The Master of Greylands. Mrs. Henry Wood

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СКАЧАТЬ father thought it possible," quietly continued the young man; "he feared that, even though Greylands' Rest was legally mine, my claim to it might be opposed. That is one reason why I press for proof; I should press for it if there existed no other. But I find that doubts already are circulating abroad as to how Mr. James Castlemaine came into the estate, and whether it became lawfully his on my grandfather's death."

      "Doubts existing abroad! Doubts where?"

      "Amid the neighbours, the people of Greyland's. I have heard one and another talk of it."

      "Oh, indeed!" was the cold rejoinder. "Pray where are you staying?"

      "At the Dolphin Inn, Uncle Peter. When I descended at it, and saw the flaming dolphin on the signboard, splashing up the water, I could not help smiling; for my father had described it to me so accurately, that it seemed like an old acquaintance."

      Mr. Peter Castlemaine made no rejoinder, and there ensued a silence. In truth, his own difficulties were so weighty that they had been pressing on his mind throughout, an undercurrent of trouble, and for the moment he was lost in them.

      "Will you, Uncle Peter, give me some information of the true state of the case?" resumed the young man. "I came here purposely, intending to ask you. You see, I want to be placed at a certainty, one way or the other. I again repeat that I am not unreasonable; I only ask to be dealt with fairly and honourably. If Greylands' Rest is not mine, show me that it is not; if it is mine, I ought to have it. Perhaps you will tell me, Uncle Peter, how it was left."

      The banker suddenly let drop his seals, with which he had been playing during the last appeal, and turned his full attention to the speaker, answering in a more frank tone than he had yet spoken.

      "When your father, Basil, went away, he took his full portion of money with him--a third of the money we should conjointly inherit. I received my portion later; James received his. Nothing remained but Greylands' Rest and the annuity--a large one--which your grandfather enjoyed from his wife's family: which annuity had nothing to do with us, for it would go back again at his death. Greylands' Rest could be disposed of as he should please. Does it strike you as any strange thing, Anthony, that he should prefer its passing to the son who was always with him, rather than to the son who had abandoned him and his home, and whom he did not even know to be alive?"

      "Uncle Peter, I have said that I see reasons why my grandfather might make his second son his heir, rather than his eldest. If he did so, I am quite ready and willing to accept the fact, but I must first of all be convinced that it is fact. It is true, is it not, that my grandfather always intended to leave the estate to his eldest son Basil?"

      "That is true," assented the banker, readily. "Such no doubt was his intention at one time. But Basil crossed him, and went, besides, out of sight and out of mind, and James remained with him and was always a dutiful son. It was much more natural that he should bequeath it to James than to Basil."

      "Well, will you give me the particulars of the bequest, Uncle Peter? Was the estate devised by will, or by deed of gift?"

      "I decline to give you more particulars than I have already given," was the prompt reply of the banker. "The affair is not mine; it is my brother James's. You find him in secure possession of the estate; you are told that it is his; and that ought to suffice. It is a very presumptuous proceeding on the part of Basil's son, to come over in this extraordinary manner, without warning of any kind, and attempt to question the existing state of things. That is my opinion, Anthony."

      "Is this your final resolve, Uncle Peter?--not to help me?"

      "My final, irrevocable resolve. I have enough to do in attending to my own affairs, without interfering with my brother's!"

      Anthony Castlemaine took up his hat, and put forth his hand. "I am very sorry, Uncle Peter. It might have saved so much trouble. Perhaps I shall have to go to law."

      The banker shook hands with him in a sufficiently friendly spirit: but he did not ask him to remain, or to call again.

      "One hint I will give you, Anthony," he said, as the young man turned to the door; and he spoke apparently upon impulse. "Were you to expend your best years and your best energies upon this search, you would be no wiser than you are now. The Castlemaines do not brook interference; neither are their affairs conducted in that loose manner that can afford a possibility of their being inquired into; and so long as Mr. Castlemaine refuses to allow you ocular proof, rely upon it you will never get to have it. The Castlemaines know how to hold their own."

      "I am a Castlemaine, too, uncle, and can hold my own with the best of them. Nothing will turn me from my course in this matter, save the proofs I have asked for."

      "Good-morning, Anthony."

      "Good-day, Uncle Peter."

      Anthony put on his coat in the hall, and went forth into the street. There he halted; looking this way and that way, as though uncertain of his route.

      "A few doors on the right hand, on the other side the market-house, John Bent said," he repeated to himself. "Then I must cross the street, and so onwards."

      He crossed over, went on past the market-house, and looked attentively at the doors on the other side it. On one of those doors was a brass plate: "Mr. Knivett, Attorney-at-law." Anthony Castlemaine rang the bell, asked if the lawyer was at home, and sent in one of his cards.

      He was shown into a small back room. At a table strewn with papers and pens, sat an elderly man with a bald head, who was evidently regarding the card with the utmost astonishment. He turned his spectacles on Anthony.

      "Do I see Mr. Knivett, the avoué?" he asked, substituting for once a French term for an English one, perhaps unconsciously.

      "I am Mr. Knivett, sir, attorney-at-law."

      In the frank, free way that seemed so especially to characterise him, Anthony Castlemaine put out his hand as to a friend.

      "You knew my father well, sir. Will you receive his son for old memories' sake?"

      "Your father?" asked Mr. Knivett, questioningly: but nevertheless meeting the hand with his own, and glancing again at the card.

      "Basil Castlemaine. He who went away so long ago from Greylands' Rest."

      "Bless my heart!" cried Mr. Knivett, snatching off his glasses in his surprise. "Basil Castlemaine! I never thought to hear of him again. Why, it must be--ay--since he left, it mast be hard upon five-and-thirty years."

      "About that, I suppose, sir."

      "And--is he come back?"

      Anthony had again to go over the old story. His father's doings abroad and his father's death, and his father's charge to him to come home and claim his paternal inheritance: he rehearsed it all. Mr. Knivett, who was very considerably past sixty, and had put his spectacles on again, never ceased gazing at the relator, as they sat nearly knee to knee. Not for a moment did any doubt occur to him that the young man was other than he represented himself to be: the face was the face of a Castlemaine, and of a truthful gentleman.

      "But I have come to you, not only to show myself to a friend of my poor father's in his youth, but also as a client," proceeded Anthony, after a short while. "I have need of a lawyer's advice, sir; which I am prepared to pay for according to the charges of the English country. Will you advise me?"

      "To СКАЧАТЬ