Inheritance Feud

Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Then, one night, Aaron Judd had stopped working at his forge. It was a night when there was no moon; a wind had risen. Dark as the devil, the old thin figure had straightened up from the forge, with the fire bright in it; and had come to the door and looked out over the bay. Livia had wondered if he sensed her watching presence, and resented it; she almost moved away, but something warned her to keep silent, keep still. Presently Aaron went back again to the forge; and slowly, deliberately had passed and repassed his hand and arm in front of the glow, so that flickered light and shade alternated with one another on the rock-surfaces and out to sea. The sea was

quite dark, and one could see no ships. She hadn't asked Betts, next day, what Aaron had been doing. Any fool would have known; and it was in any case none of her affair, so she kept silent.

Annabel's uncle, Sir Hubert Melrose himself, rode to Mains a few weeks later. The girl was brought to him where he sat with her aunt in the small withdrawing-room. She knew what he would say, and how he would say it. Uncle Hubert was entirely predictable; he had never in his life said anything to surprise Annabel, and Livia Mary had told her, in any case, what was going on, concerning Malvie. For it was about Malvie, her own inheritance, that he'd come today; the house which had been her home and Morven's, and which, she knew, neither her uncle nor her aunt regarded as anything but a tiresome necessity, to be sold if possible. Everything had, for some reason, to be turned into money.

"It is fortunate," Sir Hubert was saying, "that a suitable offer has been received. With the place in such bad repair-" he helped himself to aunt Retford's wine absently, as though he were still at Maddon-"and in so remote a part of the country, with the roads scarcely passable in winter, we have been indeed fortunate in receiving an offer with the quoted price."

"It was not niggardly," put in aunt Retford eagerly. She had watched the absent-minded hand of Sir Hubert, half in resentment, half in hope; if he felt so much at home here, being a widower, then perhaps she

Annabel did not ask about the price. She sat with her feet together, upright in her chair as she had been taught, not touching the back. She listened to Sir Hubert's calm tones and her aunt's matter-of-fact ones, settling all their fates as though it mattered what size of offer had been received. For anyone, anyone at all, to buy Malvie, Malvie which had been Papa's house and which should have been hers and Morven's! She dared not ask if anyone had informed Morven yet. Perhaps no one would trouble to. Could she herself find a way? It was difficult these days to be free of supervision for long enough to get word to him, though perhaps if she told Livia Mary-yet she'd rather do it herself, it was her matter ...

Planning for herself made Annabel bold and, presently conquering her awe of the small proud-capped figure of Mrs. Retford, seated there in her best blacks, and the portentous presence of Uncle Hubert in his, she made hersélf speak. "Must-must the house indeed be sold?" she stammered, and then felt foolish. Uncle Hubert was smiling indulgently; aunt Retford flushed a little beneath her unaccustomed paint. She'd daubed herself, Annabel knew, today, because she still hoped to marry Uncle Hubert; long ago, in all their youth together, she'd once loved him when he kept company with her brothers. A queer thing, the changing of such love till it had, by now, almost a comic quality. Sir Hubert, though always courteous to the household at Mains and prepared to act fully in his capacity as Annabel's trustee, had given, Agnes Retford no opening for dalliance since his own wife's death. If he married again, it would be for heirs. He did not return Mrs. Retford's eyebrow-raising over Annabel's speech, but replied to his niece with grave punctiliousness. "It must indeed. my dear Annabel," he replied, looking down his nose as he did when on the magistrates' bench; the gesture concealed his feelings usefully. "As you know, all the outlying land, the farms also, have gone their way. It was at first hoped to maintain Malvie until you yourself might make a suitable marriage "

The tester, Annabel thought; the embroidered firestools. It had all been a waste of time, as Malvie was to go. The know ledge of how she had been deceived and used, her childhood spent, came to her as she sat there, eyelids demurely lowered, listening to Uncle Hubert prosing on. Aunt Retford got up presently, without calling for the servant, and herself closed the shutters and lit up the sconces on the walls; it was by now evening. Sir Hubert spread out his hands so that his gold ring, given him by his late wife, flashed in the new-lit candle flames. "How are we to take you to town, my dear, and give you a season, eh, and introductions to eligible young men? Nothing of the kind can be done unless there's some money, and a dowry. Your father's debts..."

"And Richard," added Mrs. Retford, who as a good Whig had not approved of her eldest brother's Stuart affinities. "The allowance to Richard Doon, and for his son, drained away much of what was left; it is right that Annabel should be in formed of these things."

"Morven hasn't got any money now," said Annabel. Mrs. Retford frowned a little; the talk was getting out of hand. She cast a glance for help to Sir Hubert-how hand some, with the powder on his grey hair, he still looked by candlelight! He had had the looks of the family, she'd always said, though poor Grace was spoken of as being pretty. But Grace had had no spirit, nothing to redeem her loss of youth when it went, suddenly as everyone said, after Richard Doon rode away.

She returned to her notion of duty towards Grace's young daughter; Sir Hubert hadn't come to her aid about Morven Doon. "A man has other prospects if he is penniless," she said coldly. "In this country, he can article himself without loss of face; many noblemen's sons are indentured to some attorney, or have joined a regiment. Your good uncle here offered to do both, or either, for your cousin Morven at the time your poor father died; he rejected all offers of help, and not courteously. We need spend no more time in considering him, I think." And, this time, she personally leaned over and, smiling, replenished Sir Hubert's glass. She herself drank little.

"Well, well," said the magistrate peaceably, "there's the matter of this Englishman, whose name is Devenham. I know nothing of him except that he's rich; the lawyers are seeing to it. They want to settle in by the spring; it's fortunate, very, as it avoids delay and uncertainty. There are young sisters, I believe; some company for Annabel." He already spoke of Annabel as if she were no longer there.

Mrs. Retford did not fail to aid him in her turn. "You may leave us, my dear, I think; there is another matter to discuss," she murmured, and the young girl rose and curtsied, and went out. Nothing had been achieved except to tell Annabel, for mally, of the coming sale of Malvie; they could have done no less. After she had gone the widow turned to her visitor.

"She looks well, you think? I've carried out my task?" She smiled with closed lips. "It wasn't initially easy; she was as wild, when she came, as-as a young filly." Mrs. Retford con jured up a vision of horses, which she had always disliked, and gave a little well-bred moue. Sir Hubert was murmuring obediently that Annabel seemed increasingly beautiful, and a credit to her upbringing. He would permit himself few stronger feelings on the matter; talk of Annabel's growing beauty reminded him, unbearably, of Peter's infatuation, and Peter was dead.

He dropped his eyelids; and presently, in the waiting silence, raised the ringed hand to sketch a little toast with his filled glass. It was uncertain for whom the wine glowed red in the light of the candles; for themselves, Peter, Annabel, Malvie, or Morven waiting outside in the dark about the other matter.

It was, as it happened, a customary thing with almost any one to have such matters, little or great, somewhere in their lives' hidden places. That night, in addition to bringing the certain news about Malvie, Sir Hubert had had a reason for riding over. He himself was an abstemious man; and as a Justice of the Peace and magistrate, had to preserve his countenance on public occasions, somewhat better than many of his neighbours did; but he, the local doctor, the town lawyer, and the minister in his manse, with others, all liked their brandy. Nor did they see any reason, any more than other folk did, to pay the excessive tax demanded by London. Mains of Malvie, hard by the sea, was a better place for Sir Hubert to receive his consignment tonight than Maddon would have been, for the latter involved a long ride inland for those who had already brought the stuff across from Man, where a Frenchman had delivered it. A short two nights back, Aaron the blacksmith's hand had again passed and repassed before his fire, his tall thin figure visible well out to sea. And so Sir Hubert would be satisfied.

The polite talk went on between the man and woman, neither of whom had any real contact with one another. The little matter could not openly be mentioned. The talk, instead, centred round young Mr. Devenham, concerning whom Mrs. Retford was naturally very curious. Despite the magistrate's having denied any knowledge of the new English purchaser, she was able, by discreet probing, to find out much that she wanted to know; Mr. Devenham, besides being rich-his father had been, one understood, in the East India Company was something of an invalid, and single. His widowed mother and two sisters would reside with him.