‘Good!’ exclaimed Miss Wakefield, first to break the silence, and speaking in a voice as nearly approaching satisfaction as it was possible for that estimable female to reach. ‘I presume the rest is merely formal.—Mr Carver, I shall expect nineteen thousand two hundred and fifty-five pounds, free of costs, to be paid into my bankers at once. I certainly take credit for my generosity in this matter.’
No one answered this remark; the idea of Miss Wakefield’s generosity being sufficient to provide every mind with abundance of speculation. But Mr Slimm’s sharp eye had caught sight of an envelope, which the others, in the anxiety to count the spoil, had entirely overlooked. With a quiet smile upon his lips, he listened to the last speaker’s gracious remark, and then handing the paper to Mr Carver, said: ‘I am afraid, madam, we shall have to tax your generosity still further. If a will was found in our favour, I think you were to be content with five thousand pounds. If I don’t mistake, the paper I have given to our estimable friend is that interesting document.’
Meanwhile, Mr Carver was fluttering about in a state of great jubilation. His first act, as soon as he had attracted the attention of the group, was to shake hands with Bates with great and elaborate ceremony. This gratifying operation being concluded, he put on his spectacles and said: ‘Bates, I owe you an apology. I spoke of your intellect disparagingly, I believe, not long since; and now, in the presence of this distinguished circle, I beg leave, in all due humility, to retract my words. It was I who had lost my wits.—No—no contradictions, please. I say it was I. The paper I hold in my hand is the last will and testament of my late client, Charles Morton, the owner of this house. After giving a few brief reasons for disposing of his money in this extraordinary manner, and after a few small legacies, he says: “And as to the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate both real and personal, and of what description or kind soever and of which I may die possessed, I give and bequeath to my niece, Eleanor Seaton, for her absolute use and benefit.” It is signed and witnessed by John Styles and Aaron Gray, both names being familiar to me.—Miss Wakefield, I congratulate you; I do, indeed. You have done really well.’
It was evident, from the expression of that lady’s face, that she was very far from sharing this opinion. Her upper lip went up, and her saw-like teeth came down in a manner evil to see. ‘It is a conspiracy!’ she hissed, ‘a low, cunning conspiracy.—Oh, you shall pay for it—you shall pay for it. Do you think you are going to rob me with impunity, with your lawyer schemes? I will fight the will,’ she screamed, ‘if I am ruined for it. I will ruin you all! I will have you struck off the rolls! Oh, you hoary-headed, lying old reptile, you!’
‘Madam,’ said Mr Slimm sternly, ‘you forget yourself. Do you not know it is in our power to count the money you have had into the sum we propose to give you? Have a care—have a care!’
These last words, uttered with peculiar emphasis, had a wonderful effect upon the ‘woman scorned.’ With a violent effort, she collected herself, and when she spoke again, it was without the slightest trace of her late abandoned, reckless manner.
‘Be it so,’ she said slowly—‘be it so. You are not likely to hear from me again.—Good-morning.—Mr Slimm, I see my cab is waiting. If you will be good enough to give me your arm, I shall be obliged to you.’
‘One moment,’ said Mr Carver. ‘We do not propose to deduct the few hundreds you have from the stipulated sum to be paid to you. You shall hear from me in a few days.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied with strange humility.—‘Mr Slimm, are you ready?—Again, good-morning.’
When the American returned, his face was grave and stern. What passed between him and Miss Wakefield was never known. And so she passes from our history. Her cunning and deceit—if it was not something worse—had availed her nothing. Baffled and defeated, as vice should always be, she retired to her dingy lodging, and was never more seen by our friends. Whether there had been any foul-play was never known. If the shrewd American had any such suspicions, he kept them to himself. It was best, he thought, to let the past dead bury its dead, and not stir up bitterness and the shadow of a crime, where nought but peace and sunshine should be.