AN APPALLING SECRET.
Allison regarded her companion in silent astonishment for a full minute after his astounding communication.
“I do not understand you,” she said, at last, and she looked as if she had not in the least comprehended his statement.
“I have told you that you are not the daughter of Adam Brewster,” John Hubbard stolidly reasserted.
An incredulous expression swept over the girl’s beautiful face.
“That is an assertion too absurd to be heeded,” she said, and turning again, as if to leave the room.
The man placed himself in her path, thus intercepting her.
“I have told you only the truth,” he said, with cold deliberateness. “There is not one drop of Adam Brewster’s blood in your veins; you are of no kin to either him or the late Mrs. Brewster—so called.”
“Who—am—I—then?” came slowly from Allison’s white lips, for at last the arrow had struck home, although she did not appear to have heeded the last two ambiguous words which the man had uttered.
“I do not know; no one knows,” he answered, with cruel indifference.
“I do not believe it—I will not believe it! You will have to prove it!” the girl cried, tremulously.
“I can prove it.”
“Then I demand proof, here and now—this instant!” with an imperative stamp of her foot.
John Hubbard left the room without a word. In less than three minutes he returned, carrying in his hands one of the boxes which had been found in Gerald’s possession on that fatal Sunday morning of the previous winter.
He set it upon a table, placed a chair before it, and motioned for Allison to be seated.
“In that box you will find the proof of what I have told you,” he said; then added, as if impelled by a twinge of remorse: “I would have saved you this, Allison, had you been reasonable.”
“Reasonableness! Do you call it unreasonable for a girl to refuse to be coerced into an uncongenial marriage?” she cried, passionately, her face flaming scarlet, although she was trembling from head to foot with mingled suspense and apprehension.
“Where is the key to this?” she demanded, sinking into the chair before the table and without giving the man a chance to reply.
He took a ring of keys from his pocket, detached one from it, and passed it to her without speaking.
Allison could not have been whiter if she had been carved from marble as she inserted the tiny bit of brass in the lock, turned it, and threw open the cover of the mysterious box.
A low, inarticulate cry broke from her as she caught sight of the infant’s clothing within, and instantly surmised the truth; yet, even in her amazement and horror over the terrible revelation, she noted how exquisitely fine was the material from which the garments had been made—how rich the various trimmings—how pure the tiny diamond that gleamed in the small golden key that was pinned upon the yoke of the little dress.
She removed the articles one by one, laying them upon the table, until she emptied the box of all its contents save that brief note, written by the unknown mother, and Mrs. Brewster’s confession to her husband.
Allison unfolded the letter first, and read it through to the end without making a sign of the suffering that nearly cleft her heart in twain, as she realized how, in an instant of time, as it were, she had been cut adrift from every human tie that had bound her to her supposed parents.
Then she perused the other, studying every line and dot of the few brief words which had doubtless been penned by the hand of her own mother.
“Well,” she said, at last, in a hollow voice, “is this the extent of your revelations upon this subject?”
“Is it not sufficient to prove that you are not Adam Brewster’s child?” the man questioned.
“Yes,” said Allison, chocking back a sob; “there can be no doubt that I was only an adopted child——”
“You were not even adopted,” John Hubbard interposed. “There was no one living who knew the secret when Adam Brewster discovered it, and he was far too shrewd a man to betray it by taking out papers of adoption at that late day, and thus run the risk of having the world learn the truth. Why he should have spoiled everything by retaining these proofs is more than I can understand. If he had burned them immediately after reading Mrs. Brewster’s confession no one would ever have known that you were not his child.”
“How came you to have this box?” Allison questioned, after a thoughtful silence.
“Why, having been Mr. Brewster’s attorney and your guardian, it became my duty to examine everything connected with his affairs, and this——”
“Aha!” exclaimed Allison, with a start. “I believe this was one of the two boxes which my father sent Gerald to get that Sunday when you found him in the bank vault. I understand, now, why he did this,” she went on, breathlessly. “He knew that he could trust Gerald implicitly, never to speak of his errand to any one—never to mention the existence of anything which he wished to conceal, and he intended, without doubt, to destroy the contents of this box, and so blot out of existence every vestige of this secret.”
“Well, yes, I should say that you have analyzed the situation very accurately,” her companion observed, as she paused, although he had given an impatient shrug at her tribute to Gerald.
“Then if you knew—if you realized this, you have been false to your trust,” Allison indignantly continued. “You have not carried out my father’s wishes. Why could you not have respected them? Why have you revealed this secret to me?”
“I have my reasons,” the man sullenly returned.
“Well,” said the girl, tremulously, “if you have done this simply to be revenged upon me because I rejected your proposal of marriage, you have at least succeeded in giving me a terrible shock; you have, in a sense, robbed me of my birthright; but you can never rob me of the knowledge that Mr. and Mrs. Brewster both loved and cherished me with all the tenderness which an own father and mother could experience for their child. He certainly proved this by every act of his life, and by making me the sole heir to his wealth. The one thing I cannot understand is his making you my guardian and investing you with so much power over me. I rebelled against it at the outset; I am more than ever unreconciled to it to-day, and I will submit to it no longer. I know that I have the right to appeal for a change of guardian, and I intend to avail myself of it,” she concluded, with considerable warmth.
“Please allow me to remind you of what I have already stated—that I am about to resign the honor which Mr. Brewster conferred upon me,” John Hubbard returned, in a tone, and with a look so sinister that Allison felt her flesh creep.
“I am very glad,” she replied, coldly. “It will at least save me considerable trouble and worry.”
“Thank you,” he stiffly rejoined; “but possibly you may not feel quite so elated when I tell you that the revelation which I have just made was but to prepare you for another of a far more serious nature.”
“More trouble! Oh, I can bear no more!” moaned Allison to herself, although she made no visible sign, except to grasp the arms of her chair convulsively and try to brace herself for what was to come.
She began to feel spent from the excitement which she had already undergone, and it seemed as if she could not endure another blow like that which had just fallen upon her.
“Yes, I am afraid there is more trouble for you,” said John Hubbard, with a smile of cruel triumph over her suffering.
Now that he was convinced that he could never win her, he was prepared to ruthlessly crush her, with all possible despatch, and his plans had long been matured to this end.
“But,” he returned, after a slight pause, “I want you to understand that you have brought judgment upon your own head. I would have been glad to shield you from every pang. You need never have learned this secret, or have been shorn of a single luxury. As it is, however, it becomes my duty to tell you that you are no longer the heiress you have supposed yourself to be. The rich Miss Brewster, the belle, the beauty, will be dethroned—hurled from her high position in the world into poverty and obscurity by one blow from the ax of fate.”
The seeming absurdity of such a statement acted like an electric shock to Allison.
“What do you mean?” she demanded, whirling haughtily around upon the speaker. “I may not be Adam Brewster’s own child—that is a fact which I am forced to admit; but that it deprives me of the fortune which he left me, by will, or of the position in society to which he reared me, I do not admit. Your authority as my guardian is not powerful enough for that, and you know, as well as I, that my father spent his life accumulating his money with the hope and the intention that I should inherit it.”
“Your conclusions are well drawn, Miss Brewster, and I should not presume, upon my own authority, to controvert them,” John Hubbard returned, with an air of mock humility and a deprecatory glance; “but, unfortunately, a power more potent than any which I possess is at work against your interests.”
“I do not understand you,” said Allison, coldly, but with a sinking heart, for the man’s manner was very ominous.
“Well, then, to bring the matter before you in a nutshell, a woman calling herself Mrs. Adam Brewster has recently presented herself, claiming to be the legal wife of your late father, so called, and certain property rights. In fact, she proposes to dispute Mr. Brewster’s will and your right of inheritance.”
“It is false! I do not believe it!” cried Allison, starting wildly to her feet. “Who is this woman? Where is she? I pronounce her an impostor!”
“Pray do not allow yourself to become excited, Miss Brewster,” said her companion, with formal politeness. “I foresaw, of course, that this would be a great trial to you, and I hoped that the matter might be compromised quietly—to save scandal and your feelings, you understand. It could have been so arranged if—if you had consented to become my wife. You would then have retained your proper position in life, and the loss of a part of your fortune need never have been known. I would have paid Mrs. Brewster what she demands, and the whole affair could have been hushed up, since she cares more for money than for the notoriety of becoming known as the late banker’s wife.”
“I do not believe one word of it! She is an impostor!” Allison reiterated. “My father never made a second marriage. He loved my mother far too well ever to put another in her place.”
“Ah, pardon me, Miss Brewster, but I fear that I have not even yet made myself quite plain,” returned the villain, his white teeth gleaming viciously under his mustache. “Mrs. Brewster does not claim that she is the second wife; she asserts that she is the first—the only wife——”
“What!” almost shrieked Allison, as she sank back, pale and breathless, upon her chair. “What is this that you dare tell me? Oh, you do not know what you are saying! You are making my lovely precious mother no wife at all!”
“Exactly; that is just what the aspirant for the Brewster fortune claims,” began the wily expert.
“It is not true! There is not a word of truth in the dreadful story!” interposed the unhappy girl, in heart-broken tones, a shudder of repugnance shaking her from head to foot.
“No doubt it seems hard, and there are a good many hard things in the world. I have found it so in my own experience,” her companion replied, with significant emphasis; “but, unfortunately for you, the lady brings proofs which appear incontestible.”
“I will not listen to them! I will have them refuted! I will engage the best counsel in New York, and leave no stone unturned to defend the reputation of my dear father and mother,” Allison wildly declared.
Her companion looked somewhat disconcerted in view of her threat; but, after a moment, leaned toward her and said, in low, stern, rapid tones:
“All vehement denial and denunciation can do your cause no good. I have seen this woman who claims to be Mrs. Brewster. I have seen and read letters and documents which prove her statement that she was married to Adam Brewster some three years prior to his marriage to the lady whom you called mother. She says they only lived together a very short time; a violent quarrel and the discovery that they were not congenial resulted in a separation, she going to a distant city in the West to reside, and where, out of motives of revenge, she caused a notice of her death to be inserted in a newspaper and sent to her husband. A few years afterward she saw an announcement of Mr. Brewster’s marriage to a Miss Porter, of Massachusetts.”
“Horrible! But if all this is true, why did she not make her claim upon him at that time? Why wait all these years before claiming her rights?” Allison demanded, as Mr. Hubbard paused.
“That is easily explained,” he returned. “Mr. Brewster took his bride immediately abroad. She did not know when he returned, and could learn nothing regarding him until after the death of the second Mrs. Brewster. She says that later she did seek him, and demanded recognition as his wife. Of course, it was a terrible blow to him to learn how she had deceived him, but he would have nothing to say to her; he repudiated her utterly. The only thing he would agree to was to pay her a certain amount annually, as hush money, for she threatened to expose the facts of the case unless he would make some arrangement with her.”
“I do not believe it,” Allison again stoutly affirmed. “It was not like my father to pay ‘hush money’ to any one. He was always open and aboveboard in all his dealings; besides, he never appeared to have any trouble or burden upon his mind, as he must have had if he had stood in constant fear of a public scandal.”
“All the same, Miss Brewster, your father was married—it was a secret marriage, too—three years previous to his union with Miss Porter. It occurred during the last year of his college course in New Haven. Mrs. Brewster can produce prima facie evidence of the fact in the form of old letters and a certificate, and I have also seen the record of the marriage license in the city archives.”
“Why, then, did not this woman come forward at the time of papa’s death, and contest his will? Why has she waited all these months?” questioned Allison, with white, quivering lips.
“Simply because I have not allowed her to do so; because I have been striving to protect your interests—trying to temporize with her,” said Mr. Hubbard, with a would-be effective sigh. “She would have been content with half, and I could then have saved the other half for you, if you had been reasonable and listened to my suit. I could thus have protected you from every ill; indeed, I never would have wounded you by allowing you to suspect anything of what has been revealed to you to-day. You perceive what you have brought upon yourself by defying me.”
Allison lifted a death-white face to the speaker, but there was a gleam in her eyes that made him quail before her.
“Mr. John Hubbard, I would rather be a beggar in the streets—I would rather be a street sweeper, earning a penny at a time, than be the wife of such a man as you,” she said with deliberate scorn. “You are cold, cruel, unprincipled, or you would never have conducted yourself as you have to-day; you would never have sought to be revenged upon one who was helplessly consigned to your power because, not loving you, she refused to marry you.”
“Very well. You have sealed your own doom. Henceforth I shall act in the interests of Mr. Brewster’s legal wife and daughter.”