The moment I got back I spoke to my clerk; and, after telling him what
had happened, I sent him to his brother's office, "with Mr. Bruff's
compliments, and he would be glad to know why Messrs. Skipp and Smalley
had found it necessary to examine Lady Verinder's will."
This message brought Mr. Smalley back to my office in company with his
brother. He acknowledged that he had acted under instructions received
from a client. And then he put it to me, whether it would not be a
breach of professional confidence on his part to say more.
We had a smart discussion upon that. He was right, no doubt; and I
was wrong. The truth is, I was angry and suspicious--and I insisted
on knowing more. Worse still, I declined to consider any additional
information offered me, as a secret placed in my keeping: I claimed
perfect freedom to use my own discretion. Worse even than that, I took
an unwarrantable advantage of my position. "Choose, sir," I said to Mr.
Smalley, "between the risk of losing your client's business and the risk
of losing Mine." Quite indefensible, I admit--an act of tyranny, and
nothing less. Like other tyrants, I carried my point. Mr. Smalley chose
his alternative, without a moment's hesitation.
He smiled resignedly, and gave up the name of his client: Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.
That was enough for me--I wanted to know no more.
Having reached this point in my narrative, it now becomes necessary
to place the reader of these lines--so far as Lady Verinder's Will is
concerned--on a footing of perfect equality, in respect of information,
with myself.
Let me state, then, in the fewest possible words, that Rachel Verinder
had nothing but a life-interest in the property. Her mother's excellent
sense, and my long experience, had combined to relieve her of all
responsibility, and to guard her from all danger of becoming the victim
in the future of some needy and unscrupulous man. Neither she, nor her
husband (if she married), could raise sixpence, either on the property
in land, or on the property in money. They would have the houses in
London and in Yorkshire to live in, and they would have the handsome
income--and that was all.
When I came to think over what I had discovered, I was sorely perplexed
what to do next.
Hardly a week had passed since I had heard (to my surprise and distress)
of Miss Verinder's proposed marriage. I had the sincerest admiration
and affection for her; and I had been inexpressibly grieved when I heard
that she was about to throw herself away on Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. And
now, here was the man--whom I had always believed to be a smooth-tongued
impostor--justifying the very worst that I had thought of him, and
plainly revealing the mercenary object of the marriage, on his side! And
what of that?--you may reply--the thing is done every day. Granted, my
dear sir. But would you think of it quite as lightly as you do, if the
thing was done (let us say) with your own sister?