Faithful Margaret: A Novel
careless words, listened to by Margaret Walsingham on that eventful
night with unheeding ears, came back one day through the mists of
forgetfulness, and took their place in the wild drama with strange
significance.
Once more Margaret returned to her dying patroness, and met her eager,
questioning eyes with mute looks of anguish.
Utterly silent now, she held her poor friend's fluttering hand, and
wiped the foam from her voiceless lips, and the kind old doctor turned
away his brimming eyes, that he might not witness the harrowing
spectacle of the woman's love and grief while performing these last
gentle ministrations.
The housekeeper sat at the foot of the bed, shaking with her sobs. A few
of the old retainers of the household grouped near the door, stifling
their lamentations as best they might. But never a word spoke poor
Margaret, as she watched her last and only friend sinking from her
clinging arms into the mysteries of death.
The minutes sped; the doctor laid his watch upon the table; Margaret's
eyes left the pallid face of the dying to watch its swift circling
hands, with a tightening of the heart-strings.
"I give them thirty minutes to go and return from Regis," she murmured
to the doctor at last. "Will she live thirty minutes?"
Dr. Gay answered nothing; but the vampire Death, fanning the sinking
mortal into immortality, answered, by her convulsive face and twitching
hands.
"_No!_"
Ten, fifteen minutes passed, still the shrouded chest rose and fell in
intermittent respirations; still the cold fingers sought Margaret's;
still the swimming eyes turned on hers with the dumb agony of the last
pang. Twenty minutes, twenty-five, twenty-six, the closing eyes flew
wide open, the relaxing chin took its comely place once more, the
toiling breath ceased in a long, full sigh.
She looked long and tenderly at her poor Margaret Walsingham, then
beyond her into the shadowy world she was entering, and a wondering
smile broke dazzlingly over her whole countenance.
"Lift me up," she sighed, like a weary child.
Margaret lifted her to her breast.
"Higher," whispered she. "Ah! this is rest--rest!"
And as Margaret lifted the smiling face to her shoulder, the last thrill
ran through the kind old heart, stopped, and she entered the everlasting
gates.
So she went on her dim, mystic journey, not sped by the hands of her
kindred; nor mourned by the hearts of her kindred; uncomforted and
alone, save for the love of Margaret Walsingham--good, impulsive,
generous Mrs. Brand.
Margaret laid her down and closed her sightless eyes; then arose from
her finished watch and turned away.
She looked blankly about; her eyes fell upon the watch still lying upon
the table, and noticed the hand resting upon the thirtieth minute, and
immediately the clang of horses' hoofs and the roll of the carriage
wheels stole to her ear. She put her hand suddenly to her forehead like
one in physical pain; it fell to her bosom, and pressed convulsively
there. She uttered a piercing cry, flung up her hands, and fell forward
like one stabbed to the heart.
St. Udo Brand had come at last, and he was too late.
CHAPTER II.
READING OF THE WILL.
Mrs. Brand, in her lead coffin, in its rosewood shell, was slumbering in
the stately vault of her ancestors, and Mr. Davenport held in his hands
the last will of her whose will had in her life ever been law, and
glanced around to see that all the legatees were there.
St. Udo Brand, the tardy heir, was present, quietly waiting to hear the
reading of the will with that decorous gravity with which we wait to
bear our honors.
Dr. Gay was there, because his departed friend had requested him to do
so.
It was in the library; the walls of books glittered in calf and gilt in
the pleasant April sunlight; the glass door was opened upon the perfumed
garden walks; and the twitter of the busy birds came sweetly over beds
of crocuses and early blossoms to break the silence.
"Where is Miss Walsingham? Shouldn't she be here?" asked the doctor.
"I don't think she'll come down, sir," said the housekeeper.
Mr. Davenport cleared his throat.
"Better send for her, eh?" said he to Captain Brand.
The heir-expectant turned a dark face, disfigured by impatience, upon
the lawyer.
"It cant make much difference," he answered, dryly. "She can hear her
part of it again. Go on."
"On the contrary, it makes all the difference in the world," retorted
the lawyer, with unexpected heat; "and I refuse to break these seals
until Margaret Walsingham is present."
"Oh!"
St. Udo Brand raised his level brows and subsided into stolid
indifference.
A messenger carried a line from Mr. Davenport to Miss Walsingham's room,
and carried down again a message from her, which promised her presence
in a few minutes.
Some time passed in irksome silence, during which the captain beat the
devil's tatoo on the table, and darted mocking glances at the important
Mr. Davenport.
Then the sound of a slippered foot crossing the black and brown hall
floor sent the captain sauntering to the remotest window, there to watch
the struggles of a sparrow caught in the wire framework which protected
the espaliers; so that there was no one to welcome Margaret Walsingham
in, save old Dr. Gay, who compassionately pressed her cold band as he
led her to a chair, and with his heart pitied the captain's future
bride.
She passed, with heavy eyes cast down, to a seat behind a bronze statue
of St. George and the dragon, where the deepest shadows lurked, and kept
the giant warrior between her and that distant window until the will
should be declared.
Then the lawyer cleared his throat, adjusted his spectacles, and read:
"THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF ETHEL BRAND.
"SEVEN-OAK WAASTE, SURREY, 1862.
"_To all whom it may concern_:--I, Ethel Brand, being on this,
the twenty-eighth day of March, in the year of our Lord one
thousand eight hundred and sixty-two, in infirm health, yet in
possession of sound mind and memory, and all my natural
faculties, hereby declare this to be my last Will and
Testament, and that I revoke, rescind, and disannul any and all
Wills, Testaments, or Codicils previously made by me.
"To my dear grandson, St. Udo Brand, only son of my late son,
Cathcart Brand, all other lawful issue being dead, I bequeath
the whole of my personal property, estates, houses, and moneys
as held by me and in my name, together with the Seven-Oak
Waaste estate and house known as Castle Brand, on one
condition:
"That he shall, not sooner than one month, and not later than
one year, take to be his wife, and the legal mistress of Castle
Brand, my beloved and faithful friend, Margaret Walsingham, who
held the cup of love to the lips of an otherwise forsaken old
woman, and for four years served her without thought of reward.
"Should my grandson, St. Udo Brand, fail to marry Margaret
Walsingham within twelve months after my demise, I bequeath all
my property, lands, houses, and moneys as above mentioned, to
Margaret Walsingham, to be enjoyed by her until the day of her
death, and to descend to her children, or next of kin, forever.
"Should St. Udo Brand or Margaret Walsingham die within the
year, the property shall revert to the survivor."
Then followed generous bequests to various charitable schemes,
and annuities to the old servants of the castle, the whole
concluding in the clause:
"I appoint, and do hereby declare Rufus Gay. M.D., my
trustworthy physician, and Andrew Davenport, Esq., my faithful
lawyer, to be the executors of this, my Will, bequeathing to
each the sum of five thousand pounds, as an humble token of my
regard for, and gratitude to them; and adjuring them to see the
contents of my Will faithfully carried out.
"All of which I confirm by affixing this my signature, in the
presence of these witnesses.
"ETHEL BRAND.
"RUFUS GAY, M.D.
"ANDREW DAVENPORT, Attorney-at-Law."
The lawyer laid down the will upon the table again, and turned a
searching glance upon each of the principals. Again he cleared his
throat, which had grown husky at the last clause referring to himself,
and it bore an admonitory, as well as a reproachful import to the ears
of Captain Brand.
"Miss Walsingham," blurted Dr. Gay, rising nervously, "no one has
presented you to Captain Brand. May I?"
"Sir, be pleased to lend your attention for a moment," cried Mr.
Davenport, pugnaciously.
So Captain Brand was pleased to lend his attention. He wheeled from his
dark reverie, and marched, with the reckless tread of the desperado
going to the cannon's mouth, up to the group, and his flashing eyes
boded no tenderness in their first scathing glance towards his future
bride.
"Miss Walsingham, my dear, this is Captain Brand."
The doctor stepped back, and the lady glided from her shadowy nook; and
the rich gold lights from the tinted panes fell full upon her.
"Ye gods, what a Medusa!" muttered the captain, staring.
"We have met," said Margaret Walsingham, panting and white-lipped, her
wild gray eyes burning with red heat, and meeting his sneering gaze with
loathing, "we have met, sir, by no will of mine."
A loud, insulting "Ha! ha! ha!" burst from Captain Brand.
The harsh, grating laughter, eloquent with scorn, devilish with malice,
incredulity, and fury, turned the girl's outraged protest into
speechlessness.
She wrapped her long crape garments about her hands, and the beautiful
figure of Margaret Walsingham--her one charm, and a perfection it
was--vanished from the incensed eyes of St. Udo Brand.
"Well, what think you of woman's wit after this?" cried he to the
executors when the door had closed. "Who says a woman can't scheme, and
cleverly, too? What fool ever called hers the softest sex?"
"I must request of you, as the executor of this will," said Mr.
Davenport, slapping it loudly, "is bound to do--to apologize to the
young lady whom you have just now insulted, for your treatment of her."
The captain's magnificent eyes were blazing with anger, and his brow was
contracted with the scowl of a baffled demon, but at the plucky lawyer's
proposition, he threw back his head and burst into another shout of
laughter that made the ceiling ring again.
"What! trust my unwary heart to the red-hot fingers of a Torquemada? She
would dissect it leisurely for its vulnerable spot, and probe that with
spiteful blade. It needed not my insults, as you call them, to turn her
venom against me. Did I not read it in the loathing eyes and shrinking
figure before ever I opened my mouth? Am not I the one obstacle between
her and the fortune she has lain in wait for during four years? She can
afford to take insults from me; they will not hurt her. They are my
tribute to her talent as a fortune-hunter."
"I must disabuse your mind of all unjust suspicions against Miss
Walsingham," cried Mr. Davenport, meeting the captain's frowning eyes
with as fierce a frown; "she has never schemed for this disposition of
your grandmother's property. On the contrary, to my extreme surprise and
disapprobation, she vehemently implored that she might be left out of
the will altogether, and sent for me an hour before Mrs. Brand's
decease, hoping that you might arrive in time to prevail upon Mrs. Brand
to revoke the clauses concerning her."
"Save me these rhapsodies, friend," returned the captain; "those
heavenly qualities to which you direct my lover-like regards, but whet
my appetite like that of the ravening wolf. Let me make a mouthful of my
bliss; but I warn all officious fingers to keep out of my pie."