“In that case I don’t mind stretching a point,” said the lady of the house, “though Mr. Pownceby is no more than a hired servant paid for his time, and it is no business of his to interfere.”
A hired servant! Old Pownceby, who had all the secrets of the county in his hands, and most of its business! Lord Hartmore grew pale with awe at this daring speech. He looked straight before him, not to see the signals of his wife telegraphing to him from Gerald Piercey’s side. “I’ll have nothing to do with it,” he said to himself; and, indeed, in his consternation, Lord Hartmore was the last to get up when the movement of the chairs convinced him that Mrs. Piercey had condescended to move. He offered that lady his arm humbly, on an indication from her that this was expected. “I suppose we shall see Mrs. Osborne in the library?” he said.
“Oh, Margaret! I suppose she’d better be there for form’s sake, though I don’t suppose it matters much. Aunt, will you tell Margaret Osborne to come directly, please? I have never,” said Patty, with a smile, “got into the way of calling her Meg, as you all do.”
Lord Hartmore could scarcely dissimulate the little start of consternation with which he heard this. The forlorn young widow, for whom he had been so sorry, was appearing in a new light; but, of course, it was only her ignorance, he said to himself. The party had all assembled in the library when the voice of Miss Hewitt was heard outside calling to some one who seemed to be following: “This way, Margaret—this way. They’re all in the library. I don’t know the ’ouse so well as I might, but this is the way. Come along please, quick, and don’t keep the company waiting,” Miss Hewitt said.
Gerald Piercey started forward to open the door, for which Miss Hewitt rewarded him with an “Oh! thank you, but I’m quite at ’ome, quite at ’ome.” Margaret came in in the wake of that bustling figure, pale, and with an air of suspense. “Was it necessary to send for me in that way?” she said to Gerald. He had placed a chair for her beside Lady Hartmore. “Oh, Heaven knows what is necessary!” said that lady. “You know the proverb about beggars on horseback.” She was not so careful to subdue her voice as she might have been, but in the commotion it was not observed. Gerald Piercey stood with his hand on the back of his cousin’s chair. They were the family, the only persons present of the Piercey blood. The old friends of the house stood near them. At the upper end of the room were Patty and her aunt. Mr. Pownceby stood in front of the large fireplace with a paper in his hand.
“I must explain,” he said, “how the will I have to read is so very succinct a document. Sir Giles had made his will like other men, and as there was a good deal to leave, there were a number of bequests. The late Mr. Gervase Piercey was, of course, the heir, under trustees, as he was not much—acquainted with business. Sir Giles thought fit to change this, as was to be expected, after his son’s death. He sent for me hastily one day, and gave me instructions which surprised me. I begged him to allow me to take these back with me in order that the new will should be properly written out, proposing to come back next day to execute it, and, in short, hoping that he might reconsider the matter; but he would hear of no delay. This document I will now read.”
Gerald Piercey stood quite undisturbed, with his hand on the back of Margaret’s chair. He was not anxious. It had not occurred to him that the house of his fathers could be alienated from him, and short of that, his poor old uncle’s wishes would, he sincerely felt, be sacred whatever they were. He was glad to hear that there was a new will made, which, no doubt, provided for Mrs. Piercey; and waited with an easy mind to hear what it was. As for Margaret, the event about to happen began to dawn clearly upon her. She saw it in Patty’s eyes, in her pose, sitting up defiant in Lady Piercey’s chair. She looked up at her cousin with an eager desire to warn him, to support him, but was daunted by the calm of his look, fearing no evil. “Gerald, Gerald,” she said, instinctively. The lines of his face melted suddenly; he looked down upon her with an encouraging, protecting smile, and took her hand for a moment, saying “Meg!” and no more. He thought she was appealing to him for his care and protection in face of a probable disappointment to herself.
Mr. Pownceby cleared his throat and waved his hand. He ran over the exordium, name, and formula, of sound mind, etc., etc., to which everybody listened impatiently, “do give and bequeath the whole of my estates, property, real and personal, etc., to——” here he paused a little, as if his own throat were dry—“Patience Piercey, my daughter-in-law, and companion for the last six months, to be at her entire disposal as it may be best for the interests of the family, and in remainder to her child. This I do, believing it to be best for meeting all difficulties, and in view of any contingency that might arise.
“Signed, Giles Piercey,” added the lawyer, “and dated Greyshott, 16th June, just a fortnight ago.”
There was a pause. Even now it did not seem to have struck Colonel Piercey what it meant. He listened with a half smile. “And——?” he said, waiting as if for more.