‘You can hardly expect me, Mr Bradbury, to answer such a statement,’ replied Martha in a somewhat severe tone.
‘I cannot. But it is necessary that I should assume such to be the case. You do not deny it? Now, I can put twenty thousand pounds into the scale which contains your right to become Mrs Redgrave, and I can deprive him of that amount, if he declines to make you his wife. I do not wish to speak against your future husband, but he is selfish and avaricious, and I think he will succumb to the temptation I have it in my power to lay before him. A short time before I started for Monaco, Colonel Redgrave called on me at my office. I had known him many years ago in India. He desired me to draw up a will, in which he revoked the bequest to Mr Septimus Redgrave in toto. He had not been prepossessed with his cousin latterly; in fact, he had conceived the most intense dislike for him. He preferred that I should execute the will, instead of employing Mr Lockwood, the son of the late family lawyer, for what reason I know not.’ Mr Bradbury rose from his chair, and unlocking a small cabinet, produced a folded parchment suitably indorsed. ‘Here is the veritable last will and testament of the late Colonel Redgrave, in which the date and purport of the previous will are specially mentioned, duly signed and properly witnessed, I need scarcely say. If I were to put it in yonder fire, nothing could disturb Mr Redgrave in the enjoyment of his legacy. Now, I am going to place implicit confidence in your honour, Miss Jones. I shall require ten per cent., or two thousand pounds. You shall require the hand in marriage of Mr Septimus Redgrave. Should he refuse these terms, this will shall be enforced, and Mr Redgrave loses twenty thousand pounds, and a lady who, I am convinced, would make him an excellent wife. You will naturally say: “Why should Mr Bradbury run the risk of penal servitude for such a sum as two thousand pounds?” In reply, I deny that I run any risk, and that sum of money will stave off heavier consequences than I care to name.’
It would be difficult to describe the whirlwind of mental emotion which agitated the bosom of Martha as she listened to the harangue of the lawyer. On the one hand she saw the possibility of realising her life-long ambition, of becoming the wife of a man with an income of nearly two thousand a year, not to speak of the social position attending it. Martha remembered reading a novel by one of the most popular authors of our time, wherein the heroine committed a far more heinous offence with respect to a will than its mere suppression, and yet the delinquent preserved not only the love and esteem of all the characters of the tale, but even the good opinion of the readers thereof.
The lawyer watched the flushed cheek of his listener with feelings of hope, and plied poor Martha with such specious arguments as to the nullity of risk and the immense gain to be derived from the prosecution of his plan, that she at length consented to proceed to Shanklin by an early train on the following morning and seek a private interview with Mr Redgrave. As she rose to depart, Martha inquired of the lawyer the name of the fortunate recipient of the legacy. ‘Miss Blanche Fraser,’ was the reply.
Mr Redgrave was considerably astonished on the morning following the interview we have described when Miss Jones was announced. He pulled out his watch, and finding it wanted an hour to luncheon, decided to see her at once. He found Martha in the library. She was pale and excited. ‘Well, Martha, I hope nothing is the matter? All well in Bury Street?’
‘Yes, Mr Redgrave. I wish to speak to you in private.’
‘Well, speak away, Martha,’ retorted Septimus, somewhat testily.
‘Pardon me; walls have ears. Can we not go into the grounds?’
Septimus paused a moment, surprised at the request, but presently assented. He led the way through the hall, and finally stopped in a small orchard adjoining the garden. ‘Now, Martha, you can speak with as much security as if you were in the middle of Salisbury Plain.’