Mr. Scarborough's Family Part 55

"He said six."

"Ah! that is, if I do what I'm told. But I shall not exactly do that.

Three or six would be all the same, only for a little bit of business I want to get through. Sir William's orders would include the abandonment of my business."

"The less done the better. Then I do not see why Sir William should limit you to six months."

"I think that three will nearly suffice."

"A man does not want to die, I suppose," said Merton.

"There are various ways of looking at that question," replied the squire. "Many men desire the prolongation of life as a lengthened period of enjoyment. There is, perhaps, something of that feeling with me; but when you see how far I am crippled and curtailed, how my enjoyments are confined to breathing the air, to eating and drinking, and to the occasional reading of a few pages, you must admit that there cannot be much of that. A conversation with you is the best of it. Some want to live for the sake of their wives and children. In the ordinary acceptation of the words, that is all over with me. Many desire to live because they fear to die. There is nothing of that in me, I can a.s.sure you. I am not afraid to meet my Creator. But there are those who wish for life that their purposes of love, or stronger purposes of hatred, may be accomplished. I am among the number. But, on that account, I only wish it till those purposes have been completed. I think I'll go to sleep for an hour; but there are a couple of letters I want you to write before post-time." Then Mr. Scarborough turned himself round and thought of the letters he was to write. Mr. Merton went out, and as he wandered about the park in the dirt and slush of December tried to make up his mind whether he most admired his patron's philosophy or condemned his general lack of principle.

At the proper hour he appeared again, and found Mr. Scarborough quite alert. "I don't know whether I shall have the three months, unless I behave better," he said. "I have been thinking about those letters, and very nearly made an attempt to write them. There are things about a son which a father doesn't wish to communicate to any one." Merton only shook his head. "I'm not a bit afraid of you, nor do I care for your knowing what I have to say. But there are words which it would be difficult even to write, and almost impossible to dictate." But he did make the attempt, though he did not find himself able to say all that he had intended. The first letter was to the lawyer:

"My dear Mr. Grey,--You will be surprised at my writing to summon you once again to my bedside. I think there was some kind of a promise made that the request should not be repeated; but the circ.u.mstances are of such a nature that I do not well know how to avoid it. However, if you refuse to come, I will give you my instructions. It is my purpose to make another will, and to leave everything that I am capable of leaving to my son Mountjoy. You are aware that he is now free from debt, and capable of enjoying any property that he may possess. As circ.u.mstances are at present he would on my death be absolutely penniless, and Heaven help the man who should find himself dependent on the mercy of Augustus Scarborough.

"What I possess would be the balance at the bank, the house in town, and everything contained in and about Tretton, as to which I should wish that the will should be very explicit in making it understood that every conceivable item of property is to belong to Mountjoy. I know the strength of an entail, and not for worlds would I venture to meddle with anything so holy." There came a grin of satisfaction over his face as he uttered these words, and his scribe was utterly unable to keep from laughing. "But as Augustus must have the acres, let him have them bare."

"Underscore that word, if you please;" and the word was underscored. "If I had time I would have every tree about the place cut down."

"I don't think you could under the entail," said Merton.

"I would use up every stick in building the farmers' barns and mending the farmers' gates, and I would cover an acre just in front of the house with a huge conservatory. I respect the law, my boy, and they would find it difficult to prove that I had gone beyond it. But there is no time for that kind of finished revenge."

Then he went on with the letter: "You will understand what I mean. I wish to divide my property so that Mountjoy may have everything that is not strictly entailed. You will of course say that it will all go to the gambling-table. It may go to the devil, so that Augustus does not have it. But it need not go to the gambling-table. If you would consent to come down to me once more we might possibly devise some scheme for saving it. But whether we can do so or not, it is my request that my last will may be prepared in accordance with these instructions.

"Very faithfully yours,

"JOHN SCARBOROUGH."

"And now for the other," said Mr. Scarborough.

"Had you not better rest a bit?" asked Merton.

"No; this is a kind of work at which a man does not want to rest. He is carried on by his own solicitudes and his own eagerness. This will be very short, and when it is done then, perhaps, I may sleep."

The second letter was as follows:

"My dear Mountjoy,--I think you are foolish in allowing yourself to be prevented from coming here by a sentiment. But in truth, independently of the pleasure I should derive from your company, I wish you to be here on a matter of business which is of some importance to yourself. I am about to make a new will; and although I am bound to pay every respect to the entail, and would not for worlds do anything in opposition to the law, still I may be enabled to do something for your benefit. Your brother has kindly interfered for the payment of your creditors; and as all the outstanding bonds have been redeemed, you would now, by his generosity, be enabled to enjoy any property which might be left to you.

There are a few tables and chairs at my disposal, and a gem or two, and some odd volumes which perhaps you might like to possess. I have written to Mr. Grey on the subject, and I would wish you to see him. This you might do, whether you come here or not. But I do not the less wish that you should come.

"Your affectionate father,

"JOHN SCARBOROUGH."

"I think that the odd volumes will fetch him. He was always fond of literature."

"I suppose it means the entire library?" replied Merton.

"And he likes tables and chairs. I think he will come and look after the tables and chairs."

"Why not beds and washhand-stands?" said Mr. Merton.

"Well, yes; he may have the beds and washhand-stands. Mountjoy is not a fool, and will understand very well what I mean. I wonder whether I could sc.r.a.pe the paper off the drawing-room walls, and leave the sc.r.a.ps to his brother, without interfering with the entail? But now I am tired, and will rest."

But he did not even then go to rest, but lay still scheming, scheming, scheming, about the property. There was now another letter to be written, for the writing of which he would not again summon Mr. Merton.

He was half ashamed to do so, and at last sent for his sister. "Martha,"

said he, "I want you to write a letter for me."

"Mr. Merton has been writing letters for you all the morning."

"That's just the reason why you should write one now. I am still in some slight degree afraid of his authority, but I am not at all afraid of yours."

"You ought to be quiet, John; indeed you ought."

"And, in order that I may be quiet, you must write this letter. It's nothing particular, or I should not have asked you to do it. It's only an invitation."

"An invitation to ask somebody here?"

"Yes; to ask somebody to come here. I don't know whether he'll come."

"Do I know him?"

"I hope you may, if he comes. He's a very good-looking young man, if that is anything."

"Don't talk nonsense, John."

"But I believe he's engaged to another young lady, with whom I must beg you not to interfere. You remember Florence?"

"Florence Mountjoy? Of course I remember my own niece."

"The young man is engaged to her."

"She was intended for poor Mountjoy."

"Poor Mountjoy has put himself beyond all possibility of a wife."

"Poor Mountjoy!"--and the soft-hearted aunt almost shed tears.

"But we haven't to do with Mountjoy now. Sit down there and begin. 'Dear Mr. Annesley--'"

"Oh! It's Mr. Annesley, is it?"

"Yes, it is. Mr. Annesley is the handsome young man. Have you any objection?"

"Only people do say--"

"What do they say?"