Young Schofield had been asked by Mrs. Walter Scott to return to Millbank after the services at the grave were over. She had her own ideas with regard to the proper way of managing the will matter, and the sooner the truth was known the sooner would all parties understand the ground they stood on. She knew her ground. She had no fears for herself. The will,—Squire Irving’s last will and testament,—was lying in his private drawer in the writing-desk, where she had seen it every day since she had been at Millbank; but she had not read it, for the envelope was sealed, and having a most unbounded respect for law and justice, and fancying that to break the seal would neither be just nor lawful, she had contented herself with merely taking the package in her hand, and assuring herself that it was safe against the moment when it was wanted. It had struck her that it was a little yellow and time-worn, but she had no suspicion that anything was wrong. To-day, however, while the people were at the grave, she had been slightly startled, for when for a second time she tried the drawer of the writing-desk, she found it locked and the key gone! Had there been foul play? and who had locked the door? she asked herself, while, for a moment, the cold perspiration stood under her hair. Then thinking it probable that Roger, who was noted for thoughtfulness, might have turned and taken the key to his father’s private drawer as a precaution against any curious ones who might be at the funeral, she dismissed her fears and waited calmly for the dénouementr individual was doing,—Hester Floyd,—who knew about the sealed package just as Mrs. Walter Scott did, and who had been deterred from opening it for the same reason which had actuated that lady, and who had also seen and handled it each day since the squire’s death.
Hester, too, knew that the drawer was locked, and that gave her a feeling of security, while on her way to and from the grave, where her mind was running far more upon the after-clap, as she termed it, than upon the solemn service for the dead. Hester was very nervous, and an extra amount of green tea was put in the steeper for her benefit, and she could have shaken the unimpressible Aleck for seeming so composed and unconcerned when he stood, as she said, “right over a dreadful, gapin’ vertex.”
And Aleck was unconcerned. Whatever he had lent his aid to had been planned by his better half, in whom he had unbounded confidence. If she stood over “a gapin’ vertex,” she had the ability to skirt round it or across it, and take him safely with her. So Aleck had no fears, and ate a hearty supper and drank his mug of beer and smoked his pipe in quiet, and heard, without the least perturbation, the summons for the servants to assemble in the library and hear their master’s last will and testament. This was Mrs. Walter Scott’s idea, and when tea was over she had said to young Schofield:
“You told me father left a will. Perhaps it would be well enough for you to read it to us before you go. I will have the servants in, as they are probably remembered in it.”
Her manner was very deferential toward young Schofield and implied confidence in his abilities, and flattered by attention from so great a lady he expressed himself as at her service for anything. So when the daylight was gone and the wax candles were lighted in the library, Mrs. Walter Scott repaired thither with Frank, whom she had brought from his post by the candle-box. It was natural that he should be present as well as Roger, and she arranged the two boys, one on each side of her, and motioned the servants to seats across the room, and Lawyer Schofield to the arm-chair near the centre of the room. She was making it very formal and ceremonious, and Englishy, and Roger wondered what it was all for, while Frank fidgeted and longed for the candle-box, where the baby lay asleep.
“I am told Squire Irving left a will,” Mrs. Walter Scott said, when her auditors were assembled, “and I thought best for Mr. Schofield to read it. Do you know where it is?” and she addressed herself to the lawyer, who replied, “I am sure I do not, unless in his private drawer where he kept his important papers.”
Roger flushed a little then, for it was into that private drawer that he had put his mother’s letter, and the key was in his pocket. Mrs. Walter Scott noticed the flush, but was not quite prepared to see Roger arise at once, unlock the drawer, and take from it a package, which was not the will, but which, nevertheless, excited her curiosity.
“Lawyer Schofield can examine the papers,” Roger said, resuming his seat, while the young man went to the drawer and took out the sealed envelope which both Mrs. Walter Scott and Hester had had in their hands so many times within the last few days.
“WILLIAM H. IRVING’S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.”
There was no doubt about its being the genuine article, and the lawyer waited a moment before opening it. There was perfect silence in the room, except for the clock on the mantle, which ticked so loudly and made Hester so nervous that she almost screamed aloud. The candles sputtered a little, and ran up long, black wicks, and the fire on the hearth cast weird shadows on the wall, and the silence was growing oppressive, when Frank, who could endure no longer, pulled his mother’s skirts, and exclaimed, “Mother, mother, what is he going to do, and why don’t he do it? I want the darned thing over so I can go out.”