Short Story

Hawera Star, Volume XLVII, 24 March 1928, Page 7

Short Story

A FATEFUL SUMMONS.

“Great Scut!'’ 'lire young man who sat lost in taouglit, stretched in an armchair belurc tnc tire, gave a bored look at his ompamon engaged in an elaborate wireless l set, wno had uttered the ejaculation. . . ••.Listen,” said the latter. It s- lor you, Neville. They’re repeating the message.” . , , , ••Will Neville Darnley, last heard ot as living in Eastcombe, go to Number 7 Lygon street, Mayfair, where las uncle is lying ill.” > No vile was silent lor a moment, and when he spoke it was in an indifferent tone. ~ . . •‘I don’t quite understand, he said. “I’m very sorry to hear my uncle is ill, of course, but I fancy there has been a mistake. They ought to have sent, for my cousin, Stephen Morton.’ “That is no reason for waiting here.” . “Quite true; but the last time 1 Was in Lygon street my uncle expressed the wish that he might never see me again. We quarrelled; at least he did and 1 was cast off, disinherited, call it what you like, but the consequences is that I’m about to go abroad.”

“What about this message?” ‘Oh, I’ll attend to it,” said Darnley got up from his chair. “I shan’t come back, so we’ll say good-bye' now. I don’t know whether you will ever see me again. Meantime I am going into the country. I’ve got someone else to sav good-bye to,” and the two men shook hands at parting. On gaining the street, Darnley made his way westward, through the misty aii- of a November night. Even the cost of a taxi was a. consideration and as he walked along with a masterful stride, the recollection of that other parting which had to come filled his mind. The saying farewell to the woman whose love and faith were as strong as his own—from whom fate had ordaned a separation, which, for all he could foresee, might be for years. Had lie thought only of himself that parting need never have been; but lie loved Patrica Temple too well, respected her too much, to let her share his precarious prospects. He had believed himself the heir to a fortune when lie asked her to be his wife but all hope, of that was- gone, and if he had acted quixotically, he knew he had done right in asking her to wait until he could afford here a home.

On reaching his destination, he paused before entering the bouse. How well he remembered that last scene with his uncle, whose accusation of ingratitude had been indignantly repudiated, and he had refused to break iiis engagement with the only woman lie had ever iovetl! She'was the daughter of Mr. Darnley’s bitter enemy, and it was either giving her up or being disinherited. That was tlio alternative, and he had made his choice. “Beatrice is more to me than all the money in the world,” lie said, and liis answer had brought a sneer which Ne.ille chose not to notice.

"Not a shilling of mine,'’ jeered the old man, “shall go to the daughter ol the fellow who tried to ruin me, and died a bankrupt himself. - ’ “Then there is nothing more lor us Ij say, ’ went on Neville. “Except Elio. You have always been very good to me. You were a father to me when mine died, and for that I shall always be grateful, but your’re asking too much when: you tell me to break a woman’s heart.”

“ v'ou know what your refusal entails. You’ll be a i>auper. Your cousin Stephen uill have every penny i have to leave,” and Neville knew that he would keep his word. ■ “i shalj save my honour, anyway,” be had answered, and with this went out of the house.

That interview had taken place’ six months ago, and since then he had seen poverty slowly threatening him until the offer of a post on a tea plantation came, which lie accepted. As he stood looking at the darkened house the door opened and a woman peered out into the gloomy street, vyho uttered an exclamation at recognising him.

“I am thankful indeed that you got the message, Mr. Neville,” she said, a> he went up the steps. “1 never hoped it would be any use.” “is Mr. Darnley seriously ill? He inquired. “J never thought so, sir, but ” She had stopped abruptly, and SeiLie looked at her, puzzled.

“Who was it sent out that message.-'” be said curtly. “1 don’t know. 1 would rather not sav any more, sir.” “Does he wish to see me?” and she shook her head. “Is lie too ill to do so? He went on, anu there was a little pause belore she answered.

“You’ll have to know, sir,” she said at last. “He’ll never ” and she broke down.

“Am 1 to understand that my uncle is dead, Mrs. Williams?” There was another pause, ami he read her reply by the tremulous movement of her lips before the word was uttered. “Yes.” I

All his uncle’s anger and injustice were forgotten as he thought of the dead man’s goodness to him in the past, and that lie would never hear his voice again brought a pang of grief. “Mr. Norton was with him at the last.” continued the grey-liaired housekeeper. “The nurse had gone out for a little fresh air, leaving your unde sleeping quietly, and when she tame back he was gone. Poor Mr. Morton was heart-broken.

Neville did not reply. It was not the moment for him to doubt Stephen Morton’s sincerity. “Mr. Lang ton’s in the dining-room, sir,” continued Mrs. Williams. “You would like to have a word with him, p'raps?” Neville gave a curt nod, and on his going into the dining-room the old lawyer, who was looking through some papers, rose from his chair and held out his hand.

“Wonderful thing this wireless, Mr. Darnley,” he began. “It was a bow drawn at a venture, that message, 1 mean, but it has found its mark. Too late to he of any practical service, however. Mrs. Williams has told you the sad news, of course.” “Was Mr. Darnley's death unexpected?” asked Neville. “Everybody’s is in a certain sense,” answered Mr. Langton. Speaking from my own knowledge, I may tell you that I never anticipated a fatal end to your uncle’s illness. It was his proposal to get the broadcasting people

to send out that message, which reach-

ed you too late,, I regret to say. Your uncle had changed very much lately; lie was more moderate in speaking—especially about you. Not that he ever hinted at a reconciliation. He was too determined for that, and it cannot be a surprise for you to know that he has made a new will, by which Mr.. Morton inherits everything.” ‘ The only .surprise I. should feel would be if you told me he had not altered his will. I was quite prepared to hear that he had kept his word. There were reasons, needless for you to know, and I may add that I don’t bear the slightest ill-will towards my uncle.”

“I am perfectly certain of that,” replied the other. “Moreover, it will be a comfort for you to know that the last time I spoke to your uncle he referred to you in the kindliest way.” They were interrupted at the moment by the entrance of Morton, whose sombre face showed how deeply Mr. Darnlev’s death had affected him.

• This is a very unhappy occasion, Neville,” he said in a subdued voice. “How little either of us anticipated meeting thus,” and the tone in which the words were uttered caused Neville to withdraw his hand that had been held out. Not for one instant had he felt any resentment against the man who had taken his place as heir to great wealth, but Morton’vs attitude and speech were mere assumption, he was certain, and, going out of the room, he found the housekeeper waiting for him In the hall. “Before 1 go upstairs,”, lie said, “1 should like to be told some particulars of my uncle’s death. I. may not have another opportunity, as ,1 shall be leaving London shortly. Mr. Morton was with him, you say.” “It happened whilst 1 was in another room, sir,” replied Mrs. Williams. “I had been watching the master, and was waiting for the nurse to come back, who had gone out lor a little fresh air. Mr. Morton took my place at the bedside, and never shall i forget his look when I got back, for Mr. Darn ley had passed away, he told me.”

“He seems to feel his uncle’s death, bad!v,” said Neville.

“He was like a ghost, sir, and you couldn’t wonder.”

“Was the nurse surprised when she returned to find her patient had gone?”

“[ don’t think nurses ever are surprised,” answered the old housekeeper, ‘it isn’t that they’re hard-hearted, but you can’t expect them to feel like a relative.” “What did the doctor say?”

“He doesn’t know that Mr. Darnley is dead, lor he had been called into the country they told me when 1 went to his house. 1 left a message for him to come here as soon as lie got home,” explained Mrs. Williams. “Did the nurse say anything?”

“Nothing of any importance, sir. She ielt after doing what, was required.” ‘ You know what my uncle’s death means to rue, 1 suppose? It’s no secret that he and 1 quarrelled.” “1 know what you mean, Mr. Neville,” she replied, “and sorry enough I am to think what Mr. Darnley lias done. It’s no secret, as you say, sir.”

The dining-room door had opened, and Morton came out with Mr Langton. whereupon the little group went up the thickly carpeted stairs to the loom where Mr. Darnley lay. It was lit only by the candle carried by the housekeeper, for Morton had switched off the electric lamp on entering, and in the gleam of Mrs. Williams’s candle the features of the dead man presented a peaceful look. In going to the bedside, Mr. Laugton bad trodden on a small vial, crushing it, and Morton uttered an exclamation ; but neither of the others in the loom heeded the sound, and with a ,sense of bereavement Neville stood looking down at the face of the man who had been like a father to him. Only his generous goodness was remembered, and he moved away unwilling that the others should witness his honest griet, the silence being disturbed as Mrs. Williams replaced the sheet, and after this they returned to the dining-room. “You’ll stay until after the funeral, 1 hope, Mr. Neville,” said Mrs, Williams, .sympathetically, for she had known him since his boyhood, and felt .sincerely for him. “Yes, 1 shall stay,” he answered. “Perhaps he would have liked me to be in the oid home, if he only knew. I have a few days to spare before leaving England, and may as well be here as in the place I’ve I icon living in lately!”

On going into the dining-room he found Morton and Mr. Langton in close conversation, and for all the distress the former had shown, he betrayed none now. There was an animated look on his face, a confidence in his tone, an almost gaiety in his manner, which affronted Neville.

: “We’ve been discussing the funeral,” Neville.” he said, “and decided that it shall take place on Tuesday. There i.-> no reason for delay.” “None that I am aware of,” replied Neville. “1 shall remain for it.” “Is it true that you are going abroad, Mr. Darnley?” inquired Mr. langton. “To India” was the curt answer.

“You’ve obtained an excellent post, 1 understand,” remarked Morton, patronisingly, “but naturally you’re sorry to leave' the people you’ve known.”

“Some of them,” replied Neville. “There are those I’ve no great desire t-i see again.” “When do you start?” asked the old lawyer “In a few days, and I must go down into the country immediately alter the funeral. 1 shall not return to Lygon Street.” Mr. Islington turned to Morton, who made a gesture aS though assenting t > a suggestion.

“As vou will be leaving England directly,” said the lawyer, “Mr. Morton agrees with me that it would be as well if the will of your late uncle were read to you. It is informal to do this, but under the circumstances «e think it is only right that you should be informed of its contents.” “You will understand that I have tio wish to be told them, for I know already what they are. CWy uncle made that quite clear, and why he altered his will is neither here nor there, hut not for one moment do I regret the reason. If, however, you care to read bis will, do so by all means.” “You' have all my sympathy, Neville,” said Morton. “I have always regarded you as the one who would come in for the money, and that my

uncle changed his mind was a great surprise to me; in fact, when Mr. Langton stated this to be the case I would scarcely believe him.” “I daresay,” answered Neville brusquely. “But it is unnecessary to pity me.” Mr. Langton. during this little interchange of words, had opened a truckling parchment, and Neville listened inattentively to the legal verbiage droned out by the lawyer, even the sentences which meant Stephen Morton’s inheriting an estate failing to interest him, or that a legacy of £,>;j had been left to himself, and "Mr. Langton, having completed his task, replaced the document in his bag. The housekeeper, coming m with a tray of refreshments, gave a relief fro lii the silence that ensued after loading the will, and Morton went to the fireplace, stirring the coals into a leaping blaze. Mr. Langton, although he declared that the hour was unusually late, drew his chair to the health and helped himself from the whisky decanter, Morton taking a chair opposite him. whilst Neville remained at the table, immersed in Ms thoughts, • which were far from pleasant.

The moan of the rising wind and splash of rain against the heavily curtained windows seemed to add by contrast to the warm comfort of the room, and Morton’s spirits rose, his voice . having a confident ring as he chatted on. There was every cause for his elation, and he replenished his glass almost hilariously. Was he not owner and master of that luxuriously furnished house, with an income which would enable Mm to live at ease for the rest of his days? Under the influence of the excellent whisky the two men became loquacious, regardless of Neville, who did not care to enter into their conversation. He was thinking of the dead man, lying amid an eternal silence in the darkened room above, of the last time his uncle and he had spoken to each other, and a host of memories occupied his mind, making him oblivious to every other interest. “Our poor •friend,” Mr. Langton was saying, “has had a most successiul career, and had he lived his wealth would have been enormous. As it is he has left a considerable fortune,” and as a wild blast} shook the house he changed the subject abruptly.

“We shall have a wild night,” he said, and the shrieking wind seemed to answer Mm. “We shall have to put you up, Langton,” replied Morton. “It’s as if all the fiends of the air were riding abroad.” ,

. Mr. Langton did not answer as he halt rose, staring aghast at the door, which had siowly opened, and standing motionless tat it was a whiterobed man, at sight of whom Morton gave a gasping cry, and cowered down in the chair, covering his eyes, for the mute figure was Mr. Darnley, whose steady gaze was fixed on him. Mr. Langton had shrunk back appalled, and Neville sprang to the door, hinging his arm round Mr. Darnley, who ctung to Hint for support. Not a sound had come from Morton, whose averted face had lost every vestige of colour as he crouched in the chair, and then Neville’s call to Mrs. Williams had been answered. Together they assisted the unresisting man to Ms bed, leaving the two terror-stricken spectators in the dining-room, watching them in silence. The doctor, hastily summoned, had been and gone, leaving Mr. Darnley sleeping, and now that the shock occasioned by his sudden appearance at the dining-room door had passed, Neville consulted Mr. Langton. Morton refused to speak about what had happened, and preserved a sullen silence. '

“I've heard of similar cases,” said Langton, “but I trust I may never see another sqch as this.” “The doctor explains it as a case of coma, from which Mr. Darnley * recovered unexpectedly. He admitted that even medical men had been deceived by the appearance of apparent death, therefore he was not surprised that the nurse and Mrs. Williams were mistaken, but in the present instance there was something for which he could not acoount. He objected to say more.” Two days had passed, during which Mr. Darnley was slowly regaining strength. Morton had left Lygon Street, but in response to his uncle’s request he returned to the house where an hour before Neville and Mr. Darnley had held a lengthy conversation. “Your cousin was with me,’” said the old man in describing what had Happened that night of his supposed death, “and I saw him pour some liquid into the glass from which 1 drank —then there, was the sound'of something that ' had fallen to the floor. It was the .bottle he had used. He should have waited, Neville.” “Do you mean that he wished to hasten your end?”' “I make no accusation.” “AVliat do you intend to do?” “You shall see,” answered Mr. Burnley. “.Bring my will that is in the library here, and put it on the table yonder.” It was a sick man's fancy, thought Neville, and he did not ask the reason lor the strange request. The will was brought and laid on the table as Morton came into the room. He went to the bedside, and spoke a few words of congratulation at his uncle’s recovery,. which were not deemed worthy of notice by the sick man. “It may be the last time, Stephen Morton,” said Mr. Darnley, “that \ou and I will see each other, fpr life is very • uncertain, and I wish" to do an act <>i justice before I die—an act in which you must take a part.” “You know I would do that readily,” replied Morton, evidently relieved by the manner in which he had been leceived. -

• “My will is lying on the table,” continued his uncle. “It makes you a rich man, for all .1 possess would be yours. Take it in your hand.” ' • iMiorton’s face flushed, and he turned an inquiring look to Neville. “Do you,wish to see. it?” he asked Mr. Darnley. “There is no need- for me to do that.”

Morton gave a little shrug, and went to the table, taking-up the crisp parchment, and glancing towards the ued. .

“What am 1 to do, sir?” he inquired. “You shall know in a moment. There is much I might say, but it is as well that I leave it unsaid; therefore .1 hold'my peace. Your conscience, if you have one,, will tell you all I could say.. -Now thrust that parchment into the fire, and stand away from it until ,my act -of justice has been performed.”; “You are mad!” hissed Morton, drawing back from the blazing hearth, und he would have escaped from the room had not Neville prevented him. • “It’s either you doing as you are bidden or being forced to do it, Morton,!’ lie said ,in a stern, resolute voice as he compelled him to go hack to the fireplace. There was a brief struggle, and then the parchment had been flung among the leaping flames. Then without waiting to see it destroyed, Morton fled.

Darnley broke the silence when they “Come to me, Neville,”' and Mr. were left alone. “There’s yet another wrong to right. The wrong I would have done you. It is not too late, thank Heaven. Bring your sweetheart to see' me, and bid Langton oopie, for all I have shall be hers and yours.” —J. W Burnside, in the-Australasian.