Chapter XX

MR. LINDSAY’S WILL.

Early the following morning Dr. Mackenzie despatched a note in Mr. Lindsay’s name to Messrs. Hatchett, Small, and Hatchett, asking that one of the firm should call upon him as soon as possible, and take his instructions for the making of his will. This note was delivered in the afternoon, and was in due course passed on to Mr. Beattie, with the words pencilled across it, ‘Please attend to this at once.’ Mr. Hatchett and Mr. Small were both too important men to attend in person and take instructions for a will, and the junior partner happened to be in America.

‘Ah!’ said Beattie to himself, as he glanced at the note, ‘this will decide our friend Lindsay’s future. I wonder whether Semple will come in for a good share. Surely, if he does, he won’t trouble me about that six hundred I owe him?’

About four o’clock Beattie presented himself at Mr. Lindsay’s house, and was at once shown up to the sick man’s chamber.

‘Are you Mr. Hatchett, or Mr. Small?’ was Mr. Lindsay’s first question.

‘Neither. My name is Beattie. I am the managing clerk of the conveyancing department. It was quite impossible for one of the partners to come to-day; and as you seemed to wish your will made at once——’

‘Oh, very well, sit down,’ interrupted the old man.

He was by no means pleased that a clerk had been sent to him; but it was not worth while to dispute the point.

Beattie found writing materials on a side-table, and seated himself at the bedside, with his pen in his hand.

‘First of all, sir,’ he began, ‘I shall want your full name and address. By the way, you have lived here for some months, I believe?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you have no intention of returning to Scotland?’

‘No,’ said the old man grimly.

‘I mean, if you recover?’

‘Not permanently.’

‘Have you any will now existing?’

‘No.’

For some minutes there was silence, and then Mr. Lindsay named the two friends whom he wished to be his trustees and executors. Then there was a longer pause. At last the sick man broke the silence, speaking rapidly, as if he feared that even then he might change his mind.

‘Sell my houses, and all that’s in them—nobody will care for them after I am gone. Sell the oil-works at Drumleck, and the business. They have been mismanaged sadly of late; besides, the trade is not what it was, and I doubt if there’s much more to be made in it,’ he added, as if speaking to himself. ‘Then my brother, Alexander Lindsay, of the Castle Farm, Muirburn, must have ten thousand pounds. And my second cousin, Jean Lindsay, who has been my housekeeper for many years, ten thousand. Have you put that down?’

‘Yes.’

‘To my niece, Margaret Lindsay, three thousand, and to my ward, Laura Mowbray, say two thousand. I pity that lassie’s husband,’ he added, under his breath.

Again there was a long pause, so long that Beattie dried his writing, and looked up as if to ask whether the instructions were ended.

‘And I bequeath,’ said the old man in a firm voice, ‘to all those who have been Moderators of the General Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland, to the present Moderator, and to every succeeding Moderator, the sum of five hundred thousand pounds, in trust for the Free Church of Scotland, to be used, at their discretion, for the general purposes of that body.’

Mr. Lindsay glanced at the lawyer as he pronounced these words, that he might see what effect the magnitude of the bequest had upon him; but, to the old man’s disappointment, Mr. Beattie’s face remained perfectly impassive. ‘For the general purposes of that body,’ he repeated, writing down the words.

‘And I request these trustees to appoint my friend the Rev. Robert Mackenzie, D.D., Secretary to the Trust, at such reasonable salary as they may think fit. And, by the way, I leave the said Rev. Robert Mackenzie one thousand pounds, for himself. The rest of my property—what do you call it?’

‘The residue.’

‘Ay. The residue I leave to my nephews, James Semple and Alexander Lindsay, equally between them. I calculate that will give them some ten thousand apiece.’

‘By the way, have you personal property to the extent of half a million?’ inquired the clerk.

‘Yes.’

‘I only asked, because otherwise there might be a difficulty about the Statutes of Mortmain. But I can make the legacy to the Free Church come out of the personalty. Have you any further instructions?’

‘No.’

‘Then I will read over what I have written, and if it is in accordance with your wishes, you will please initial it.’

This was done, and Beattie took his leave, promising that the draft would be ready in a day or two.

As he reached the hall, he met James Semple, who was coming out of the library.

‘Come in here a moment, Beattie,’ said Semple, drawing him into the room, which was empty. ‘What have you been about with my uncle?’

‘I can’t speak of a client’s business, you know,’ answered Beattie with a smile.

‘Oh, stuff! Don’t come the virtuous to such an extent as that. Weren’t you taking down his instructions for his will?’

Beattie smiled again.

‘Really, my dear fellow, consider my position,’ he began.

‘I am certain you were. Now, look here. Am I to have the business at Drumleck, or am I not?’

But the other was dumb.

‘We can’t talk here,’ said Semple nervously. ‘It’s past five; there’s no necessity for you to go back to the office, is there?’

‘No.’

‘Then, will you come and dine with me at the Cosmopolitan, say at half-past six? I can’t very well ask you to dine here, you know.’

Beattie accepted the invitation. He knew very well that Semple’s object in giving it was to extract information from him about the will; and Semple told himself that if Beattie had not meant to yield, he would not have promised to dine with him. But Beattie had by no means made up his mind on the point. One thing, however, he hardly needed to decide—he did not intend to sell his information for nothing.

Semple secured a private room at the Cosmopolitan, and ordered a good dinner and the best wine procurable.

There was but little conversation between the two young men during dinner; but as soon as the meal was concluded, Semple’s impatience made him open the subject which was uppermost in their minds.

‘Look here, Beattie,’ he began; ‘I’ve been a good friend to you, haven’t I?’

‘Yes, you have, Semple.’

‘I lent you six hundred pounds, you know—about that matter—on very bad security.’

‘You did.’

‘Well, fill your glass, old man.’

Beattie obeyed; but the other noticed that he merely put the glass to his lips.

‘Come now, Beattie,’ said Semple, ‘I really think you might oblige me in that little matter we were speaking of. You see, I want to have a talk with my uncle about it; but I must first know what his ideas are.’

‘How could I do such a thing? Suppose Hatchett’s people were to get wind of it, what would be the consequence?’

‘Tuts, man! they can never know of it!’

‘I should be ruined.’

‘There’s not the slightest chance of it.’

‘I should be constantly in your power.’

‘That means you want to drive a bargain with me.’

‘I thought you might sign this, perhaps,’ said Beattie, drawing a paper from his pocket.

It was a receipt in full for six hundred pounds.

‘Well, you are cool!’ cried Semple, greatly admiring his friend’s impudence.

‘Will you sign it?’

‘Of course not. I should be mad to do such a thing. Why, I can ask my uncle at any time what his intentions are.’

‘Then why come to me?’ asked Beattie slowly, lifting his eyebrows.

‘It would be convenient to know beforehand, certainly; but it’s not worth that,’ said Semple.

‘I think you’ll find it’s worth a good deal,’ said the other, smiling again.

This whetted Semple’s curiosity, and roused his anxiety.

‘Come now, let me see the instructions—I know you have the paper about you—and I’ll let you off a hundred.’

‘And not trouble me for the balance for three years?’

‘Well, yes; and that’s all I’ll do. I’ve made up my mind.’

Beattie saw that no better terms were to be obtained, so he rang for pen and ink, altered the word ‘six’ into ‘one’ in the receipt with which he had provided himself, and then it was signed.

‘Now,’ said Semple.

Without speaking a word, Beattie drew the paper of instructions from his pocket, and laid it on the table.

Semple snatched it up hastily; and the other sat watching him, knocking off, now and then, the ash from the end of his cigarette with his little finger.

Semple ran hurriedly through the first part of the document; then suddenly he gave a cry, and started up, as white as a sheet.

‘Sit down, man,’ said Beattie, almost alarmed at the expression on his companion’s face. ‘Sit down, and drink this,’ and he poured him out a glass of port.

Semple took it with a hand that trembled so as to spill the wine, and drank it off. Then he burst out in a torrent of imprecations.

‘I knew that —— old minister would make him put down something for his religion, but I never dreamt of such madness as this!’

Beattie said nothing; on the whole he rather enjoyed his friend’s discomfiture.

‘It’s infamous! And I, to have slaved all my life for nothing—nothing, by ——! That half-million is about all he has.’

‘You are to have half the residue, you see,’ said Beattie; ‘about ten thousand pounds, I believe.’

‘And what’s that? He might as well have left me ten thousand farthings! I ought to have had a hundred thousand pounds at least. But I won’t submit to it! I will not. I will dispute the will. My uncle is not in a fit state of mind to make a will. Eh, Beattie?’

Beattie was leaning with his arms on the table, as he slowly pressed the end of his cigarette against the ash-tray. On hearing his companion’s last words, he slowly shook his head without looking up.

‘When I saw him this afternoon, Mr. Lindsay was in perfect possession of his faculties,’ he said calmly. (The other darted at him a look of contempt.) ‘And the doctor who attends him, as well as his relations and servants, would no doubt be of the same opinion,’ he added firmly.

Semple dropped his eyes on the table, and was silent.

‘Is there no one who has influence with him, no one who might induce him to alter his mind?’ added the young lawyer, after a pause.

‘Nobody in the world,’ said Semple bitterly. ‘My uncle is the very incarnation of self-conceit and obstinacy. Everybody will talk of this “munificent bequest,” and that’s all he cares for. I will try, of course, what I can do; but there’s not the slightest chance——’

‘Take care that you don’t let him see that you know his intentions before he speaks of them himself,’ said Beattie anxiously.

‘You needn’t be afraid,’ said the other.

There was silence in the room for some minutes, while Semple sat brooding over the prospect before him, his eyes on the floor. Suddenly he started to his feet, and, striking the table with his fist, cried, with an oath:

‘I won’t stand it! I will not! I’m not going to be fooled out of all this money after toiling for it so long. Beattie, you must help me to get it. There are ways and means. You lawyers know them. I’ll take any reasonable risk myself, and you shall have half-profits—that is, two hundred thousand out of the five. That’s fair, isn’t it?’

Beattie smiled contemptuously.

‘May I ask you what you were thinking of?’ he inquired, with mock politeness.

‘I’m thinking of getting the money,’ said Semple roughly. ‘And if you’re too much of a coward to help me, I’ll find someone who will! Think, man. Is there no way? Can’t we find someone who’—here he dropped his voice to a whisper—‘who could imitate the signature, you know.’

‘And find ourselves in a convict prison for the rest of our lives? No, thank you.’

‘But it’s awful to think of such a sum slipping away from one like that. It’s a sin not to make an effort——’

Here Mr. Semple stopped; his ideas were getting rather mixed.

‘You’ll think it over,’ said he, after a long pause.

‘I’ll think it over,’ repeated the other.

‘Then you think there’s a chance of——’

‘A chance? Well, hardly that. And yet, as you say, it would be a pity to miss an opportunity of—two hundred thousand pounds, I think you said?’

‘If I take the risk, one hundred thousand, Beattie. It’s a large sum.’

‘Well, I’ll think it over. Good-night,’ said Beattie, abruptly holding out his hand. ‘By the way,’ he added, turning back as he reached the door, ‘you had better give me a call to-morrow morning, before I go down to the office, for there’s no time to lose. I will expect you at half-past eight. Something may have occurred to me in the meantime.’

It happened that that very evening Alec Lindsay called at his uncle’s, and as soon as the old man was aware that his nephew was in the house, he sent for him.

‘Alec,’ he said, ‘sit down. I have something to say to you.’

Alec obeyed, wondering what was coming.

‘I am decidedly of opinion,’ said Mr. Lindsay, in his old pragmatical way, ‘that it is not a good thing for a young man to be made suddenly rich. If he has enough to give him a start in life, that is all he needs. Wealth is often the occasion of a young man’s ruin. Therefore I have not made you my heir.’

‘I hope you never thought I was expecting anything of the kind,’ said Alec quickly.

‘No. So you won’t be disappointed. I have not forgotten you in my will. You will have a competency. I have not forgotten any of my relations who had natural claims on me. But I have thought it right to leave the bulk of my property to the Kirk. The will is not drawn up yet. I had a man here to-day from your office, taking down the heads of what I want done. I must say I think one of the partners might have come.’

‘They are very much engaged.’

‘So this Mr. Beattie said. But I don’t want to have a clerk that I don’t know anything about attending to such an important matter. I should like you to see to it yourself. You do that sort of work in the office, don’t you?’

‘Yes—but—— The fact is, uncle, I had rather not meddle with it, especially if my name is to be in the will.’

‘Tuts, man, what does that signify?’

‘Not much in reality, but——’

‘You can tell one of the partners that it is my wish.’

‘That would be a very awkward thing for me to do.’

‘You’re very particular. It’s not such a great favour to ask of you. Will you do it if I write to the firm, and say I prefer that you should draw up the will?’

‘Yes, uncle. I am very willing to oblige you; but if you are really anxious that I should do it, you had better write to the firm about it.’

‘Then I will write a note now, and have it posted to-night, so that they may get it in the morning. That’s all I wanted to say to you. Just ask your aunt Jean to come here for a minute, when you go down.’

Alec found Miss Lindsay sitting with Laura in the library, and delivered his message.

‘What secrets have you and my uncle been discussing?’ asked the girl, as soon as the elder lady had left the room.

(Laura had dropped into the way of calling Mr. Lindsay ‘uncle,’ though no relationship existed between them.)

‘None that I know of,’ answered Alec.

‘Come now, don’t tell me a fib,’ said Laura, smiling, and holding up her forefinger. ‘You shouldn’t try to be deceitful. It is of no use, for your face betrays you. There was a stranger here this afternoon, a dark, silent kind of man. He came to see uncle, and I believe it was to make his will. Am I not right?’

‘Possibly.’

‘Of course I am. My guesses are always right. I wonder who is to be the favoured one? I do hope it will be you, Alec!’

‘Thank you,’ he answered with some confusion.

‘Ah! I see you know all about it. Uncle and you were talking it over just now, weren’t you?’

‘If we were, you know I can’t speak of what passed between us.’

‘Oh, I know that, of course. Still, I am a little curious. Not with regard to myself, personally. I have no right to expect that Mr. Lindsay should leave me anything, for after all (though he has been as kind as any blood-relation could be to me), he and I are not related. You remember my telling you that, the first time we met? You remember that night? You sat next me at dinner, and your cousin was so jealous of my talking to you!’

‘Yes, I remember that night very well.’

‘But I should like to know that uncle had done his duty by you. He has so much money; and as you are his favourite nephew, he is certain to leave you quite a large sum.’

‘I don’t see that at all. I mean, I have no claim on him whatever.’

‘Oh yes! you have,’ said Laura; but she stopped suddenly, for Miss Lindsay just then returned to the room.

As Alec went home that night, Laura’s image remained with him. And more than once the thought occurred to him, that if his uncle carried out his intention of leaving him a substantial sum, it would bring the possibility of his winning Laura Mowbray a little nearer.