The Allen House; Or, Twenty Years Ago and Now

I reflected for some moments, and then replied—

“Yes. He is your legal adviser, and one in whom the highest confidence may be reposed. The will should be at once placed in his hands for examination.”

“And go upon record?”

“Better leave all to his superior legal judgment. But,” as the thought occurred to me, “who are named as the executors of this will?”

“I did not examine as to that, being too much interested in the provisions of the writing,” she replied.

“May I see the document?”

“Blanche, dear, you will find it in the right-hand drawer of the secretary, in our room;” and Mrs. Montgomery handed a key to her daughter, who left the apartment in which we were sitting. She came back in a few minutes, and handed me a paper, which, on examination, I found to be written throughout, and evidently by the hand of Captain Allen. It was dated San Juan de Porto Rico, January 10, 1820, and was witnessed by two signatures—the names Spanish. The executors were Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd. There was an important sentence at the conclusion of the will. It was in these words:—“In case my wife, in dying, should leave no relatives, then every thing shall revert to my own right heirs, should any be living.”

All this gave the affair, in my mind, a more serious aspect. Before mentioning the executors’ names, I said—

“Do you know where Theresa Garcia resided, before her marriage with Captain Allen?”

“In Porto Rico, as I have learned from old ‘Aunty,’ and also from letters found in searching for the will.”

“Which I find was executed at San Juan De Porto Rico, the principal town on the island. Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd are the executors.”

I saw her start slightly, and grow a little pale as I said this.

“Judge Bigelow, and Squire Floyd! That is extraordinary!” She was more disturbed than I had yet seen her in reference to this matter.

“It is remarkable, certainly, that Judge Bigelow, your legal adviser, should be one of the executors of a will, which determines your brother’s estate out of the line of consanguinity.”

“He must, of course, cease to represent my interest in the case,” remarked the lady.

“He cannot represent two diverse interests,” said I.

“No; that is clear.” She said this in a troubled way; and was, evidently, falling into a perplexed state of mind. “Well, Doctor, what is to be done?” She spoke with recovered self-possession, after a short period of silence, looking at me with her old calmness of expression.

I took some moments for reflection, and then said,

“My advice is, to keep your own counsel, and wait until Mr. Wallingford returns from England. Whenever you place this document in the hands of Judge Bigelow, he must go over to the adverse interest; when you will be compelled to seek another legal adviser. You are not just ready for this; nor will be until after your agent comes back with the result of his investigations. No wrong to any one can possibly occur from letting things remain just as they are for a few months.”

“I think your view of the matter correct, Doctor,” was her reply. “And yet, to keep this secret, even for an hour, when I have no right to its possession, touches my conscience. Is it just? This will is not in my favor. It does not even recognize my existence. It devises property, of large value, in another line; and there may be heirs ready to take possession, the moment its existence is made known to them. Am I not intermeddling, unjustly, in the affairs of another?”

“But for you,” I replied, “this will might never have seen the light. If heirs exist, they can, therefore, have no just reason for complaint at the brief delay to which, under the circumstances, you are, in common justice, entitled. Your conscience may be over sensitive, Mrs. Montgomery.”

“I would rather it were over sensitive than obtuse,” she said. “Worldly possessions are desirable. They give us many advantages. We all desire and cling to them. But they are dearly bought at the price of heavenly possessions. What will it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Nothing! It were better for him to die like Lazarus. No, Doctor, I am resolved in this matter to be simply just. If, in justice and right, this estate comes into my hands, I will take the wealth thankfully and use it as wisely as I can. But I will not throw a single straw in the way of its passing to the legal heirs of my brother’s wife, if any are in existence and can be found.”

“But you will keep this secret until Mr. Wallingford’s return?” I urged.

“I do not see that wrong to any one can follow such a delay,” she answered. “Yes, I will keep the secret.”

“And I will keep it also, even from my good Constance,” said I, “until your agent’s return. The matter lies sacred between us.”

CHAPTER XIV

“Mrs. Dewey is at her father’s,” said my wife to me, one evening in August, as we sat at the tea-table.

“Ah! have you seen her?” I was interested at once. Six months had elapsed since Delia’s wedding, and this was her first visit home; though her mother had been twice down to New York, in company with the Squire, who had business with the firm to which Ralph belonged. In fact, since his marriage to Squire Floyd’s daughter, young Dewey had prevailed upon his father-in-law to make the house of Floyd, Lawson, Lee & Co., agents for the entire product of his manufactory—an arrangement which the Squire regarded as greatly to his advantage.

My question was answered in the affirmative.

“How is she?”

“Looking very well.”

There was no warmth or feeling in my wife’s voice or manner, although Delia had been a favorite with her, and we had often talked about the pleasure we should have in meeting her again.

“Have you nothing more to say of our young friend?” I asked.

“She is very much changed.”

“For the better?”

“Some might think so. I do not.” There was a disappointed manner about my wife.

“In what respect is she changed?”

“Some would say that she had grown handsome; and, in truth, her countenance strikes you, at first, as much improved. It is rounded to a fuller outline, and has a style about it, caught, I suppose, from city life and feeling. But she carries her head with a statelier air than is becoming Squire Floyd’s daughter; and I am very sure, that, as the wife of Ralph Dewey, she has acquired no special consequence. Rich jewelry may be very well in city drawing-rooms, and public assemblages, where dress is made conspicuous. But to sport diamond ear-rings and breastpin, splendid enough for a countess, in her father’s little parlor, and before the eyes of friends who loved her once for herself alone, savored so strongly of weak pride and vanity, that I could not look upon her with any of my old feelings. It was Delia Floyd no longer. Already, the pure, sweet, artless maiden, had changed into a woman of the world, dressed up for show. Ah, my husband! if this is the effect of city life, let me never breathe its tainted atmosphere.”

And she dropped her eyes, with a sigh, and sat, lost in thought, for several moments.

“Your account of Delia pains me,” said I. “Is the case indeed so bad?”

“It is. Alas! the fine gold is dimmed. Our sweet young friend has strayed from the paths of nature, and will never, I fear, get back again.”

“Had you any conversation with her?” I inquired.

“Yes: or, rather I listened to her, as she ran on about her city life; the grand people with whom, she had already become acquainted; and the splendor of balls, parties, soirees, and operas. I grew sober as she talked: for not one true womanly sentiment fell from her lips. She did not express interest in any of her new friends and acquaintances for the good qualities they possessed; but spoke of their wealth, style of living, social connections, and other attractions wholly external to the individual. She was even eloquent over star actresses and opera singers; one or two of whom she spoke of having met at the house of a fashionable friend.”

“How true the old adage, that evil communications corrupt good manners!” said I.

“There must be some radical weakness in a case of such sudden deterioration as this,” replied my wife. “Some latent vanity and love of the world. I cannot believe that one sensible young woman in ten would be spoiled to the degree that Delia is spoiled, if you passed her through like temptations.”

I saw Delia myself, on the next day. She was dressed in New York, not in S–, style; and so, naturally, appeared to disadvantage in my eyes. I found her very bright and animated; and to my questions as to her new city life, she spoke warmly of its attractions. At times, in the intervals of exciting talk, her countenance would fall into its true expression, as nearly all countenances will when thought ceases to be active—that expression, in which you see, as in a mirror, the actual state of mind. It revealed far more than came into her consciousness at the time, else would she have covered it with one of the rippling smiles she had already learned to throw, like a spangled veil, over her face.

Mrs. Dewey spent nearly a month in S–and then went back with her husband to New York. I saw them several times together during this period. He had grown more pompous in manner, and talked in a larger way. Our little town was simply contemptible in his eyes, and he was at no pains to conceal his opinion. New York was everything; and a New York merchant of passable standing, able to put two or three towns like S–in his breeches pocket.

The only interest I felt in this conceited young man was as the husband of my young friend; and as touching their relation to each other, I observed both of them very closely. It did not take me long to discover that there was no true bond of love between them. The little fond attentions that we look for in a husband of only six months’ standing; and the tender reciprocations which are sure to follow, were all wanting here. Constance spoke of this, and I answered, lightly, to cover the regret the fact occasioned—

“It is not fashionable in good society, you know, for husband and wife to show any interest in each other.”

She laid her hand suddenly upon my arm, and looked lovingly into my face.