In the silence that ensued, the solicitor began to read; the various Palmers listened critically, John Cooper and Joshua Howarth, with their two sons, with deep anxiety. They listened to the statement of various legacies to old servants, and more considerable ones to Cooper and Howarth, and then to the startling fact that Godfrey Waynflete was to be heir of Waynflete Hall and all the land belonging to it, and of certain sums of money invested in various railways and securities. The management of the business was entirely in the hands of the two brothers, and Ingleby Mill House was also left for the use of both or either as should be convenient, neither being able to let or sell it without the consent of the other. It was soon evident to the intelligent audience that besides the money spent on Waynflete, and invested in the business, the fortune realised was unexpectedly small, and the long-standing family suspicion of Thomas Palmer’s wisdom in leaving everything in the hands of his wife gained in strength.
Godfrey heard nothing after the little murmur of surprise that greeted his name. His ears and face burned and tingled with the sense of shame and wrongful dealing.
Guy sat looking at the table. He knew, of course, exactly what was coming, but the sound could not be other than bitter. He knew that his character was gone in the eyes of these shrewd, suspicious men of business. He set his mouth hard, and his eyes fell on the old-fashioned stand of small cut-glass spirit-decanters that stood in front of him. He stretched out his hand and poured out a wine-glassful of whisky. He forgot the will, and ceased to hear the solicitor as he drew it towards him, till Mr Manton, in the long dry catalogue of farms and fields, read: “the land going by the name of Upper Flete, lying between the river and the township of Kirk Hinton—” Guy moved his hand, and knocked the full glass over, then pushed his chair back from the table, and sat absolutely still till the reading was over.
“Well, Mr Guy,” said Mr Matthew, the oldest and most important of the Palmers, “your great-aunt was a very shrewd woman of business, for a woman, so to speak, and you don’t seem to have met with her approval.”
“No,” said Guy, shortly, “I did not. Hush, Godfrey,” he added, as the poor boy pushed desperately forward and stood beside him. “Hold your tongue—there’s nothing you can say. We understand each other.”
“I’ve been at work in Ingleby Mills for sixty-five years,” said John Cooper, coming to the front, “and I’m not at all dissatisfied to work under Mr Guy. He knows the business as well as a lad of his age can do.”
“Thank you, John Cooper,” said Guy, with a look of almost disproportionate pleasure. He rose rather unsteadily, and caught at Godfrey’s arm. “Come,” he said, in a sharp, imperative whisper, “get me out of sight.”
He rather pulled Godfrey, than was guided by him, through the door behind him into the empty library, and sank into a chair, while Godfrey broke down into a tempest of uncontrollable misery.
“Now, look here,” said Guy, in the same faint, sharp tones, “you have nothing like the bargain you think for. To-morrow I’ll go into it all. I’m done for now; you must manage without me.”
How Godfrey managed through the rest of the hateful formalities of that wretched day he hardly knew; but when it was at last over, and he went to bed, he was so worn out with the weary misery of it that he fell dead asleep and slept till morning. He woke, with a sudden impulse so strong upon him that it seemed like an inspiration that had come in sleep. He would cut the whole concern. He would take his younger brother’s fair portion, whatever it might be, and make a new life for himself, somewhere, at the ends of the earth, away from Constancy’s scorn and his own conscience. So he would keep his vow, and cut the knot which he himself had tied so tight. Then Guy would see that he must take his own, and she would no longer despise him. A definite purpose, however rash, made him feel more himself. As he came downstairs he met Cuthbert.