Chapter 6: Sole Residuary Legatee.

Mr. Paine unfolded a large sheet of blue paper.

“This is, it appears, the last will and testament of your late uncle, Benjamin Batters. It is, as, when you have heard it, I think you will yourself agree, a somewhat singular document. It came with the letter from Mr. Lennard which I have just now read you. It is, so far as I know, authentic; but it is my duty to inform you that the whole affair is more than a little irregular. This document seems to be a holograph—that is, I take it that it is in your uncle’s own writing. Do you recognise his handwriting?”

He gave me the paper. I glanced at it. Emily peeped over my shoulder.

“Well, I shouldn’t exactly like to go so far as that, but I have some letters of his, and, so far as I remember, the writing seems about the same. But you can see them if you like; then you will be able to compare it.”

“I should be very much obliged, Miss Blyth, if you would allow me to do so. A very important point would be gained if we could prove the writing. As matters stand at present I am in a position in which I am able to prove absolutely nothing. Mr. Batters was a stranger to me; he seems, also, to have been a stranger to you; I can find nobody who knew him. All we have to go upon is this letter from the other end of the world, from a person of whom no one knows anything, and which may or may not be genuine. Should another claimant arise we should be placed in a very awkward situation.”

“Is there going to be another claimant? And what is there to claim?”

“So far as I know there is going to be none; but in legal matters it is necessary to be prepared for every emergency. As to what there is to claim, I will tell you.”

I gave him back the blue paper. He began to read. Emily came closer. I could feel that she was all of a flutter.

“‘This is the last will and testament of me, Benjamin Batters.

“‘On condition that she does as I hereby direct I give and bequeath to my niece, Mary Blyth, the daughter of my sister, Mary Ann Batters, who married Augustus Blyth, and who when I last heard tell of her was assistant at Cardew & Slaughter’s, a life income of Four Hundred and Eighty Eight Pounds Nineteen Shillings and Sixpence a year, interest of my money invested in Consols.’”

Mr. Paine stopped.

“I may say that bonds producing that amount were enclosed in the package. Here they are.”

“Four Hundred and Eighty Eight Pounds Nineteen Shillings and Sixpence a year!” said Emily. “I congratulate you, Pollie!”

She kissed me, right in front of Mr. Paine. For my part, I felt a queer something steal all over me. My heart began to beat. To think of Uncle Benjamin, of all people in the world, leaving me such a fortune as that! And at the very moment when all my expectations in this world amounted to exactly fifteen shillings! There need be no more waiting for Tom and me. We would be married before the year was out, or I would know the reason why.

Mr. Paine went on.

“The will is by no means finished, ladies. The greater, and more remarkable part of it is to follow. When you have heard what it is I am not sure that Miss Blyth will consider herself entitled to congratulations only.”

What could he mean? Had the old rascal changed his mind in the middle of his own will?

“‘This money,’ Mr. Batters goes on to say, ‘was earned by hard labour, the sweat of my brow, and sufferings untold, so don’t let her go and frivol it away as if it was a case of lightly come and lightly go.’”

“If that’s true, Uncle Benjamin must have altered, because I’ve heard my mother say, over and over again, that he never could be induced to do an honest day’s work in all his life.”

“People sometimes do alter—as I have observed. ‘On condition, also, that she does as I tell her,’ continues Mr. Batters, ‘I bequeath to her the life tenancy of my house, 84, Camford Street, Westminster, together with the use of the furniture it contains.’”

“What!” interrupted Emily, “a house and furniture too. Why, Pollie, what else can you want?”

I wondered myself. But I was soon to know. Mr. Paine read on:

“‘I give and bequeath the above to my niece, Mary Blyth, on these conditions. She is to live in the house at 84, Camford Street. She is never to sleep out of it. She is never to be away from it after nine o’clock at night or before nine o’clock in the morning. She is only to have one companion, and she must be a woman. They are to have no visitors, neither she nor her companion. She is to choose a companion, and stick to her. If the companion dies, or leaves her, she is not to have another. She is afterwards to live in the house alone. She is not to let any woman, except her companion, enter the house. She is not to allow any man, under any circumstances whatever, to come inside the house, or to cross the doorstep. These are my wishes and orders. If she disobeys any one of them, then may my curse light on her, and I will see that it does, and the house, and the income, and everything, is to be taken from her, and given to the Society for Befriending Sailors.