“Mrs. Blair,� said he hesitatingly, “have you never speculated upon what becomes of Skelton’s fortune from his wife if he should marry again, or at his death? for you know, of course, that it is only his until one of those things happens.�
“We have heard a great deal of talk, but, naturally, we feel a delicacy at making any enquiries about it.�
“Delicacy be hanged!� cried Bulstrode, rising. “Do you know, ma’am, that it’s quite possible—quite probable—that some day you and your children will have all that money?�
“I cannot think that,� answered Mrs. Blair, rising, too, and supposing that Bulstrode meant that Skelton might leave it to them. “Although I am Mr. Skelton’s nearest relative, there is no love lost between us—and my husband and he are at feud. I am sure Mr. Skelton would never wish us to benefit by anything he had.�
“But,� cried Bulstrode excitedly, “he can’t help it—he can’t help it! Don’t you suppose he would if he could?�
Mrs. Blair turned very pale. “What do you mean?� she asked.
“I mean,� said Bulstrode, in his impressive voice, “I mean that by the fondness of a woman Skelton became possessed of a great fortune; and by her jealousy it is only his until his death or marriage; and by her folly it all descends to his heirs. He cannot control one shilling of his wife’s fortune—it goes to his heirs. And you—you—you and your children are Skelton’s heirs!�
Mrs. Blair was completely dazed by what she heard and by Bulstrode’s vehemence. His agitation, too, was contagious. She felt herself trembling, because she saw Bulstrode’s tremor.
“What do you mean?� she stammered.
“What I say,� replied Bulstrode, grasping her arm. “I’ve known it ever since Mrs. Skelton died. Of course, it wasn’t her intention that it should be so; she was actuated by two master passions, love and hate. She meant Skelton to have the property, and that her own relatives, in punishment for the stand they took at her marriage, should suffer for it. She had the will made soon after her marriage, when she hoped that Skelton’s heirs would be their children. It was the worst-made will ever seen in England. In her last illness she made additions to it, that only complicated matters more. It was such a muddle that Skelton was forced to apply to the courts to construe it, with a result that infuriated him. He is a bond slave in the midst of all that money. He has his choice of two things, one of which may be impossible; the other is, to hand over to you and yours three fourths of his money—and he must do it if he marries again, and his executors must do it if he dies. Just imagine this state of things upon a man of Skelton’s temperament! Great God! I wonder he hasn’t gone mad thinking over it!�