Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 54

"You are mistaken, Mr. Stephen. I am never tired, and I am never annoyed."

"At least you must be surprised," said Stephen; "you had no idea that my uncle had left so much."

"No, I am not even surprised," retorted Mr. Hudsley, if his calm reply could be called a retort. "I have lived too long to be surprised by anything."

And there was something in his keen, icy look which silenced Stephen, and made him bend over his papers suddenly.

Others noticed the change which had come over the once sleek, smooth-spoken young man. It got to be remarked that he rarely left the Hurst grounds, and that what exercise he took was on the terrace in front of the library, or on the lawn below it. It was said that he paced up and down this lawn for hours.

It was said, too, that he rarely addressed a servant in or out of the house. All the orders came through the valet Slummers.

Mention has been made of Slummers. It would have been difficult to describe him. He was called in the village "the Shadow," because he was so thin and noiseless, so silent and death-like.

In addition to his noiselessness, he had a trick of going about with closed eyes, or with his lids so lowered that it looked as if his eyes were closed.

Bets had been made upon the supposed color of those visional organs, but had never been decided, for never by any chance did he look anyone in the face when speaking; and when by some accident those sphinx-like lids were raised they were dropped again so quickly that examination of what lay behind them was impossible.

Secretiveness was part and parcel of this man. He never did anything openly. When he gave an order it was in a round-about way. The simplest action of his daily life was enveloped in mystery. Even his meals were taken in a room apart; only a few of the servants knew the room he occupied. Then he seemed ubiquitous. He was everywhere at once, and turned up when least expected.

With noiseless step he came and went about the house; now in the servants' hall, now in the library closeted with his master, now in the stables looking under his lids at the horses, counting, so said the grooms, every oat that went into the mangers. Not a thing was done in the house but he was acquainted with it.

And he knew everything! Not a secret was kept from him. Had anyone in the village an episode in his life, which he hoped and deemed hidden and forgotten, Slummers knew it, and managed by some dropped word or look to let the miserable man know that he knew it.

Before he had been at Hurst a week he had half the servants and villagers in his power.

Power! That was the secret mainspring of the man's existence. He loved power.

Give even the fiend his due. This man had one good quality, he was devoted to his master. Saving this one great event of his life--the theft and loss of his will--Stephen trusted him in everything.

And Slummers admired him. In his eyes Stephen was the cleverest man on earth, and being the cleverest man on earth Slummers was content to serve him. Yes, Slummers was devoted to his master, but he made up for it in his detestation of the rest of mankind in general, and of one man in particular--Jack Newcombe.

Between Jack--honest, frank, and reckless Jack--and the serpent-like Slummers there had been a feud which had commenced from the moment of their first introduction.

On that occasion Slummers had been sent with a message to Jack's room.

Jack happened to be out, and Slummers whiled away the tediousness of waiting by opening a drawer in Leonard's table and reading some unimportant letters. Jack, coming in with his usual suddenness, caught him and kicked him. Jack had forgotten it long ago, but Slummers had not, and he waited for the time till he could return that kick in his own fas.h.i.+on.

The days pa.s.sed, and Mr. Hudsley's task appeared to be nearing a conclusion.

One morning he came up to the Hurst, his hands behind his back, his head bent as usual, and asked for Stephen.

Stephen was in the library, and Slummers noiselessly ushered in the lawyer. It happened to be what Stephen would have called one of his bad mornings. He was seated at the table, not at work, but looking at the pile of papers with lack-l.u.s.ter eyes, that saw nothing, and pale, drawn face.

Hudsley had seen him like this before, but his keen eyes looked like steel blades.

Stephen started and put his thin, white hand across his brow.

"Good morning," he said. "Good morning. Any news? Sit down."

But Hudsley remained standing.

"I have no news," he said. "I think I may say that there are no more surprises for us. You know the extent of the fortune which you hold!"

He did not say "which is yours," or "which your uncle left you." Simply "which you hold." On Stephen's strained mind the phrase jarred. He nodded and kept his eyes downcast.

"The business that lies within my province," continued Mr. Hudsley, "is completed. What remains is the work of an accountant. My task is done."

"I am sure," said Stephen, smoothly, "that you do not need any a.s.surance of my grat.i.tude----"

The old man waved his wrinkled hand.

"I have been the legal adviser of the Davenant family for the last forty years," he said, "and I know my duty. I trust I have done it so far as you are concerned," he said, sternly. "And now I have come to you to request you to receive what papers and doc.u.ments are in my charge--my clerk, Skettle, will hand them to you and take your receipt--and to inform you that I wish to withdraw from my position as your legal adviser."

Stephen's pale face winced and shrunk, and he raised his eyes suspiciously.

"Mr. Hudsley, you surprise me! May I ask your reasons for this abrupt withdrawal?"

"My reasons are my own," said Hudsley, dryly; "I may say that I am growing old, and that I am disinclined to undertake the charge of so large an estate."

"Oh!" said Stephen, with a sickly smile. "Such a reason is unanswerable.

But I deeply regret it--deeply. My uncle always trusted you."

"He did nothing of the sort," interrupted Mr. Hudsley, sternly. "He trusted no man."

"At any rate, I have placed implicit and well-merited confidence in you," said Stephen.

The old man looked at him and Stephen trembled.

"I--I hope I shall find your bill of costs among the papers?" he said, hoa.r.s.ely.

"No," said Mr. Hudsley. "What service I have rendered you I consider as rendered to the estate. The estate has paid me sufficiently hitherto. I need, I will receive no other payment."

"But----" urged Stephen.

Mr. Hudsley waved his hand.

"I am quite resolved, sir. If you should need any information respecting any business that has occurred up to the present, I am at your service; but for the future I beg to withdraw. Good-morning."

Stephen rose, and held out his hand.

"At least, Mr. Hudsley," he said, "we part as friends, notwithstanding this hasty resolution of yours?"

"It is not hasty, sir," said Hudsley, and just touching the cold, thin hand, he bowed and left the room.

Stephen sank into a chair, and wiped the drops of cold sweat that had acc.u.mulated on his brow.

"He suspects me," he muttered. "He suspects! But he suspects only, and he can do nothing, or he would have done it. Yes; he is powerless. Let him go! let him go!" he repeated; and he paced the room.

Gradually the relief of Hudsley's withdrawal broke upon him, and his step grew lighter.