Mrs. Y. Leaf, he received the answer, spoken with some asperity:
"Her be tedious this morning. Ses her be going quick, and I be to hurry after; but I tells she I b'ain't agoing to hurry."
"Would you like to buy my giant tortoise? I'll sell him for five shillings," George continued.
"What would I do wi' a tor-toys?" asked the Yellow Leaf with great deliberation.
"It's a nice friendly animal," explained George.
"Would he make gude eating?" asked the Yellow Leaf.
"Might be a bit tough, but he'd make splendid soup," said George.
"I ha' no craving vor gigantic tor-toyses, thankye. And if I did crave vor 'en, how be I to know he'm yours to sell?"
"Of course it's mine. Everything belongs to me," said George sharply.
"Then you have been told lies."
"I ha' heard another tale."
"I hears plenty o' they. Don't ye ever think o' driving that old toat of a tor-toys into my garden, vor if you does I'll kick 'en." And with these words the Yellow Leaf withdrew into his cottage, munching severely at his bread and jam.
Bessie has been talking, thought George, as he went along the road, to pause beside a potato patch where Squinting Jack was whistling as he worked. He looked up and nodded, then went on digging, while George drew near and remarked:
"I'm selling off the animals."
"Sorry I b'ain't a butcher, sir," said Squinting Jack.
"I've got a very good half Persian cat for sale at two shillings," George continued.
"How much would ye charge vor the whole cat?" asked Squinting Jack.
"I mean it's part Persian."
"Which part?" asked the humourist.
George laughed somewhat feebly, while Squinting Jack continued, "I've got a whole English cat what you can have vor nothing."
By this time George had discovered he was not so well liked as formerly, and the reason was not far to seek: Kezia and Bessie were advertising their own triumph and trumpeting his misfortunes. George went a long walk, climbed a steep hill, and sat upon the summit, trying to work out a plan of campaign which might enable him to obtain the victory over all his enemies.
"Why not shift the responsibility?" he muttered at length. "That's the plan right enough – shift it on to Percy. He wants to run the whole show – why not let him?"
George meditated yet more deeply, rubbing his head which was nothing like so dense as his relations had supposed. "Percy means to do me, so it's my duty to do him. When you want to catch anything you set a trap. And now I've got it!" George shouted exultantly. "I'll tempt Percy with the furniture – I'll get him to buy it! Then I shall have the cash, while he can settle with Kezia and Bessie, and all the rest of the beastly, selfish, money grabbing crowd."