_ PART II CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE SCARBOROUGH CORRESPONDENCE
It was as Mountjoy had said. The squire had written to him a letter inviting him to Tretton, and telling him that it would be the best home for him till death should have put Tretton into other hands. Mountjoy had thought the matter over, sitting in the easy-chair in his brother's room, and had at last declined the invitation. As his letter was emblematic of the man, it may be as well to give it to the reader:
"My dear father,--I don't think it will suit me to go down to Tretton at present. I don't mind the cards, and I don't doubt that you would make it better than this place. But, to tell the truth, I don't believe a word of what you have told to the world about my mother, and some of these days I mean to have it out with Augustus. I shall not sit quietly by and see Tretton taken out of my mouth. Therefore I think I had better not go to Tretton.
"Yours truly,
"MOUNTJOY SCARBOROUGH." This had not at all surprised the father, and had not in the least angered him. He rather liked his son for standing up for his mother, and was by no means offended at the expression of his son's incredulity. But what was there in the prospect of a future lawsuit to prevent his son coming to Tretton? There need be no word spoken as to the property. Tretton would be infinitely more comfortable than those rooms in Victoria Street, and he, was aware that the hospitality of Victoria Street would not be given in an ungrudging spirit. "I shouldn't like it," said the old squire to himself as he lay quiet on his sofa. "I shouldn't like at all to be the humble guest of Augustus. Augustus would certainly say a nasty word or two."
The old man knew his younger son well, and he had known, too, the character of his elder son; but he had not calculated enough on the change which must have been made by such a revelation as he, his father, had made to him. Mountjoy had felt that all the world was against him, and that, as best he might, he would make use of all the world, excepting only his father, who of all the world was the falsest and the most cruel. As for his brother, he would bleed his brother to the very last drop without any compunction. Every bottle of champagne that came into the house was, to Mountjoy's thinking, his own, bought with his money, and therefore fit to be enjoyed by him. But as for his father, he doubted whether he could remain with his father without flying at his throat.
The old man decidedly preferred his elder son of the two. He had found that Augustus could not bear success, and had first come to dislike him, and then to hate him. What had he not done for Augustus? And with what a return! No doubt Augustus had, till the spring of this present year, been kept in the background; but no injury had come to him from that. His father, of his own good will, with infinite labor and successful ingenuity, had struggled to put him back in the place which had been taken from him. Augustus might, not unnaturally, have expressed himself as angry. He had not done so but had made himself persistently disagreeable, and had continued to show that he was waiting impatiently for his father's death. It had come to pass that at their last meeting he had hardly scrupled to tell his father that the world would be no world for him till his father had left it. This was the reward which the old man received for having struggled to provide handsomely and luxuriously for his son! He still made his son a sufficient allowance befitting the heir of a man of large property, but he had resolved never to see him again. It was true that he almost hated him, and thoroughly despised him.
But since the departure and mysterious disappearance of his eldest son his regard for the sinner had returned. He had become apparently a hopeless gambler. His debts had been paid and repaid. At last the squire had learned that Mountjoy owed so much on post-obits that the farther payment of them was an impossibility. There was no way of saving him. To save the property he must undo the doings of his early youth, and prove that the elder son was illegitimate. He had still kept the proofs, and he did it.
To the great disgust of Mr. Grey, to the dismay of creditors, to the incredulous wonder of Augustus, and almost to the annihilation of Mountjoy himself, he had done it. But there had been nothing in Mountjoy's conduct which had in truth wounded him. Mountjoy's vices had been dangerous, destructive, absurdly foolish, but not, to his father, a shame. He ridiculed gambling as a source of excitement. No man could win much without dishonest practices, and fraud at cards would certainly be detected. But he did not on that account hate cards. There was no reason why Mountjoy should not become to him as pleasant a companion as ever for the few days that might be left to him, if only he would come. But, when asked, he refused to come. When the squire received the letter above given he was not in the least angry with his son, but simply determined, if possible, that he should be brought to Tretton. Mountjoy's debts would now be paid, and something, if possible, should be done for him. He was so angry with Augustus that he would, if possible, revoke his last decision;--but that, alas! would be impossible.
Sir William Brodrick had, when he last saw him, expressed some hope,--not of his recovery, which was by all admitted to be impossible,--but of his continuance in the land of the living for another three months, or perhaps six, as Sir William had finally suggested, opening out, as he himself seemed to think, indefinite hope. "The most wonderful constitution, Mr. Scarborough, I ever saw in my life. I've never known a dog even so cut about, and yet bear it." Mr. Scarborough bowed and smiled, and accepted the compliment. He would have taken the hat off his head, had it been his practice to wear a hat in his sitting-room. Mr. Merton had gone farther. Of course he did not mean, he said, to set up his opinion against Sir William's; but if Mr. Scarborough would live strictly by rule, Mr. Merton did not see why either three months or six should be the end of it. Mr. Scarborough had replied that he could not undertake to live precisely by rule, and Mr. Merton had shaken his head. But from that time forth Mr. Scarborough did endeavor to obey the injunctions given to him. He had something worth doing in the six months now offered to him.
He had heard lately very much of the story of Harry Annesley, and had expressed great anger at the ill-usage to which that young man had been subjected. It had come to his ears that it was intended that Harry should lose the property he had expected, and that he had already lost his immediate income. This had come to him through Mr. Merton, between whom and Augustus Scarborough there was no close friendship. And the squire understood that Florence Mountjoy had been the cause of Harry's misfortune. He himself recognized it as a fact that his son Mountjoy was unfit to marry any young lady. Starvation would assuredly stare such young lady in the face. But not the less was he acerbated and disgusted at the idea that Augustus should endeavor to take the young lady to himself. "What!" he had exclaimed to Mr. Merton; "he wants both the property and the girl. There is nothing on earth that he does not want. The greater the impropriety in his craving, the stronger the craving." Then he picked up by degrees all the details of the midnight feud between Harry and Mountjoy, and set himself to work to undermine Augustus. But he had steadily carried out the plan for settling with the creditors, and, with the aid of Mr. Grey, had, as he thought, already concluded that business. Conjunction with Augustus had been necessary, but that had been obtained.
It is not too much to say that, at the present moment of his life, the idea of doing some injury to Augustus was the one object which exercised Mr. Scarborough's mind. Since he had fallen into business relations with his younger son he had become convinced that a more detestable young man did not exist. The reader will, perhaps, agree with Mr. Scarborough, but it can hardly be hoped that he should entertain the opinion as strongly.
Augustus was now the recognized eldest legitimate son of the squire; and as the property was entailed it must no doubt belong to him. But the squire was turning in his mind all means of depriving that condition as far as was possible of its glory. When he had first heard of the injury that had been done to Harry Annesley, he thought that he would leave to our hero all the furniture, all the gems, all the books, all the wine, all the cattle which were accumulated at Tretton. Augustus should have the bare acres, and still barer house, but nothing else. In thinking of this he had been actuated by a conviction that it would be useless for him to leave them to Mountjoy. Whatever might be left to Mountjoy would in fact be left to the creditors; and therefore Harry Annesley with his injuries had been felt to be a proper recipient, not of the squire's bounty, but of the results of his hatred for his son.
To run counter to the law! That had ever been the chief object of the squire's ambition. To arrange everything so that it should be seen that he had set all laws at defiance! That had been his great pride. He had done so notably, and with astonishing astuteness, in reference to his wife and two sons. But now there had come up a condition of things in which he could again show his cleverness. Augustus had been most anxious to get up all the post-obit bonds which the creditors held, feeling, as his father well understood, that he would thus prevent them from making any farther inquiry when the squire should have died. Why should they stir in the matter by going to law when there would be nothing to be gained? Those bonds had now been redeemed, and were in the possession of Mr. Grey. They had been bought up nominally by himself, and must be given to him. Mr. Grey, at any rate, would have the proof that they had been satisfied. They could not be used again to gratify any spite that Augustus might entertain. The captain, therefore, could now enjoy any property which might be left to him. Of course, it would all go to the gaming-table. It might even yet be better to leave it to Harry Annesley. But blood was thicker than water,--though it were but the blood of a bastard. He would do a good turn for Harry in another way. All the furniture, and all the gems, and all the money, should again be the future property of Mountjoy.
But in order that this might be effected before he died he must not let the grass grow under his feet. He thought of the promised three months, with a possible extension to six, as suggested by Sir William. "Sir William says three months," he said to Mr. Merton, speaking in the easiest way of the possibility of his living.
"He said six."
"Ah! that is, if I do what I'm told. But I shall not exactly do that. Three or six would be all the same, only for a little bit of business I want to get through. Sir William's orders would include the abandonment of my business."
"The less done the better. Then I do not see why Sir William should limit you to six months."
"I think that three will nearly suffice."
"A man does not want to die, I suppose," said Merton.
"There are various ways of looking at that question," replied the squire. "Many men desire the prolongation of life as a lengthened period of enjoyment. There is, perhaps, something of that feeling with me; but when you see how far I am crippled and curtailed, how my enjoyments are confined to breathing the air, to eating and drinking, and to the occasional reading of a few pages, you must admit that there cannot be much of that. A conversation with you is the best of it. Some want to live for the sake of their wives and children. In the ordinary acceptation of the words, that is all over with me. Many desire to live because they fear to die. There is nothing of that in me, I can assure you. I am not afraid to meet my Creator. But there are those who wish for life that their purposes of love, or stronger purposes of hatred, may be accomplished. I am among the number. But, on that account, I only wish it till those purposes have been completed. I think I'll go to sleep for an hour; but there are a couple of letters I want you to write before post-time." Then Mr. Scarborough turned himself round and thought of the letters he was to write. Mr. Merton went out, and as he wandered about the park in the dirt and slush of December tried to make up his mind whether he most admired his patron's philosophy or condemned his general lack of principle.
At the proper hour he appeared again, and found Mr. Scarborough quite alert. "I don't know whether I shall have the three months, unless I behave better," he said. "I have been thinking about those letters, and very nearly made an attempt to write them. There are things about a son which a father doesn't wish to communicate to any one." Merton only shook his head. "I'm not a bit afraid of you, nor do I care for your knowing what I have to say. But there are words which it would be difficult even to write, and almost impossible to dictate." But he did make the attempt, though he did not find himself able to say all that he had intended. The first letter was to the lawyer:
"My dear Mr. Grey,--You will be surprised at my writing to summon you once again to my bedside. I think there was some kind of a promise made that the request should not be repeated; but the circumstances are of such a nature that I do not well know how to avoid it. However, if you refuse to come, I will give you my instructions. It is my purpose to make another will, and to leave everything that I am capable of leaving to my son Mountjoy. You are aware that he is now free from debt, and capable of enjoying any property that he may possess. As circumstances are at present he would on my death be absolutely penniless, and Heaven help the man who should find himself dependent on the mercy of Augustus Scarborough.
"What I possess would be the balance at the bank, the house in town, and everything contained in and about Tretton, as to which I should wish that the will should be very explicit in making it understood that every conceivable item of property is to belong to Mountjoy. I know the strength of an entail, and not for worlds would I venture to meddle with anything so holy." There came a grin of satisfaction over his face as he uttered these words, and his scribe was utterly unable to keep from laughing. "But as Augustus must have the acres, let him have them bare."
"Underscore that word, if you please;" and the word was underscored. "If I had time I would have every tree about the place cut down."
"I don't think you could under the entail," said Merton.
"I would use up every stick in building the farmers' barns and mending the farmers' gates, and I would cover an acre just in front of the house with a huge conservatory. I respect the law, my boy, and they would find it difficult to prove that I had gone beyond it. But there is no time for that kind of finished revenge."
Then he went on with the letter: "You will understand what I mean. I wish to divide my property so that Mountjoy may have everything that is not strictly entailed. You will of course say that it will all go to the gambling-table. It may go to the devil, so that Augustus does not have it. But it need not go to the gambling-table. If you would consent to come down to me once more we might possibly devise some scheme for saving it. But whether we can do so or not, it is my request that my last will may be prepared in accordance with these instructions.
"Very faithfully yours,
"JOHN SCARBOROUGH." "And now for the other," said Mr. Scarborough.
"Had you not better rest a bit?" asked Merton.
"No; this is a kind of work at which a man does not want to rest. He is carried on by his own solicitudes and his own eagerness. This will be very short, and when it is done then, perhaps, I may sleep."
The second letter was as follows:
"My dear Mountjoy,--I think you are foolish in allowing yourself to be prevented from coming here by a sentiment. But in truth, independently of the pleasure I should derive from your company, I wish you to be here on a matter of business which is of some importance to yourself. I am about to make a new will; and although I am bound to pay every respect to the entail, and would not for worlds do anything in opposition to the law, still I may be enabled to do something for your benefit. Your brother has kindly interfered for the payment of your creditors; and as all the outstanding bonds have been redeemed, you would now, by his generosity, be enabled to enjoy any property which might be left to you. There are a few tables and chairs at my disposal, and a gem or two, and some odd volumes which perhaps you might like to possess. I have written to Mr. Grey on the subject, and I would wish you to see him. This you might do, whether you come here or not. But I do not the less wish that you should come.
"Your affectionate father,
"JOHN SCARBOROUGH." "I think that the odd volumes will fetch him. He was always fond of literature."
"I suppose it means the entire library?" replied Merton.
"And he likes tables and chairs. I think he will come and look after the tables and chairs."
"Why not beds and washhand-stands?" said Mr. Merton.
"Well, yes; he may have the beds and washhand-stands. Mountjoy is not a fool, and will understand very well what I mean. I wonder whether I could scrape the paper off the drawing-room walls, and leave the scraps to his brother, without interfering with the entail? But now I am tired, and will rest."
But he did not even then go to rest, but lay still scheming, scheming, scheming, about the property. There was now another letter to be written, for the writing of which he would not again summon Mr. Merton. He was half ashamed to do so, and at last sent for his sister. "Martha," said he, "I want you to write a letter for me."
"Mr. Merton has been writing letters for you all the morning."
"That's just the reason why you should write one now. I am still in some slight degree afraid of his authority, but I am not at all afraid of yours."
"You ought to be quiet, John; indeed you ought."
"And, in order that I may be quiet, you must write this letter. It's nothing particular, or I should not have asked you to do it. It's only an invitation."
"An invitation to ask somebody here?"
"Yes; to ask somebody to come here. I don't know whether he'll come."
"Do I know him?"
"I hope you may, if he comes. He's a very good-looking young man, if that is anything."
"Don't talk nonsense, John."
"But I believe he's engaged to another young lady, with whom I must beg you not to interfere. You remember Florence?"
"Florence Mountjoy? Of course I remember my own niece."
"The young man is engaged to her."
"She was intended for poor Mountjoy."
"Poor Mountjoy has put himself beyond all possibility of a wife."
"Poor Mountjoy!"--and the soft-hearted aunt almost shed tears.
"But we haven't to do with Mountjoy now. Sit down there and begin. 'Dear Mr. Annesley--'"
"Oh! It's Mr. Annesley, is it?"
"Yes, it is. Mr. Annesley is the handsome young man. Have you any objection?"
"Only people do say--"
"What do they say?"
"Of course I don't know; only I have heard--"
"That he is a scoundrel!"
"Scoundrel is very strong," said the old lady, shocked.
"A villain, a liar, a thief, and all the rest of it. That's what you have heard. And I'll tell you who has been your informant. Either first or second hand, it has come to you from Mr. Augustus Scarborough. Now we'll begin again. 'Dear Mr. Annesley--'" The old lady paused a moment, and then, setting herself firmly to the task, commenced and finished her letter, as follows:
"Dear Mr. Annesley,--You spent a few days here on one occasion, and I want to renew the pleasure which your visit gave me. Will you extend your kindness so far as to come to Tretton for any time you may please to name beyond two or three days? I am sorry to say that your friend Augustus Scarborough cannot be here to meet you. My other son, Mountjoy, may be here. If you wish to escape him, I will endeavor so to fix the time when I shall have heard from you. But I think there need be no ill blood there. Neither of you did anything of which you are, probably, ashamed; though as an old man I am bound to express my disapproval."
("Surely he must be ashamed," said Miss Scarborough.
"Never you mind. Believe me, you know nothing about it." Then he went on with his letter.)
"But it is not merely for the pleasure of your society that I ask you. I have a word to say to you which may be important. Yours faithfully,
"JOHN SCARBOROUGH." _