The White Virgin

“It is not customary, sir,” replied the lawyer. “You have heard its contents, and I am custodian, the representative of every one whose name is mentioned there.”

“Give it to me, I say,” cried Jessop, stepping forward. “I will read it aloud again – myself.”

There was a dull sound, a snap, and the rattle of a key being withdrawn.

“No, sir,” said the lawyer, placing the key in his pocket. “In your excited state, and as the elder son, I would not trust that document in your hand a moment.”

“And quite right,” said Dr Praed firmly.

Quick as lightning Jessop made a dash at the lawyer; but a strong hand was upon his arm, and he was swung aside by Clive.

“Are you mad – and at a time like this!”

“Call it what you like,” cried Jessop, “but don’t you think I am going to be cheated and juggled out of my – of her rights. You have your share and are out of court. I’ll have that will and read it over again.”

“You will do nothing of the kind,” said Clive, “and you will not make a scene in this – in my house.”

“Indeed! Oh, yes, I know it is your house, but you’ve got too strong a man to deal with.”

“Mr Jessop,” said the old lawyer gravely, “you have the remedy in your hands. There is no underhand work possible with a will like that. If you are dissatisfied, go and consult your own legal adviser. The will of course has to be proved, and in a very short time you will find it accurately copied at Somerset House. Under all the circumstances, as my deceased friend’s trusted adviser, I cannot let it pass from my hands into yours. I think, gentlemen, the executors, you agree with my action.”

“Quite!” came in unison, in company with a murmur of approval from the old friends present.

“Then my duties are at an end,” said the solicitor, while Jessop stood panting, speechless, and biting his lips. “Clive Reed, my dear sir, I have made many wills in my time – ”

“And you influenced the old man in this,” said Jessop.

The lawyer shook his head and looked at the disappointed man tolerantly.

“No, my dear sir. Your worthy, father was too strong-minded a man to be influenced. You have listened to his own clear, concise words and well-thought-out intentions. As I was going to say, my dear Clive Reed, I never made a will with whose principles I could more thoroughly coincide. God bless you, my dear boy! I congratulate you, and I know how well you will carry out poor old Grantham’s wishes. Ah! Doctor,” he continued sadly, “one dear old companion gone. Many’s the good bottle of port we three cracked together in this room, and many’s the sterling hour of enjoyment, rational and social, we had together.”

“Ay,” said the Doctor, with tears in his eyes, “and our turn must come before long.”

“Yes! He half apologised to me for not putting you down for a big lump sum; but he said you did not want it, and he was favouring you in your children.”

“God bless me! I didn’t want his money,” said the Doctor warmly. “What’s the use of money to me? But a hundred thousand pounds to Janet. Great heavens, what a sum!”

“Yes, and in her husband’s trust,” said the old lawyer, with a tender, paternal smile, as he advanced to Janet, held out his hands, and she nestled with a sob to him, the old family friend, upon whose knee she had sat as a child scores of times. “Hah!” sighed the old man, patting her shoulder gently, “a woman grown, Janet, but still only the little girl to me. Bless you, my dear! May you be very happy!”

“Happy!” she moaned, as Jessop engaged fiercely in conversation with some of the old family friends, and Clive stood silent and watchful, fighting against the horrible despair in his breast.

“Yes, happy, my dear – eh, Doctor? We old fellows grow to think that death when it comes is not a horror, but a restful ending to a busy life, if we go down to the quiet grave loving and beloved, honoured, too, by all our friends.”

There was a subdued murmur of approval here, for the old lawyer had looked round as he spoke.

“Come, come, wipe those pretty eyes.”

“I tell you I will,” cried Jessop fiercely; and he wrenched himself away from an elderly man who tried to restrain him.

“Oh, Jessop, Jessop,” sighed Janet, as she shrank from the lawyer’s arms, and then hurriedly turned her head away as she met Clive’s searching eyes.

“But I tell you, you haven’t a leg to stand on, man.”

“Then, curse it!” cried Jessop, “I’ll fight on crutches. It’s a false will, got out of the old man when he was imbecile. He would never have invented it himself.”

“What!” cried the Doctor warmly; and Janet burst into tears.

“I say it’s all a made-up, blackguardly concoction, schemed by my smug, smooth brother, who has always been fighting against me. Miner – underminer he ought to be called. But it shan’t stand. I’ll throw the whole thing into Chancery, and fight it year after year till there isn’t a penny left.”

“And you have been shut up in a lunatic asylum, and the best place for you,” said the Doctor angrily.

“Oh, now you’ve begun,” cried Jessop, with quite a snarl. “You think your child’s going to have a hundred thousand, do you, and that you will be able to have your coin all to yourself.”

“Jessop,” began Clive excitedly.

“No, no, my dear boy,” said the lawyer, “there must be no brotherly quarrel. It is so unseemly at a time like this. Let me try and settle it.”

“What, make terms?” cried Jessop. “No; those are for me to make, for I’ve got the whip hand of you, and you shall beg to me if all the old man’s cursed money is not to go to the lawyers. Now, then, what have you to say?”

“Oh, Jessop, Jessop,” whispered Janet, laying her hand upon his arm.

“Will you be silent, fool!” cried Jessop, seizing her by the wrist, and giving her a rough shake.

He had gone too far. Clive uttered a cry of rage, and flew to save the woman he loved from this indignity, but, as he dashed forward, his brother, with a mocking laugh, full of triumphant pride, snatched the yielding girl to his breast, and held her there.

“No, you don’t,” he said coolly: “not you, my clever schemer. You can’t hit a man through his wife.”

“What!” cried Clive wildly.

“Yes, father-in-law,” said Jessop, turning to the Doctor. “I am fighting for our legacy. Janet and I were married three days ago, and this is part of our honeymoon.”

Chapter Fourteen.

At Dinner

“Hold your tongue, boy! Don’t contradict me. You’re not to think because your father is dead that you are going to do just as you like. Try some more of that claret; it’s very good. There were only fifty dozen of it, and your father and I shared the lot. I suppose you’ve got some of it left in the cellar – your cellar. Dear, dear! poor old Grantham, what a change! There, fill up your glass. That won’t hurt you. I say it as a medical man. That’s wine that maketh glad the heart of man; and one needs it now, for homes desolate enough. The miserable jade!”

“It was not her fault,” said Clive sadly.

“What! I say it was her fault, so don’t you defend her. Confound you, sir, I know you’ve grown into a big, ugly, consequential fellow; but recollect this, sir, I consider I take your father’s place now he’s gone. I’m the first man who ever held you in his hands. Didn’t I vaccinate you, and bring you through half-a-dozen miserable little baby disorders? You are Clive Reed, mine-owner and rich man to the world; but you are only the squalling brat and scrubby boy, sir, to me.”

The Doctor tossed off a glass of his rich claret, and then swung himself round in his chair.

“Don’t take any notice of what I say, boy. I’m not myself.”

Clive rose from his chair and went and laid his hand upon the Doctor’s shoulder, to have it seized and held.

“My dear old friend!” he said, in a low voice.