PETER'S LEGACY.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIV, Issue 173, 22 July 1903, Page 3 (Supplement)

PETER'S LEGACY.

(By Algernon Gissing.) Author of "A Secret of the North Sea." etc

The postman found Peter putting a new string to his fiddle, early morning though it was, and though he had heard the footstep, Peter did not look up till a shadow fell across the instrument on his knees. Then, with his eyes halfclosed, he peered into the face of the intruder. The postman nodded, and sat on the ground inthe sun. He invariably exchanged a few words with Peter, although he seldom had anything to leave. A roll of music, or an envelope bearing the impression of a coil within, and thus visibly announcing its contents, formed the extent of Peter Ashbee's correspondence, and therefore could afford no difficulties to any country postman of the most limited powers of mind.

But as Thomas talked this morning he searched in his bag with an unusual air of significance, and at last produced a spruce business envelope which with some formality he held out as though to say, "There, Peter Ashbee, Esquire, what can 'cc make o , that? It be altogether beyond me, 'owever, and I shall be glad o' your assistance straigbtway." But as ill luck would have it, at that very moment a blackbird broke into its pious song from the top of the swan-egg pear tree, and Peter nicked the letter through the cottage door beside him, continuing to stare far beyond Thomas into space. The irown showed how he received such behaviour, for he knew immediately that no information was to be had out of a mood such as this. So the postman got up abruptly, and went angrily on his way. Curiosity was increased a hundredfold by so blunt a disappointment, and he had not a civil word to give to anybody on the rest of his journey. How could any mortal receive it otherwise? Not only was it "Peter Ashbee, Esq.," in the boldest of clerkly hands; not only was it <fche Birmingham postmark, when all Peter's dealings were with his ordinary market town; but what put all comomn guess-work to rout, and was surely enough to throw anybody into a fever for a (twelvemonth was that clear embossed impression on the back, "Wilkinson and Grey, solicitors, Birmingham." What could Peter have to do with solicitors at Birmingham? He was not a farthing in anybody's debt. He was no man to go to law, or for anybody to have the law of. Nay, he had written no letter to anybody for a month, and the last was—but Thomas gave it up, and trudged form stile to stile, from homestead to homestead, in grim January mood. To give the last stroke <to his endurance, when he came back Peter's cottage was locked up, and no trace of the man or hi 3 letter to be found on the premises. By that time Peter was dressed in his Sunday clothes, and already on his way to the station more than five miles off He had been hardly aware when the postman left him, and saw nothing at all of Thomas' ai-hmnoor. For two hour* had he waited for that blackbird to begin, and at the first note he was earned into one of his musical reveries, from which principally he had earned the reputation amongst his neighbours of being harmlessly mad. Mad or no, his face was a young and etriking one. Particularly so as he eat Tapt in his faraway reflection. But suddenly the expression of his features altered, and with a smile he turned abruptly into the house. He gave a start of surprise as his foot fell on the letter he had thrown there, but he did not stop. From a side-table he snatched a sheet of music paper, and for some minutee he was eagerly jotting down notes. Then with a whistle of -triumph he turned again, and slowly took up the letter to stare at it back and- front in astonishment. When Peter got courage to open it he was no less surprised.

"Dear Sir,—

We have to inform you that you have an interest under the will of

your late uncle, Mr Henry Dee , deceased, with reference Jto which we shall be glad to se see you, when you ake it convenient to call at our office. Yours faithfully, "Wilkinson and Grey." "Peter Ashbee, Esq., "Linch Cottage, Swinbury, Gloucestershire." It was a few minutes before Peter could recover from his blank astonishment, but on doing so, he decided with nervous impetuosity to go to Birmingham at once, so he changed his clothes, got twelve and sixpence in silver from the bottom drawer, and set forth immediately. He was so excited that he avoided the village, and crossed over hedge and ditch of Master Long's meadows, to the lower road. On getting there he found his clean boots were covered with the yellow dust of buttercups, so he stopped to brush it off with his red handkerchief, and then strode forward. He was only accustomed to the most secluded existence on his green hillside, so the day passed for him as if in a dream. In due time he reached the town, and found out the solicitor's office, whence the letter had come. The gentleman into whose presence he was introduced seemed frankly surprised at the visitors appearance, and asked him a few questions about his country life, all which Peter answered with an artess simplicity that entertained the lawyer.

"You know your uncle was an odd man?" he interposed abruptly with his eyes fixed on Peter's face.

"I never saw him or knew anything about him," was the reply, whereat the other stared. The lawyer theE *juestioned the young man more narrowly, broadly hinted that there was some mistake, that the testator had spoken familiarly of the real Peter Ashbee, that in short before they could proceed further some evidence must be supplied that Peter was actually the man he represented himself to be. With that the lawyer took his hat, and bade his visitor company him. In his state of bewilderment Peter was hurried along the pavement. At the glass door of a well-to-do music shop Mr Grey paused, and entered. Peter's ears at once caught the strains of a violin coming from the interior of the shop, and if possible this increased his confusion. In a moment they confronted a young lady still holding a violin. "Will you please tell me what you were playing?" stammered Peter before his companion could utter a word. She smiled with amusement and told him. It was an unpublished song of her father's, the last he wrote before his death. Both the lawyer tnd the young woman laughed at the expression of Peter' 3 face.

"Poor fellow," muttered Mr Grey to her. "Is he really the man your father referred to?" She didn't know; She had never seen her cousin. But Peter broke in by snatching up the fiddle and bow. and playing a tune with vigour.

"There! That is how I meant it," he exclaimed with a flushed face, whilst the other two stared at him. He had played with a little variation the unpublished song, the last production of his late uncle, Henry Dee, and played it as the lawyer thought, extremely well. His manner to Peter altered, and saying, "I must look into this," Mr Grey bade Miss Dee good morning. He called at his office, and then drove with Peter to the station.

In the afternoon sun they came in a dog-cart to Swinbury. A consultation with the rector soon satisfied the lawyer of his visitor's right to be taken as the legatee mentioned in Henry Dee's will, and when this was settled, the two went to Peter's cottage,where the latter made tea. The lawyer through being himself musical had made the acquaintance of Henry Dee, so he had by now got considerably interested in Peter. Under his skilful handling the solitary young musician became communicative. Oh, yes, just for fancy, he said, he had written a lot of music. It just came into his head when he was working in the coppice, or listening in his garden to the birds. He now played several of these airs, most of which Mr Grey recognised as having been published under the name of Henry Dee. The lawyer asked him what he did with his music when it was written. Nothing but play it himself. But did he not show it to anybody? No. "Not to anybody at all?" "Only to Mr Simpson." "And who was Mr Simpson?"

A gentleman who used to come and see him often, but had not been for more than three months. The lawyer perked up his ears, and, having obtained a full description of the missing Mr. Simpson, found it to coincide exactly with the familiar figure of the late Mr Henry Dee. He then had to hurry away to catch his train. But he fixed another day for Peter to come to his office.

On that day at the hour appointed Peter was there. Four other people were in the room when he was introduced to it, on of whom was the young lady from the music shop in becoming mourning attire. She frowned as he entered and all stared. None of the others knew this singular relative of whom, since the will had been read, only the name bad been heard. As they were all connections of the testator's wife they naturally resented the unexpected intrusion of a humble relative of the testator himself into the division of his property. Mrs Dee had in her lifetime been connected with the stage. Indeed, it seemed to be the particular grievance of each that the property had to be divided at all. Seeing himself the centre of so much ill-will, Peter felt uncomfortable. One complained that he was late, and had kept them waiting. Other complaints were bluntly checked by the lawyer, -who had stepped forward to take Peter's hand. Afterwards Mr Grey made a statement at which the assembled company stared, Peter included. "It's not true, Mr Grey," exclaimed the injured daughter, rising from her chair. "Do you think my father would do such a thing? Why it's like picking anybody's pocket, and such a pocket! It is a gross insult to suggest that my father robbed such a person, as this of his brains." Her indignation was tinged with a haughty smile, which became laughter in the other listeners. Peter got up, but Mr Grey was speaking.

"I suggest nothing, Miss Dee. I can give such evidence as would satisfy any jury in the country of what I have stated. Without MrAshbee's brains, or what else we may like to call it, there would have been no property to divide to-day, It is simply as a matter of justice that I have explained to you the odd incident which occurred in the shop the other morning. How would you explain it?"

"How indeed!" Peter had stepped up to this angry cousin, and she became silent. She looked at him; they all looked at him. None of them were inclinde to laugh, for his unpolished apearance was lost sight of in the expression of his face. Norah Dee coloured as a gush of shame came over her for being so rude. "You are right," he said, "It would have been impossible for your father to rob such a man as me. All I ever did was through him, if they are right in saying that Mr Simpson was really my uncle. He taught me all I know of music. Everything I made I made for him. If he's dead I "haven't another friend in the world." "I beg your pardon," stamered his cosin as he sat down. But Peter hurried on. He tried to express all his indebtedness to the man who had visited him so mysteriously; exclaimed that it was by no wish of his that Mr Grey had made such a charge; and would no doubt have gone on to all sorts of unreasonable lengths had not the lawyer interposed and brusquely reminded them that they had come to have Mr Dee's property divided, and that they must get to business. The various amounts of legacies were gone through; cheques distributed; receipts signed. But Peter's of a hundred pounds was handed to him in notes. The books and musical instruments reterred to were to be packed to him later, Then the company dispersed. The lawyer kept Peter for a few words of goodhumoured advice, and afterwards he too was dismissed.

Everybody connected with him had known Henry Dee to be an eccentric man, but nobody could pretend to understand this freak revealed since his death. His daughter shook off her talkative relatives, and went home ashamed. Peter's behaviour had had the odd effect of convincing her of the lawyer's story, and for several days she saw her despised rustic cousin in a fresh light. She helped Mr Grey and the other executor to pack up the books and other things bequeathed to Peter, but even after they were gone ahe could not put him from her mind. In Swinbury Peter's good fortune had sot noised abroad, and one of those fine summer mornings, Thomas, the postman, had another letter for him which aroused curiosity. On his arrival this time Peter was deeply engrossed in a book, but Thomas did not mean to be disappointed again. He openly examined the envelope with a grin. "It's only Mister," he said, "but it may be another fortune, all the same. They make fortunes of all kinds in Birmingham. You'll want a wife, Peter. I count nobody but a real lady would write that."

Peter took the letter and laughed. People said he was often laughing now. But never until now had he thought of a wife. All the Swinbury girls had always made fun of him, and called his fiddle his sweetheart. As he opened the letter his book dropped from his knee, but he let it lie on the ground. Thomas saw that his companion blushed in reading what he had received, so he said, "Ay, that'll do." "No, no, Thomas. It's only from my cousin. It's nothing of that sort." "But a cousin bent a grandmother," added the postman, moving on. "A man may marry she."

"So he may," replied Peter in surprise. Thomas laughed at mad Peter all the way down the path, and when he looked back at the corner he saw Peter was staring after him still, so he shook hi 3 finger and departed. Norah's letter was but an addition to the apology she had made. It was, however, written so earnestly that Peter's sensitive nature was touched. It ended up too with the words that as they were both interested in music and were cousins, the writer thought there would be no harm in her coming to Swinbury some Sunday to talk to him again about the strange behaviour of her father. It was this that had sent a new kind of thrill through Peter. Although it was only Wednesday the man soon jumped up to go and fetch Mrs Warner to put his cottage to rights. He picked up the book that had fallen, and in doing so noticed a sheet of notepaper that had half slipped out. TheTe was writing on it, and Peter paused. Hβ began to read —"My dear Peter, I have long wanted to tell you something that will astonish you, but have not managed to get it out. Although I came to you as a stranger, my real name is Henry Dee, and I am your mother's brother. I came out of curiosity in the first place, but when I found out my man I kept up the disguise intentionally. The reason of my now wanting to explain it to you is that I have had some signs of my health giving way, and in case of my sudden death things would come to light that would puzzle you and make me appear a felon. Many of the tunes you have made for me I harve published under my own name. Any that you compose from now I shall get published ia yours. Why I kept you in ignorance of this was because I have invariably found that a too early reputation ruins a man and prevents him developing his talents to the full. You are now old enough. Whatever money and other temptations you receive, stick to the country, my boy. Talking of money, when I next come to see you I shall bring you the account of all the money I have received from your music published co far, which of course I have always considered yours, and if you " The writing abruptly stopped there. Peter read the fragment over three times. If this unfinished and unposted letter did not surprise him quite so much as the one he had received from the lawyers, it certainly gave him much more delight. The accusation which he had felt to hang oveT the head of a man whom he had regarded as hie greatest benefactor had, affected him far more than the fancied loss which he could not bring himself to feel that he had sustained, but which Mr Grey had made so much of. In tremulous excitement he wrote a note at once to his cousin to beg her to come to Swinbury the following Sunday. Every morning lie looked for an answer, but Saturday and then Sunday came, and Thomas had left him nothing more. Peter went to church on Sunday morning in a dejected state. All through the sermon he was trying to decide what kind of offence he could so unintentionally have given in his letter, but could hit upon none. Perhaps the boldness of his writing at all was sufficient. He heartily wished he liad not written. But, then, would she not have thought that he was offended, and did not want her to come? In miserable agitation he escaped from the church to the cottage up the bank with the intention of hiding himself and his woes but on reaching the gateway and first raising his eyes from the ground he saw Miss Norah Dee picking a snap-dragon in his garden. It was utterly useless for mad Peter to attempt to disguise anything, as the flush of joy that he felt at the apparition shone like sunbeams around him. He ran forward and snatched hie cousin's

hand with the most ludicrous rapture. "It ia not true! It is not true! he cried in a manner that startled Norah, and certainly gave some colour to the reputation he had acquired amongst his neighbours. "What is not true?" she asked. "All that about your fatheT. Read that!" The letter which he kept in a pocket about him ever since its disccrery, was handed to his visitor, and, cxi claiming, "It's my father's writing," she ' eagerly read it. "But still it is very strange. What a man he was!" she said in returning the fragment. "Yes, indeed, what a man he was!" cried Peter. "But you have never had the money," said Norah. "Hush! He died so suddenly. What do I want with the money? He left me a hundred pounds. I shall never be able to spend that in a lifetime. We now understand it and that's all we want. You won't think he was a pickpocket. Don't let us tell anybody else about it— except Mr Grey." The change in Peter, as she saw him here in his natural surroundings, struck Norah at once. He seemed to feel no constraint with her. He was frank and talkative as a boy. He showed her all his cottage, the garden and orchard. Then they had dinner, and afterwards he got out his fiddle and played to her. It was evidently she who now suffered from uneasiness, and it was with a pang of regret that so early in the afternoon he heard her speak of setting off to the station. But then he remembered that he could go with her, that he could show her the way by the fields. So off they went through the flowers. That lovely walk in the sun remained not only in PeteT's mind, but haunted Norah's- through the dreary hours of attendance in the shop, and on her passage to and fro along the pavement. However, she never wrote again to ask if she could come to Swinbury. Week after week went by, and Peter pined in solitude in his cottage. When the blackberries were ripe he could stand it no longer, and he wrote to ask his cousin to come. She replied that it was impossible for her to leave the town. Peter's tears fell on the letter as he read it, but towards nightfall it occurred to him that it was not impossible for him to go into the town. So on the very next morning he departed.

He had sent no word, so when he appeared in the shop Norah was startled. She hurriedly told him sho was busy, but would see him outside at one o'clock. Punctually to the moment Peter met her. Then she took him off to the Art Gallery to look at the pictures. Peter had never seen anything of the kind, and was delighted. Still he did not feel altogether himself. He was ehy towards Norah, and he felt that she was cold and unfriendly to him. When he said goodbye he pathetically held her hand tightly, but was not able to speak. She laughingly extricated her fingers and ran lightly away. It was not until after dark that Peter trudged again into Swinbury. But that same night he wrote to Birmingham once more. On the following Sunday he met Norah at the station.

It was a showery day of September, and Peter had hired a dog cart to drive home in. But the afternoon was sunny, and they walked up the lane to eat blackberries. Peter was evidently quite at ease again, but all their talk so far had been of music. Suddenly he asked his companion why she had been so unkind to him the other day. She didn't know that she had been. He looked at her, and she laughed. Then they ceased talking, and in half an hour were back at the cottage. Norah talked of the drive to the station.

"Never go back to the station!" Peter exclaimed. "All the past I owe to your father; let me owe all the future, Norah, to yon. I can do nothing here now."

"But I must go back."

"Wouldn't you like to live here? You see that even your father telle me to stick to the country."

"Because you can do your work better in the country. He is quite right."

"But now I can't do anything in the country. If -you would come—" she listened for more, then loqked at him. Peter didn't know what it was that possessed him, but at that moment, regardless of all cost, he snatched Norah in hia arms, and passionately kissed her lips several times. He expected her to throw him off in anger, but she didn't even frown. When he kissed her yet once more he felt her return it, and when, she was able she distinctly said that she would come and live there. Soon afterwards they had to return to the train.

Ultimately Peter laid out his legacy in furnishing a larger cottage in the village, and as Norah looks after the music that Peter writes now they manage comfortably enough.