Chapter Twenty Two.
Mr Farrell Makes his Will.
It was not in human nature—not in Mollie’s nature, at least—to resist “showing off” a little after that momentous interview, and her sudden familiarity with their host filled her companions with amazed curiosity. Ruth had naturally heard all that had passed, and loyally stifled the dawning of envy, but the young men were at a loss to account for what seemed to them a mysterious change of favourites.
“Miss Mollie is outstripping us all! She has stepped into the position of first favourite this last fortnight,” Victor Druce said, as the four young people sat on the terrace steps waiting for tea, a few days after the visit to the vicarage.
He laughed as he spoke, but in a half-hearted manner, and tugged heavily at the ends of his moustache, while he scrutinised Mollie’s face through half-closed lids. She beamed at him gaily in response, scorning mock-modest protestations.
“Oh yes; we understand each other ever so much better! I have been impressing upon him ever since our first meeting that I am really very nice, and at last he is beginning to realise it for himself. He likes me very much. He told me so with his very own lips; but he told me something else, too.”
“Yes! May we inquire—”
“Oh, certainly! It is quite as interesting to you as to me. Liking has nothing whatever to do with the mysterious condition; he may quite probably choose the one of us he cares for least, as his heir. ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ as Alice said; isn’t it?”
“Humph! There may be a chance for me, after all,” said Jack lightly.
Victor knitted his brows, and tugged once more at his moustache.
“He said so definitely—you are sure you are not mistaken? Then how can one possibly judge? That upsets all our theories at a blow.”
“That’s what I thought myself. I felt sure that it would be Ruth, but now I am all at sea; but, for my own part, I’m glad. It is easier to be good friends when there is nothing mercenary involved.”
Mollie smiled her sunny, candid smile, and lay back in her deck-chair, her hands clasped easily behind her head. It was delightful to laze in the sunshine, to feel at peace with all the world. The present was so all-absorbing that she had no time to worry her head about the future; but Ruth sat by her side, with unseeing eyes bent upon her book, while the swift thoughts surged through her brain.
She also had felt inwardly convinced that Uncle Bernard’s choice would fall upon herself, who was so truly a daughter of his race, and it had been a shock to learn that there was nothing to be deduced from his signs of preference; but of late days there was another problem which was becoming of even more vital interest than the heirship of the Court.
Even as she sat there, with averted head, she was acutely conscious of Victor’s presence. She seemed to know, without looking in his direction, the absorbed, contented expression of the dark face. She knew it so well by this time—knew it in an aspect which no one saw but herself; for when they were alone together, it was as if a mask fell away, and revealed the true man. Then he looked at her with open admiration, spoke unreservedly of himself, and drew her out to tell of her own life, and hopes, and ambitions. And there were even more thrilling moments, when the talk ceased, and they sat side by side, silent, yet absorbed, acutely conscious of each other’s presence; delightfully, inexplicably confused.
At such moments Ruth confessed to herself that this man, whose very existence she had been unaware of a few weeks before, was fast becoming to her the most important person in the world, and it seemed as certain that he reciprocated her feelings. At such moments, yes! but certainty died away into uneasy doubt, as upon the approach of a third person—even the insignificant Mrs Wolff herself—Victor fell back into his carefully conventional manner.
It was not that she expected or desired any demonstration in public. Ruth was by nature far too reserved to welcome such an exhibition; but the two attitudes were so widely divided, Victor’s care in keeping them apart so sedulous, that she could not but be perturbed. Ruth’s heart had never before been touched; but love needs no apprenticeship, and she felt by instinct that such self-control was unnatural. Surely, surely, if he really “cared,” there would be moments when his eyes would involuntarily meet hers, when his voice would soften in tone.
Then there was Lady Margot Blount! What was the real history of that acquaintanceship? Why did Victor affect to avoid her, while really meeting her in secret?
While Ruth sat dreaming, tea was brought out, and Mr Farrell came limping down the terrace to join the party. It was not often that he favoured them with his presence at the afternoon meal, but the day was so fine and sunny that it was really warmer out of doors than in the house, and as he sat he spread out his wrinkled hands, evidently enjoying the newly-found heat.
Ruth waited upon him with a pretty deference, while Mollie chattered on in her usual unabashed fashion. The old man appeared to pay no attention, but he evidently listened more closely than he cared to admit, for a casual mention of Margot Blount’s name evoked a quick glance and question—
“You all seem to speak of Lady Margot in a very familiar fashion; I have not the pleasure of her acquaintance, but from all I have heard I should not imagine she was inclined to make friendships lightly. You have met her—how often? Once or twice?”
He looked at Mollie as he spoke, but Mollie deliberately avoided his eyes, turning towards Victor in a marked manner, which left him no choice but to reply. It was a mischievous impulse to avenge herself and Ruth for his desertion of a few days before, and to discover the truth about that secret meeting of which Margot herself had spoken. Her face seemed solemnity itself to the casual observer, but as he looked at her Jack choked suddenly over his tea, and hitched his chair in an opposite direction. He would have laughed outright if he had looked one moment longer. As for Victor, his dark eyes shot out a spark of annoyance, just one; then he answered with smiling unconcern—
“Lady Margot and I are not quite strangers, sir; I met her in town a good deal last year. We have some friends in common. It was only renewing an acquaintance when we met again the other day.”
“Indeed—indeed!” Mr Farrell looked unusually interested and alert. “I am glad to hear that. The Blounts are some of the most important people in the neighbourhood. In the old days there was a strong friendship between the two families, which I should be pleased to see renewed. You were introduced to the old people when you called at the Moat, I presume?”
Here was a direct question which could not be avoided. Jack and Mollie turned towards Victor with glances of elaborately veiled curiosity. Ruth clattered the tea-cups together, carefully averting her eyes. Anxious as she was to hear the reply, she hated the knowledge that Victor was being placed in an awkward position,—hated the consciousness that the others were enjoying the embarrassment.
The pause lasted but a moment; then Victor spoke in his most casual tones—
“No; I have not seen them yet. I have run across Lady Margot once or twice in my morning rides, and had the opportunity of a talk with her, so I thought it better to defer a more formal call. Miss Farrell was kind enough to leave my card, but I did not wish to put myself too much en evidence!”
Mr Farrell frowned.
“You had better go soon, then—the sooner the better. As you know the niece, there is all the more reason for paying due respect to the uncle and aunt. You will no doubt receive an invitation after this exchange of visits, and it must be returned as soon as possible. I knew the girl’s father in his youth. He was a fine fellow. If she is like him, she must be worth knowing. She cannot be very young,—nearer thirty than twenty, I should say. It is a wonder that she is not married, or engaged. Is she engaged, do you happen to know?”
Again the others waited, leaving Victor to reply, and for the first time a faint flush showed itself on his cheek.
“I believe not. There was no talk of it last autumn. I have heard no rumours—”
“I am surprised at that. It is a poor family, and she will have little or no money; but the name and position ought to count for something. They would be almost more valuable than money to a young man beginning life.”
“I am thankful that I have no name or position! I should like my husband to value me for myself, not for what I possessed!” cried Mollie quickly.
It gave her an uncomfortable feeling, amounting almost to an augury of ill, to hear Uncle Bernard talking of Margot Blount with such unusual interest. The first definite wish which he had expressed was in connection with her name; his last remarks virtually sanctioned with his approval any aspirations which Victor might secretly treasure. Lady Margot Blount could hardly be expected to marry a struggling barrister; but if that barrister were the possible heir of the Court, his importance became at once largely increased.
Victor was unfailing in his efforts to please his host, and the result of this conversation would inevitably be a closer intimacy with the Blount family, which, even if it led to nothing more serious, would of a certainty cloud Ruth’s happiness. Mollie was by no means sure that she approved of Victor as a suitor for her beloved sister, but, with delightful inconsistency, she hated the idea of his daring to care for anyone else, and the thought lent an unwonted edge to her voice—
“It’s horrid to talk about marriage in that mercenary fashion, as if it were a pure business arrangement. When I hear such remarks, I’m thankful that I haven’t a penny piece in the world!”
“If that is your feeling, you would be in a most unfortunate position as the owner of the Court. It would be a pity to disturb your equanimity, my dear.”
Mr Farrell stretched out his thin hands on his knees, looking at her with quizzical eyes, whereupon Mollie forgot her anger, and gave one of her gay, infectious laughs, nodding her head towards him in mischievous, new-found familiarity.
“Ah, you had me there! But I might be like Queen Bess, you know, and prize my kingdom above any man; or, if one came along whom I really wanted to marry, I’d send him to slay dragons and carry off golden apples, to prove his devotion and disinterestedness. Don’t cut me off through any mistaken scruples, Uncle Bernard. I’d really make a delightful chatelaine, and I should enjoy it so! No one appreciates the real object of money more than I do!”
“And what is your idea of the ‘real value,’ if one may ask?”
“To spend, of course!” she answered audaciously. “It is the only thing to do, for if you keep it, it’s just a dull collection of coins. I love spending! Now, if I became a big heiress to-morrow, would you like to know what I should do?”
“Extremely; it would be most interesting!” said Mr Farrell.
“Yes, Miss Mollie, do tell us!” urged Victor.
Jack looked up with a puckered brow, half amused, half anxious, and Ruth murmured a gentle “Mollie dear!” Mollie was not to be deterred by encouragement or warning. She lay back in her chair, tapping off each item on her fingers as she spoke, her face one beam of mischievous enjoyment.
“I’d settle annuities on all my relations and friends. I’d buy the most exquisite presents, and send them round to everyone who had been kind to me in my poor estate. I’d give huge donations to governess’s Homes, and funds for poor gentlewomen, and send them flowers, and fruit, and game. I’d go to Liberty’s, and buy artistic furniture, and hire experts to superintend decorations, and, while the house was being put in order, I’d go a voyage round the world, and buy stacks of lovely things at every port, and see all the sights, and come home laden with spoils! Then I’d settle down, and,”—she chuckled complacently—“I would have a good time! I’d have every single thing I wanted, and never think of what it cost!”
“Until the bailiffs arrived; which would be surprisingly soon, I should imagine!” said Uncle Bernard drily. “You have not much idea of the responsibility of wealth, my dear. I prefer not to discuss the point, however. My own views, which are peculiar, are set forth in the Will which is lying in the desk in my room.”
The four young people looked up sharply. The same question was on the lips of each; but it was Victor’s eagerness which first found words—
“The Will?—Now! But surely—?”
Mr Farrell’s lips twisted into a grim smile, as if he had of deliberate purpose provoked their curiosity.
“You are surprised that I have already come to a conclusion. It is by no means unchangeable; but, in the extremely precarious condition of my health, I do not think it safe to delay matters indefinitely. This Will was drawn up last week, and is based upon my impressions up to the present time. If I live it is extremely likely that I may alter my mind once and again; but it should be a comfort to you all to feel that, at the worst, I am not unprepared.”
He looked from one to the other with the same faint, mocking smile, his gaze lingering on Ruth’s troubled face. Her eyes expressed a questioning so intense as to be almost wild; then slowly they fell before his, and a crimson tide rushed over her cheeks.