Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker Part 61

Patricia, still kneeling by the fire, leant her head against Christopher.

"I used to try and make up my mind you would marry Charlotte when she grew up," she said dreamily.

"How ingenious of you. Unfortunately, it was my mind, not yours, that was concerned, and that had been made up when Charlotte was in pinafores. Now come and talk business, dear."

So at last he told her the news he had been so tardy in delivering, told her the whole story very simply and as impersonally as he could, but Patricia's heart brimmed over with pity for him. She divined more clearly than the men the strength of his hatred for the burden with which he was threatened, and the burden of past memories in which that hatred had its root. In the fulness of her love she set herself the future task of rooting out the resentment for another's sorrows, which she knew must be as poison to his generous soul. At length Christopher, having read in her love the confirmation for which he so childishly longed, took her away to be introduced to Caesar in her new character as his promised wife. She waited for no such introduction whatever, but seated herself on the big ha.s.sock by the sofa that was still Christopher's privileged seat and leant her head against the edge of Caesar's cushions, but she failed to find anything to say and Christopher was so occupied in watching her as to forget to speak.

"It's taken him a long time to recognise his own privilege, hasn't it, Patricia?" said Caesar, gently putting his hand on hers. "I was getting impatient with him. It was time he grew up."

"You aren't disappointed then?" she asked with a little flush of confusion. "Mrs. Sartin will be. She always expects him to marry a d.u.c.h.ess at least. She is so insufferably proud of him."

"She does not know him so well as we do, that's why."

"I'll not stay here to be discussed," remarked Christopher decidedly, "you can pull my character to pieces when I'm away. When did you last see Mrs. Sartin, Patricia?"

"Last Thursday. She comes to tea every week with Maria."

Maria was Mrs. Sartin's second daughter, midway between Sam and Jim, and was just installed as second lady's-maid to Mrs. Wyatt.

"Is Sam more reconciled to her going out?"

"Not a bit. You know he wanted to send her to a Young Ladies' Academy in Battersea. I know he'd have done it but for Martha, who has more sense in her fingers than he has in his whole head."

"Hadn't Maria anything to say in the matter?" This from Caesar.

"No one has much to say when Sam and his mother dispute," said Christopher, shaking his head. "Sam would be a tyrant, Caesar, if he could. He always wants to push people on in his own way."

"Sam is not singular," put in Mr. Aston, in his meditative way, "character is all more or less a question of degree. There are the same fundamental instincts in all of us. Some get developed at the expense of others, that's all."

"There but for the grace of G.o.d goes ..." said Patricia, laughing.

Christopher felt in his pocket and produced a coin.

"Apropos of which, Caesar," he said with a flicker of a smile, "I found this, the other day rummaging in an old box."

He tossed it dexterously to Caesar. It was a sovereign with a hole in it and the broken link of a chain therein. Caesar looked at it and then slipped it in his own pocket.

"It's mine, at all events," he said shortly, "and we are all talking nonsense, especially Christopher."

But Christopher shook his head.

"Mayn't I understand all this?" demanded Patricia.

"No," returned Caesar, before Christopher could speak. "It's not worth it. John Bunyan was a fool."

"Not at all, but the other man might have retorted, 'there with the grace of G.o.d goes I.'"

This was from Mr. Aston, and Christopher gave him a quick look of comprehension.

"The Court is with you, sir," said Aymer languidly. "Let us discuss wedding presents."

CHAPTER x.x.xII

At eleven o'clock on Wednesday, Mr. Aston and Christopher were ushered into Mr. Saunderson's office by a discreetly interested clerk. The bland and smiling lawyer advanced to meet them with that respect and courtesy he felt due to the vast fortune they represented. His table was covered with orderly rows of papers, and the door of the safe, labeled P. Masters, Esq., stood open.

"Punctuality is the essence of good business," said Mr. Saunderson, with effusive approval as he indicated two lordly armchairs placed ready for his visitors. Mr. Aston and Christopher had both a dim, unreasonable consciousness of dental trouble and exchanged glances of mutual encouragement.

Mr. Saunderson blinked at them genially behind his gold-rimmed gla.s.ses and spoke of the weather, which was bad, dilated on the state of the streets, lamented the slowness of the L. C. C. to enforce the use of Patrimondi beyond the limits of Westminster, and as the futile little remarks trickled on they carried with them his complacent smile, for in every quiet response he read Christopher Masters' fatal determination, and prepared himself for battle. It was Christopher, however, who flung down the gauntlet. He answered the question anent the use of Patrimondi in the metropolis, and then said directly:

"Mr. Saunderson, I've considered the matter of this fortune you tell me I've inherited, and I do not feel under any obligation to accept it or its responsibilities. It's only fair to let you know this at once."

Mr. Saunderson leant back in his chair and rubbed his chin, and his eyes wandered from one to the other of his visitors thoughtfully.

"The matter is far too complicated to be disposed of so lightly, I fear," he remarked, shaking his head. "Let me place the details of the thing before you and as a business man you can then judge for yourself."

He had at least no fault to find with the grave attention they paid him, indeed, the entirely unemotional att.i.tude of the younger man was to the lawyer's mind the most alarming symptom he had noted. Still he could not allow to himself that his task presented more than surmountable difficulties, for Mr. Saunderson had no real knowledge of the forces at work against him, of the silent, desperate woman who had given her life for her faith, who had once been beautiful, and whose worn body slept in the little dull cemetery at Whitmansworth.

"I believe you are acquainted with the great premises known as Princes Buildings," began Mr. Saunderson, "that simplifies my task. For the whole affair is so amazingly managed that I can offer you no precedent with which to compare it. There are seven floors in that building, and on each floor the affairs of the six great concerns in which Mr.

Masters was interested, are conducted. Such an arrangement was only carried out at enormous expense and trouble. I may tell you, however, that the condition of Mr. Masters' interesting himself in either of the companies, was their domicile beneath this one roof. Now in five of these big concerns he occupied merely the place of a director, with no more official power than any other director might have. Yet in every case, I think I may say, no decision of any importance would have been taken by the company in opposition to his advice, and he was the financial backbone of each. On the two top floors of these great premises we have a rather different state of things. For here are the offices of the three smaller companies which were directly under the control of Mr. Masters, and which are the original source of his fortune. I allude to the Steel Axle Company, the Stormly Mine and the Stormly Foundry Companies. These affairs he continued to keep under his own eye, never relaxing his attention, or the excellent system he had established, under which the whole great affair worked with such marvellous smoothness and success. I beg your pardon, did you say anything?"

Christopher shook his head. Mr. Saunderson resumed.

"You will understand Mr. Masters' wealth was directly drawn from these companies, bringing him an income of roughly 130,000 a year. The administration of this income, of which he spent about one-fourth on himself, was the occupation of the offices on the top floor of Princes Buildings. A certain proportion of income was regularly reinvested in concerns in which Mr. Masters took no active part, and was acc.u.mulative. It is this reserve fund which has brought the actual fortune to such high figures as I have quoted you, nearly 4,000,000.

A great deal of money also has been devoted to the purchase of freehold property. You would be surprised how great an area of Birmingham itself belongs to Mr. Masters."

Christopher gave an involuntary movement of dissent, and the lawyer hurried on.

"Not perhaps districts that it would be interesting to visit now, but which will undoubtedly be of vast interest to your heirs. They represent enormous capital and of course will eventually be a source of colossal wealth.

"Now, so perfect is the machinery and system under which all these giant concerns are worked, that they will run without difficulty on their present lines until you have mastered the working thoroughly, and are able, if you should wish it, to make your own plans for future greatness. I say this, because it seems to me you are inclined to overrate the difficulties of your position. I do not say, mind you, matters could go on indefinitely as they are, but you are a young man of intellect and capacity, you have only to step into the place of one who has set everything in order for you, and before two years are up you will have the details of the system by heart, and will, I am convinced, be recognised as an able successor to your father."

Christopher's mouth straightened ominously. It was an unlucky slip on Mr. Saunderson's part, but he was oblivious to it. He was indeed incapable of appreciating the sentiment towards his late client, which was playing so large a part against him in this tussle of wills.

Christopher heard in every word that was spoken the imperious Will that would force him to compa.s.s its ends, even from the land of Death.

It was not wholly the unsought responsibility, the burden of the wealth, the memory of his mother that b.u.t.tressed his determination to refuse this stupendous thing, it was also his fierce, vehement desire to escape the enforced compliance with that still living Will-power.

Peter Masters' unwritten and unspoken word was, that he, Christopher, should succeed him. He had left him no directions, no choice, no request, he had relied on the Greatness of the Thing which Christopher loathed with his whole soul, he had claimed him for this bondage with an unuttered surety that was maddening. Minute by minute Christopher felt his former quiet determination rise to pa.s.sionate resistance and denial of the right of that Dominant Will to drag his life into the vortex it had made.

Quite suddenly Mr. Saunderson was aware of the strength of the antagonism that confronted him. Unable to trace the reason of it, he blundered on hopelessly.

"Mr. Masters was, I should say, quite aware of your natural ability.

He has had more regard for your fortunes than you probably suspect. I have letters of his to various men concerning the starting of this ingenious invention of yours, Patrimondi." He bustled over some papers on the table as if searching, and did not see Christopher's sudden backward movement: but Mr. Aston bent forward and put his hand as if accidentally on Christopher's shoulder as he spoke:

"Never mind them, now, Mr. Saunderson. Mr. Masters was, we know, naturally interested in that affair, but to continue your account, what will happen if Mr. Aston refuses to accept his position? Let us suppose for a moment there had been no clue left. What would you have done?"

Mr. Saunderson brought the tips of his red, podgy fingers together with great exactness.