striving, be hard if they were deprived of the sight of the will; and they stared at her despairingly, to see what she would answer.
“I thank your Lordship,” she said, with a little bow; “but there would still be so many left that I do not think that it would greatly matter. I hope that everybody will understand my position, and extend their consideration to me.”
“Very well,” said the Judge, and without further ado she took off the cloak, and the silk handkerchief beneath it, and stood before the court dressed in a low black dress.
“I am afraid that I must ask you to come up here,” said his Lordship. Accordingly she walked round, mounted the bench, and then turned her back to the Judge, in order that he might examine what was written on it. This he did very carefully with the aid of a magnifying glass, referring now and again to the photographic copy which Doctor Probate had filed in the Registry.
“Thank you,” he said presently, “that will do. I am afraid that the learned counsel below will wish to have an opportunity of inspection.”
So Augusta had to descend and slowly walk along the ranks, stopping before every learned leader to be carefully examined, while hundreds of eager eyes in the background were fixed upon her unfortunate neck. However, at last it came to an end.
“That will do, Miss Smithers,” said the Judge, for whose consideration she felt deeply grateful; “you can put on your cloak again now.” Accordingly she did so and re-entered the box.
“The document which you have just shown the Court, Miss Smithers,” said James, “is the one which was executed upon you in Kerguelen Land on or about the 22nd day of December last year?”
“It is.”
“It was, I understand, executed in the presence of the testator and the two attesting witnesses, all three being present together, and the signature of each being tattooed in the presence of the other?”
“It was.”
“Was the testator, so far as you could judge, at the time of the dictation and execution of the will, of sound mind, memory, and understanding?”
“Most certainly he was.”
“Did you, beyond the suggestions of which you have already given evidence, in any way unduly influence the testator’s mind, so as to induce him to make this will?”
“I did not.”
“And to those facts you swear?”
“I do.”
Then he passed on to the history of the death of the two sailors who had attested the will, and to the account of Augusta’s ultimate rescue, finally closing his examination-in-chief just as the clock struck four, whereon the Court adjourned till the following day.
As may be imagined, though things had gone fairly well so far, nobody concerned of our party passed an over-comfortable night. The strain was too great to admit of it; and really they were all glad to find themselves in the court–which was, if possible, even more crowded on the following morning–filled with the hope that that day might see the matter decided one way or the other.
As soon as the Judge had come in, Augusta resumed her place in the witness-box, and the Attorney-General rose to cross-examine her.
“You told the Court, Miss Smithers, at the conclusion of your evidence, that you are now engaged to be married to Mr. Meeson, the plaintiff. Now, I am sorry to have to put a personal question to you, but I must ask you–Were you at the time of the tattooing of the will, in love with Mr. Meeson?”
This was a home-thrust, and poor Augusta coloured up beneath it; however, her native wit came to her aid.
“If you will define, Sir, what being in love is, I will do my best to answer your question,” she said. Whereat the audience, including his Lordship, smiled.
The Attorney-General looked puzzled, as well he might; for there are some things which are beyond the learning of even an Attorney-General.
“Well,” he said, “were you matrimonially inclined towards Mr. Meeson?”
“Surely, Mr. Attorney-General,” said the Judge, “the one thing does not necessarily include the other?”
“I bow to your Lordship’s experience,” said Mr. Attorney, tartly. “Perhaps I had better put my question in this way–Had you, at any time, any prospect of becoming engaged to Mr. Meeson?”
“None whatever.”
“Did you submit to this tattooing, which must have been painful, with a view of becoming engaged to the plaintiff?”
“Certainly not. I may point out,” she added, with hesitation, “that such a disfigurement is not likely to add to anybody’s attractions.”
“Please answer my questions, Miss Smithers, and do not comment on them. How did you come, then, to submit yourself to such a disagreeable operation?”
“I submitted to it because I thought it right to do so, there being no other apparent means at hand of attaining the late Mr. Meeson’s end. Also”–and she paused.
“Also what?”
“Also I had a regard for Mr. Eustace Meeson, and I knew that he had lost his inheritance through a quarrel about myself.”
“Ah! now we are coming to it. Then you were tattooed out of regard for the plaintiff, and not purely in the interests of justice?”
“Yes; I suppose so.”
“Well, Mr. Attorney,” interposed the Judge, “and what if she was?”
“My object, my Lord, was to show that this young lady was not the purely impassive medium in this matter that my learned friend, Mr. Short, would lead the Court to believe. She was acting from motive.”
“Most people do,” said the Judge drily. “But it does not follow that the motive was an improper one.”
Then the learned gentleman continued his cross-examination, directing all the ingenuity of his practised mind to trying to prove by Augusta’s admissions, first, that the testator was acting under the undue influence of herself; and secondly, that when the will was executed he was _non compos mentis_. To this end he dwelt at great length on every detail of the events between the tattooing of the will and the death of the testator on the following day, making as much as was possible out of the fact that he died in a fit of mania. But do what he would, he could not shake her evidence upon any material point, and when at last he sat down James Short felt that his case had not received any serious blow.
Then a few more questions having been asked in cross-examination by various other counsel, James rose to re-examine, and, with the object of rebutting the presumption of the testator’s mental unsoundness, made Augusta repeat all the details of the confession that the late publisher had made to her as regards his methods of trading. It was beautiful to see the fury and horror portrayed upon the countenance of the choleric Mr. Addison and the cadaverous Mr. Roscoe, when they saw the most cherished secrets of the customs of the trade, as practised at Meeson’s, thus paraded in the open light of day, while a dozen swift-pencilled reporters took every detail down.
Then at last Augusta was told to stand down, which she did thankfully enough, and Mrs. Thomas, the wife of Captain Thomas, was called. She proved the finding of Augusta on the island, and that she had seen the hat of one of the sailors, and the rum-cask two-thirds empty, and also produced the shell out of which the men had drunk the rum (which shell the Judge had called Augusta to identify). What was most important, however, was that she gave the most distinct evidence that she had herself seen the late Mr. Meeson interred, and identified the body as that of the late publisher by picking out his photograph from among a bundle of a dozen that were handed to her. Also she swore that when Augusta came aboard the whaler the tattoo marks on her back were not healed.
No cross-examination of the witness worth the name having been attempted, James called a clerk from the office of the late owners of the R.M.S. Kangaroo, who produced the roll of the ship, on which the names of the two sailors, Johnnie Butt and Bill Jones, duly appeared.
This closed the plaintiff’s case, and the Attorney-General at once proceeded to call his witnesses, reserving his remarks till the conclusion of the evidence. He had only two witnesses, Mr. Todd, the lawyer who drew and attested the will of Nov. 10, and his clerk, who also attested it, and their examination did not take long. In cross-examination, however, both these witnesses admitted that the testator was in a great state of passion when he executed the will, and gave details of the lively scene that then occurred.
Then the Attorney-General rose to address the Court for the defendants. He said there were two questions before the Court, reserving, for the present, the question as to the admissibility of the evidence of Augusta Smithers; and those were–first, did the tattoo marks upon the lady’s neck constitute a will at all? and secondly, supposing that they did, was it proved to the satisfaction of the Court that these undated marks were duly executed by a sane and uninfluenced man, in the presence of the witnesses, as required by the statute. He maintained, in the first place, that these marks were no will within the meaning of the statute; but, feeling that he was not on very sound ground on this point, quickly passed on to the other aspects of the case. With much force and ability he dwelt upon the strangeness of the whole story, and how it rested solely upon the evidence of one witness, Augusta Smithers. It was only if the Court accepted her evidence as it stood that it could come to the conclusion that the will was executed at all, or, indeed, that the two attesting witnesses were on the island at all. Considering the relations which existed between this witness and the plaintiff, was the Court prepared to accept her evidence in this unreserved way? Was it prepared to decide that this will, in favour of a man with whom the testator had violently quarrelled, and had disinherited in consequence of that quarrel, was not, if indeed it was executed at all, extorted by this lady from a weak and dying, and possibly a deranged, man? and with this question the learned gentleman sat down.
He was followed briefly by the Solicitor-General and Mr. Fiddlestick; but though they talked fluently enough, addressing themselves to various minor points, they had nothing fresh of interest to adduce, and finishing at half-past three, James rose to reply on the whole case on behalf of the plaintiff.
There was a moment’s pause while he was arranging his notes, and then, just as he was about to begin, the Judge said quietly, “Thank you, Mr. Short, I do not think that I need trouble you,” and James sat down with a gasp, for he knew that the cause was won.
Then his Lordship began, and, after giving a masterly summary of the whole case, concluded as follows:–“Such are the details of the most remarkable probate cause that I ever remember to have had brought to my notice, either during my career at the Bar or on the Bench. It will be obvious, as the learned Attorney-General has said, that the whole case really lies between two points. Is the document on the back of Augusta Smithers a sufficient will to carry the property? and, if so, is the unsupported story of that lady as to the execution of the document to be believed? Now, what does the law understand by the term ‘Will’? Surely it understands some writing that expresses the wish or will of a person as to the disposition of his property after his decease? This writing must be executed with certain formalities; but if it is so executed by a person not labouring under any mental or other disability it is indefeasible, except by the subsequent execution of a fresh testamentary document, or by its destruction or attempted destruction, _animo revocandi_, or by marriage. Subject to these formalities required by the law, the form of the document–provided that its meaning is clear–is immaterial. Now, do the tattoo marks on the back of this lady constitute such a document, and do they convey the true last will or wish of the testator? That is the first point that I have to decide, and I decide it in the affirmative. It is true that it is not usual for testamentary documents to be tattooed upon the skin of a human being; but, because it is not usual, it does not follow that a tattooed document is not a valid one. The ninth section of the Statute of 1 Vic., cap. 26, specifies that no will shall be valid unless it shall be in writing; but cannot this tattooing be considered as writing within the meaning of the Act? I am clearly of opinion that it can, if only on the ground that the material used was ink–a natural ink, it is true, that of the cuttle-fish, but still ink; for I may remark that the natural product of the cuttle-fish was at one time largely used in this country for that very purpose. Further, in reference to this part of the case, it must be borne in mind that the testator was no eccentric being, who from whim or perversity chose this extraordinary method of signifying his wishes as to the disposal of his property. He was a man placed in about as terrible a position as it is possible to conceive. He was, if we are to believe the story of Miss Smithers, most sincerely anxious to revoke a disposition of his property which he now, standing face to face with the greatest issue of this life, recognised to be unjust, and which was certainly contrary to the promptings of nature as experienced by most men. And yet in this terrible strait in which he found himself, and notwithstanding the earnest desire which grew more intense as his vital forces ebbed, he could find absolutely no means of carrying out his wish. At length, however, this plan of tattooing his will upon the living flesh on a younger and stronger person is presented to him, and he eagerly avails himself of it; and the tattooing is duly carried out in his presence and at his desire, and as duly signed and witnessed. Can it be seriously argued that a document so executed does not fulfil the bare requirements of the law? I think that it cannot, and am of opinion that such a document is as much a valid will as though it had been engrossed upon the skin of a sheep, and duly signed and witnessed in the Temple.
“And now I will come to the second point. Is the evidence of Miss Smithers to be believed? First, let us see where it is corroborated. It is clear, from the testimony of Lady Holmhurst, that when on board the ill-fated Kangaroo, Miss Smithers had no tattoo marks upon her shoulders. It is equally clear from the unshaken testimony of Mrs. Thomas, that when she was rescued by the American whaler, her back was marked with tattooing, then in the healing stage–with tattooing which could not possibly have been inflicted by herself or by the child, who was her sole living companion. It is also proved that there was seen upon the island by Mrs. Thomas the dead body of a man, which she was informed was that of Mr. Meeson, and which she here in court identified by means of a photograph. Also, this same witness produced a shell which she picked up in one of the huts, said to be the shell used by the sailors to drink the rum that led to their destruction; and she swore that she saw a sailor’s hat lying on the shore. Now, all this is corroborative evidence, and of a sort not to be despised. Indeed, as to one point, that of the approximate date of the execution of the tattooing, it is to my mind final. Still, there does remain an enormous amount that must be accepted or not, according as to whether or no credence can be placed in the unsupported testimony of Miss Smithers, for we cannot call on a child so young as the present Lord Holmhurst, to bear witness in a Court of Justice. If Miss Smithers, for instance, is not speaking the truth when she declares that the signature of the testator was tattooed upon her under his immediate direction, or that it was tattooed in the presence of the two sailors, Butt and Jones, whose signatures were also tattooed in the presence of the testator and of each other–no will at all was executed, and the plaintiff’s case collapses, utterly, since, from the very nature of the facts, evidence as to handwriting would, of course, be useless. Now, I approach the decision of this point after anxious thought and some hesitation. It is not a light thing to set aside a formally executed document such as the will of Nov. 10, upon which the defendants rely, and to entirely alter the devolution of a vast amount of property upon the unsupported testimony of a single witness. It seems to me, however, that there are two tests which the Court can more or less set up as standards, wherewith to measure the truth of the matter. The first of these is the accepted probability of the action of an individual under any given set of circumstances, as drawn from our common knowledge of human nature; and the second, the behaviour and tone of the witness, both in the box and in the course of circumstances that led to her appearance there. I will take the last of those two first, and I may as well state, without further delay, that I am convinced of the truth of the story told by Miss Smithers. It would to my mind be impossible for any man, whose intelligence had been trained by years of experience in this and other courts, and whose daily duty it is to discriminate as to the credibility of testimony, to disbelieve the history so circumstantially detailed in the box by Miss Smithers (Sensation). I watched her demeanour both under examination and cross-examination very closely indeed, and I am convinced that she was telling the absolutely truth so far as she knew it.
“And now to come to the second point. It has been suggested, as throwing doubt upon Miss Smithers’ story, that the existence of an engagement to marry, between her and the plaintiff, may have prompted her to concoct a monstrous fraud for his benefit; and this is suggested although at the time of the execution of the tattooing no such engagement did, as a matter of fact, exist, or was within measurable distance of the parties. It did not exist, said the Attorney-General; but the disposing mind existed: in other words, that she was then ‘in love’–if, notwithstanding Mr. Attorney’s difficulty in defining it, I may use the term with the plaintiff. This may or may not have been the case. There are some things which it is quite beyond the power of any Judge or Jury to decide, and one of them certainly is–at what exact period of her acquaintance with a future husband a young lady’s regard turns into a warmer feeling? But supposing that the Attorney-General is right, and that although she at that moment clearly had no prospect of marrying him, since she had left England to seek her fortune at the Antipodes, the plaintiff was looked upon by this lady with that kind of regard which is supposed to precede the matrimonial contract, the circumstance, in my mind, tells rather in his favour than against him. For in passing I may remark that this young lady has done a thing which is, in its way, little short of heroic; the more so because it has a ludicrous side. She has submitted to an operation which must not only have been painful, but which is and always will be a blot upon her beauty. I am inclined to agree with the Attorney-General when he says that she did not make the sacrifice without a motive, which may have sprung from a keen sense of justice, and of gratitude to the plaintiff for his interference on her behalf, or from a warmer feeling. In either case there is nothing discreditable about it–rather the reverse, in fact; and, taken by itself, there is certainly nothing here to cause me to disbelieve the evidence of Miss Smithers.
“One question only seems to me to remain. Is there anything to show that the testator was not, at the time of the execution of the will, of a sound and disposing mind? and is there anything in his conduct or history to render the hypothesis of his having executed his will so improbable that the Court should take the improbability into account? As to the first point, I can find nothing. Miss Smithers expressly swore that it was not the case; nor was her statement shaken by a very searching cross-examination. She admitted, indeed, that shortly before death he wandered in his mind, and thought that he was surrounded by the shades of authors waiting to be revenged upon him. But it is no uncommon thing for the mind thus to fail at the last, and it is not extraordinary that this dying man should conjure before his brain the shapes of those with some of whom he appears to have dealt harshly during his life. Nor do I consider it in any way impossible that when he felt his end approaching he should have wished to reverse the sentence of his anger, and restore his nephew, whose only offence had been a somewhat indiscreet use of the language of truth, the inheritance to vast wealth of which he had deprived him. Such a course strikes me as being a most natural and proper one, and perfectly in accordance with the first principles of human nature. The whole tale is undoubtedly of a wild and romantic order, and once again illustrates the saying that ‘truth is stranger than fiction.’ But I have no choice but to accept the fact that the deceased did, by means of tattooing, carried out by his order, legally execute his true last will in favour of his next-of-kin, Eustace H. Meeson, upon the shoulders of Augusta Smithers, on or about the 22nd day of December, 1885. This being so, I pronounce for the will propounded by the plaintiff, and there will be a grant as prayed.”
“With costs, my Lord?” asked James, rising.
“No, I am not inclined to go that length. This litigation has arisen through the testator’s own act, and the estate must bear the burden.”
“If your Lordship pleases,” said James, and sat down.
“Mr. Short,” said the Judge, clearing his throat, “I do not often speak in such a sense, but I do feel called upon to compliment you upon the way in which you have, single-handed, conducted this case–in some ways one of the strangest and most important that has ever come before me–having for your opponents so formidable an array of learned gentlemen. The performance would have been creditable to anybody of greater experience and longer years; as it is, I believe it to be unprecedented.”
James turned colour, bowed, and sat down, knowing that he was a made man, and that it would be his own fault if his future career at the Bar was not now one of almost unexampled prosperity.
CHAPTER XXII.
ST. GEORGE’S, HANOVER-SQUARE.
The Court broke up in confusion, and Augusta, now that the strain was over, noticed with amusement that the dark array of learned counsel who had been fighting with all their strength to win the case of their clients did not seem to be particularly distressed at the reverse that they had suffered, but chatted away gaily as they tied up their papers with scraps of red tape. She did not, perhaps, quite realize that, having done their best and earned their little fees, they did not feel called on to be heart-broken because the Court declined to take the view they were paid to support. But it was a very different matter with Messrs. Addison and Roscoe, who had just seen two millions of money slip from their avaricious grasp. They were rich men already; but that fact did not gild the pill, for the possession of money does not detract from the desire for the acquisition of more. Mr. Addison was purple with fury, and Mr. Roscoe hid his saturnine face in his hands and groaned. Just then the Attorney-General rose, and seeing James Short coming forward to speak to his clients, stopped him, and shook hands with him warmly.
“Let me congratulate you, my dear fellow,” he said. “I never saw a case better done. It was a perfect pleasure to me, and I am very glad that the Judge thought fit to compliment you–a most unusual thing, by-the-way. I can only say that I hope that I may have the pleasure of having you as my junior sometimes in the future. By-the-way, if you have no other engagement I wish that you would call round at my chambers to-morrow about twelve.”
Mr. Addison, who was close by, overheard this little speech, and a new light broke upon him. With a bound he plunged between James and the Attorney-General.
“I see what it is now,” he said, in a voice shaking with wrath, “I’ve been sold! I am a victim to collusion. You’ve had five hundred of my money, confound you!” he shouted, almost shaking his fist in the face of his learned and dignified adviser; “and now you are congratulating this man!” and he pointed his finger at James. “You’ve been bribed to betray me, Sir. You are a rascal! yes, a rascal!”
At this point the learned Attorney-General, forgetting his learning and the exceeding augustness of his position, actually reverted to those first principles of human nature of which the Judge had spoken, and doubled his fist. Indeed, had not Mr. News, utterly aghast at such a sight, rushed up and dragged his infuriated client back, there is no knowing what scandalous thing might not have happened.
But somehow he was got rid of, and everybody melted away, leaving the ushers to go round and collect the blotting-paper and pens which strewed the empty court.
“And now, good people,” said Lady Holmhurst, “I think that the best thing that we can do is all to go home and rest before dinner. I ordered it at seven, and it is half-past five. I hope that you will come, too, Mr. Short, and bring your brother with you; for I am sure that you, both of you, deserve your dinner, if ever anybody did.”
And so they all went, and a very jolly dinner they had, as well they might. At last, however, it came to an end, and the legal twins departed, beaming like stars with happiness and champagne. And then Lady Holmhurst departed also, and left Eustace and Augusta alone.
“Life is a queer thing,” said Eustace; “here this morning I was a publisher’s reader at L180 a year; and now, to-night, if this verdict holds, it seems that I am one of the wealthiest men in England.”
“Yes, dear,” said Augusta, “and with all the world at your feet, for life is full of opportunities to the rich. You have a great future before you, Eustace; I really am ashamed to marry so rich a man.”
“My darling,” he said, putting his arm round her; “whatever I have I owe to you. Do you know there is only one thing that I fear about all this money, if it really comes to us; and that is that you will be so taken up with what pleasure-seeking people call social duties, and the distribution of it, that you will give up your writing. So many women are like that. Whatever ability they have seems to vanish utterly away upon their wedding-day. They say afterwards that they have no time, but I often think it is because they do not choose to make time.”
“Yes,” answered Augusta; “but then that is because they do not really love their work, whatever it may be. Those who really love their art as I love mine, with heart and soul and strength, will not be so easily checked. Of course, distractions and cares come with marriage; but, on the other hand, if one marries happily, there comes quiet of mind and cessation from that ceaseless restlessness that is so fatal to good work. You need not fear, Eustace; if I can, I will show the world that you have not married a dullard; and if I can’t–why, my dear, it will be because I am one.”
“That comes very nicely from the author of ‘Jemima’s Vow,'” said Eustace, with sarcasm. “Really, my dear, what between your fame as a writer and as the heroine of the shipwreck and of the great will case, I think that I had better take a back seat at once, for I shall certainly be known as the husband of the beautiful and gifted Mrs. Meeson”–
“Oh! no,” answered Augusta; “don’t be afraid, nobody would dream of speaking slightingly of the owner of two millions of money.”
“Well; never mind chaffing about the money,” said Eustace; “we haven’t got it yet, for one thing. I have got something to ask you.”
“I must be going to bed,” said Augusta, firmly.
“No–nonsense!” said Eustace. “You are not going,” and he caught her by the arm.
“Unhand me, Sir!” said Augusta, with majesty. “Now what do you want, you silly boy?”
“I want to know if you will marry me next week?”
“Next week? Good gracious! No,” said Augusta. “Why I have not got my things, and, for the matter of that, I am sure I don’t know where the money is coming from to pay for them with.”
“Things!” said Eustace, with fine contempt. “You managed to live on Kerguelen Land without things, so I don’t see why you can’t get married without them–though, for the matter of that, I will get anything you want in six hours. I never did hear such bosh as women talk about ‘things.’ Listen, dear. For Heaven’s sake let’s get married and have a little quiet! I can assure you that if you don’t, your life won’t be worth having after this. You will be hunted like a wild thing, and interviewed, and painted, and worried to death; whereas, if you get married–well, it will be better for us in a quiet way, you know.”
“Well, there is something in that,” said Augusta. “But supposing that there should be an appeal, and the decision should be reversed, what would happen then?”
“Well, then we should have to work for our living–that’s all. I have got my billet, and you could write for the press until your five years’ agreement with Meeson and Co. has run out. I would put you in the way of that. I see lots of writing people at my shop.”
“Well,” said Augusta, “I will speak to Bessie about it.”
“Oh, of course, Lady Holmhurst will say no,” said Eustace, gloomily. “She will think about the ‘things’; and, besides, she won’t want to lose you before she is obliged.”
“That is all that I can do for you, Sir,” said Augusta, with decision. “There–come–that’s enough! Good-night.” And breaking away from him, she made a pretty little curtsey and vanished.
“Now, I wonder what she means to do,” meditated Eustace, as the butler brought him his hat. “I really should not wonder if she came round to it. But then, one never knows how a woman will take a thing. If she will, she will, etc., etc.”
* * * * *
And now, it may strike the reader as very strange, but, as a matter of fact, ten days from the date of the above conversation, there was a small-and-early gathering at St. George’s, Hanover-square, close by. I say “small,” for the marriage had been kept quite secret, in order to prevent curiosity-mongers from marching down upon it in their thousands, as they would certainly have done had it been announced that the heroine of the great will case was going to be married. Therefore the party was very select. Augusta had no relations of her own; and so she had asked Dr. Probate, with whom she had struck up a great friendship, to come and give her away; and, though the old gentleman’s previous career had had more connection with the undoing of the nuptial tie than with its contraction, he could not find it in his heart to refuse.
“I shall be neglecting my duties, you know, my dear young lady,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s very wrong–very wrong, for I ought to be at the Registry; but–well, perhaps I can manage to come–very wrong, though–very wrong, and quite out of my line of business! I expect that I shall begin to address the Court–I mean the clergyman–for the petitioner.”
And so it came to pass that on this auspicious day the registering was left to look after itself; and, as a matter of history, it may be stated that no question was asked in Parliament about it.
Then there was Lady Holmhurst, looking very pretty in her widow’s dress; and her boy Dick, who was in the highest spirits, and bursting with health and wonder at these strange proceedings on the part of his “Auntie”; and, of course, the legal twins brought up the rear.
And there in the vestry stood Augusta in her bridal dress, as sweet a woman as ever the sun shone on; and looking at her beautiful face, Dr. Probate nearly fell in love with her himself. And yet it was a sad face just then. She was happy–very, as a loving woman who is about to be made a wife should be; but when a great joy draws near to us it comes companioned by the shadows of our old griefs.
The highest sort of happiness has a peculiar faculty of recalling to our minds that which has troubled them in the past, the truth being, that extremes in this, as in other matters, will sometimes touch, which would seem to suggest that sorrow and happiness–however varied in their bloom–yet have a common root. Thus it was with Augusta now. As she stood in the vestry there came to her mind a recollection of her dear little sister, and of how she had prophesied happy greatness and success for her. Now the happiness and the success were at hand, and there in the aisle stood her own true love; but yet the recollection of that dear face, and of the little mound that covered it, rested on them like a shadow. It passed with a sigh, and in its place there came the memory of poor Mr. Tombey, but for whom she would not have been standing there a bride, and of his last words as he put her into the boat. He was food for fishes now, poor fellow, and she was left alone with a great and happy career opening out before her–a career in which her talents would have free space to work. And yet how odd to think it: two or three score of years and it would all be one, and she would be as Mr. Tombey was. Poor Mr. Tombey! perhaps it was as well that he was not there to see her happiness; and let us hope that wherever it is we go after the last event we lose sight of the world and those we knew therein. Otherwise there must be more hearts broken in heaven above than in earth beneath.
“Now, then, Miss Smithers,” broke in Dr. Probate, “for the very last time–nobody will call you that again, you know–take my arm; his Lordship–I mean the parson–is there.”
* * * * *
It was done, and they were man and wife. Well, even the happiest marriage is always a good thing to get over. It was not a long drive back to Hanover-square, and the very first sight that greeted them on their arrival was the infant from the City (John’s), accompanied by his brother, the infant from Pump-court (James’), who had, presumably come to show him the way, or more probably because he thought that there would be eatables going–holding in his hand a legal-looking letter.
“Marked ‘_immediate_,’ Sir; so I thought that I had better serve it at once,” said the first infant, handing the letter to John.
“What is it?” asked Eustace, nervously. He had grown to hate the sight of a lawyer’s letter with a deadly hate.
“Notice of appeal, I expect,” said John.
“Open it, man!” said Eustace, “and let’s get it over.”
Accordingly, John did so, and read as follows:–
“MEESON V. ADDISON AND ANOTHER
“Dear Sir,–After consultation with our clients, Messrs. Addison and Roscoe, we are enabled to make you the following offer. If no account is required of the mesne profits”–
“That’s a wrong term,” said James, irritably. “Mesne profits refer to profits derived from real estate. Just like a solicitor to make such a blunder.”
“The term is perfectly appropriate,” replied his twin, with warmth. “There was some real estate, and, therefore, the term can properly be applied to the whole of the income.”
“For Heaven’s sake, don’t argue but get on!” said Eustace. “Don’t you see that I am on tenterhooks?”
“–my clients,” continued John, “are ready to undertake that no appeal shall be presented to the recent case of Meeson v. Addison and Another. If, however, the plaintiff insists upon an account, the usual steps will be taken to bring the matter before a higher court.–Obediently, yours,
“NEWS AND NEWS. John Short, Esq.
“P.S.–An immediate reply will oblige.”
“Well, Meeson, what do you say to that?” said John; “but I beg your pardon, I forgot; perhaps you would like to take counsel’s advice,” and he pointed to James, who was rubbing his bald bead indignantly.
“Oh, no, I should not,” answered Eustace; “I’ve quite made up my mind. Let them stick to their mesne” (here James made a face); “Well, then, to their middle or intermediate or their anything else profits. No appeals for me, if I can avoid it. Send News a telegram.”
“That,” began James, in his most solemn and legal tones, “is a view of the matter in which I am glad to be able to heartily coincide, although it seems to me that there are several points, which I will touch on one by one.”
“Good gracious! no,” broke in Lady Holmhurst; “but I think it is rather _mean_ of them, don’t you, Mr. Short?”
James looked puzzled. “I do not quite take Lady Holmhurst’s point,” he said plaintively.
“Then you must be stupid,” said Eustace, “Don’t you see the joke?–‘_mesne_ profits,’ _mean_ of them?”
“Ah,” said James, with satisfaction; “I perceive. Lady Holmhurst does not seem to be aware that although ‘mesne’–a totally erroneous word–is pronounced ‘mean,’ it is spelt m-e-s-n-e.”
“I stand corrected,” said Lady Holmhurst, with a little curtsey. “I thought that Mr. James Short would take my ignorance into account, and understand what I _mean_!”
This atrocious pun turned the laugh against the learned James, and then, the telegram to News and News having been dispatched, they all went in to the wedding breakfast.
In a general way, wedding breakfasts are not particularly lively affairs. There is a mock hilarity about them that does not tend to true cheerfulness, and those of the guests who are not occupied with graver thoughts are probably thinking of the dyspepsia that comes after. But this particular breakfast was an exception. For the first time since her husband’s unfortunate death, Lady Holmhurst seemed to have entirely recovered her spirits and was her old self, and a very charming self it was, so charming, indeed, that even James forgot his learning and the responsibilities of his noble profession and talked, like an ordinary Christian. Indeed, he even went so far as to pay her an elephantine compliment; but as it was three sentences long, and divided into points, it shall not be repeated here.
And then, at length, Dr. Probate rose to propose the bride’s health; and very nicely he did it, as might have been expected from a man with his extraordinary familiarity with matrimonial affairs. His speech was quite charming, and aptly sprinkled with classical quotations.
“I have often,” he ended, “heard it advanced that all men are in reality equally favoured by the Fates in their passage through the world. I have always doubted the truth of that assertion, and now I am convinced of its falsity. Mr. Eustace is a very excellent young man, and, if I may be allowed to say so, a very good-looking young man; but what, I would ask this assembled company, has Mr. Meeson done above the rest of men to justify his supreme good fortune? Why should this young gentleman be picked out from the multitude of young gentlemen to inherit two millions of money, and to marry the most charming–yes, the most charming, the most talented, and the bravest young lady that I have ever met–a young lady who not only carries twenty fortunes on her face, but another fortune in her brain, and his fortune on her neck–and such a fortune, too! Sir”–and he bowed towards Eustace–
“‘Lovely Thais sits beside thee,
Take the goods the gods provide thee.’
“I salute you, as all men must salute one so supremely favoured. Humbly, I salute you; humbly I pray that you may continually deserve the almost unparalleled good that it has pleased Providence to bestow upon you.”
And then Eustace rose and made his speech, and a very good speech it was, considering the trying circumstances under which it was made. He told them how he had fallen in love with Augusta’s sweet face the very first time that he had set eyes upon it in the office of his uncle at Birmingham. He told them what he had felt when, after getting some work in London, he had returned to Birmingham to find his lady-love flown, and of what he had endured when he heard that she was among the drowned on board the Kangaroo. Then he came to the happy day of the return, and to that still happier day when he discovered that he had not loved her in vain, finally ending thus–
“Dr. Probate has said that I am a supremely fortunate man, and I admit the truth of his remark. I am, indeed, fortunate above my deserts, so fortunate that I feel afraid. When I turn and see my beloved wife sitting at my side, I feel afraid lest I should after all be dreaming a dream, and awake to find nothing but emptiness. And then, on the other hand, is this colossal wealth, which has come to me through her, and there again I feel afraid. But, please Heaven, I hope with her help to do some good with it, and remembering always that it is a great trust that has been placed in my hands. And she also is a trust and a far more inestimable one, and as I deal with her so may I be dealt with here and hereafter.” Then, by an afterthought, he proposed the health of the legal twins, who had so nobly borne the brunt of the affray single-handed, and disconcerted the Attorney-General and all his learned host.
Thereon James rose to reply in terms of elephantine eloquence, and would have gone through the whole case again had not Lady Holmhurst in despair pulled him by the sleeve and told him that he must propose her health, which he did with sincerity, lightly alluding to the fact that she was a widow by describing her as being in a “discovert condition, with all the rights and responsibilities of a ‘femme sole.'”
Everybody burst out laughing, not excepting poor lady Holmhurst herself, and James sat down, not without indignation that a giddy world should object to an exact and legal definition of the status of the individual as set out by the law.
And after that Augusta went and changed her dress, and then came the hurried good-byes; and, to escape observation, they drove off in a hansom cab amidst a shower of old shoes.
And there in that hansom cab we will leave them.
CHAPTER XXIII.
MEESON’S ONCE AGAIN.
A month had passed–a month of long, summer days and such happiness as young people who truly love each other can get out of a honeymoon spent under the most favourable circumstances in the sweetest, sunniest spots of the Channel Islands. And now the curtain draws up for the last time in this history, where it drew up for the first–in the inner office of Meeson’s huge establishment.
During the last fortnight certain communications had passed between Mr. John Short, being duly authorized thereto, and the legal representatives of Messrs. Addison and Roscoe, with the result that the interests of these gentlemen in the great publishing house had been bought up, and that Eustace Meeson was now the sole owner of the vast concern, which he intended to take under his personal supervision.
Now, accompanied by John Short, whom he had appointed to the post of his solicitor both of his business and his private affairs, and by Augusta, he was engaged in formally taking over the keys from the head manager, who was known throughout the establishment, as No. 1.
“I wish to refer to the authors’ agreements of the early part of last year,” said Eustace.
No. 1 produced them somewhat sulkily. He did not like the appearance of this determined young owner upon the scene, with his free and un-Meeson-like ways.
Eustace turned them over, and while he did so, his happy wife stood by him, marvelling at the kaleidoscopic changes in her circumstances. When last she had stood in that office, not a year ago, it had been as a pitiful suppliant begging for a few pounds wherewith to try and save her sister’s life, and now–
Suddenly Eustace stopped turning, and drawing a document from the bundle, glanced at it. It was Angusta’s agreement with Meeson and Co. for “Jemima’s Vow,” the agreement binding her to them for five years which had been the cause of all her troubles, and, as she firmly believed, of her little sister’s death.
“There, my dear,” said Eustace to his wife, “there is a present for you. Take it!”
Augusta took the document, and having looked to see what it was, shivered as she did so. It brought the whole thing back so painfully to her mind.
“What shall I do with it,” she asked; “tear it up?”
“Yes,” he answered. “No, stop a bit,” and taking it from her he wrote “cancelled” in big letters across it, signed and dated it.
“There,” he said, “now send it to be framed and glazed, and it shall be hung here in the office, to show how they used to do business at Meeson’s.”
No. 1 snorted, and looked at Eustace aghast. What would the young man be after next?
“Are the gentlemen assembled in the hall?” asked Eustace of him when the remaining documents were put away again.
No. 1 said that they were, and accordingly, to the hall they went, wherein were gathered all the editors, sub-editors, managers, sub-managers of the various departments, clerks, and other employees, not forgetting the tame authors, who, a pale and mealy regiment, had been marched up thither from the Hutches, and the tame artists with flying hair–and were now being marshalled in lines by No. 1, who had gone on before. When Eustace and his wife and John Short got to the top of the hall, where some chairs had been set, the whole multitude bowed, whereon he begged them to be seated–a permission of which the tame authors, who sat all day in their little wooden hutches, and sometimes a good part of the night also, did not seem to care to avail themselves of. But the tame artists, who had, for the most part, to work standing, sat down readily.
“Gentlemen,” said Eustace, “first let me introduce you to my wife, Mrs. Meeson, who, in another capacity, has already been–not greatly to her own profit–connected with this establishment, having written the best work of fiction that has ever gone through our printing-presses”–(Here some of the wilder spirits cheered, and Augusta blushed and bowed)–“and who will, I hope and trust, write many even better books, which we shall have the honour of giving to the world.” (Applause.) “Also, gentlemen, let me introduce you to Mr. John Short, my solicitor, who, together with his twin brother, Mr. James Short, brought the great lawsuit in which I was engaged to a successful issue.”
“And now I have to tell you why I have summoned you all to meet me here. First of all, to say that I am now the sole owner of this business, having bought out Messrs. Addison and Roscoe”–(“And a good job too,” said a voice)–“and that I hope we shall work well together; and secondly, to inform you that I am going to totally revolutionise the course of business as hitherto practised in this establishment”–(Sensation)–“having, with the assistance of Mr. Short, drawn up a scheme for that purpose. I am informed in the statement of profits on which the purchase price of the shares of Messrs. Addison and Roscoe was calculated, that the average net profits of this house during the last ten years have amounted to fifty-seven and a fraction per cent on the capital invested. Now, I have determined that in future the net profits of any given undertaking shall be divided as follows:–Ten per cent to the author of the book in hand, and ten per cent to the House. Then, should there be any further profit, it will be apportioned thus: One-third–of which a moiety will go towards a pension fund–to the employee’s of the House, the division to be arranged on a fixed scale”–(Enormous sensation, especially among the tame authors)–“and the remainder to the author of the work. Thus, supposing that a book paid cent per cent, I shall take ten per cent., and the employees would take twenty-six and a fraction per cent, and the author would take sixty-four per cent.”
And here an interruption occurred. It came from No. 1, who could no longer retain his disgust.
“I’ll resign,” he said; “I’ll resign! Meeson’s content with ten per cent, and out-of-pocket expenses, when an author–a mere author–gets sixty! It’s shameful–shameful!”
“If you choose to resign, you can,” said Eustace, sharply; “but I advise you to take time to think it over. Gentlemen,” went on Eustace, “I daresay that this seems a great change to you, but I may as well say at once that I am no wild philanthropist. I expect to make it pay, and pay well. To begin with, I shall never undertake any work that I do not think will pay–that is, without an adequate guarantee, or in the capacity of a simple agent; and my own ten per cent will be the first charge on the profits; then the author’s ten. Of course, if I speculate in a book, and buy it out and out, subject to the risks, the case will be different. But with a net ten per cent certain, I am, like people in any other line of business, quite prepared to be satisfied; and, upon those terms, I expect to become the publisher of all the best writers in England, and I also expect that any good writer will in future be able to make a handsome income out of his work. Further, it strikes me that you will most of you find yourselves better off at the end of the year than you do at present” (Cheers). “One or two more matters I must touch on. First and foremost the Hutches, which I consider a scandal to a great institution like this, will be abolished”–(Shouts of joy from the tame authors)–“and a handsome row of brick chambers erected in their place, and, further, their occupants will in future receive a very permanent addition to their salaries “–(renewed and delirious cheering). “Lastly, I will do away with this system–this horrid system–of calling men by numbers, as though they were convicts instead of free Englishmen. Henceforth everybody in this establishment will be known by his own name.” (Loud cheers.)
“And now one more thing: I hope to see you all at dinner at Pompadour Hall this day next week, when we will christen our new scheme and the new firm, which, however, in the future as in the past, will be known as Meeson & Co., for, as we are all to share in the profits of our undertaking, I consider that we shall still be a company, and I hope a prosperous and an honest company in the truest sense of the word.” And then amidst a burst of prolonged and rapturous cheering, Eustace and his wife bowed, and were escorted out to the carriage that was waiting to drive them to Pompadour Hall.
In half-an-hour’s time they were re-entering the palatial gates from which, less than a year before, Eustace had been driven forth to seek his fortune. There, on either side, were drawn up the long lines of menials, gorgeous with plush and powder (for Mr. Meeson’s servants had never been discharged), and there was the fat butler, Johnson, at their head, the same who had given his farewell message to his uncle.
“Good gracious!” said Augusta, glancing up the marble steps, “there are six of those great footmen. What on earth shall I do with them all”–
“Sack them,” said Eustace, abruptly; “the sight of those overfed brutes makes me sick!”
And then they were bowed in–and under the close scrutiny of many pairs of eyes, wandered off with what dignity they could command to dress for dinner.
In due course they found themselves at dinner, and such a dinner! It took an hour and twenty minutes to get through, or rather the six footmen took an hour and twenty minutes to carry the silver dishes in and out. Never since their marriage had Eustace and Augusta, felt so miserable.
“I don’t think that I like being so rich,” said Augusta rising and coming down the long table to her husband, when at last Johnson had softly closed the door. “It oppresses me!”
“So it does me,” said Eustace; “and I tell you what it is, Gussie,” he went on, putting his arm round her, “I won’t stand having all these infernal fellows hanging round me. I shall sell this place, and go in for something quieter.”
And at that moment there came a dreadful diversion. Suddenly, and without the slightest warning, the doors at either end of the room opened. Through the one came two enormous footmen laden with coffee and cream, etc., and through the other Johnson and another powdered monster bearing cognac and other liquors. And there was Augusta with Eustace’s arm round her, absolutely too paralysed to stir. Just as the men came up she got away somehow, and stood looking like an idiot, while Eustace coloured to his eyes. Indeed, the only people who showed no confusion were those magnificent menials, who never turned a single powdered hair, but went through their solemn rites with perfectly unabashed countenances.
“I can’t stand this,” said Augusta, feebly, when they had at length departed. “I am going to bed; I feel quite faint.”
“All right,” said Eustace, “I think that it is the best thing to do in this comfortless shop. Confound that fellow, Short, why couldn’t he come and dine? I wonder if there is any place where one could go to smoke a pipe, or rather a cigar–I suppose those fellows would despise me if I smoked a pipe? There was no smoking allowed here in my uncle’s time, so I used to smoke in the house-keeper’s room; but I can’t do that now”–
“Why don’t you smoke here?–the room is so big it would not smell,” said Augusta.
“Oh, hang it all, no,” said Eustace; “think of the velvet curtains! I can’t sit and smoke by myself in a room fifty feet by thirty; I should get the blues. No, I shall come upstairs, too, and smoke there”–
And he did.
Early, very early in the morning, Augusta woke, got up, and put on a dressing-gown.
The light was streaming through the rich gold cloth curtains, some of which she had drawn. It lit upon the ewers, made of solid silver, on the fine lace hangings of the bed, and the priceless inlaid furniture, and played round the faces of the cupids on the frescoed ceiling. Augusta stared at it all and then thought of the late master of this untold magnificence as he lay dying in the miserable hut in Kerguelen Land. What a contrast was here!
“Eustace,” she said to her sleeping spouse, “wake up, I want to say something to you.”
“Eh! what’s the matter?” said Eustace, yawning.
“Eustace, we are too rich–we ought to do something with all this money.”
“All right,” said Eustace, “I’m agreeable. What do you want to do?”
“I want to give away a good sum–say, two hundred thousand, that isn’t much out of all you have–to found an institution for broken-down authors.”
“All right,” said Eustace; “only you must see about it, I can’t be bothered. By-the-way,” he added, waking up a little, “you remember what the old boy told you when he was dying? I think that starving authors who have published with Meeson’s ought to have the first right of election.”
“I think so, too,” said Augusta, and she went to the buhl writing-table to work out that scheme on paper which, as the public is aware, is now about to prove such a boon to the world of scribblers.
“I say, Gussie!” suddenly said her husband. “I’ve just had a dream!”
“Well!” she said sharply, for she was busy with her scheme; “what is it?”
“I dreamt that James Short was a Q.C., and making twenty thousand a year, and that he had married Lady Holmhurst.”
“I should not wonder if that came true,” answered Augusta, biting the top of her pen.
Then came another pause.
“Gussie,” said Eustace, sleepily, “are you quite happy?”
“Yes, of course I am, that is, I should be if it wasn’t for those footmen and the silver water-jugs.”
“I wonder at that,” said her husband.
“Why?”
“Because”–(yawn)–“of that will upon your neck”–(yawn). “I should not have believed that a woman could be quite happy”–(yawn)–“who could–never go to Court.”
And he went to sleep again; while, disdaining reply, Augusta worked on.
THE END.