DO YOUR WORST.
“Daughter!” gasped Allison, a feeling of utter despair at her heart, as John Hubbard gave utterance, in a tone of fiendish triumph, to that last word. “Do you mean to tell me that papa has an own daughter living?”
“Yes—Miss Anna Brewster, who is a young lady a few years your senior. A fine-looking girl she is, too—a brilliant brunette, resembling her mother, who must also have been a handsome woman when she was young,” John Hubbard responded, as he covertly watched his companion.
Allison sat silently thinking for several moments, but at last she looked up at the man, meeting his eyes with a steadfast look.
“In spite of all you say, I do not believe it,” she said, with a quiet positiveness. “If that woman was his wife, there might have been some good reason for his repudiation of her; but he never would have denied the child that was his own flesh and blood. He was too honorable not to wish to do what was right and honest, and he would certainly have made generous provision for her. No, I will not credit such a story.”
“Suppose I should show you the certificate of his marriage to this woman, also some letters which he wrote to her before their marriage?” questioned her companion, a light of evil triumph in his eyes.
“If you have such proofs, of course you will show them to me,” Allison haughtily returned. “You cannot suppose that I am going to take all that you have told me for granted, and yield my position and fortune without a struggle. Produce your evidence, if you have it; it is my right to demand it.”
“Very well; I will produce it,” said the man, with an ugly frown upon his brow; and, slipping his hand inside the breast pocket of his coat, he drew forth a large envelope and a small package of time-yellowed letters that were tied together with a faded blue ribbon.
Drawing a paper from the envelope, he unfolded and spread it out upon the table before Allison.
It was a marriage-certificate, dated more than twenty-four years previous.
It certified that on the 10th of April, of 18—, Adam Brewster had been united in marriage to Louisa M. Simpson, of New Haven, Connecticut, by the Reverend Albert Ackerman.
The document was faded and creased with time, and it had every appearance of being a genuine certificate. Allison read it carefully, then pushed it one side, and held out her hand for the letters.
As she untied the narrow ribbon that bound them, and the various missives dropped apart, a low cry of pain escaped her, for she instantly recognized her father’s handwriting upon their envelopes.
Opening several of these, she saw that they were affectionately addressed to “My Dearest,” “Sweetheart,” “Ma Belle,” etc., and signed “Ever yours,” or “Your own Ad.”
There could not be the slightest doubt that those letters had been written by Adam Brewster, although Allison did not have the heart to read any of them, and gradually the conviction was forced upon her that the story which John Hubbard had told her must be true.
What then, was to be her fate?
Mrs. Brewster’s confession of her secret adoption had, at first, cut her to the heart, for it had seemed to alienate her from the dear ones whom, all her life, she had regarded as her parents; but, in the light of this later revelation, she now felt a thrill of thankfulness in knowing that she had not been their child, since such a birth would seem to entail disgrace upon her; and, like a drowning person clutching at a straw of hope, she now clung to that assurance contained in the young mother’s note that the child whom she had been forced to desert was “well and honorably born.”
And yet she knew that Adam Brewster had loved her as he loved no other being on earth; that all his hopes had been centered in her; that he had constantly toiled and accumulated for her alone, and gloried in the fact that she would be his sole heiress.
She could not understand why, if he really had an own child, he should have repudiated her; why he had not made handsome provision for her. Possibly he had done so, unknown to any one save this woman and her daughter; and they, now becoming greedy for more, were taking this way to get possession of the heritage willed to her.
“Yes,” she sighed, at last, as she gathered up and retied the letters together, “I am afraid it is all true.”
A sinister, avaricious light sprang into the eyes of her companion as she made this admission.
“Still,” she thoughtfully resumed, “I do not see how it can very materially affect my position. I was reared as my father’s own child; all the world knows it; and the will which he made, naming me as his heiress, must stand.”
“Mrs. Brewster and her daughter will contest that will,” briefly observed John Hubbard.
“How can they? Was it not legally drawn? If it was not, then you are responsible for its invalidity,” sharply retorted Allison.
“Certainly it was legally drawn; there is no flaw in it,” was the dignified response, although the man flushed guiltily as he recalled that Sunday morning which he had spent in the bank the previous winter. “But, according to certain laws, a man has no right to make a will ignoring any of his heirs, and if, either by oversight or design, he does so, the will can be broken. Consequently, Mrs. Brewster has informed me that she should bring a suit against her late husband’s estate, and demand recognition of her position and rights.”
“And, in view of that threat, have not you, as my guardian, done anything to protect my interests?” demanded Allison, with some warmth.
“Certainly, Miss Brewster; I have done a great deal. I have staved off proceedings, for one thing, hoping that we might compromise matters, and so settle everything quietly, without a trial and a scandal. This could have been done if—if my plans had worked,” said the crafty man, with a reproachful look and sigh. “But now I think Mrs. Brewster will press her claims. She will try to break the will, asserting that you have no right to anything, while she, being the legal wife, and her child, the only legitimate heir, are justly entitled to everything.”
“Oh, will poor, dear mama’s name have to be dragged before the public? Will this claimant try to prove that mama was never legally married to papa?” exclaimed Allison, in deep distress, her face crimsoning with shame at the thought of having that lovely and sainted woman’s reputation so trailed in the dust.
“Yes, I fear she does not intend to spare her rival, unless we can hit upon some plan of settling the matter quietly,” said the crafty villain.
“Can it be quietly settled?” eagerly questioned the distressed girl.
“Possibly it might be,” the man admitted, with averted eyes.
“How?”
“Well, I suppose if you would resign everything——”
“Everything! Do you tell me that I am expected to relinquish all right and title to everything that my dear father left me?” cried Allison, the hot color mounting to her forehead in indignant protest against such wholesale robbery.
“Ahem!” said John Hubbard, moving uneasily upon his chair. “I think that will be the only way to get out of it quietly. You see, you are not really entitled to a penny, since there is no Brewster blood in your veins.”
“But do not the love and wishes of my father, as expressed in his will, count for anything?”
“From a sentimental point of view, they might count for a great deal; but there is no sentiment in law, Miss Brewster,” sneered the attorney.
“No, nor any other principle but greed!” sharply retorted Allison, a ring of keen pain in her tones.
It seemed as if she was an entirely different being from what she had been two hours previous, as if some terrible metamorphosis had taken place in her, destroying her identity and making her a stranger to even herself.
She was no longer Allison Brewster, the heiress to a vast fortune; she had no longer any right to the position she had always occupied. She did not know who she was, or—if this strange woman, who called herself Adam Brewster’s widow, demanded the uttermost farthing—how she was to live in the future, or find a home to shelter her.
“Oh, it is all a cruel mystery, and I do not know how to meet it!” the perplexed girl sighed, almost unconsciously voicing her thoughts.
“Yes, the events connected with your association with the Brewster family are mysterious, and it is doubtful if they will ever be solved,” responded her companion, a gleam of cruel satisfaction in his eyes in view of the evident suffering of his victim. “And,” he added, pressing the thorn yet more deeply into the wound, “it must seem hard to one reared as luxuriously as you have been to be reduced from affluence to abject poverty by a single blow.”
His cruelty stung her to the quick.
“It shall not be! I will not be so robbed!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I will claim that I have a right to at least some portion of the fortune which my father willed me. Surely no judge or jury would ever decree that that woman and her daughter are entitled to the whole. And I cannot quite understand your attitude in connection with their claims, Mr. Hubbard,” she added, with sudden thought. “Considering your position as my guardian, one would naturally suppose you would make a brave fight for me, rather than advocate their cause so earnestly.”
“I have already fought to the finish for you. I have spared no effort to win,” the man retorted significantly: “but, as I have already told you, you have sealed your own doom. I could have braved everything for my wife, and I would have won the victory; but when a girl tells a man that she loves a fellow he hates, and that she would rather be a beggar or a street-sweeper than marry him, her scorn has a tendency to produce a strong revulsion in his feelings. And now, my proud little beggar—for such you will be—you may go and starve, for all I care!” he concluded, with intense bitterness.
“I will not starve! I will defy you to the very end,” Allison cried spiritedly, as she again sprang to her feet and confronted her sworn foe with flashing eyes. “Oh, I am almost inclined to believe that this is some deep-laid plot to ruin me—some vile scheme of your own to drive me into a hateful marriage with you, or into poverty and obscurity as my only alternative. I have never trusted you, Mr. John Hubbard, and have wondered how papa could have put faith in you. I have long believed you to be tricky and capable of double-dealing. I have always felt that you had a hand in bringing that trouble upon Gerald. But truth and the right triumphed in his case, and you will be foiled in this. I am only a lonely girl. I know nothing about the quirks and quibbles of law; but I am inclined to doubt this story of yours regarding the woman whom you call Mrs. Brewster, in spite of the ‘proofs’ which you have shown me; and now I am going to prove to you that, even though I may have no Brewster blood in my veins, I have a spirit of which Adam Brewster need not be ashamed in the girl whom he reared as his daughter. Now, do your worst, Mr. Hubbard, and I will seek the best counsel in New York to fight against you!”
She was gloriously beautiful as she stood proudly facing her enemy. Her pose was proud and fearless, her cheeks were scarlet, and her beautiful eyes blazed with a fire which bespoke dauntless courage.
She seemed to have suddenly developed from a quiet, clinging, dependent schoolgirl into a strong, self-reliant woman, who was determined to do and dare all things to maintain her rights and preserve her heritage.
John Hubbard gazed upon her wonderingly.
He had not dreamed of arousing such a sleeping lioness; he had believed that she would be so overwhelmed by the proofs and the power which he held in his hands that she would tamely submit to the inevitable, and relinquish all right or title to the Brewster estate, whereupon he would come without an effort into possession of her fortune, which he had so long coveted.
“And whom will you choose as your attorney to contest this case, Miss Brewster?” he inquired, in a harsh, rasping voice, after recovering a little from his surprise at the stand she had taken.
“I do not know yet, and I should not tell you if I did,” she coldly responded. Then she added thoughtlessly: “Gerald will advise me. Perhaps Mr. Lyttleton——”
A vicious, sibilant oath here interrupted her as she uttered these names.
“Neither is in New York. They sailed again for Europe a week ago to-day,” John Hubbard added, in a tone of vindictive triumph.
Allison started violently, then flushed a wounded crimson. This explained why she had not heard from Gerald, she thought. Doubtless his employer had been suddenly recalled to England upon some business connected with “the complicated case” that he was conducting there.
And yet she felt, with a terrible sense of loss and pain, that Gerald might at least have found time to drop her a line, telling her of his unexpected flitting. It was very strange, and she was deeply wounded, but she did not once suspect foul play—that John Hubbard might have been tampering with her correspondence.
Such was the case, however. No letter of hers had been allowed to reach Gerald; while, at that very moment, two tender epistles from her lover, one of them telling her that he and his employer had been summoned abroad again, and giving her his London address, were tucked snugly away in the villain’s wallet.
“Very well,” she proudly returned, on recovering herself a little; “there are other talented lawyers. I shall find some one to help me.”
“But where will you get the money necessary to conduct your case, Miss Brewster?” sneeringly demanded Mr. Hubbard. “Litigation is expensive business, and, in view of your present attitude, I shall feel it my duty to cut off your allowance from this time on.”
Allison’s heart sank within her, for she saw that she was powerless in his hands; he had control of her property, and she could not compel him to give her a single dollar if he chose to withhold it.
“Well, at least I have my mother’s jewels. I can pledge them as security for my counsel’s fee,” she wearily replied.
“I beg leave to differ with you, my dear young lady,” was the sarcastic retort. “Those jewels, as you are aware, are in my safe; and since it has been proved that you are not Adam Brewster’s daughter, they will be regarded as belonging to his estate, and so retained for the true heirs, as the court shall decide.”
“Mr. Hubbard, you know that they rightly belong to me,” Allison indignantly exclaimed. “You know that papa intended them for me. He told Mr. Winchester so when he sent him to get them, and I demand them from you.”
“Excuse me, but I shall be obliged to ignore your demand,” returned the man, with a cruel smile. “Having been purchased with Mr. Brewster’s money, they henceforth properly belong to Mr. Brewster’s own daughter, and they will probably become the property of Miss Anna Brewster.”
Allison stood silently and gravely regarding him for a moment.
“Have you no heart?” she at length inquired. “Have you no principle, that you thus prove recreant to the trust my father reposed in you?”
“I was appointed guardian to Mr. Brewster’s daughter, and I fully intend to see that the lady has her rights,” John Hubbard replied.
“You know that you are not in the least carrying out the spirit of my father’s will,” said Allison solemnly. “You, as well as I, know that he would never have left his property as he did if he had supposed there was any one living who would contest his wishes. You are guilty of a great wrong.”
“Miss Brewster, I am fulfilling the ‘letter of the law’. Ah, Allison, you should never have made an enemy of me,” the villain concluded mockingly.
“Oh!” cried Allison passionately, and with a shiver of repugnance; “I believe I would rather have your enmity than your friendship, if it would free me forever from your hateful presence! From this moment I repudiate you utterly, and all your authority over me. Now, do your worst; but I warn you I will make a hot battle for you!”
John Hubbard felt a strange heart-sinking as he looked upon the beautiful girl, read the scorn in her great blue eyes, and realized how utterly despicable he was in her sight.
Then he laughed out mockingly.
“I am afraid you have undertaken more than you realize, Allison,” he said, all his ghastly teeth gleaming at her from the shadow of his inky mustache; “for let me tell you another precious little secret.” And now he bent so that his own evil eyes came just on a level with hers. “You have scornfully rejected the hand and fortune which I offered you, but Miss Anna Brewster stands ready to become Mrs. John Hubbard any day I choose to name for the wedding. So, you perceive, you will have the united interests of Hubbard and Brewster against you; and do you think I will let such a fortune slip out of my hands?”