The Reluctant Widow (7 page)

“Repeat after me ...”

“I, Elinor Mary ...” she said obediently.

There was a pause; the parson was looking flustered, raising anguished brows at Carlyon, standing on the other side of the bed. Carlyon moved, dragging the signet ring from his finger and putting it into his cousin’s hand. But it was he who pushed the ring over Elinor’s knuckle, guiding Cheviot’s weak hand. She remained entirely passive, not moving until presently her arm was taken in a firm hold and she was led to the table which stood against the wall and required to sign her name. She did so, and was rather surprised to find that her hand did not shake. The paper was taken from her, and to the bed. She watched the doctor support Cheviot while he slowly traced his signature. Then Carlyon came back to her and again took her arm and led her to the door.

“There, that is all,” he said. “Go down to the parlor. I shall not be very long in coming to you.” He shut the door upon her, casting a frowning glance toward the bed. The doctor had measured out a cordial and was holding it to Cheviot’s parted lips. He met Carlyon’s glance with a significant look. Mr. Presteign said, “Indeed, I trust I have done right! I do trust I have! I am sure I have never—”

Cheviot’s eyes opened. “Right? Ay! The best day’s work of your life, Parson!” he uttered. “But I won’t die till I’ve made my will! Paper—ink, you damned sawbones! Where’s my cousin? He’d cheat me if he could, but I’ll live long enough to spite him, see if I don’t!” “Mr. Cheviot, Mr. Cheviot, will you not make your peace with your Maker?” implored Presteign.

Cheviot had fallen back against his pillows, exhausted by his fit of passion, his eyelids dropping. The doctor stayed by him, his fingers counting the feeble pulse, his eyes watchful on the livid face. At the table Carlyon was writing steadily. Once he paused and looked thoughtfully at Cheviot, as if considering. Then his quill resumed its scratching. Cheviot roused again from his stupor. “My will! Lights! I can’t see plain in this infernal darkness!”

“Gently! You shall sign your will in good time,” Carlyon said, not raising his head. Cheviot peered across the room at him. “You’re there, are you?” “Yes, I am here.”

“I always hated you,” Cheviot remarked conversationally.

“Mr. Cheviot, I most earnestly conjure you to put these thoughts out of your mind, and before it is too late to—”

“Leave him, man, for God’s sake!” Greenlaw said, under his breath. “Yes, I always hated you,” repeated Cheviot. “I don’

t know why.”

Carlyon shook the sand from his paper, rose with it in his hand, and came to the bed. “Are you able to sign your will, Cousin?” he asked.

“Yes, yes!” Cheviot whispered eagerly, trying to grasp the quill that was placed between his fingers.

“You bequeath all the property of which you die possessed to your wife, Elinor Mary Cheviot. Is that your wish?”

A little laugh shook Cheviot. He caught his breath on a stab of pain, and gasped, “Yes, yes, I don’t care! If only I could see more plain!”

“Hold the candle nearer!”

Mr. Presteign picked up the branch in a shaking hand. “It’s not that, my lord,” the doctor muttered.

“I know. Come, Eustace, here is the pen, and. there is enough light now. Write down your name!”

The dying man seemed to make a great effort. For a moment, held up in Carlyon’s arms, he peered stupidly at the paper under his hand; then his eyes cleared a little and his aimless clutch on the quill tightened. Slowly he traced his signature at the foot of the paper. The pen slipped from his fingers, the ink on it staining the quilt. “Oh, I know what I should do!” he said,

as though someone had challenged this. “Put my—put my hand on it, and say—and say—I give this as my last will and testament. That’s it. By God, I beat you at the post, Carlyon!” Carlyon lowered him onto the pillows, and removed the paper from under his hand. “You two are witnesses,” he told the other men. “Sign it, if you please!”

“If he is of sound mind—” Presteign said doubtfully.

The doctor smiled sourly. “Don’t tease yourself on that score! His mind is as sound as ever it was.”

“Oh, if you are assured of that—” Presteign said, and wrote his name quickly on the paper. Someone scratched on the door. Carlyon went to it and opened it, to find Hitchin there, with the intelligence that Mr. Carlyon was belowstairs.

“Mr. Carlyon?”

“Mr. John, my lord. I’ve shown him into the parlor. Mr. Carlyon is very wishful to see your lordship.”

“Very well, I will come directly.”

The doctor rose from the table and gave Cheviot’s will back to Carlyon. “There, it’s done, and I hope you may not regret this night’s work, my lord,” he said.

“Thank you; I do not expect to regret it.”

“To be throwing a good estate to the four winds for a scruple!” the doctor grumbled. Carlyon shook his head and went out of the room. Downstairs he found Elinor-seated by the fire in the parlor, and his brother John Carlyon standing in the middle of the room and staring at her in perplexity. He turned as he heard the door open, and said quickly, “Ned! For God’s sake, what is this farrago of nonsense? I am met by that fool Hitchin, who tells me I shall find Cheviot’s betrothed in the parlor, and now this lady informs me that she is married to him!” “Yes, that is quite true,” Carlyon replied, “My brother John, Mrs. Cheviot. I am glad you are here, John. You are the very man I need.”

“Ned!” said Mr. Carlyon explosively. “What the devil have you been about?” “Just what you knew I meant to be about. Did Nicky tell you what had chanced?” “Yes, Nicky did tell me!” John said grimly. “Very pretty tidings, upon my word! But he did not tell me the whole!”

“No, for he did not know it. I have been fortunate in finding a lady willing to marry Eustace, and I stand very much in her debt.” He smiled slightly at Elinor as he spoke, and added, “Miss Rochdale—or, rather, Mrs. Cheviot—you are very tired, and must be anxious to retire. It has been a fatiguing day for you.”

“Yes,” agreed Elinor, regarding him with a fascinated eye. “It—it has been just a little fatiguing!”

“Well, I am going to put you in my brother’s charge. He will take care of you, and drive you to my home. John, how came you here?”

“I rode.”

“Very well. Leave your horse for me, and take Mrs. Cheviot in my curricle. Tell Mrs. Rugby to see her comfortably bestowed, and be sure that she has some refreshment before she retires.”

“Well—yes, certainly! Of course! But you, Ned?” “I must stay. I shall come later.”

“Is Eustace alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive. I’ll tell you the whole presently. Do you take Mrs. Cheviot home now, there’s a good fellow!”

“I thought,” said Elinor feebly, “that I was to put up here for the night.”

“Circumstances have changed, however, and I think you will be more comfortable at the Hall. You will be quite safe in my brother’s hands, and you will find my housekeeper very ready to attend to all your wants. John, Mrs. Cheviot’s baggage is already bestowed in the curricle, so you have nothing to wait for.”

“But what am I going to do?” Elinor asked helplessly. “We will discuss that tomorrow,” replied Carlyon.

He left the room, just nodding to his brother as he passed him, and Mrs. Cheviot and Mr. Carlyon were left to eye one another doubtfully. “I will go and bring the curricle round to the door,” said John heavily.

“I don’t think I should go.”

“Oh, yes, indeed I think you should! You will not wish to stay here with that creature dying abovestairs.” He checked himself, and colored. “I beg pardon! I was forgetting—” “You need not beg my pardon. I never saw your cousin until an hour ago,” she said. “You—Mrs. Cheviot, you do not tell me that you responded to the advertisement which my brother caused to be—”

“Oh, no! It was all a mistake. I am a governess. I came to take up a position in quite another household, and, in error, stepped into your brother’s carriage, which was waiting at the coach stop. But why I have allowed myself to be thrust into marrying your dreadful cousin I cannot tell! I think I must be as mad as your brother!”

“Well, it is all very odd,” said John, “but if Carlyon thought you should marry Cheviot you may depend upon it you have done the right thing. You must not be thinking that he is mad. Indeed, I can’t think how you should do so, for I never knew anyone with a better understanding. I will go and fetch the curricle.”

Elinor had perforce to acquiesce, and in a very few minutes was stepping up once more into this vehicle. John was careful to wrap the rug securely about her, and drove off, holding the horses to a steady trot.

“You know, if you should not object, I should be very glad to know how all this business came about,” he suggested.

She told him her share in the evening’s events. He listened in a good deal of surprise, and his comments were those of a sensible man. He had a deliberate way of speaking, and she thought that he resembled Carlyon more nearly than did his youngest brother. In appearance, he was very like him, although half a head shorter. Both air and address were good, and his manners were conciliating. Elinor found it easy to confide in him, for although he appeared to be quite uncritical of Carlyon’s actions, he appreciated the delicacy of her position, and fully entered into her feelings upon the event.

“It is an awkward business indeed!” he said. “It is too bad of Nicky! As though my brother had not had enough to bear without this catastrophe!”

She ventured to suggest that Nicky seemed not to have been able to avoid the encounter. “No, but it is all of a piece! Setting bears onto the dons! I might have guessed how it would be! And I dare say Ned never so much as told him he should not have done so!” “No,” she reflected. “I believe he did not.”

“No!” he ejaculated. “But so it is always!” He drove on in fuming silence for a little while. She said diffidently, “I think your brother Nicholas was very much shocked by what had happened.”

“I should hope he might be indeed! To be putting Ned to all this trouble! It beats everything! I was never more angry with him in my life!”

She was silent. After a moment he said in a severe tone, “I do not mean to say that there is any harm in Nicky, but he is a great deal too thoughtless, and now we see where it has led him. However, I suppose Carlyon will settle it all, and we must hope that it will be a lesson to Nick.”

“Yes,” she said, smiling a little. “Mr. Nicholas seemed to think also that his brother would settle it all.”

“Ay, he and Harry were always the same!” John exclaimed. “Forever getting into scrapes and running to Ned to pull them out again! While as for my sister Georgiana—But I should not be talking in this way! You know, Miss—Mrs. Cheviot—Ned is the best of good fellows, and it vexes me beyond bearing when I see him so imposed on! Take that creature, Eustace Cheviot! I dare say no one knows the half of what Ned had done for him or the forbearance he has shown, but does he get one word of gratitude for it? No! I believe Cheviot veritably hated him!”

She shivered. “You are very right. When I saw him, there was such an expression of enmity in his eyes, when they rested on your brother, that I was almost afraid. Why should it be? It is very terrible!”

He agreed to it, adding, “There are some men, ma’am, who have such twisted natures that they cannot see virtue in another without hating it. My cousin was such a one. He resented my brother’s authority. When Carlyon has rescued him again and again from the consequences of his own conduct it has but increased his jealous hatred of him. It is a good thing for us all that he is dead. But I wish he had not met his end at Nick’s hands.” He relapsed into brooding silence, which remained unbroken until the curricle turned in through a pair of great wrought-iron gates, when he roused himself from his abstraction to say, “We have only a little way to go now. You will be glad to warm yourself at a good fire, I dare say. It has grown chilly.”

The curricle soon drew up before a large, stone-built mansion, and in a very short space of time Elinor was being led across a lofty hall to a pleasant saloon, furnished in the first style of elegance and lit by a great many candles. Nicholas Carlyon jumped up from a wing chair by the fire and demanded eagerly, “Did you see Ned? How has it gone? Is Eustace dead? Where is Ned?”

“Ned will be here presently. Do, for God’s sake, mind your manners, Nick! Set a chair for Mrs. Cheviot this instant! If you will be seated, ma’am, I will desire the housekeeper to prepare a room for you.”

He left the room immediately, and Nicky, blushing at his rebuke, made haste to conduct Elinor to a seat by the fire. “I beg pardon!” he stammered. “But what is this? John said—But you are not Mrs. Cheviot!”

“You may well wonder at it,” she said. “Your brother constrained me to marry your cousin, so I suppose I must be Mrs. Cheviot.”

“He did?” Nicky cried. “Oh, that’s famous! I was afraid I had ruined all! I might have guessed Ned would never allow himself to be outjockeyed!”

“It may seem famous to you,” retorted Elinor, with some tartness, “but I can assure you it does not to me! I have not the smallest desire to be married to your odious cousin!” “No, but I dare say he may be dead by now,” said Nicky encouragingly. “There’s no harm done!”

“Yes, there is! There is a great deal of harm, for I was to have gone to Five Mile Ash as governess to Mrs. Macclesfield’s family, and now I do not know what is to become of me!” “Oh, my brother will arrange everything!” Nicky assured her. “You have no need to be in a fret, ma’am. Ned always knows what one should do. Besides, you would not like to go as a governess, would you? You are not at all like any that my sisters had! I believe you are bamming me!”