“We have all been very much grieved to hear it.”
“I am sure you would be, for the sake of old days. When Dr. Fanning was last here he thought that my grandson was something better. He held out stronger hopes than before. But still he is very ill. His mind has never wavered for a moment, Mr. Masters.” Again Mr. Masters bowed. “And now he thinks that some changes should be made;—indeed that there should be a new will.”
“Does he wish me to see him, Mrs. Morton?”
“Not today, I think. He is not quite prepared today. But I wanted to ask whether you could come at a moment’s notice—quite at a moment’s notice. I thought it better, so that you should know why we sent for you if we did send—so that you might be prepared. It could be done here, I suppose?”
“It would be possible, Mrs. Morton.”
“And you could do it?”
Then there was a long pause. “Altering a will is a very serious thing, Mrs. Morton. And when it is done on what perhaps may be a deathbed, it is a very serious thing indeed. Mr. Morton, I believe, employs a London solicitor. I know the firm and more respectable gentlemen do not exist. A telegram would bring down one of the firm from London by the next train.”
A frown, a very heavy frown, came across the old woman’s brow. She would have repressed it had it been possible;—but she could not command herself, and the frown was there. “If that had been practicable, Mr. Masters,” she said, “we should not have sent for you.”
“I was only suggesting, madame, what might be the best course.”
“Exactly. And of course I am much obliged. But if we are driven to call upon you for your assistance, we shall find it?”
“Madame,” said the attorney very slowly, “it is of course part of my business to make wills, and when called upon to do so, I perform my business to the best of my ability. But in altering a will during illness great care is necessary. A codicil might be added—”
“A new will would be necessary.”
A new will, thought the attorney, could only be necessary for altering the disposition of the whole estate. He knew enough of the family circumstances to be aware that the property should go to Reginald Morton whether with or without a will—and also enough to be aware that this old lady was Reginald’s bitter enemy. He did not think that he could bring himself to take instructions from a dying man—from the Squire of Bragton on his deathbed—for an instrument which should alienate the property from the proper heir. He too had his strong feelings, perhaps his prejudices, about Bragton. “I would wish that the task were in other hands, Mrs. Morton.”
“Why so?”
“It is hard to measure the capacity of an invalid.”
“His mind is as clear as yours.”
“It might be so—and yet I might not be able to satisfy myself that it was so. I should have to ask long and tedious questions, which would be offensive. And I should find myself giving advice—which would not be called for. For instance, were your grandson to wish to leave this estate away from the heir—”
“I am not discussing his wishes, Mr. Masters.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Morton, for making the suggestion;—but as I said before, I should prefer that he should employ—someone else.”
“You refuse then?”
“If Mr. Morton were to send for me, I should go to him instantly. But I fear I might be slow in taking his instructions;—and it is possible that I might refuse to act on them.” Then she got up from her chair and bowing to him with stately displeasure left the room.
All this she had done without any authority from her grandson, simply encouraged in her object by his saying in his weakness that he would think of her proposition. So intent was she on her business that she was resolved to have everything ready if only he could once be brought to say that Peter Morton should be his heir. Having abandoned all hopes for her noble cousin she could tell her conscience that she was instigated simply by an idea of justice. Peter Morton was at any rate the legitimate son of a wellborn father and a wellborn mother. What had she or anyone belonging to her to gain by it? But forty years since a brat had been born at Bragton in opposition to her wishes—by whose means she had been expelled from the place; and now it seemed to her to be simple justice that he should on this account be robbed of that which would otherwise be naturally his own. As Mr. Masters would not serve her turn she must write to the London lawyers. The thing would be more difficult; but, nevertheless, if the sick man could once be got to say that Peter should be his heir she thought that she could keep him to his word. Lady Ushant and Mr. Masters went back to Dillsborough in Runciman’s fly, and it need hardly be said that the attorney said nothing of the business which had taken him to Bragton.
This happened on a Wednesday—Wednesday the 3rd of March. On Friday morning, at 4 o’clock, during the darkness of the night, John Morton was lying dead on his bed, and the old woman was at his bedside. She had done her duty by him as far as she knew how in tending him—had been assiduous with the diligence of much younger years; but now as she sat there, having had the fact absolutely announced to her by Dr. Nupper, her greatest agony arose from the feeling that the roof which covered her, probably the chair in which she sat, were the property of Reginald Morton—“Bastard!” she said to herself between her teeth; but she so said it that neither Dr. Nupper, who was in the room, nor the woman who
