Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker Part 55

"'Stop a little,' said Hugh. 'If it comes to that I shall know what to do, and well enough. I have no desire to put my own blood to open shame, but if this matter goes further, I shall publish Mr. Delaney's statement, and that, sir, will close to you every gentleman's house here and in London too.'

"'And shall you like it better to have it known that you were General Arnold's agent?'

"I saw Hugh's face lose its quiet look, and again he smiled. 'In that case,' he said, 'I should tell my own story and Mr. Andre's to his Excellency, and then, my good cousin, I should kill you like a mad dog, and with no ceremony of a duel. You warned me once when I was a mere boy. It is my turn now. As there is a G.o.d in heaven, I will do as I have said.'

"'Two can play at that game,' said Arthur. Hugh made no reply.

"And on this we left the man standing, and went forth without another word.

"'I think his fangs are drawn,' said Hugh. And indeed that was my opinion. I made up my mind, however, that at the least unpleasant rumour of any kind, I would take such a hand in the matter as would save Hugh from having to go to extremities."

With the date of a week or so later I find added: "The man thought better of it, I dare say, when the drink wore off; how much of his folly was due to that I cannot tell. It was plain that my dear Darthea had let him go at last. Was it because her sweet pity distressed her to wound a man once dear that she was held so long in this bondage? or was it that absence, said to be the enemy of love, was, in a woman of her sense of honour, a reason why she should not break her word until she had a more full a.s.surance of being right?

"I think he slowly lost his place in the heart won when Darthea was younger, and perhaps carried away by vain notions, which lost value as time went on. Such men have for the best of women a charm we cannot understand."

I have left Jack to tell a part of my life which I am glad to leave to another than I. I heard no more of my cousin except that he had made up his mind to go home under his parole. This did not fill me with grief.

I had the sense to know that for many a day Darthea were better left alone.

My Aunt Gainor had recovered from the remorse which, as usual with her, followed upon some futile attempt to improve the machinery of other folks' fates. In fact, although Darthea closed her doors upon Mistress Wynne and would on no account see her, my aunt was already beginning to be pleased with the abominable trap she had set, and was good enough to tell me as much.

For three days after Jack had informed me as to the drama my aunt had planned I stayed away from her, being myself in no very happy state of mind, and unwilling to trust myself. When at last, of a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, I came in on Mistress Wynne, she got up from her accounts, which she kept with care, saying at once: "It is a week since you were here, sir, and of course I know why. That long-tongued girl-boy has been prating, and your lordship is pleased to be angry, and Darthea is worse, and will not see me because I had the courage to do what you were afraid to do."

"Upon my word, Aunt Gainor," said I, "you are a little too bad. I was here four days ago, and have I said an impatient word? If I was angry I have had no chance to say so." Nor had I.

"Then if you are not angry you ought to be." She seemed to me bigger than ever, and to have more nose than usual. "You ought to be. I made a fool of myself, and all for you; and because I have burned my fingers in pulling your goose out of the fire, you must get into a pa.s.sion. You have no need to smile, sir. I suppose it were finer to say chestnuts, but a goose she is, and always will be, and I love her like a child.

Your soft-hearted Excellency was to see me last week, and saying that he had no children, I, that have no right to any, said I was as ill off, and we looked at each other and said nothing for a little, because G.o.d had given to neither the completeness of life. Is he stern, sir! I don't think it. We talked of General Arnold, and of poor Peggy his wife, and as to all this he was willing enough, and frank too. Despite Dr. Bush and Mr. Adams, he can talk well when he has a mind to. But when I said a word of poor Andre", I had better have kept my tongue quiet, for he said quickly: 'Mistress Wynne, that is a matter I will never hear of willingly. I ask your pardon, madam.' I could do no more than excuse my want of thought, and we fell to discussing tobacco-growing."

"But what more of Darthea?" said I, for all the generals in the world were to me as nothing compared with one little woman.

"Oh, there is no more, except that I am unhappy. I will never again be kind to anybody. I am only a miserable, useless old maid." And here she began to cry, and to wet a fine lace handkerchief.

Just now comes in saucy Miss Margaret Chew,--we call her Peggy,--and is rather fl.u.s.tered by my aunt in tears. "O Mistress Wynne," she says, "I beg pardon. I--"

"What for?" says my aunt. "My Manx cat has eaten the raspberry jam. That is all." Whereon we laugh, and the little lady, being pretty-spoken, says she wishes she was Mistress Wynne's cat, and while my aunt dries her eyes goes on to say, "Here is a note for you to dine with us and Mr. Washington, and I was bid write it, and so I did on the back of the queen of hearts for a compliment, madam," and with this she drops a curtsey.

My aunt, liking beauty and wit combined, kissed her, and said she would come.

This diversion cleared the sky, which much needed clearing, and Miss Chew being gone away, my aunt detained me who would willingly have followed her.

After that I comforted her a little as to Darthea, and said she could no more keep up being angry than a June sky could keep cloudy, and that, after all, it was just as well Darthea knew the worst of the man. I related, too, what Jack had told, and said that now my cousin would, I thought, go away, and we--thank Heaven!--be quit of him forever.

"And yet I must see him once," she said, "and you too. I have put that deed in the hands of James Wilson, and he has taken counsel of our friend Mr. Attorney-General Chew."

"I suppose you are right, Aunt Gainor," said I. "The man is bad past belief, but he has lost Darthea, which is as much punishment as I or any could desire. I think with you this estate business should some way be settled, and if it is to be his, I have no mind to leave the thing in doubt, and if it be mine or my father's, I for one do not want it. I have enough, and no wish to muddle away my life as a Welsh squire."

"We shall see," said my aunt, not at all of my opinion, as I readily perceived. "We shall see. He shall have justice at our hands, and James Wilson will be here at four to-morrow, and you too, Hugh, whether you like it or not."

I did not, and I said so. She had written my cousin that she desired to see him concerning the deed. Whether from interest, or what, I know not, he had replied that he would be with her at half-past four.

Thus it happened that I was to see Arthur Wynne once more, and indeed I felt that my aunt was right, and that it were as well all our accounts with this man were closed. Just how this would come about I knew not yet, but closed they should be; as to that I was fully advised in my own mind.

XXIX

At four punctually arrived my friend the famous lawyer. He was not a handsome man, but possessed a certain distinction, which he owed to a strong face, well-modelled head, and a neatly powdered wig, the hair being tied back, after the fashion of the bar, in a black queue-bag with, at the end, a broad black ribbon. He took the snuff my aunt offered, carefully dusting the excess off the collar of his brown velvet coat, and sat down, saying, as he took some papers from a silk bag, that it was altogether an interesting and curious question, this we had set before him. And why had we held this deed so long and said nothing?

I told him of my father's and my grandfather's disinclination to open the matter, and why and how the estate had seemed of little worth, but was now, as I believed, more valuable.

Hearing this he began to question my aunt and me. He learned from our replies that at the time I got the deed from my father none but my parent had any clear idea of what this old family compact meant, but that now we were in possession of such facts as enabled us to understand it. I then went on to make plain that my aunt was full of the matter, and eager, but that I had no inclination at any time to enter on a long and doubtful litigation in another country.

To myself I confessed that I desired no immediate settlement until I saw what Arthur meant to be at. It was one more hold on a scamp still able to do me mischief. If it was clearly his father's estate and not ours, he should soon or late be relieved of any possible doubt this deed might still make as to questions of t.i.tle.

When Mr. Wilson turned to my aunt he found a more warlike witness. She delighted in the prospect of a legal contest.

"When a child," she said, "I used to hear of my father's having consented to make over or give away to his brother William an embarra.s.sed estate, and that the crown officers were in some way consenting parties to the agreement, my father engaging himself to go to America when let out of jail.

"There is no doubt," she went on, "that Wyncote was under this arrangement legally transferred by my father to his next brother. Our Welsh cousins must have this conveyance. It seems, from the deed you have examined, that privately a retransfer was made, so as, after all, to leave my father possessed of his ancestral estate. If ever he chose to reclaim it he was free to do so. The affair seems to have become more or less known to the squires in that part of Merionethshire. William was, we presume, unwilling to take an unfair advantage of his brother's misfortune, and hence the arrangement thus made between them."

"You state the case admirably," said the lawyer. "And what else is there?"

"But little. Letters of affection and esteem came and went at long intervals. I recollect hearing bits of them, but cannot say if the estate matter were ever mentioned. After William's death the correspondence may or may not have ceased. His brother Owen came into the property without interference, and, dying, left a young son, Owen, who is still alive. His son Arthur, Captain Wynne, is to be here today.

There are personal matters involved, into which there is no need to go.

The Welsh branch is no doubt desirous in some way to clear the matter; but having held the estate for a century, they are, we may presume, not very eager to give it up. In justice to Owen Wynne, I may say that it is probable that because of a long minority he only began, as I think, a few years ago to have any doubt as to his t.i.tle. I may add," my aunt went on, "that Captain Wynne came and went during the war, and that only of late has this deed turned up."

"And your brother is quite unfit to help us?" said Wilson.

"Yes; and unwilling if he were able."

"I see, madam, I see; a difficult business."

"And this deed?" said my aunt; "you were about to speak of it."

"It is," he replied, "a simple act of sale for one shilling, a reconveyance of Wyncote from William to Hugh, the date October 9, 1671.

It is in order, and duly witnessed."

"Well?"

"As to its present value, Mistress Wynne, there is a consensus of opinion between the Attorney-General and myself."

"That is to say, you agree," said my aunt.

"Precisely, madam. It is our belief that the lapse of time has probably destroyed the t.i.tle. There is no annexed trust, on William's part, to hold for his brother's use, and the length of undisputed, or what we lawyers call adverse, possession--something like an hundred years or more--_seems_ to make it impossible for my friends to oust the present holder. Am I clear?"

"Too clear, sir," said my aunt. "Is that all?"