Inheritance Feud

Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Mr. Fosse showed Theon to a chair, and by a kind of occult process involving no spoken orders to anyone, produced a tray of Madeira wine brought in by the scrivener, his wig a trifle awry. Theon could see none of that, but smiled, and sipped his Madeira. The obsequious reception by this crow in Devenham's employ amused him, coming as he did with credentials from the London lawyers, and with the name of Doon. A different kind of usage would have been his seven years back, when he, a convicted half-reprieved criminal, had been lodged nearby in the Tolbooth for a night or two, prior to his removal by Leith Roads to the prison-hulks in the south, and Botany Bay. Best not to remember that ... except that old Aaron's legacy, news of which had been received by Theon out there in the Governor's house at the port, had ensured his later prosperity, and this libation of wine today. He was, despite any past he might have, by now a respected customer; money made any man respected; after this interview he had one more, with a different lawyer, less well-found than Mr. Fosse. Let not the right hand know what the left doeth, Theon told himself; the purchase of certain derelict ware houses on Leith wharves would shortly come to a very reasonable conclusion. If his hand was against every man's, the hand should be in firm control of the project he'd planned, all those years in the savage country half a world away, which had made him rich. He, a blind man, could buy and sell this lawyer; was in a fair way to buying and selling Devenham himself. The prospect pleased Theon.

He listened to the flurried apologies of Mr. Fosse, explain ing why the contract was not yet made out. "Write it out now, then, and let us be gone," said Theon impatiently. The scrivener came scurrying, and was instructed to set aside everything else; the draft of the five-year lease for Mains of Baron must be made out forthwith. "We'll have it signed and witnessed while Mr. Doon is here with us. More wine, sir?" "No, I thank you. My kinsman has agreed to the lease?"

Theon spoke smoothly; he must remember to invoke Deven ham frequently as his kinsman; the latter was, after all, Fosse's known client. He took the quill the attorney finally handed him, and, with Samson leaning forward to steady and sand the page, signed his name, with unwavering fingers. He was pleased with this; he had, in fact, held a pen only once or twice since becoming blind. Fosse watched in some morti fication; it had only just become evident that this well-found personage had any disability. His respect grew. No doubt Mains of Baron, being remote and quiet, would be an ideal retreat for the poor blind gentleman. Fosse came forward in his eagerness.

"Where am I to reach you, sir? Have you a direction in Edinburgh?"

Theon frowned. "No, I have small business here now; I shall go straight down to Mains, I believe."

"But, sir, my client-" Mr. Fosse knew embarrassment. Mr. Devenham had not yet signed, and, although he had signified his willingness for a lease, it would perhaps have been advisable "The draft will be sent off this very day, sir," bleated Mr. Fosse. But Theon held out his hand, as though he could see the paper.

"I shall be there myself before the mail. Mr. Devenham is my kinsman by marriage, as you are aware. I look forward to seeing my cousin." He smiled. "You may send any urgent message, should there be such, to the Fleece, Grattan Juxta; but I do not anticipate any delay in moving into the Mains."

He rose, and, taking the paper with him, left Mr. Fosse in only a slight degree of perturbation; it was irregular, but what harm could come? As Mr. Doon had truly stated, they were kin men; in fact, no doubt, a lease itself was redundant. Mr. Fosse sent, after the departure of Theon Doon and his well trained coloured servant-how valuable such an acquisition was here in these days!-out to a tavern, to fetch himself some ale, which in fact he drank seldom. But his days in ordinary course tended to be somewhat tedious, and he felt the need of a minor dissipation.

Theon had hired a coach which took the bad roads more swiftly than the equipage they had lately dismissed had con trived Edinburgh High Street. Despite the dangers of a night drive, he would hear of nothing but that they should go straight on; dark to him was the same as day, and each turn of the wheel brought him nearer Baron; Baron, of which he had dreamed for seven interminable years.

Samson accordingly c****d his pair of duelling pistols, of which he was proud, and held them at the ready all the way. With neither master nor man asleep, therefore, each followed his own thoughts, no longer seeing the carriage-lamps pick out stone walls, trees, and sleeping houses and inns on the way.

Theon was thinking of Devenham, his enemy, and the last time they had encountered one another. To say he had seen Godfrey would be inaccurate; at that time, he himself had been newly blind. He had lain on his pallet in the cell, aware of the sentence that had been passed on him, unable even to feel much relief that he was not after all to hang. The world was dark, would never be otherwise for him again; he would never see Baron more except in dreams; and seven years was a long time, and Australia half across the world; how many men, after sentence, ever even reached Botany Bay?

He had lain day and night with such thoughts; he had felt young and alone, for the first time acutely feeling the need of Livia, not as a woman but as a breast to lean on, a mother's kind breast; she would have comforted him, he knew. Where was she now? She must have had their child; had she borne it in a ditch, and was she safe? Hermione he thought of less, and never as a person; often, and urgently, he wondered if the boy were safely born, and if he would be reared in all ways as befitted the heir of Baron. The mother's safety did not trouble Theon, as did Livia's. It was useless, in any case, to repine; it was on the cards he himself would never hold either of his children. He was obsessed with thoughts of his own death; here in the stinking prison, stiff with blood from his bandaged undressed wound, which had festered and brought him a fever; or again on board the ship they would take him to, down in the south, scarcely a sea worthy ship for long voyages, with men chained together between decks like animals. Soon, it would be time.

They had announced a visitor for him then, and Theon felt himself smile wryly as he guessed who it was; almost certainly, Sir Sander Melrose, filled with last precepts, his cloak muffled high about his face supposedly to keep out the prison-stench, but in reality to avoid being recognised. Sir Sander had his position to keep in mind; he, Theon, so nearly related as he was, must be an affliction to his kin. He was aware that, for his own sake as well as Theon's, the magis trate had done what he could to have the sentence lightened, and had contrived so much; he must now thank Melrose, he supposed, for his sightless life. How was a man to live on, being blind, in a strange country? How could he learn to do anything at all, when he

Self-pity might have overcome; but a gentle, known voice came to him, and he realised with a shock that Godfrey Devenham was in the cell. He must have had himself carried down. With hearing that had grown acute and analytical even in the few months of lying here in idle darkness, Theon guessed the young footman was with him, and had set him down in his chair on the soiled straw and ordure of the floor. He lay and waited, aware of some anger. What did Devenham want of him? To gloat?

"Hermione asked me to come, Theon. She-she has been very ill." The voice trembled, and Theon assessed the situa tion curiously. To this eunuch, this creature who could never fully have her, Hermione meant everything, was seemingly the dearest object on earth. He remembered that she must by now have been delivered; trying to keep the tremor from his own voice, he asked the child's s*x. Godfrey answered patiently.