“There is no will but the early one made soon after the marriage,” said Lord Frogmore’s man of business on the morning of the second day. “No guardians appointed, no directions given. I have said as much as I could from time to time on this subject. Lord Frogmore always agreed but did nothing; and now here we have a long minority to face and nothing in order.” He was speaking in the most confidential circle of the family, addressing the old vicar, who had been summoned with his wife to the double crisis, the death of their son-in-law, the recovery of their daughter. Old Mr. Hill was standing up with his back to the fire, looking like a very solemn old sheep with his white beard. He had always the air of bearing the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, and mumbled a little in his speech, half with nervousness, half with that weight of responsibility that bowed him down.
“It is a very great emergency,” said the vicar. “Frogmore was very imprudent for a man of his time of life. He ought to have had it all made out very clear. He ought to have left nothing in any doubt. I have often said to him myself in my own small affairs——”
It was wrong of Mrs. Hill to interrupt, but she had a bad habit of doing this; her husband spoke so slowly. “Now that my daughter is so well again,” she said, with a voice in which there was a quiver in spite of herself, “it can’t matter so much.”
“Oh, mother!” cried Agnes.
The man of business shook his head. “That is just the worst difficulty of all. If Lady Frogmore insists on this strange fancy of hers that the little lord is not her son—that she has no child——”
“Oh!” cried the mother in a tone of intolerable impatience—“That is nonsense, you know, Mr. Blotting. Why, I was there! How can she persist when every body knows to the contrary. My daughter Mary has been troubled in her mind, poor thing; but she never was idiotic I hope—and when I speak to her—Agnes, what nonsense! I must speak to her! It is the most dreadful dereliction of duty to let things like this go on——”
“Dr. Marsden says she is going through a very important crisis,” said Agnes; “and that her mind must not be disturbed——”
“Oh, Dr. Marsden!” cried Mrs. Hill: she did not say blank him, or dash him, or anything that a clergyman’s wife ought not to say—but she meant it, as was very clear. “How should Mr. Marsden know better than her mother?” she inquired with dignity, as if to such a question there could be but one reply.
“I am of the same opinion as your mother,” said the vicar. “I think you will find after I have had a conversation with her that there will be no further trouble. She will not stand out against me.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Hill cried—and stopped again—for she had not the same faith in her husband’s intervention. “But,” she added quickly, “I am of opinion that when she is told the facts calmly, with the proofs I can bring, for I saw everything with my own eyes. Mary who was always a reasonable creature—you know,” she cried, with a little laugh and toss of her head, “there never was such a thing known in this world as that a mother should disown her child.”