The Canadian. W. Somerset Maugham

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СКАЧАТЬ Kate left the room, Mrs. Wickham crossed slowly over to where her husband was standing in front of the window leading to the garden. Her voice shook with emotion. It was evident that she was very near tears. He put his arm around her awkwardly, but with a certain suggestion of protective tenderness.

      "I've been counting on that money for years," she said, hardly above a whisper. "I used to dream at night that I was reading a telegram with the news of Aunt Louisa's death. And I've thought of all we should be able to do when we get it. It'll make such a difference."

      "You know what she was. She didn't care twopence for us. We ought to be prepared for the worst," he said soberly.

      "Do you think she could have left everything to Miss Marsh?"

      "I shouldn't be greatly surprised."

      "We'll dispute the will," she said, once more raising her voice. "It's undue influence. I suspected Miss Marsh from the beginning. I hate her. Oh, how I hate her! Oh, why doesn't Wynne come?"

      A ring at the bell answered her.

      "Here he is, I expect."

      "The suspense is too awful."

      "Pull yourself together, old girl," said Wickham, patting his wife encouragingly on the shoulder. "And I say, look a bit dismal. After all, we've just come from a funeral."

      Mrs. Wickham gave a sort of suppressed wail. "Oh, I'm downhearted enough, Heaven knows."

      "Mr. Wynne, sir," said Kate from the doorway.

      Mr. Wynne, the late Miss Wickham's solicitor, was a jovial, hearty man, tallish, bald and ruddy-looking. In his spare time he played at being a country gentleman. He had a fine, straightforward eye and a direct manner that inspired one with confidence. He was dressed in complimentary mourning, but for the moment his natural hearty manner threatened to get the better of him.

      "Helloa," he said, holding out his hand to Wickham. But the sight of Mrs. Wickham, seated on the sofa dejectedly enough, recalled to him that he should be more subdued in the presence of such genuine grief. He crossed the room to take Dorothy's hand solemnly.

      "I didn't have an opportunity of shaking hands with you at the cemetery."

      "How do you do," she said rather absently.

      "Pray accept my sincerest sympathy on your great bereavement."

      Mrs. Wickham made an effort to bring her mind back from the all-absorbing fear that possessed her.

      "Of course the end was not entirely unexpected."

      "No, I know. But it must have been a great shock, all the same."

      He was going on to say what a wonderful old lady his late client had been in that her faculties seemed perfectly unimpaired until the very last, when Wickham interrupted him. Not only was he most anxious to hear the will read himself and have it over, but he saw signs in his wife's face and in the nervous manner in which she rolled and unrolled her handkerchief, that she was nearing the end of her self-control, never very great.

      "My wife was very much upset, but of course my poor aunt had suffered great pain, and we couldn't help looking upon it as a happy release."

      "Naturally," responded the solicitor sympathetically. "And how is Miss Marsh?" He was looking at James Wickham as he spoke, so that he missed the sudden 'I told you so' glance which Mrs. Wickham flashed at her husband.

      "Oh, she's very well," she managed to say with a careless air.

      "I'm glad to learn that she is not completely prostrated," said Mr. Wynne warmly. "Her devotion to Miss Wickham was perfectly wonderful. Dr. Evans—he's my brother-in-law, you know—told me no trained nurse could have been more competent. She was like a daughter to Miss Wickham."

      "I suppose we'd better send for her," said Mrs. Wickham coldly.

      "Have you brought the——" Wickham stopped in embarrassment.

      "Yes, I have it in my pocket," said the solicitor quickly. He had noted before now how awkward people always were about speaking of wills. There was nothing indelicate about doing so. Heavens, all right-minded persons made their wills and they meant to have them read after they were dead. Everybody knew that, and yet they always acted as if it were indecent to approach the subject. He had no patience with such nonsense.

      With an eloquent look at her husband, Mrs. Wickham slowly crossed the room to the bell.

      "I'll ring for Miss Marsh," she said in a hard voice.

      "I expect Mr. Wynne would like a cup of tea, Dorothy."

      She frowned at her husband behind the solicitor's broad back. More delays. Could she bear it? "Oh, I'm so sorry, I quite forgot about it."

      "No, thank you very much, I never take tea," protested that gentleman. He took from his pocket a long blue envelope and slowly drew from it the will, which he smoothed out with a deliberation which was maddening to Mrs. Wickham. She could hardly tear her fascinated eyes away from it long enough to tell the waiting Kate to ask Miss Marsh to be good enough to come to them.

      "What's the time, Jim?" she asked nervously.

      "Oh, there's no hurry," he said, looking at his watch without seeing it. Then turning to Wynne, he added: "We've got an important engagement this evening in London and we're very anxious not to miss the fast train."

      "The train service down here is rotten," said Mrs. Wickham harshly.

      "That's all right. The will is very short. It won't take me two minutes to read it," Mr. Wynne reassured them.

      "What on earth is Miss Marsh doing?" said Mrs. Wickham, half to herself. An endless minute passed.

      "How pretty the garden is looking now," said the solicitor cheerfully, gazing out through the window.

      "Very," Wickham managed to say.

      "Miss Wickham was always so interested in her garden."

      "Yes."

      "My own tulips aren't so advanced as those."

      "Aren't they?" Wickham's tone suggested irritation.

      Mr. Wynne addressed his next observation to Mrs. Wickham.

      "Are you interested in gardening?"

      "No, I hate it. At last!"

      The exclamation was called forth by the appearance of Nora in the doorway. The two men both, rose; Wynne to go forward and shake Nora's hand with unaffected cordiality, Wickham to whisper in his wife's ear, beseeching her to exercise more self-control.

      "How do you do, Miss Marsh? I'm rejoiced to see you looking so fit."

      "Oh, I'm very well, thank you. How do you do?"

      "Will you have a cup of tea?" asked Wickham in response to what he thought was a signal from his wife.

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