My step-father, after one son was born to him, lost his young wife, and was left with two infants upon his hands. Right well he treated both, making no sort of distinction, but sharing his love between us, and, after we were of an age to benefit from a man's training, bringing us up under his own eye and in his own school. It was a Spartan entry upon life for young Joshua Beakbane and myself; but whereas I thrived under the puritanic and colourless regime, Mr. Beakbane's own son, a youth by nature prone to vicious habits and evil communications, chafed beneath the iron rule, which only became more unbending in consequence. There was much to be said on either side, no doubt; though none could have foreseen, as a result of those trifling restraints and paternal rebukes, the great and terrible punishment that would fall both upon father and son.
When he was twenty-one years of age, Joshua Beakbane, in a fit of mad folly, that to me is scarcely conceivable, ran away from the Farm, taking with him about five hundred pounds of his father's money. He was pursued, arrested, and committed for trial at the next assizes. Old George Beakbane, a just, proud man, sprung from a race that had ever been just and proud, would listen to no plea of mercy. There was none to speak for the culprit but me—his half-brother; and my prayers were useless. The father sent his son to gaol, blotted his name from the family tree, and, after that day, regarded me as his heir. That I should change my name to Beakbane was a stipulation of my step-father, and this I had no objection to doing. My inclinations and ambitions were towards art, but such prospects as a painter's life could promise were distasteful to George Beakbane, and I relinquished them. Joshua's sentence amounted to ten years of penal servitude, and it was the wish of my life at that time to some day bring about a reconciliation between father and son. Any of the great advantages accruing to myself through the present arrangements I would have gladly foregone to see the old man happy; for him I loved sincerely, and clearly saw, as the time went by, that all joy had faded out of his life after his son went to prison. Long before the ten years were fulfilled, however, George Beakbane died and I succeeded to the estate. And here I solemnly declare and avow, before heaven and men, that my intention from the first moment of accepting the mastership of Beakbane, was, by doing so, to benefit him whom I still considered the rightful owner thereof. Upon Joshua's release I fully purposed an act of abdication in his favour. I should, had all gone well, have taken such legal measures as might be convenient to the case, and reinstated my relative in that situation which, but for his own reckless folly, had all along been proper to him. Now the ability to do so much for Joshua Beakbane would not have been mine, unless I had consented to become the heir; because, failing me, old George Beakbane might have sought and found another inheritor for his property; and one, likely enough, without my moral principles or ultimate intentions.
All was ordered very differently to what I hoped and desired, however. One short year before my half-brother would have relieved me of my responsibilities, a concatenation of dire events brought ruin and destruction upon me. I have never attempted to deny my own miserable weakness in this matter. I had married during my stewardship, and for my wife's brother, a man as I believed of sterling honesty and considerable wealth, I consented to 'back' certain bills, as a matter of convenience for some two or three months. Again I admit my criminal frailty; but with the fact and its consequences we have now to deal. My brother-in-law's entanglements increased, and he cut the knot by blowing his brains out, leaving me with a stupendous mountain of debt staring me in the face. The Beakbane property went to meet it. Every acre was mortgaged, every mortgage foreclosed upon, the estate ceased to exist as a whole. The debt was ultimately discharged, and I, with my wife and child, came to London. These things reaching Joshua Beakbane's ears about a month before his sentence expired, shattered his hopes and ambitions for the future, left him absolutely a pauper, and terribly excited his rage and indignation against me. I had not trusted myself to tell him the fatal news; but in the ear of my messenger, a lawyer, he hissed an awful oath that, did we ever meet, my life would pay the debt I owed him. Knowing the man to have some of his father's iron fixity of purpose, together with much varied wickedness peculiar to himself, and for which our mutual mother was in no way responsible, I took him at his word, changed my name yet again, and buried myself in the metropolis. Here I very quickly found that my art was not of a sort to keep my wife and child, when the question of painting to sell came to be considered. I therefore sought more solid employment, and was fortunate to obtain a position in Messrs. Macdonald's bank. Years rolled by to the number of fifteen. Joshua Beakbane sought me high and low; indeed, I am fully persuaded that his desire to take my life became a monomania with him, for he left no stone unturned to come at me. But I wore spectacles of dark blue glass when about in the streets, and always shaved clean from the time of my entry on life in London. Several times I met my half-brother, till becoming gradually assured of my safety, I grew bold and employed a private detective to discover his home and occupation. Thus I learned that most of his time was spent in attending race meetings, and that he enjoyed some notoriety amongst the smaller fry of bookmakers.
Let the reader possess his soul in patience a short half page longer and these tedious but necessary preliminaries will be ended. Miss Sarah Beakbane-Minifie, the lady whose death has just been recorded, was a near relation of my half-brother, but, of course, no connection of mine. Me, however, she esteemed very highly, and always had done so, from the time that my mother married into her family. Having watched my career narrowly, being convinced of my integrity, misfortunes, and honourable motives in the past, she had seen fit to regard me as a martyr and a notable person; though her own kinsman received but scant acknowledgment at her hands. And now her entire fortune, specie, bonds and shares, was mine, and Joshua Beakbane found himself once more in the cold. What were his feelings and intentions? I asked myself. Was he still disposed as of old towards me, and would he prefer my life to any earthly advancement I might now be in a position to extend to him? Would he accept a compromise? Should I meet him at Petersham, and if so, should I ever leave Oak Lodge excepting feet foremost? What was my clear duty in the case, and would the doing of it be likely to facilitate matters? Such were some of the questions to which I could find no replies as I walked slowly through the mud, and then, feeling that suspense only made the future look more terrific, struck across the fields, as aforesaid, and became eager to reach my destination as quickly as possible.
Come what might, if alive, I was bound to start for Scotland on the following day to be witness in a legal case pending against my firm; and the recollection of this duty was uppermost in my thoughts when I finally reached Oak Lodge. Martha Prescott and her husband, the deceased lady's sole retainers, greeted me, and their grief appeared sufficiently genuine as I was ushered by them to the drawing-room. This apartment—charming enough in the summer when the French windows were always open, and the garden without, a mass of red and white roses, syringa, and other homely flowers—was now dark and cheerless. The blinds were not drawn, the last dim gleams of daylight appeared more dreary than total gloom. A decanter of port wine with some dried fruits stood upon the table, and I am disposed to think that one, at least, of the two men sitting by the fire had been smoking. For a moment I believed the taller and younger of these to be my enemy, but a flicker of fire-light showed the mistake as both rose to meet me.
Mr. Plenderleath, my dead friend's solicitor, a flabby, pompous gentleman, with a scent of eau-de-Cologne about him and a nice choice of language, shook my hand and his head in the most perfect unison. Joshua Beakbane, he informed me, had been communicated with, but as yet no answer to the telegram was received.
"For yourself, I beg you will accept my condolence and congratulations in one breath, dear sir. When such a woman as Miss Beakbane-Minifie must die, it is well to feel that such a man as Mr. Lott shall have the administration of that which the blessed deceased cannot take with her. My lamented client and your aunt has left you, dear sir, the considerable fortune of one hundred thousand pounds."
"She is not any relation; but, my good sir, the deceased lady always led me to understand that ten thousand pounds or so was the sum-total of her wealth."
"The admirable woman intentionally deceived you, dear sir, in order that your surprise and joy might be the greater. And by a curious circumstance, which your aunt's eccentricities have effected, I can this very evening show you most of your property, or what stands for it."
"Miss Beakbane-Minifie was not my aunt," I repeated; but Mr. Plenderleath paid no heed to me and wandered on.