Not having money to free himself, the only thing he could do was to disappear. He decided to find another lodging while Mary and Claire should remain quietly where they were, so as to trick the enemy. Thus, for the first time, the lovers had to separate, a separation which seemed terrible to both. They were forced to make appointments in out-of-the-way taverns, to take a few stealthy kisses, and to part immediately, lest Mary might be followed. On Sundays, when arrests are illegal, they remained together till midnight.
One evening the courage to separate failed them, and Mary followed Shelley into a miserable hotel. The landlord looked with a suspicious eye on this couple who had no luggage, and refused to serve them with a meal unless they paid him in advance. Shelley sent round to Peacock, and while waiting for the money took out the pocket Shakespeare he always carried, and read aloud to Mary Troilus and Cressida. It made them forget their hunger a whole day through. Next morning at breakfast-time Peacock, penniless himself, sent them some cakes. If life was difficult there was joy in suffering together. Love and misfortune made a happy pair.
When they were apart, waiting for night-time, they sent each other by a confidential messenger, tender little notes, scribbled in haste.
“Oh! my dearest love,” wrote Shelley, “why are our pleasures so short and so interrupted? How long is this to last? . . . Meet me to-morrow at three o’clock in St. Paul’s if you do not hear before. Adieu: remember love at vespers before sleep. I do not omit my prayers.”
“Good night, my love,” replied Mary, “to-morrow I will seal this blessing on your lips. Dear good creature, press me to you, and hug your own Mary to your heart. Perhaps she will one day have a father: till then be everything to me, love, and indeed I will be a good girl and never vex you. I will learn Greek and—but when shall we meet when I may tell you all this, and you will so sweetly reward me?”
In January, 1815, this trying existence was brought to an end by an event they had long expected without desiring it, but which they also accepted without any hypocritical regret. Old Sir Bysshe died at the age of eighty-three. Timothy Shelley became second baronet, and Percy the direct heir.
He set out for his father’s house, accompanied by Claire, who was in a state of great excitement and eager curiosity. Sir Timothy, puffed up with his new title, and more indignant than ever that a baronet should have such a son, refused him admission to Field Place by the footman. He sat down on the doorstep and read Comus from Mary’s pocket-copy of Milton.
Presently the doctor came out to tell him his father was greatly incensed with him. Then, his cousin, Shelley Sidney, stealthily appeared to give the Prodigal Grandson details of the Will.
A most extraordinary Will. The fixed idea of old Sir Bysshe had been to found an enormous hereditary fortune, and for that purpose to increase the entailed estates as much as possible. He left in real and personal property, possessions which probably did not fall short of £200,000. One portion of this, valued at £80,000, formed the estate entail which must necessarily pass to Percy on his father’s death. But Sir Bysshe desired that this accumulation of his long life should be kept together by his descendants, and should pass from eldest son to eldest son through future generations of Shelleys. For this purpose, the consent and signature of his grandson were necessary, and he had hoped to obtain them in the following manner. If Percy would concur in prolonging the entail, and further, would agree to entail the unsettled estates, he should, after his father’s death, enjoy the usufruct of the entire fortune. If he should refuse, then he would only inherit, always after the death of Sir Timothy, the £80,000 of which it was impossible to deprive him.
Shelley went back to London musing over this strange news, and called on his solicitor to discuss it with him. He did not feel he could consent to the extension of the entail, since he disapproved of all such plutocratic legislation: nor did he desire, either for himself or his children, the ownership of so huge a fortune. What he wanted was an immediate income sufficient to live on, according to his inclinations, and a certain sum down, so as to settle his debts. To secure these moneys, he proposed, through his lawyer, to sell to his father the reversion of the settled estates. The proposal pleased Sir Timothy who had abandoned all hope of ever bringing Percy to heel, and who now thought only of his second son, John. Unfortunately the lawyers were not sure that the arrangement was legally possible under the terms of the Will. These only authorized the re-sale by Percy to his father of the estate of a grand-uncle, valued at £18,000. This transaction took place and Shelley received in exchange an income of one thousand pounds a year during the joint lives of Sir Timothy and himself, and in addition three thousand pounds were advanced by Sir Timothy towards the payment of his son’s debts. If this was not a big fortune, it was at least the end of straitened means, of furnished lodgings, and of duns.