The Revellers Part 25

"What a finis.h.!.+" he muttered. "I'd have liked it better in the saddle. I wouldn't have cared a d.a.m.n if I broke my neck after hounds."

Another pause, and the vicar said gently:

"Have you made your will?"

"No."

"Then it must be attended to at once."

"Yes, of course. Then, there's Betsy. Oh, G.o.d, I've treated her badly.

Now, help me, won't you? There's a hundred pounds in notes and some twenty-odd in gold in that drawer. Telegraph first to Stockwell, my lawyer in Nottonby. Bring him here. Then, spare no money in getting a license for my marriage. I can't die unless that is put right. Don't delay, there's a good chap. You have to apply to the Archbishop, don't you? You'll do everything, I know. Will you be a trustee under my will?"

"Yes, if you wish it."

"It'll please me more than anything. Of course, I'll make it worth your while. I insist, I tell you. Go, now! Don't lose a moment. Send Betsy.

And, vicar, for Heaven's sake, not a word to her until we are married.

I'll tell her the fever is serious; just that, and no more."

"One other matter, George. Mr. Beckett-Smythe will come here to-day or to-morrow to take your sworn deposition. You must not die with a lie on your conscience, however good the motive."

"I'll jump that fence when I reach it, Mr. Herbert. Meanwhile, the lawyer and the license. They're all-important."

The vicar left it at that. He deemed it best to take the urgent measures of the hour off the man's mind before endeavoring to turn his thoughts toward a fitting preparation for the future state. With a rea.s.suring handclasp, he left him.

The two sisters waylaid him in the pa.s.sage.

"Ye had but ill news, I fear, sir," said Betsy despairingly, catching Mr. Herbert by the arm.

The worried man stooped to deception.

"Now, why should you jump to conclusions?" he cried. "Dr. MacGregor asked me to look up his patient. Am I a harbinger of disaster, like Mother Carey's chickens?"

"Oh, parson," she wailed, "I read it i' yer face, an' in t' doctor's.

Don't tell me all is well. I know better. Pray G.o.d I may die----"

"Hush, my poor girl, you know not what you say. Go to Mr. Pickering. He wants you."

He knew the appeal would be successful. She darted off. Before Kitty, in turn, could question him, he escaped.

It was easier to run the gantlet of friendly inquirers outside. He telegraphed to the solicitor and sent a telegraphic remittance of the heavy fees demanded for the special license. Within two hours he had the satisfaction of knowing that the precious doc.u.ment was in the post and would reach him next morning.

Mr. Stockwell's protests against Pickering's testamentary designs were cut short by his client.

"Look here, Stockwell," was the irritated comment, "you are an old friend of mine and I'd like this matter to remain in your hands, but if you say another word I'll be forced to send for someone else."

"If you put it that way----" began the lawyer.

"I do, most emphatically. Now, what is it to be? Yes or no?"

For answer the legal man squared some foolscap sheets on a small table and produced a stylographic pen.

"Let me understand clearly," he said. "You intend to marry this--er--lady, and mean to settle four hundred a year on her for life?"

"Yes."

"Suppose she marries again?"

"G.o.d in heaven, man, do you think I want to play dog-in-the-manger in my grave?"

"Then it had better take the form of a marriage settlement. It is the strongest instrument known in the law and avoids the death duties."

Pickering winced, but the lawyer went on remorselessly. He regarded the marriage as a wholly quixotic notion, and knew only too well that Betsy Thwaites would be tried for murder if Pickering died.

"Have you no relatives?" he said. "I seem to recollect----"

"My cousin Stanhope? He's quite well off, an M.P., and likely to be made a baronet."

"He will not object to the chance of dropping in for 1,500 a year."

"Do you think the estate will yield so much?"

"More, I imagine. Did you ever know what you spent?"

"No."

"Well, is it to be this Mr. Stanhope?"

"No. He never gave me a thought. Why should I endow him and his whelps?

Let the lot go to the County Council in aid of the county orphanage. By Jove, that's a good idea! I like that."

"Anything else?" demanded the lawyer.

"Yes. You and Mr. Herbert are to be the trustees."

"The deuce we are. Who said so?"

"I say so. You are to receive 50 a year each from the estate for administering it."

"Ah. That gilds the pill. Next?"

"I have nearly a thousand in the bank. Keep half as working capital, give a hundred to my company in the Territorials, and divide the balance, according to salary, among all my servants who have more than five years' service. And--Betsy is to have the use of the house and furniture, if she wishes it."

"Anything else?"

Pickering was exhausted, but continued to laugh weakly.

"Yes; I had almost forgotten. I bequeath to John Bolland the shorthorn cow he sold me, and to that lad of his--you must find out his proper name--my pair of hammerless guns and my sword. He frames to be a sportsman, and I think he'll make a soldier. He picked up a poker like a shot the other day when I quarreled with old John."

"What was the quarrel about?"