“Bless me!” cried the doctor, “this is very peculiar. Oh! but you said there was another lady—a lady and her son? Yes, yes, I see—a Mrs Somebody—and this Miss Anna.”
“Mrs Underwood,” Grace said.
Dr Brewer’s surprise grew more and more. “I know a Geoffrey Underwood,” he said, “a young barrister—a very nice young fellow. To be sure! he belongs to two ladies who live up Hampstead way. This is very curious. He is an excellent young fellow. He will tell me at once what the mystery is—if there is any mystery; but, my dear young ladies, I am afraid your romance will come to nothing if Geoffrey Underwood is in it; for you may be sure he is not a young fellow to lend himself to any bad business. Your beautiful old lady may be cracked, you know; she must be off her head—a harmless lunatic perhaps. I very much disapprove of it,” said the doctor, with professional warmth; “entirely, in every way—but still there are people who, out of mistaken kindness, insist upon keeping such cases at home—a thing that never ought to be done.”
Grace had listened with some dismay, feeling her house of cards tumbling about her ears. “She was not insane, if that is what you mean. They were afraid of her. She was the one who talked the most. I am sure she was not insane; and then Mrs Underwood, too—you remember, Milly?—she said, ‘If it is so we are relations;’ and then her son, he said, ‘It will make the greatest difference to us all.’ ”
“He said so? then perhaps after all there is something in it,” said Dr Brewer. The doctor began to look serious. “One can never understand the outs and ins of a family. So many people that have a good deal of money to leave make foolish wills. It may be something of that kind. Bless me! poor young Underwood, a fine young fellow. It will be hard upon him. You must excuse me if I see both sides of the case,” he added gravely; “young Underwood is——” and here he came to a dead pause.
It would be impossible to imagine anything more uncomfortable than the sensations of these two girls. They were silent for a little, and nothing was said round the table except a faint sound from the doctor of concern and sympathy, accompanied by the shaking of his head. Grace burst forth at last, unable to restrain herself.
“But, doctor, if it belongs to us rightfully, if it ought to come to my brother Lenny—a family estate.—I don’t know what it is—perhaps something that has belonged to us for hundreds and hundreds of years, perhaps something that would change his position altogether, and make him somebody of importance: is it not my duty to stand up for my brother, to get him whatever he has a right to—although other people may have to suffer?” the girl cried, with passion.
Milly by this time began to cry quietly, with her hands over her face; and Grace stood alone, the champion of the family rights.
“Yes, yes,” the doctor said—“yes, yes; of course everybody should have their rights; other people must always be a secondary consideration.” He added, after a moment’s pause, “But don’t take up any false ideas about family estates. Young Underwood is sufficiently well off, I have always heard. He has had a good education. I don’t suppose he makes very much money by his profession, so he must be able to live without that. But his people are very quiet people. They live quite out of the way; they are scarcely in society at all. Dismiss from your mind all idea of hereditary estates or important position. All the same, money in the funds is very nice—when there is enough of it.”
“Money in the funds!” said Grace, her countenance falling; while Milly took one of her hands from her face, and looked over the other like a sort of woebegone and misty Aurora from behind the clouds.