“There’s no doubting that, sir,” said Crabwitz. “And, to tell the truth, I believe his mind is made up to do it.”
“You don’t think that anything could be done by seeing him? Of course Lady Mason has got nothing to compromise. Her son’s estate is as safe as my hat; but—”
“The people at Round’s think it isn’t quite so safe, sir.”
“Then the people at Round’s know nothing about it. But Lady Mason is so averse to legal proceedings that it would be worth her while to have matters settled. You understand?”
“Yes, sir; I understand. Would not an attorney be the best person, sir?”
“Not just at present, Crabwitz. Lady Mason is a very dear friend of mine—”
“Yes, sir; we know that,” said Crabwitz.
“If you could make any pretence for running down to Hamworth—change of air, you know, for a week or so. It’s a beautiful country; just the place you like. And you might find out whether anything could be done, eh?”
Mr. Crabwitz was well aware, from the first, that he did not get fifty pounds for nothing.
XXVI
Why Should I Not?
A day or two after his conversation with Crabwitz, as described in the last chapter, Mr. Furnival was driven up to the door of Sir Peregrine Orme’s house in a Hamworth fly. He had come over by train from Alston on purpose to see the baronet, whom he found seated in his library. At that very moment he was again asking himself those questions which he had before asked as he was walking up and down his own dining-room. “Why should I not?” he said to himself—“unless, indeed, it will make her unhappy.” And then the barrister was shown into his room, muffled up to his eyes in his winter clothing.
Sir Peregrine and Mr. Furnival were well known to each other, and had always met as friends. They had been interested on the same side in the first Orley Farm Case, and possessed a topic of sympathy in their mutual dislike to Joseph Mason of Groby Park. Sir Peregrine therefore was courteous, and when he learned the subject on which he was to be consulted he became almost more than courteous.
“Oh! yes; she’s staying here, Mr. Furnival. Would you like to see her?”
“Before I leave I shall be glad to see her, Sir Peregrine; but if I am justified in regarding you as specially her friend, it may perhaps be well that I should first have some conversation with you.” Sir Peregrine in answer to this declared that Mr. Furnival certainly would be so justified; that he did regard himself as Lady Mason’s special friend, and that he was ready to hear anything that the barrister might have to say to him.
Many of the points of this case have already been named so often, and will, I fear, be necessarily named so often again that I will spare the repetition when it is possible. Mr. Furnival on this occasion told Sir Peregrine—not all that he had heard, but all that he thought it necessary to tell, and soon became fully aware that in the baronet’s mind there was not the slightest shadow of suspicion that Lady Mason could have been in any way to blame. He, the baronet, was thoroughly convinced that Mr. Mason was the great sinner in this matter, and that he was prepared to harass an innocent and excellent lady from motives of disappointed cupidity and long-sustained malice, which made him seem in Sir Peregrine’s eyes a being almost too vile for humanity. And of Dockwrath he thought almost as badly—only that Dockwrath was below the level of his thinking. Of Lady Mason he spoke as an excellent and beautiful woman driven to misery by unworthy persecution; and so spoke with an enthusiasm that was surprising to Mr. Furnival. It was very manifest that she would not want for friendly countenance, if friendly countenance could carry her through her difficulties.
There was no suspicion against Lady Mason in the mind of Sir Peregrine, and Mr. Furnival was careful not to arouse any such feeling. When he found that the baronet spoke of her as being altogether pure and good, he also spoke of her in the same tone; but in doing so his game was very difficult. “Let him do his worst, Mr. Furnival,” said Sir Peregrine; “and let her remain tranquil; that is my advice to Lady Mason. It is not possible that he can really injure her.”
“It is possible that he can do nothing—very probable that he can do nothing; but nevertheless, Sir Peregrine—”
“I would have no dealing with him or his. I would utterly disregard them. If he, or they, or any of them choose to take steps to annoy her, let her attorney manage that in the usual way. I am no lawyer myself, Mr. Furnival, but that I think is the manner in which things of this kind should be arranged. I do not know whether they have still the power of disputing the will, but if so, let them do it.”
Gradually, by very slow degrees, Mr. Furnival made Sir Peregrine understand that the legal doings now threatened were not of that nature;—that Mr. Mason did not now talk of proceeding at law for the recovery of the property, but for the punishment of his father’s widow as a criminal; and at last the dreadful word “forgery” dropped from his lips.
“Who dares to make such a charge as that?” demanded the baronet, while fire literally flashed from his eyes in his anger. And when he was told that Mr. Mason did make such a charge he called him “a mean, unmanly dastard.” “I do not believe that he would dare to make it against a man,” said Sir Peregrine.
But there was the fact of the charge—the fact that it
