A Strange, Sad Comedy

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“And I tell you now,” said Letty, firmly, to Farebrother, as he stood on the old porch in the wintry sunshine waiting for Dad Davy (who superseded Tom Battercake on important occasions like this) with the ramshackly carriage; “I tell you now, I don’t want that money, and I shall at once consult a lawyer to see if it can’t be turned over to the people it rightfully belongs to. It would make me wretched to know of those poor people—I know how poor they are and out at elbows—actually in want, while I should have what was their grandfather’s and their uncle’s.”

“All right,” answered Farebrother, “and I would prefer that you should have the whole thing settled before we are married, so you can act as a perfectly free agent. As for me, if I can have you,” etc., etc., etc.—which may be interpreted in the language of lovers.

Arrived at Shrewsbury, it was seen that every relative of Mr. Romaine had accepted Chessingham’s invitation and was on hand. Letty had to run the gantlet of their hostile eyes as she entered the library, for the great affair had already leaked out. The room looked strangely suggestive of Mr. Romaine. Letty could scarcely persuade herself that at any moment his slight figure and sparkling black eyes would not appear.

Mrs. Chessingham and Ethel were in the room by special request of Colonel Corbin, who thought it a mark of respect. When they were all assembled, Chessingham, who had worn a very peculiar look, began to speak in the midst of a solemn silence.

“As you are perhaps aware, our late friend, Mr. Romaine, desired me to act as his executor in case he died in this country—a contingency which he seemed to think likely when he came here, less than a year ago. In pursuance of my duties, I have examined his papers, which are very few, and find everything concerning him to have been in perfect order for many years past, so that if he had died at any moment there would have been no difficulty in settling his affairs. But I soon discovered a very important fact—which is,”—here he spoke with deliberate emphasis,—“that instead of Mr. Romaine possessing a large fortune, as the world has always supposed, he had invested everything he had in—annuities—which gave him a very large income—but he left but little behind him.”

A kind of groan went round among the poor relations. Letty, who understood quickly what was meant, felt dazed; she did not know whether she was glad or sorry.

Chessingham exhibited some papers, showing, in Mr. Romaine’s writing, the amounts of various annuities, which aggregated a magnificent income. Then came a list of his actual property, which consisted chiefly of the Shrewsbury place and the Virginia lands, but which were heavily mortgaged. His personal property was remarkably small; Mr. Romaine had always boasted his freedom from impedimenta. And then began the reading of the will. It was the same brief document that Chessingham and Miss Maywood had witnessed. Some of the nieces and nephews got a few thousand dollars. Chessingham got his douceur, Miss Maywood got the diamonds in a codicil witnessed by Bridge and Dodson, and Letty was left “residuary legatee” by a person who had nothing to give. When she walked out of the Shrewsbury house she was not any richer than when she went in it. But before that Colonel Corbin had risen and in a very dignified and forcible manner read the correspondence that had passed between Mr. Romaine and himself and Letty, which showed conclusively that they were in no way parties to Mr. Romaine’s scheme, but rather victims of it. Then Chessingham, replying to a formal question of the Colonel’s, admitted that there would be in all probability not enough property to pay the legacies in full, and the Colonel and Letty retired, having no further interest in Mr. Romaine’s affairs.

When they got home Farebrother ran down the steps to meet them.

“I sha’n’t get a penny, and I’m glad of it,” cried out Letty, from the carriage, before Farebrother could open the door.

“Wait until you have struggled along in New York on four or five thousand a year before you say that,” answered Farebrother in a gay whisper which quite escaped the Colonel, who knew, however, how the land lay.