David Lloyd's Last Will

Front matter

VOL. MANCHESTER : PRINTED BY TUBES AND BROOK, II, MARKET STREET. BY HESBA STRETTON. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, SON, AND MARSTON. MANCHESTER: TUBBS ANT) BEOOK. 1869. [All rights reserved.'] CONTENTS OF VOL. II. CHAP. PAGE i. Five Shillings in Copper . . . . 1 ii. Mukdek or No Murder ..... 15 in. Richard Crichton's Choice . ... 26 iv. A Golden Snare for Barry .... 36 v. Mark Finds More than he Looks for . . 50 vi. Rocks Ahead ....... 63 vn. Clough Claims his Legacy . . . .75 vni. A Love-Letter in Wrong Hands ... 87 ix. Two Arrivals ....... 100 x. Capel Coed 112 Xt. Nanny in Single Combat 124 xii. The Meeting of the Trustees . . . 136 xm. A Penitent Legatee ..... 118 xiv. Related by Marriage ..... 161 xv. The Curse of Gold 173 xvi. Richard Crichton Dissatisfied . . . 185 xvii.

Guilty or Not Guilty 198 xviii. On the Eve of the Trial .... 212 xix. Last Words 225 xx. Clough's Confession ..... 238 xxi. Punishment a Boon 251 xxii. Homeless and Friendless .... 264 xxm. Christmas Eve in Prison 275 xxiv. Two Prisoners Set Free 289 xxv. All's Well that Ends Well .... 303 xxvi. Gold Purified CHAPTEE I. FIVE SHILLINGS IN COPPER. With blanched face and unsteady gait Clough walked back to the Heath House, closely fol lowed — pursued, as it seemed to him — by a knot of men carrying among them a hurdle taken from the railway embankment, upon which was borne the corpse of the man under whose roof he had dwelt for more than twelve months. He felt sick and confused, and from minute to minute fell into the fancy that he was still lurking behind the gate at the cross ing, and saw the engine stealing swiftly upon the absorbed money-seeker.

It was even with great difficulty that he could refrain from utter ing a shout of warning ; yet as soon as his B vol. n. fancy attained that point, there came with it the condemning consciousness that it was too late, and that the guilt of blood rested upon his soul. He went on his way doggedly, not daring to look behind at the burden borne after him ; and before long he came upon the print of the old man's footsteps, left clearly upon the crisp snow. The bearers spoke of them, and pointed out his own, trodden close in their wake. Would any suspicion rise against him ? Could the law convict him of murder because he had refrained from warning the dead man of his peril ? The solemn pro cession which he headed reached the Heath House, and set down their ghastly load upon some chairs in the cold, hare kitchen, to re main there until an inquest could be held.

Chapter II. Murder Or No Murder

Mark found upon his arrival that some few necessary arrangements had been made during the day. The inquest had been appointed for the next morning ; and a lawyer's clerk was in waiting at the village inn, having been sent down by a Mr. Appleby, who had made Mr. Lloyd's will, and kept it under his own care. The date was one of nine years back ; and Mark felt a deepening of his anxiety respecting it, for nine years ago all was right between David Lloyd and his brother, who was then re garded universally as a shrewd man of business, on the high road to fortune, while the children were mere children, scarcely likely to be appointed heirs to the estate of a careful man like their uncle. Mark broke the seal with eager fingers, and could scarcely restrain a cry of exultation, as his eye ran rapidly over its contents.

The whole of the property, with the exception of a small annuity to Nanny, was left to be equally divided among his four nephews and nieces ; Barry, his eldest niece, to inherit Clunbury Heath House over and above her fourth of the general estate. As they were to come into possession of their shares as they severally attained their majority, and as Barry and Mab were both over one-and-twenty, they would enter into immediate enjoyment of their changed fortunes. He hurried back to the station to despatch a telegram to Barry, and then he turned his steps towards the Heath House, through those fields, and across the heath by which she had approached her uncle's house when she went to implore his help. Nanny was waiting for him in Trevor' s kitchen with the policeman, who would deliver up the key of the house to none but Mr. Lloyd's executor.

Mark took it, and unlocked the door, entering at once into the kitchen, where the chill atmosphere of death was blended with the natural cold of the evening air. The chairs stood close together, and upon them rested the hurdle with its ghastly burden, as it had been deposited there in the morning. Mark and Nanny stopped, but only for a moment, to look down upon the familiar features, httle changed by death. The injury had been caused by a blow at the back of the head, where the spinal cord is connected with the brain, and there was no apparent bruise, no contortion, no crushed limb. He must have been struck down flat upon the soft snow, and but for that first blow, causing instantaneous death, as he stooped to pick up the coin so fatally sought, the engine would have passed over him without inflicting any hurt.

Mark and Nanny passed on into the sitting-room, and he, shivering with cold, bade her light a fire there, though Lady-day was come and gone. In this simple command, Nanny felt the full force of the change that had come so suddenly ; and sitting down upon the floor before the empty grate, she wept the first. and almost the only, tears which were shed over the miser's death. All the day, a day of intolerable length for him, Clough had been sitting moodily by the mole-catcher's fire, speaking only in surly and morose answers to the people who flocked there for the details of the accident, the rumour of which had run like wildfire through the country. Speculation had been rife some years past as to the extent of Mr. Lloyd's wealth and the final destination of it. During the whole of the day visitors came to the usually deserted courtyard, to look up curiously at the crazy casements and shattered windows, and to interrogate the policeman who kept guard upon the premises.

Trevor' s kitchen was thronged, but Clough would say nothing to gratify curiosity. He scarcely knew even that strangers were coming and going constantly, though they tormented him as a buzzing swarm of flies torments some harassed and wounded creature. Hour after hour he was going through the occurrences of the early morning — vol. ii. c hearing Mr. Lloyd's step, getting up and watching him wrap himself up in his brown overcoat, hesitating whether to follow, or to snatch a stolen glance at the treasure — oh ! if he had but chosen the latter ! — tracking him cautiously across the heath, and then going over and over again the argument he had held with himself whether he would, or would not, save him from approaching death. He had not saved him, and there was a cry, a smothered, secret cry of murder in his heart.

Murder ! It could not surely be that, for he had not so much as lifted a finger towards doing the guilty deed. No judge or jury in England could con vict him of murder, even if they knew how he had lurked silently by, while danger, and death with it, swooped down upon its unconscious prey. He opened his dictionary at random, and the page, one near the middle of the hook, bore the words "murder" and "murderer." Mechanically he read the long list of quotations arranged under them, still repeating to his own heart the two-fold cry of " Murder," and " No Murder." The day appeared interminable ; and the dropping of the melted snow from the eaves sounded incessantly in his ears like the slow drop-dropping of blood upon the stone pavement of the kitchen, where the dead man lay, stiff and rigid, as he had seen him laid there in the morning.

Once Clough dragged his heavy and reluctant feet to the low case ment of the kitchen window, and peered through its dim, green panes, to make sure that he was not in some horrible dream ; but there it was stretched, the Useless but accusing corpse, which owed death to him — an awful debt. Long as the day felt, when the dusk began to deepen, he wished that it could continue day, for in the darkness the ghostly terror grew greater. He recalled, with unutterable longing, the old, wholesome life of labour in Manches ter, when he and his comrades, honest, hard working men, would have laughed to scorn these sickly and girlish fears. It seemed to him that if he could only pace the old familiar streets again, and live in the shadow of the old mill-walls, even if the machinery within was silent, and the chambers deserted, he should be able then — and only then — to shake off the sense of guilt.

As soon as the inquest was over, at which his presence and evidence were necessary, he would set off on the tramp home again to seek the peace of conscience he had lost. The inquest was held the next morning, and Clough told his story again, with stereotyped fluency, before the coroner ; the driver of the engine corroborating his statement that he had shouted, and tried to warn Mr. Lloyd of his danger, just as the engine passed by. No suspicion fell upon him, and his still scared and terrified manner was ascribed to the shock his nerves had suffered in witnessing the violent death of his benefactor — an epithet bestowed by the coroner upon the late Mr. Lloyd. The verdict returned was one of "Accidental Death;" and the judicial inquest being ended, the corpse and its burial was left to the charge of the deceased man's friends.

When he was left to himself, and the strangers who had formed the jury had quitted the house, Mark realized more fully the actual change which had come with Mr. Lloyd's death. He turned back across the courtyard, where he had been to see the last of the in truders take his departure, and entered the kitchen, the pavement of which was marked by many footsteps. The village carpenter was already taking the measurement for the coffin, with business-like alacrity, and with a wooden face which spoke of no emotion towards the corpse he touched. Mark stood for some minutes after he was gone, gazing at the dead, cold face, with tears smarting under his eye lids, and an awful sense of oppression upon his spirit. If prayer could have availed anything, he would have opened the kingdom of heaven by violence for the admission of the self-slain spirit ; but no force, or might, or resolution of his could alter by one jot or one tittle its doom of condemnation.

If he had possessed the whole world he would have given it in exchange for this one soul, gone down to the grave in all the folly and madness of covetousness. But the miser's soul had been his own, to do what he would with it; and Mark was turning away, with almost a despairing sadness, when a palsied hand was laid upon his arm, and he saw the shaking head and blinking eyes of the old mole-catcher at his side. "Mr. Mark," he said, "that lost half sovereign were mine, it were. I lost it on the line, and told the mester, and he went to search after it. That were how he come by 's death. See thee how he grips at it. Dunnot thee, nor nobody else, go to wrench it of 's fingers. It's mine, but I wouldn't go to take it off him now, not for all 's bags of gold. Let him carry it down to 's grave with him.

Only if thee'll let me have my son's watch, I'll pay the ten shillings honest, as soon as I can scrape it together." "You shall have it, Trevor," answered Mark, who had heard the old man's story at the in quest, where he had persisted upon narrating his interview with Mr. Lloyd the night* before his death, " and the money shall stay in his hand, as you wish ; but we will not take any more in its place from you. Do you know where Clough is ? " "Gone," said Trevor — "started back to Manchester, he says. He's shook so, he says, he can't abide to stay anywhere nigh the old mester, or the old house. There's a curse upon it, he says, and everybody as comes into it ; so he started off as soon as he got loose from the crowner, with his dictionary and a bundle. He were going to search after the lost money, as well as the mester, he says.

But it's strange, it's main strange." " Clough gone," said Mark, absently; " ah, well ! there was no need for him to stay, and if it has been so great a shock to him, it will do him no harm to get hack to his old work. I'll see after your son's watch, Trevor." There was a good deal to be done still. Mr. Appleby, the lawyer, had come down from Thornbury to make Mark acquainted with all that he knew of Mr. Lloyd's affairs ; and Mark discovered, to his surprise, that he had been trusted only with a portion of them. From the rough estimate they could make at the moment, there would be no less than eight or nine thousand a-piece for Christopher Lloyd's children. In his most lavish calcula tion of Mr. Lloyd's wealth, Mark had never reckoned upon more than £20,000 ; but he had not counted upon the rigid parsimony which had tended to the speedy multiplication of his riches.

Eight thousand pounds each for Barry and Mab, in immediate and full possession ! How could he, except when that terrible corpse, clutching greedily and rigidly the coin, was before his eyes — how could he help but rejoice. The Heath House was Barry's now ; and Mark, sitting alone over the fire, dreamed many dreams about it, mingling the past with the future, and in spite of all his thorough and unselfish gladness for the poverty-stricken family so suddenly endowed with wealth, feeling an under-current of sadness for himself, and for those who were gone away for ever from the old house. Suppose Ellen had lived, and been his wife, and young children had climbed upon their grandfather's knees, rifling his pockets with their tiny fingers, would they have thus driven away the cunning demon who gained the mastery over the feeble nature which had fought single-handed against his wiles?

Would they have won Mrs. Lloyd from her sweet but unhealthy reveries, and kept her heart alive to the lawful interests of this stage of existence ? How different all the circumstances and events of his own life would have been ! And now Barry would come and take possession of the mouldering, time-stained dwelling, and beautify it in all senses ; filling it with her sweet, wholesome, busy, womanly presence, making it what every dwelling should be, a fair and happy home, where God was honoured and man was loved — but not a home for him ! That night Mark could not have told even his own heart, whether more of joy or sadness possessed it.

Chapter III. Richard Crichton'

S CHOICE. The next day Mr. Christopher Lloyd and Barry came down to the Heath House, and Mark communicated the contents of the will at once to them, for Barry's trial had been too long and heavy for him to suffer the burden of it to press upon her one hour longer than was necessary. Mr. Lloyd's funeral was ordered with all the pompous outlay that suited his brother's taste ; for in that Mr. Christopher Lloyd was peremptory. He felt no grudge against him for having left his name out of his will, for as long as the property came into the family, he was perfectly satisfied. Barry could not at first credit Mark's assur ance that so large a fortune was to be hers, and Mab went into hysterics upon hearing the amount of her inheritance ; hut both fell RICHARD CRICHTON' S CHOICE. 27 quickly into the pleasant sense of being rich beyond their expectations.

A thousand pounds had been bequeathed to Mark, on condition that he gave his whole time for twelve months to the settling of the estate, and took up his abode in or near the Heath House. Mark did not wish for any delay in the execution of his office. As soon as possible the will was proved in the court of probate, Mark as sole executor taking oath that it was "the true and original last will and testament" of David Lloyd. There was no person to dispute or doubt it. David Lloyd had no other relatives, and so far as lawyer, executor, and heirs knew, he had made no later will. As for Nanny, who inherited a legacy of twenty pounds a year under it, she never asked the date of the will, and no questions as to whether it was the one she had herself witnessed ever entered her mind. There was no happiness more graceful or kindly than that with which Barry overflowed as the mistress of the Heath House.

She went in and out of its quaint wainscoted rooms, and along its intricate passages, with the active and springing step of a young pro prietress. Mark had kept from her and her father the circumstances of Mr. Lloyd's death, as far as it was possible, and before many days had passed, the buoyancy of her young heart asserted itself. When Mark was shut up with his work, and could not see her, he could yet hear her clear, joyous voice talking to her father or Nanny, or singing merrily in the garden, amid the warbling of the birds in the spring sunshine. It was a soft, pleasant spring down in the country ; the buds opening early, and, being neither nipped by frost nor matured by untimely heat, unfolded themselves with a tender and gracious lingering, as though they would delay as long as possible the darker green and thicker tissues of summer growth.

Mr. Christopher Lloyd was delighting in the spring-tide, with a certain childishness which was more touching than painful, and Barry be came almost a playfellow to her father, goin" RICHARD CRICHTON'S CHOICE. 29 out long rambles with him in search of prim roses and cowslips ; while Mark took his share in Barry's cares and enjoyments, and gave himself up to the pleasures of the country, after so many years of city life. " Gather the rosebuds while you may," was Mark's motto just then ; for he knew full well that the roses would not bloom for him. Mab and the two boys were still at Lloyd Terrace, for the Heath House was in too dila pidated a state to afford accommodation for more than those who already dwelt in it. The boys were discontented ; but Mab had no proclivities for country life, and she was as happy as she could be in providing herself with the most becoming and most costly mourning.

Everything conspired to place her at the very summit of her wishes. She was free from the sisterly criticisms of Barry — a family criticism which is not always indulgent, and but rarely withheld — and she could give all her airs and graces full swing. The house was once more gay with the congratulatory visits of former friends ; and Barry had bought hack her harp at once, lest Mab should feel dull in the absence of her father and herself. But the crown of Mab's happiness was the daily visit of Richard Crichton. A change had taken place in his fortunes as well as Mab's ; for the death of an elder brother had made room for him in his father's firm, and instead of being a hard-working doctor, he was now to become an opulent merchant — a change which had helped to bring him to a decision between the two daughters of Christopher Lloyd.

The only point he wished to secure was that of strengthening his hold upon Barry, with whom he corresponded regularly, but guardedly, in terms which might be construed into merely the warm interest of a brother. It would be a splendid thing for him, he argued, to have two such girls belonging to him. and devotedly attached to him. He must marry Mab, for she would be sure to take up with some fellow or another, and he should lose her ; hut if Barry had once loved him, she would never RICHARD CRICHTON' S CHOICE. 31 love again; and he reflected with pleasure that she would possess a very fair income for a single woman. He built himself a castle, in which Mab was the "thing of beauty" which should be " a joy for ever," and Barry the ani mating spirit, filling it with energy and life, both of them burning incense to him, and always ready to minister at his shrine.

It was a very fair and sumptuous castle, and Richard did not for an instant entertain a doubt of his worthiness to be lord of it. During the absence of Mr. Christopher Lloyd and Barry there were not wanting many op portunities for Richard to avow his love to Mab. To be sure it was generally understood that Mab had some female friend or other staying with her at Lloyd Terrace ; but there occurred intervals between their visits, and Mab enjoyed these intervals the best, for the hoys were seldom in the way, and she had Richard all to herself. It was scarcely possible that under these circumstances he could steer clear of making a declaration of his sentiments ; and one evening he found, a little to his own surprise and chagrin, that he had made a definite offer and been accepted. The moment that he had committed himself to Mab the worth of Barry grew a hundredfold in his eyes.

What if he should lose her in winning her sister ? "Richard," murmured Mab, veiling her blue eyes with their thin eyelids and long lashes, " do you know I am almost afraid that Barry is in love with you ? And I am sure papa thinks you come to see Barry, for he has said so to me more than once ; and he'll be awfully angry, because she is his favourite. I'm afraid they will both set themselves against it. But 3Tou won't give me up, will you?" "Never," answered Richard. " It was so foolish of poor dear Barry," con tinued Mab, " for anybody who was not blind could have seen which of us you admired most. But you must not despise her or think her very vain, and all that sort of thing. I think papa really makes too much of her, and RICHARD CRICHTON* S CHOICE. 33 so does Mark Fletcher, and that puts notions into her head.

Do you know, Richard dear, I think that, perhaps, we had better not say anything about this till they are a little pre pared for it. I'm of age, and I've the right to marry whom I like ; though of course I shouldn't choose to marry without papa's con sent — not for the world. But just for the present, perhaps, we might keep it a little secret between ourselves. You will like to share a secret with me, Richard?" She glanced up into his face, her own bright with the loveliness which gratified him, and he could only answer her as she wished. It mattered very little to him whether his en gagement to her was acknowledged at once or in a few months' time ; while she, in her poor girlish folly, thought it more romantic and delightful to keep it a secret, and have quiet interviews and clandestine correspond ence with a lover.

Her mind, feeble and childish in this as in everything else, was pleased with exaggerating the opposition and vol. ii. d well. indignation of her father and Barry, when ever the time came for an explanation. So she went on castle-building, as many foolish girls do, little thinking of the sure trouble in store for such indulgence. She was re called from her reveries by a question from Richard. "Did you say that Barry loves me?" he asked, his face flushing with some feeling akin to shame. "Oh, yes!" answered Mab. "She never says much ; but she used to listen for your knock of an evening, and such a look would come over her ! Poor Barry ! She was very blind indeed. You must be very good to her, for my sake." As he walked homewards, the idea of Barry still cherishing her love for him marred the happiness of Richard's successful suit to Mab.

His was a nature which could never choose firmly and definitely, but always looked hack with craving and regret upon the thing re jected ; and now he felt that if he could not RICHARD CRICHTON'S CHOICE. 35 retain his hold upon Barry's esteem and affection, all Mab's superior grace and love liness would soon become worthless in his eyes.

Chapter IV

A GOLDEN SNARE FOR BARRY. Barry, as heiress of the Heath House, was heartily enjoying her new possession. The place was hers — the over-grown garden, and the decayed dwelling, and the crazy old furni ture within it. It did not seem a very valuable inheritance; but after Mark had brought a builder to look over it, and examine its walls and timbers, it was pronounced to he in a very fair condition, only needing some considerable outlay for repairs. These were to he com menced early in June, but until then Mr. Christopher Lloyd and Barry resolved to stay in the old house as it was. Now and then Barry would speak laughingly of the hoards of gold commonly reported to be concealed in its walls and floors ; and old Trevor never failed when he met with her, to impress upon her the necessity of instituting a strict and minute search.

This idea dominated so strongly over the mole-catcher's brain, that in time it could not fail to make some impression upon Barry's, and by-and-by a vague disquietude crept over the full enjoyment of the first weeks. Her step about the house grew less buoyant, and here and there she would arrest herself, as Clough had often done, when a plank creaked under her foot, to stoop to see how and why it was loose. A morbid fancy takes deep root quickly; and thorns were springing up to choke the good seed of gladness and release from sorrow which had been sown in Barry's. heart. "Mark," she said, one day, coming into the great hare room where he sat at work, and speaking with some hesitation, " is everything in the house my own without reserve?" " To be sure," he answered. "And if we did find any money?" she replied, and paused there as if she scarcely liked to utter more of her thoughts.

Mark david Lloyd's last will. 38 looked up and read them in her grave and clouded face, and with a strange dread and anguish in his voice he said, " Barry ! " " Oh, Mark!" she cried, bursting into tears, " I hate myself, and if you knew all, you would hate me. I am growing to love money, I am indeed. I am becoming covetous. Mark, save me from it ! " "How long have you loved it?" asked Mark, tenderly. " Oh, not long ! " sobbed Barry, " only since old Trevor has talked so much about my uncle's hoards." "It is no very deep-rooted affection then," he answered, smiling. " It soon would be," she answered, " and it is dreadful. I believe it is in the very atmosphere of the house. Or perhaps it is because we have been so poor. It seems to me as if it would kill me at once if I thought we should ever be so wretchedly poor again ; and no money seems enough to secure us from it.

Yet I know I am very wrong, and not like a Christian ; and I shall grow into a miserable, covetous old miser like my poor uncle, if you don't help me, Mark." " How am I to help you ? " he asked. " Mark, I am going to confess my faults to you," said Barry, seating herself on the low, broad window-sill, " and if you think I am trying to hide anything from you or myself, please to ask me some sharp, stinging ques tion. You see I've been brooding over these tales of Trevor' s till my head has been turned. Why, you will scarcely believe it — but I go about tapping at the panels of the wainscot when I think no one can see me. I do indeed." Barry hung her head a little, and turned away her face from him in shame. " I have seen you," said Mark, with a deeper tenderness in his tone. " Oh, Mark ! " she cried, turning her face towards him again.