‘We are right this time,’ he answered, reading the indorsement. ‘Will of William Franklin, Esquire.—And now, I think, we may go down-stairs again.’
The excited crowd, angrily expectant of they knew not what, rustled and fluttered down the stairs once more, and settled on the dining-room chairs like a flight of crows. Standing at the table, Mr Blackford opened and read the will with dignified deliberation, but with a slight tremor in his voice, and an almost imperceptible catching of the breath which he could not control, and which were perhaps excusable under the circumstances.
It is not easy to describe the scene which followed. Decency was thrown to the winds; poor human nature stood out in startling nudity from under the conventional trappings of woe. There was a perfect storm of ejaculations and threats; the women cried, the men raved; one reverend gentleman of hitherto irreproachable behaviour actually shook his fist in Mr Blackford’s face.
‘It is a fraud, a forgery!’ cried Dr Franklin, a younger brother of the deceased. ‘William would never have made such a will. He might have left his money to some public body, rather than to his own flesh and blood; but to a lawyer—never!’
Meanwhile, Tom Wedlake, who, having consistently expected nothing, was the less disappointed, and therefore able to keep his head, had taken the document in his own hands and carefully inspected the signature. He now raised his voice above the general hubbub.
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen! I think we are rather forgetting what we have been doing to-day. If you have no respect for the dead, perhaps you will be good enough to show a little for my wife’s dining-room.’
These words, sharply spoken, produced a sudden lull, of which Tom took advantage.
‘One thing is certain—this is no forgery. Most of you know Mr William Franklin’s writing better than I do. Look for yourselves. It is a perfectly genuine signature.’
A dozen necks were instantly craned over the paper. There was nothing to be said. Every one had to confess that Tom was right; but the fact only added fuel to the family wrath, as rendering their chances all the more desperate.
Tom continued: ‘My wife’s uncle has lived with us, as you know, for some months past, and my wife has taken care of him and nursed him in his last illness. He was grateful, or seemed so; and he promised to provide for her. He repeated his promise in the last words he ever spoke.’