It is a melancholy fact that Mr. Barry, when he heard the last story from Tretton, began to think that his partner was not so wide-awake as he had hitherto always regarded him. As time runs on, such a result generally takes place in all close connections between the old and the young. Ten years ago Mr. Barry had looked up to Mr. Grey with a trustful respect. Words which fell from Mr. Grey were certainly words of truth, but they were, in Mr. Barry's then estimation, words of wisdom also. Gradually an altered feeling had grown up; and Mr. Barry, though he did not doubt the truth, thought less about it. But he did doubt the wisdom constantly. The wisdom practised under Mr. Barry's vice-management was not quite the same as Mr. Grey's. And Mr. Barry had come to understand that though it might be well to tell the truth on occasions, it was folly to suppose that any one else would do so. He had always thought that Mr. Grey had gone a little too fast in believing Squire Scarborough's first story. "But you've been to Nice, yourself, and discovered that it is true," Mr. Grey would say. Mr. Barry would shake his head, and declare that in having to deal with a man of such varied intellect as Mr. Scarborough there was no coming at the bottom of a story.
But there had been no question of any alterations in the mode of conducting the business of the firm. Mr. Grey had been, of course, the partner by whose judgment any question of importance must ultimately be decided; and, though Mr. Barry had been sent to Nice, the Scarborough property was especially in Mr. Grey's branch. He had been loud in declaring the iniquity of his client, but had altogether made up his mind that the iniquity had been practised; and all the clerks in the office had gone with him, trusting to his great character for sober sagacity. And Mr. Grey was not a man who would easily be put out of his high position.
The respect generally felt for him was too high; and he carried himself before his partner and clerks too powerfully to lose at once his prestige. But Mr. Barry, when he heard the new story, looked at his own favorite clerk and almost winked an eye; and when he came to discuss the matter with Mr. Grey, he declined even to pretend to be led at once by Mr. Grey's opinion. "A gentleman who has been so very clever on one occasion may be very clever on another." That had been his argument. Mr. Grey's reply had simply been to the effect that you cannot twice catch an old bird with chaff. Mr. Barry seemed, however, to think, in discussing the matter with the favorite clerk, that the older the bird became, the more often he could be caught with chaff.
Mr. Grey in these days was very unhappy,—not made so simply by the iniquity of his client, but by the insight which he got into his partner's aptitude for business. He began to have his doubts about Mr. Barry. Mr. Barry was tending toward sharp practice. Mr. Barry was beginning to love his clients,—not with a proper attorney's affection, as his children, but as sheep to be shorn. With Mr. Grey the bills had gone out and had been paid, no doubt, and the money had in some shape found its way into Mr. Grey's pockets. But he had never looked at the two things together. Mr. Barry seemed to be thinking of the wool as every client came or was dismissed. Mr. Grey, as he thought of these things, began to fancy that his own style of business was becoming antiquated. He had said good words of Mr. Barry to his daughter, but just at this period his faith both in himself and in his partner began to fail. His partner was becoming too strong for him, and he felt that he was failing. Things were changed; and he did not love his business as he used to do. He had fancies, and he knew that he had fancies, and that fancies were not good for an attorney. When he saw what was in Mr. Barry's mind as to this new story from Tretton, he became convinced that Dolly was right. Dolly was not fit, he thought, to be Mr. Barry's wife. She might have been the wife of such another as himself, had the partner been such another. But it was not probable that any partner should have been such as he was. "Old times are changed," he said to himself; "old manners gone." Then he determined that he would put his house in order, and leave the firm. A man cannot leave his work forever without some touch of melancholy.
But it was necessary that some one should go to Rummelsburg and find what could be learned there. Mr. Grey had sworn that he would have nothing to do with the new story, as soon as the new story had been told to him; but it soon became apparent to him that he must have to do with it. As soon as the breath should be out of the old squire's body, some one must take possession of Tretton, and Mountjoy would be left in the house. In accordance with Mr. Grey's theory, Augustus would be the proper possessor. Augustus, no doubt, would go down and claim the ownership, unless the matter could be decided to the satisfaction of them both beforehand. Mr. Grey thought that there was little hope of such satisfaction; but it would of course be for him or his firm to see what could be done. "That I should ever have got such a piece of business!" he said to himself. But it was at last settled among them that Mr. Barry should go to Rummelsburg. He had made the inquiry at Nice, and he would go on with it at Rummelsburg. Mr. Barry started, with Mr. Quaverdale, of St. John's, the gentleman whom Harry Annesley had consulted as to the practicability of his earning money by writing for the Press. Mr. Quaverdale was supposed to be a German scholar, and therefore had his expenses paid for him, with some bonus for his time.
A conversation between Mr. Barry and Mr. Quaverdale, which took place on their way home, shall be given, as it will best describe the result of their inquiry. This inquiry had been conducted by Mr. Barry's intelligence, but had owed so much to Mr. Quaverdale's extensive knowledge of languages, that the two gentlemen may be said, as they came home, to be equally well instructed in the affairs of Mr. Scarborough's property.
"He has been too many for the governor," said Barry. Mr. Barry's governor was Mr. Grey.
"It seems to me that Scarborough is a gentleman who is apt to be too many for most men."
"The sharpest fellow I ever came across, either in the way of a cheat or in any other walk of life. If he wanted any one else to have the property, he'd come out with something to show that the entail itself was all moonshine."
"But when he married again at Nice, he couldn't have quarrelled with his eldest son already. The child was not above four or five months old." This came from Quaverdale.
"It's my impression," said Barry, "that it was then his intention to divide the property, and that this was done as a kind of protest against primogeniture. Then he found that that would fail,—that if he came to explain the whole matter to his sons, they would not consent to be guided by him, and to accept a division. From what I have seen of both of them, they are bad to guide after that fashion. Then Mountjoy got frightfully into the hands of the money-lenders, and in order to do them it became necessary that the whole property should go to Augustus."
"They must look upon him as a nice sort of old man!" said Quaverdale.
"Rather! But they have never got at him to speak a bit of their mind to him. And then how clever he was in getting round his own younger son. The property got into such a condition that there was money enough to pay the Jews the money they had really lent. Augustus, who was never quite sure of his father, thought it would be best to disarm them; and he consented to pay them, getting back all their bonds. But he was very uncivil to the squire,—told him that the sooner he died the better, or something of that sort; and then the squire immediately turned round and sprung this Rummelsburg marriage upon us, and has left every stick about the place to Mountjoy. It must all go to Mountjoy,—every acre, every horse, every bed, and every book."
"And these, in twelve months' time, will have been divided among the card-players of the metropolis," said Quaverdale.
"We've got nothing to do with that. If ever a man did have a lesson he has had it. If he chose to take it, no man would ever have been saved in so miraculous a manner. But there can be no doubt that John Scarborough and Ada Sneyd were married at Rummelsburg, and that it will be found to be impossible to unmarry them."
"Old Mrs. Sneyd, the lady's mother, was then present?" said Quaverdale.
"Not a doubt about it, and that Fritz Deutchmann was present at the marriage. I almost think that we ought to have brought him away with us. It would have cost a couple of hundred pounds, but the estate can bear that. We can have him by sending for him, if we should want it." Then, after many more words on the same subject and to the same effect, Mr. Barry went on to give his own private opinions: "In fact, the only blemish in old Scarborough's plans was this,—that the Rummelsburg marriage was sure to come out sooner or later."
"Do you think so? Fritz Deutchmann is the only one of the party alive, and it's not probable that he would ever have heard of Tretton."
"These things always do come out. But it does not signify now. And the world will know how godless and reprobate old Scarborough has been; but that will not interfere with Mountjoy's legitimacy. And the world has pretty well understood already that the old man has cared nothing for God or man. It was bad enough, according to the other story, that he should have kept Augustus so long in the dark, and determined to give it all to a bastard by means of a plot and a fraud. The world has got used to that. The world will simply be amused by this other turn. And as the world generally is not very fond of Augustus Scarborough, and entertains a sort of a good-natured pity for Mountjoy, the first marriage will be easily accepted."
"There'll be a lawsuit, I suppose?" said Quaverdale.
"I don't see that they'll have a leg to stand on. When the old man dies the property will be exactly as it would have been. This latter intended fraud in favor of Augustus will be understood as having been old Scarborough's farce. The Jews are the party who have really suffered."
"And Augustus?"
"He will have lost nothing to which he was by law entitled. His father might of course make what will he pleased. If Augustus was uncivil to his father, his father could of course alter his will. The world would see all that. But the world will be inclined to say that these poor money-lenders have been awfully swindled."
"The world won't pity them."
"I'm not so sure. It's a hard case to get hold of a lot of men and force them to lend you a hundred pounds without security and without interest. That's what has been done in this case."
"They'll have no means of recovering anything."
"Not a shilling. The wonder is that they should have got three hundred thousand pounds. They never would have had it unless the squire had wished to pave the way back for Mountjoy. And then he made Augustus do it for him! In my mind he has been so clever that he ought to be forgiven all his rascality. There has been, too, no punishment for him, and no probability of punishment. He has done nothing for which the law can touch him. He has proposed to cheat people, but before he would have cheated them he might be dead. The money-lenders will have been swindled awfully, but they have never had any ground of tangible complaint against him. 'Who are you?' he has said. 'I don't know you.' They alleged that they had lent their money to his eldest son. 'That's as you thought,' he replied. 'I ain't bound to come and tell you all the family arrangements about my marriage.' If you look at it all round it was uncommonly well done."
When Mr. Barry got back he found that it was generally admitted at the Chambers that the business had been well done. Everybody was prepared to allow that Mr. Scarborough had not left a screw loose in the arrangement,—though he was this moment on his death-bed, and had been under surgical tortures and operations, and, in fact, slowly dying, during the whole period that he had been thus busy. Every one concerned in the matter seemed to admire Mr. Scarborough except Mr. Grey, whose anger, either with himself or his client, became the stronger the louder grew the admiration of the world.
A couple of barristers very learned in the law were consulted, and they gave it as their opinion that from the evidence as shown to them there could be no doubt but that Mountjoy was legitimate. There was no reason in the least for doubting it, but for that strange episode which had occurred when, in order to get the better of the law, Mr. Scarborough had declared that at the time of Mountjoy's birth he had not been married. They went on to declare that on the squire's death the Rummelsburg marriage must of course have been discovered, and had given it as their opinion that the squire had never dreamed of doing so great an injustice either to his elder or his younger son. He had simply desired, as they thought, to cheat the money-lenders, and had cheated them beautifully. That Mr. Tyrrwhit should have been so very soft was a marvel to them; but it only showed how very foolish a sharp man of the world might be when he encountered one sharper.
And Augustus, through an attorney acting on his own behalf, consulted two other barristers, whose joint opinion was not forthcoming quite at once, but may have to be stated. Augustus was declared by them to have received at his father's hands a most irreparable injury to such an extent that an action for damages would, in their opinion, lie.
He had, by accepting his father's first story, altered the whole course of his life, abandoned his profession, and even paid large sums of money out of his own pocket for the maintenance of his elder brother. A jury would probably award him some very considerable sum,—if a jury could get hold of his father while still living. No doubt the furniture and other property would remain, and might be held to be liable for the present owner's laches. But these two learned lawyers did not think that an action could be taken with any probability of success against the eldest son, with reference to his tables and chairs, when the Tretton estates should have become his. As these learned lawyers had learned that old Mr. Scarborough was at this moment almost in articulo mortis, would it not be better that Augustus should apply to his elder brother to make him such compensation as the peculiarities of the case would demand? But as this opinion did not reach Augustus till his father was dead, the first alternative proposed was of no use.
"I suppose, sir, we had better communicate with Mr. Scarborough?" Mr. Barry said to his partner, on his return.
"Not in my name," Mr. Grey replied. "I've put Mr. Scarborough in such a state that he is not allowed to see any business letter. Sir William Brodrick is there now." But communications were made both to Mountjoy and to Augustus. There was nothing for Mountjoy to do; his case was in Mr. Barry's hands; nor could he take any steps till something should be done to oust him from Tretton. Augustus, however, immediately went to work and employed his counsel, learned in the law.
"You will do something, I suppose, for poor Gus?" the old man said to his son one morning. It was the last morning on which he was destined to awake in the world, and he had been told by Sir William and by Mr. Merton that it would probably be so. But death to him had no terror. Life to him, for many weeks past, had been so laden with pain as to make him look forward to a release from it with hope. But the business of life had pressed so hard upon him as to make him feel that he could not tell what had been accomplished.
The adjustment of such a property as Tretton required, he thought, his presence, and, till it had been adjusted, he clung to life with a pertinacity which had seemed to be oppressive. Now Mountjoy's debts had been paid, and Mountjoy could be left a bit happier. Having achieved so much, he was delighted to think that he might. But there had come latterly a claim upon him equally strong,—that he should wreak his vengeance upon Augustus. Had Augustus abused him for keeping him in the dark so long, he would have borne it patiently. He had expected as much. But his son had ridiculed him, laughed at him, made nothing of him, and had at last told him to die out of the way. He would, at any rate, do something before he died.
He had had his revenge, very bitter of its kind. Augustus should be made to feel that he had not been ridiculous,—not to be laughed at in his last days. He had ruined his son, inevitably ruined him, and was about to leave him penniless upon the earth. But now in his last moments, in his very last, there came upon him some feeling of pity, and in speaking of his son he once more called him "Gus."
"I don't know how it will all be, sir; but if the property is to be mine—"
"It will be yours; it must be yours."
"Then I will do anything for him that he will accept."
"Do not let him starve, or have to earn his bread."
"Say what you wish, sir, and it shall be done, as far as I can do it."
"Make an offer to him of some income, and settle it on him. Do it at once." The old man, as he said this, was thinking probably of the great danger that all Tretton might, before long, have been made to vanish. "And, Mountjoy—"
"Sir."
"You have gambled surely enough for amusement. With such a property as this in your hands gambling becomes very serious."
They were the last words,—the last intelligible words,—which the old man spoke. He died with his left hand on his son's neck, and took Merton and his sister by his side. It was a death-bed not without its lesson,—not without a certain charm in the eyes of some fancied beholder. Those who were there seemed to love him well, and should do so.
He had contrived, in spite of his great faults, to create a respect in the minds of those around him, which is itself a great element of love. But there was something in his manner which told of love for others. He was one who could hate to distraction, and on whom no bonds of blood would operate to mitigate his hatred. He would persevere to injure with a terrible persistency; but yet in every phase of his life he had been actuated by love for others. He had never been selfish, thinking always of others rather than of himself. Supremely indifferent he had been to the opinion of the world around him, but he had never run counter to his own conscience. For the conventionalities of the law he entertained a supreme contempt, but he did wish so to arrange matters with which he was himself concerned as to do what justice demanded. Whether he succeeded in the last year of his life the reader may judge. But certainly the three persons who were assembled around his death-bed did respect him, and had been made to love him by what he had done.
Merton wrote the next morning to his friend Henry Annesley respecting the scene. "The poor old boy has gone at last, and, in spite of all his faults, I feel as though I had lost an old friend. To me he has been most kind, and did I not know of all his sins I should say that he had been always loyal and always charitable. Mr. Grey condemns him, and all the world must condemn him. One cannot make an apology for him without being ready to throw all truth and all morality to the dogs. But if you can imagine for yourself a state of things in which neither truth nor morality shall be thought essential, then old Mr. Scarborough would be your hero. He was the bravest man I ever knew. He was ready to look all opposition in the face, and prepared to bear it down. And whatever he did, he did with the view of accomplishing what he thought to be right for other people. Between him and his God I cannot judge, but he believed in an Almighty One, and certainly went forth to meet him without a fear in his heart."