“No; but he’s provided for me all right; he always said as he would provide for me. I haven’t, perhaps, been as steady as I ought. He never wanted me to show along of his fine friends. But for a couple of fellows like that, that know all about me, I don’t see as I need have been stopped of a good glass of my brother’s port wine.”
“You shall not, indeed,” said Katherine, ringing the bell.
“And I say,” said this uncomfortable uncle, “you can tell them to bring the spirit case as well. I saw as there was a spirit case, with five nice bottles, and lemons and sugar, and a kettle, you know, though there ain’t nothing to set it upon as I can see in that bit of a fireplace—uncomfortable thing, all shine and glitter and no use. I daresay my poor brother had some sort of a ’ob for the hot water in any room as he sat in—I say, old gentleman, bring us——”
Katherine interposed with her orders, in haste, and turned the butler hastily away. “You must remember,” she said, “that to-night is a very sad and terrible night in this house.”
“Ah! Were they all as fond of him as that?” the brother said.
“Oh,” said Katherine, “if you are my uncle, as they say, you should stand by me and help me; for there is sure to be a great deal of trouble, however things turn out.”
“I’ll stand by you! Don’t you be afraid, you can calculate on me. I don’t mind a bit what I say to old Sturgeon nor Turny neither, specially as I know he’s provided for me, my poor brother ’as, he always said as he would. I don’t consider myself in old Sturgeon’s office not from this day. My poor brother ’as provided for me, he always said he would; and I’ll stand by you, my dear, don’t you be afraid. Hullo! here’s nothing but the port wine—and not too much of that neither. I say, you fellow, tell the old man to bring the spirits; and he can sit down himself and ’ave a glass; it’s a poor ’eart as never rejoices, and once in a way it’ll do him no harm.”
“The other gentlemen—have got the spirits,” the footman said, retiring, very red in the face with laughter suppressed.
“And what a poor house,” said Bob Tredgold, contemptuously, “to have but one case of spirits! I’ve always noticed as your grand houses that are all gilt and grandeur are the poorest—as concern the necessaries of life.”
Katherine left her uncle in despair with his half-filled bottle of port. He was not a very creditable relation. She went to her own room and shut herself in to think over her position. In the fulness of her thoughts she forgot the dead master of the house, who lay there all silent, having nothing now to do with all that was going on in it, he who a little while ago had been supreme master of all. She did not know or ask what he had done with his wealth, no question about it entered her mind. She took it for granted that, Stella being cut off, it would come to herself as the only other child—which was just the same as if it had been left to Stella in their due and natural shares. All that was so simple, there was no need to think of it. Even this dreadful uncle—if her father had not provided for him Katherine would, there was no difficulty about all that. If the money was hers, it would be hers only for the purpose of doing everything with it which her father ought—which if he had been in his right condition, unbiassed by anger or offence, he would have done. He had always loved Stella best, and Stella should have the best—the house, every advantage, more than her share.