Chapter 13: Spreading His Wings

A disagreeable surprise awaited him when he reached St. Paul’s Churchyard. Taking it for granted that everything would now belong to Gladys, he was prepared to act as her representative and sole relative, and, if needs be, carry things off with a high hand--above and beyond all else, he was desirous of gaining access to certain documents whose existence constituted a peril to him. To that end he arrived before his usual time, being conscious that this was an occasion on which it might be an advantage to be first on the field. To his disgust he found that at least two persons were in front of him, and that they were both in what had been his uncle’s private room. One was Mr. Andrews, the managing man, the other was a square-jawed individual, whose blue cheeks pointed to a life-long struggle with a refractory beard. He was seated, as one in authority, in his uncle’s own chair behind his uncle’s own table. They were busily conversing as Rodney came unannounced into the room, but paused to stare at him.

“This,” explained Mr. Andrews to the man in the chair, “is Mr. Rodney Elmore--the nephew I was telling you about.”

There was a lack of deference in the speaker’s tone which the young gentleman resented, and had resented in silence more than once in the days which were past; but the time for silence was gone. He had been making up his mind on that point on his way to the City. Recognising, from the bearing of the two men in front of him, that a new and, as yet, unknown factor bade fair to figure on the scene, with characteristic readiness he arrived at an instant resolution. Ignoring Andrews, he addressed himself to the man in the chair.

“May I ask, sir, who you are?”

The stranger’s penetrating eyes were set deep in his head; he fixed them on the young gentleman’s face with a steady stare of evident surprise. Rodney returned him stare for stare.

“You may ask, young gentleman, and, though I seriously doubt if you are entitled to ask, I don’t mind telling you. My name is Wilkes--Stephen Wilkes; I am your late uncle’s legal adviser, and am here to safeguard the interests he has left behind.”

“Then, Mr. Wilkes, be so good as to get out of that chair.”

Mr. Andrews looked at the speaker in shocked amazement.

“Mr. Elmore! You forget yourself! How dare you speak like that to a gentleman in Mr. Wilkes’s position.”

For answer, Rodney turned to the managing man, addressing him as curtly and peremptorily as if he had been some menial servant.

“Andrews, leave the room!”

The other’s eyes opened still wider; probably he had never been so spoken to before, even by his late master in his most irascible moods. He drew up his spare and rather bowed figure with what he perhaps meant to be a touch of dignity.

“Mr. Elmore, the consequences will be very serious if you talk to me like that.”

“The consequences will be very serious if you don’t obey my orders.”

“Your orders?”

“My orders. Are you going to leave the room, or am I to put you out?”

“Steady, young gentleman, steady. I have been your uncle’s legal adviser for perhaps more years than you have been in the world, and am, therefore, intimately acquainted with his wishes. I am here to see those wishes carried out. I understand that you occupied a very humble position in this office, and, though accident made you his relative, you were not in possession of your uncle’s confidence. Your position is in no way altered by his death, and you have no right to issue what you call orders here--emphatically not to Mr. Andrews. If there is any question as to who is to leave the room, it is certainly not Mr. Andrews who must go, but you.”

“Mr. Wilkes, I do not propose to bandy words, and when I have once pointed out that you entirely misapprehend the situation on that subject I have done. All that Mr. Patterson had is now his daughter’s, including this business and all that it implies. I am here as Miss Patterson’s representative.”

“Indeed! By whom appointed?”

“By Miss Patterson. I may inform you that Miss Patterson will shortly be my wife.”

“Is that so? This is news. Since when has that arrangement been made?”

“Your words imply a sneer and an impertinence. That being so, I decline to enter into any further details with you beyond a bare statement of the fact.”

“Are you not taking too much for granted in asserting that everything is left to Miss Patterson?”

“I have not a doubt of it; with the exception, possibly, of some small legacies. He left a will?”

“He did.”

“Is it in your possession?”

“It is.”

“Then I must ask you to produce it at once.”

“Produce it? To whom?”

“To me. Miss Patterson has instructed me to request you to hand it over at once to my keeping.”

“Then, if that is so, I am afraid that, for the moment, I have no choice but to ignore the young lady’s request. I will see Miss Patterson.”

“Miss Patterson will decline to see you.”

“She will decline to see me? On what grounds?”

“It is not necessary that she should state any grounds. Any communication you wish to have with Miss Patterson must be through me or her solicitor. Do I understand that you finally refuse to do as she requests, and hand me her father’s will?”

“If you were not a very young man, Mr. Elmore, I should say that you were a foolish one; but possibly youth is your extenuation. The will will be produced at the proper time, in the proper place, to the proper person; it will certainly not be handed to you.”

“Then Miss Patterson’s solicitor will at once take steps which will compel its instant production.”

“Miss Patterson’s solicitor? You really are a remarkable young man! I am Miss Patterson’s solicitor. It was her father’s wish that I should continue to act for her, as I acted for him.”

“You will do nothing of the kind. If Mr. Patterson has left any legal powers to that effect, his daughter will resort to every process of law to effect your removal; your refusal to withdraw will not redound to your credit. You say you have been his legal adviser for more years than I am old. Mr. Patterson was a bad husband and a bad father. He utterly neglected his daughter; he did nothing to show that he had any of a parent’s natural feelings; although she respected his every wish and he had no complaint to make of her, he was wholly indifferent to both her welfare and her happiness; he saw as little of her and did as little for her as he could. In many respects he was to her both a reproach and a shame, the sole object of his existence being his own gross physical enjoyment. Without being, perhaps, what is called an habitual drunkard, he habitually drank too much, and was frequently intoxicated in her presence. He was an evil-liver--with his relations with notorious women you are probably better acquainted than I am; she, unfortunately, has good reason to know that they were of a discreditable kind. To crown an ill-spent career he has taken his own life, under circumstances which can hardly fail to be the cause of scandal, which may leave a brand on her for the remainder of her life, though she is still only a girl. You apparently pride yourself on having been confidential adviser to such a man through a great number of years. Is it strange, therefore, that she would rather that somebody else should advise her? Think it over; you will yourself perceive that it is not strange; I am sure that will be the feeling of a court of law. Now, Mr. Wilkes, I must again ask you to get out of that chair.”