COLONEL REDGRAVE’S LEGACY.
IN FOUR CHAPTERS.—CONCLUSION.
We must ask the reader to accompany us to Bury Street, St James’s, and learn how Miss Jones has borne the calamity of her lodger’s good fortune; for calamity Martha considered the munificent legacy of Colonel Redgrave, so far as her own matrimonial prospects were concerned. If these prospects were dubious prior to his death, they were now nearly hopeless. This was a fact the housekeeper was unable to conceal from herself, in spite of her efforts to take a sanguine view of affairs. The letters of Septimus were more business-like than ever; and Miss Jones agreed with her mother that if Septimus chose to contract a matrimonial alliance, they would be powerless to interpose the smallest obstacle to prevent it. About this time, Mr Bradbury, the second occupant of apartments in Bury Street, returned from Monaco, where he had been spending his annual vacation. Mr Bradbury was a lawyer and a bachelor, and about sixty-five years of age. He was in no respect a favourite with Miss Jones, who in the course of a long residence had learned some of the faults and failings of her legal tenant. The most important of these was a love of gambling. At times, the mental depression of the lawyer was so excessive, that Martha entertained fears that he would be guilty of some rash act which would render notorious the hitherto quiet house in Bury Street. But a sudden turn in Fortune’s wheel would disperse the mental clouds of the gambler, and he would resume his usual cheerful manner and speech. On the evening of his arrival from Monaco, he dined in a more than usual recherché manner, and when the dessert had been placed on the table, he requested the presence of Miss Jones for a brief space, to discuss a very important matter of business. Mr Bradbury was a thin, spare man, with keen restless gray eyes, which took in the surroundings at a glance. He sat in his luxurious armchair, with his feet crossed on a footstool, and as he held up a glass of ’47 port to the light of the chandelier, he looked the picture of comfort and happy enjoyment. Yet was the mind of that man racked with consuming cares, for he had had a bad time of it at Monaco, and he had not only lost his own cash, but a considerable sum belonging to other people, in the shape of trust moneys, &c. He requested Miss Jones to be seated, also to take a glass of wine. Miss Jones complied with the first request, but declined the second.
‘I have only learned the death of Colonel Redgrave at Shanklin since my return to London. I must have accidentally omitted at Monaco reading that portion of the Times which contained the announcement. On a memorable occasion I transacted some legal business for him. My fellow-lodger Mr Redgrave appears to have tumbled into a good thing in the shape of a very handsome legacy.’ Mr Bradbury paused a moment; but Miss Jones made no response, but sat with her large black eyes fixed on the twitching features of the lawyer, who was now evidently under the influence of strong excitement. ‘I have not lived all these years under your comfortable roof, Miss Jones, without becoming acquainted with the special relations which exist between Mr Redgrave and yourself.’ Again the lawyer paused, in expectation of Miss Jones making some reply. ‘I mean that I have ever considered Miss Jones as the certain and future Mrs Redgrave.’
‘You can hardly expect me, Mr Bradbury, to answer such a statement,’ replied Martha in a somewhat severe tone.
‘I cannot. But it is necessary that I should assume such to be the case. You do not deny it? Now, I can put twenty thousand pounds into the scale which contains your right to become Mrs Redgrave, and I can deprive him of that amount, if he declines to make you his wife. I do not wish to speak against your future husband, but he is selfish and avaricious, and I think he will succumb to the temptation I have it in my power to lay before him. A short time before I started for Monaco, Colonel Redgrave called on me at my office. I had known him many years ago in India. He desired me to draw up a will, in which he revoked the bequest to Mr Septimus Redgrave in toto. He had not been prepossessed with his cousin latterly; in fact, he had conceived the most intense dislike for him. He preferred that I should execute the will, instead of employing Mr Lockwood, the son of the late family lawyer, for what reason I know not.’ Mr Bradbury rose from his chair, and unlocking a small cabinet, produced a folded parchment suitably indorsed. ‘Here is the veritable last will and testament of the late Colonel Redgrave, in which the date and purport of the previous will are specially mentioned, duly signed and properly witnessed, I need scarcely say. If I were to put it in yonder fire, nothing could disturb Mr Redgrave in the enjoyment of his legacy. Now, I am going to place implicit confidence in your honour, Miss Jones. I shall require ten per cent., or two thousand pounds. You shall require the hand in marriage of Mr Septimus Redgrave. Should he refuse these terms, this will shall be enforced, and Mr Redgrave loses twenty thousand pounds, and a lady who, I am convinced, would make him an excellent wife. You will naturally say: “Why should Mr Bradbury run the risk of penal servitude for such a sum as two thousand pounds?” In reply, I deny that I run any risk, and that sum of money will stave off heavier consequences than I care to name.’
It would be difficult to describe the whirlwind of mental emotion which agitated the bosom of Martha as she listened to the harangue of the lawyer. On the one hand she saw the possibility of realising her life-long ambition, of becoming the wife of a man with an income of nearly two thousand a year, not to speak of the social position attending it. Martha remembered reading a novel by one of the most popular authors of our time, wherein the heroine committed a far more heinous offence with respect to a will than its mere suppression, and yet the delinquent preserved not only the love and esteem of all the characters of the tale, but even the good opinion of the readers thereof.
The lawyer watched the flushed cheek of his listener with feelings of hope, and plied poor Martha with such specious arguments as to the nullity of risk and the immense gain to be derived from the prosecution of his plan, that she at length consented to proceed to Shanklin by an early train on the following morning and seek a private interview with Mr Redgrave. As she rose to depart, Martha inquired of the lawyer the name of the fortunate recipient of the legacy. ‘Miss Blanche Fraser,’ was the reply.
Mr Redgrave was considerably astonished on the morning following the interview we have described when Miss Jones was announced. He pulled out his watch, and finding it wanted an hour to luncheon, decided to see her at once. He found Martha in the library. She was pale and excited. ‘Well, Martha, I hope nothing is the matter? All well in Bury Street?’
‘Yes, Mr Redgrave. I wish to speak to you in private.’
‘Well, speak away, Martha,’ retorted Septimus, somewhat testily.
‘Pardon me; walls have ears. Can we not go into the grounds?’
Septimus paused a moment, surprised at the request, but presently assented. He led the way through the hall, and finally stopped in a small orchard adjoining the garden. ‘Now, Martha, you can speak with as much security as if you were in the middle of Salisbury Plain.’
‘I am the bearer of ill news.’
Septimus turned pale as he beheld the unaccustomed expression of the features of the speaker.
‘But it is in my power to ward off the blow, or, I should say, in your power. I will come to the point at once. The late Colonel Redgrave employed Mr Bradbury to make a subsequent will, in which he annulled the will by which you inherit your legacy.’
Septimus felt his knees tremble beneath him, his teeth chattered, and he staggered towards a garden-seat which was close at hand.
Martha beheld with satisfaction the effect of the communication upon her auditor.
He gasped forth: ‘And who is the legatee?’
‘Miss Blanche Fraser.’
‘Gracious powers! The lady to whom I proposed!’ These words were not lost on Martha. They gave her increased determination to proceed with her dangerous mission.
‘You can still retain the fortune, if you will perform an act of tardy justice.’
‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Septimus, with a lurking suspicion of the nature of the act required.
‘Listen patiently for a few moments. For twenty-five years you have been a resident under my mother’s roof; during fifteen years of that time you have treated me as something more than a housekeeper; you have treated me as a friend. In return, I have been to you as a sister. I have watched over your comforts in health, have nursed you in sickness, and wasted all my young days in waiting for the moment when you would reward my life-long devotion by making me your wife.’
‘My wife!’ retorted Septimus angrily. ‘Ridiculous!’
‘Unless you do so,’ pursued Martha, ‘the second will will be put in force.’
‘And how do you propose to set aside that will, if you become my wife?’ exclaimed Septimus.
‘By simply putting it into the fire,’ replied Martha in a calm decided tone.
Now, it was almost instantaneously apparent to Martha that both she and Mr Bradbury had displayed a deplorable lack of judgment, when they unanimously came to the conclusion that Septimus Redgrave would eagerly seize the bait held out to him by the destruction of the second will. Selfish and avaricious he might be, but not sufficiently so to induce him to stain his conscience with the commission of so great a crime as that suggested to him by a man in dire extremity, and a woman who hoped to realise her life-long ambition by one grand coup.
‘You cannot mean what you say, Miss Jones, at least I hope not,’ exclaimed Septimus in a severe tone. ‘You have been led into this by that man Bradbury, whom I have always considered a great scoundrel.’
‘You refuse my offer then?’ said Martha in a voice pregnant with despair.
‘I will not condescend to answer you,’ said Septimus. ‘You had better return at once to London. I cannot offer you any hospitality. In the first place, my sisters have a strong prejudice against you, which I must say is not without warrant; and in the second place, I am engaged to be married to the mother of the fortunate legatee. So, if I do not become the possessor of the wealth of the late Colonel Redgrave, my wife’s daughter will inherit; so the money will still be in the family.—Good-morning.’
Septimus bowed, and would have left the unhappy Martha without further speech; but the housekeeper caught him by the arm, as she cried in hoarse accents: ‘At least you will promise never to mention to any human being the scheme I proposed for your benefit?’
‘I promise,’ curtly replied Septimus, and left the orchard without more ado, the wretched Martha gazing after his retreating figure with features on which despair in its acutest phase was deeply written.
We have but little to add respecting the personages who have figured in our tale. Mrs Fraser was, as the reader will readily imagine, inexpressibly mortified at so suddenly losing the legacy bequeathed by the late Colonel Redgrave. But if anything could soften the blow, it was the fact that the fortunate recipient was her only child, her dear Blanche, who was shortly afterwards married to Mr Frank Lockwood. On the same day Mrs Fraser changed her name for that of Redgrave.
Septimus never entered the house in Bury Street again, employing an agent for the removal of his household gods and the numerous curios he had accumulated during his long residence as the tenant of Mrs Jones.
Immediately after the failure of his nefarious plot, Mr Bradbury posted the second will to Miss Blanche Fraser, and immediately thereafter disappeared from Bury Street and Lincoln’s Inn. Several unfortunate individuals suffered severely in consequence, as it was found that large sums intrusted to him by confiding clients had disappeared, ‘leaving not a wrack behind.’
Mr Lockwood is now one of the most rising solicitors in London; his undeniable abilities, by a singular coincidence, being universally recognised immediately after the inheritance by his wife of Colonel Redgrave’s legacy.