Trevlyn Hold is a Webnovel created by Henry Wood.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
Octave did not see it at all, and resentfully pursued her way; something very like hatred for Maude taking possession of her breast. It is not pleasant to write of these things; but I know of few histories in which they can be quite avoided, if the whole truth is adhered to, for many and evil are the pa.s.sions a.s.sailing the undisciplined human heart.
“Good-bye!” George whispered to Maude as he left her. “This night begins a new era in our lives.”
The Hold was busy when they entered. Mrs. Chattaway and her sister had just returned from Barmester, and were greeted by Mr. Chattaway. They had expected him for so many days past, and been disappointed, that his appearance now brought surprise with it. He answered the questions evasively put to him by Mrs. Chattaway and Diana, as to where he had been. Business had kept him, was all they could obtain from him.
“I cannot think what you have done for clothes, James,” said Mrs.
Chattaway.
“I have done very well,” he retorted. “Bought what I wanted.”
But it was not upon the score of his wardrobe, or what had kept him so long, that Miss Diana Trevlyn required Chattaway. She had been waiting since the first morning of his absence, for information on a certain point, and now demanded it in a peremptory manner.
“Chattaway,” she began, when the rest had dispersed, and she waited with him, “I have had a strange communication made to me. In that past time–carry your thoughts back to it, if you please–when there came to this house the news of Rupert Trevlyn’s birth and his mother’s death–do you remember it?”
“Yes, I do,” said Mr. Chattaway. “What should hinder me?”
“The tidings were conveyed by letter. Two letters came, the second a day after the first.”
“Well?” returned Chattaway, believing the theme, in some shape or other, was to haunt him for ever. “What of the letters?”
“In that last letter, which must have been a heavy one, there was a communication enclosed for me.”
“I don’t remember it,” said Mr. Chattaway.
“It was no doubt there. A doc.u.ment written at the request of Mrs.
Trevlyn; appointing me guardian to the two children. What did you do with it?”
“I?” returned Chattaway, speaking with apparent surprise, and looking full at Miss Diana with an unmoved face. “I did nothing with it. I don’t know anything about it.”
“You must have taken it out and suppressed it,” observed Miss Diana.
“I never saw it or heard of it,” obstinately persisted Chattaway. “Why should I? You might have been their appointed guardian, and welcome, for me: you have chiefly acted as guardian. I tell you, Diana, I neither saw nor heard of it: you need not look so suspiciously at me.”
“Is he telling the truth?” thought Miss Diana, and her keen eyes were not lifted from Mr. Chattaway’s face. But that gentleman was remarkably inscrutable, and never appeared more so than at this moment.
“If he did _not_ do anything with it,” continued Miss Diana in her train of thought, “what could have become of the thing? Where can it be?”
CHAPTER x.x.x
MR. CHATTAWAY COMES TO GRIEF
A few days pa.s.sed on, and strange rumours began to be rife in the neighbourhood. Various rumours, vague at the best; but all tending to one point–the true heir was coming to his own again. They penetrated even to the ears of Mr. Chattaway, throwing that gentleman into a state not to be described. Some said a later will of the Squire’s had been found; some said a will of Joe Trevlyn’s; some that it was now discovered the estate could only descend in the direct male line, and consequently it had been Rupert’s all along. Chattaway was in a raging fever; it preyed upon him, and turned his days to darkness. He seemed to look upon Rupert with the most intense suspicion, as if it were from him alone–his plotting and working–that the evil would come. He feared to trust him out of his sight; to leave him alone for a single instant.
When he went to Blackstone he took Rupert with him; he hovered about all day, keeping Rupert in view, and brought him back in the evening.
Miss Diana had not yet bought the pony she spoke of, and Chattaway either mounted him on an old horse that was good for little now, and rode by his side, or drove him over. Rupert was intensely puzzled at this new consideration, and could not make it out.
One morning Mr. Chattaway so far sacrificed his own ease as to contemplate walking over: the horses were wanted that day. “Very well,”
Rupert answered, in his half-careless, half-obedient fashion, “it was all the same to him.” And so they started. But as they were going down the avenue a gentleman was discerned coming up it. Mr. Chattaway knit his brows and peered at him; his sight for distance was not quite as good as it had been.
“Who’s this?” asked he of Rupert.
“It is Mr. Peterby,” replied Rupert.
“Peterby!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Chattaway. “What Peterby?”
“Peterby of Barmester, the lawyer,” explained Rupert, wondering that there was any need to ask.
For only one gentleman of the name of Peterby was known to Trevlyn Hold, and Mr. Chattaway was, so to say, familiar with him. He had been solicitor to Squire Trevlyn, and though Mr. Chattaway had not continued him in that post when he succeeded to the estate, preferring to employ Mr. Flood, he yet knew him well. The e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n had not escaped him so much in doubt as to the man, as to what he could want with him. But Mr.
Peterby was solicitor for some of his tenants, and he supposed it was business touching the renewal of leases.
They met. Mr. Peterby was an active little man of more than sixty years, with a healthy colour and the remains of auburn hair. He had walked all the way from Barmester, and enjoyed the walk as much as a schoolboy.
“Good morning, Mr. Chattaway,” he said, holding out his hand, “I am fortunate in meeting you. I came early, to catch you before you went to Blackstone. Can you give me half-an-hour’s interview?”
Mr. Chattaway thought he should not like to give the interview. He was in a bad temper, in no mood for business, and he really wanted to be at Blackstone. Besides all that he had no love for Mr. Peterby. “I am pressed for time this morning,” he replied, “am much later than I ought to have been. Is it anything particular you want me for?”
“Yes, very particular,” was the answer, delivered in uncompromising tones. “I must request you to accord me the interview, Mr. Chattaway.”
Mr. Chattaway turned back to the house with his visitor, and marshalled him into the drawing-room. Rupert remained at the hall-door.
“I have come upon a curious errand, Mr. Chattaway, and no doubt an unwelcome one; though, from what I hear, it may not be altogether unexpected,” began the lawyer, as they took seats opposite each other.
“A question has been arising of late, whether Rupert Trevlyn may not possess some right to the Hold. I am here to demand if you will give it up to him.”
Was the world coming to an end? Chattaway thought it must be. He sat and stared at the speaker as if he were in a dream. Was _every one_ turning against him? He rubbed his handkerchief over his hot face, and imperiously demanded of Mr. Peterby what on earth he meant, and where he could have picked up his insolence.
“I am not about to wrest the estate from you, Mr. Chattaway, or to threaten to do so,” was the answer. “You need not fear that. But–you must be aware that you have for the last twenty years enjoyed a position that ought in strict justice to belong to the grandson of Squire Trevlyn.”
“I am not aware of anything of the sort,” groaned Chattaway. “What do you mean by ‘wresting the estate’?”
“Softly, my good sir; there’s no need to put yourself out with me. I am come on a straightforward, peaceable errand; not one of war. A friendly errand, if you will allow me so to express myself.”
The master of the Hold could only marvel at the words. A friendly errand! requiring him to give up his possessions!
Mr. Peterby proceeded to explain; and as there is no time to give the interview in detail, it shall be condensed. It appeared that the Reverend Mr. Daw had in his zeal sought out the solicitors of the late Squire Trevlyn. He had succeeded in impressing upon them a sense of the great injustice dealt out to Rupert; had avowed his intention of endeavouring, by any means in his power, to remedy this injustice; but at this point he had been somewhat obscure, and had, in fact, caused the lawyers to imagine that this power was real and tangible. Could there be, they asked themselves afterwards, any late will of Squire Trevlyn’s which would supersede the old one? It was the only hinge on which the matter could turn; and Mr. Daw’s mysterious hints certainly encouraged the thought. But Mr. Daw had said, “Perhaps Chattaway will give up amicably, if you urge it upon him,” and Mr. Peterby had now come for that purpose.
“What you say is utterly absurd,” urged Chattaway; the long explanation, which Mr. Peterby had given openly and candidly, having afforded him time to recover somewhat of his fears and his temper. “I can take upon myself most positively to a.s.sert that no will or codicil was made, or attempted to be made, by Squire Trevlyn, subsequently to the one on which I inherit. Your firm drew that up.”
“I know we did,” replied the lawyer. “But that does not prove that none was drawn up after it.”
“But I tell you there was not any. I am certain upon the point.”
“Well, it was the only conclusion we could come to,” rejoined Mr.
Peterby. “This Mr. Daw must have some grounds for urging the thing on; he wouldn’t be so stupid as to do so if he had none.”
“He has none,” said Chattaway.