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Vicar of Wrexhill, The

<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> <h3>THE WILL.</h3> It was about this time that Mr. Cartwright, for reasons which will be sufficiently evident in the sequel, set about convincing his wife that there was a very pressing necessity, from motives both temporal and spiritual, that her son Charles should be immediately ordained. There are many ways of convincing a woman and a wife besides beating—and Mr. Cartwright employed them all by turns, till his lady, like a bit of plastic dough, took exactly the impression he chose to give,—as evanescent too as it was deep, for he could make her act on Monday in direct opposition to the principles he had laid down on Saturday, yet leave her persuaded all the while that he was the wisest and best, as well as the most enamoured of men. But though living with the wife of his bosom in the most delightful harmony, and opening his heart to her with the most engaging frankness on a thousand little trifling concerns that a less tender husband might never have thought it necessary to mention, Mr. Cartwright nevertheless did not deem it expedient to trouble her with the perusal of his letter to Charles on the subject of his immediate ordination. The especial object of this letter was to obtain a decided refusal to the command it contained, and, like most of the Vicar of Wrexhill's plans, it answered completely. Mowbray's reply contained only these words: <blockquote>"Sir, "Though all my hopes for this life have been blighted through your agency, I will not risk my happiness in that which is to come by impiously taking upon me the office of God's minister, for which I am in no way prepared. "Charles Mowbray." </blockquote> As soon as this letter was received, read, and committed to the flames, Mr. Cartwright repaired to the dressing-room of his lady, where, as usual, he found her reposing on the sofa; a little table beside her loaded with tracts and other fanatical publications, and in her hand a small bit of very delicate embroidery, which was in time to take the form of a baby's cap. "My sweet love! how have you been since breakfast? Oh! my Clara! how that occupation touches my heart! But take care of your precious health, my angel! My life is now bound up with yours, sweet! ten thousand times more closely than it ever was before: and not mine only,—the life of the dear unborn being so inexpressibly dear to us both. Remember this, my lovely wife!" "Oh, Cartwright!—your tender affection makes me the happiest of women. Never, surely, was there a husband who continued so completely a lover! Were my children but one half as sensible of their happiness in having you for a father as I am in calling you my husband, I should have nothing left to wish!" "Turn not your thoughts that way, my Clara!—it is there that it hath pleased Heaven to visit us with very sore affliction. But our duty is to remember his mercies alway, and so to meet and wrestle with the difficulties which he hath for his own glory permitted the Evil One to scatter in our path, that in the end we may overcome them. Then shall we by the heel crush the head of the serpent, and so shall his mercy upon his chosen servants shine out and appear with exceeding splendour and with lasting joy!" "Heaven prosper your endeavours, my dear Cartwright, to bring the same to good effect! How I wish that Helen would make up her mind at once to marry Mr. Corbold! I am sure that, with your remarkably generous feelings, you would not object to giving her immediately a very handsome fortune if she would comply with our wishes in this respect. Mr. Corbold told me yesterday that he had every reason to believe she was passionately attached to him, but that her brother had made her promise to refuse. This interference of Charles is really unpardonable! I do not scruple to say, that in my situation it would be infinitely more agreeable to me if Helen were married,—we could give Miss Torrington leave to live with her, dear Cartwright,—and I am quite sure the change would be for the happiness of us all." "Unquestionably it would, my love;—but this unfortunate boy! Alas, my Clara! I have just received fresh proof of the rebellious spirit that mocks at all authority, and hates the hand that would use it. I have this morning received such a letter from him, in answer to that in which I expressed my wish that he should adopt a profession and prepare to settle himself in life, as wrung my heart. It shall never blast your eyes, my Clara! I watched it consume and burn, and turn to harmless ashes, before I came to cheer and heal my wounded heart by pressing thee to it!" The action answered to the word,—and it was from the bosom of her fond husband that Mrs. Cartwright murmured her inquiries as to what her unworthy son had now done to pain the best of fathers. "Not only refused, dearest, to adopt the sacred and saving profession we have chosen for him with the most ribald insolence, but addressed me in words of such bitter scorn, that not for worlds would I have suffered thy dear eyes to rest upon them." "Is it possible! What then, dear Cartwright, will it be best for us to do? It is terrible to leave him to his own wilful desire, and suffer him to enter the army, when we know it will lead him to inevitable perdition! What can we do to save him?" "It appears to me, my sweet love, that at the present moment it will be most consonant to the will of the Lord to use towards him the most indulgent gentleness." "My dearest Cartwright! After such conduct on his part! Oh! you are too good!" "Sweetest! he is your son. I can never forget that; though I fear that he himself does not too well remember this. If he did, my Clara! he would hardly utter such bitter jestings on what he is so cruel as to call 'my beggarly dependence' on you. This phrase has cut me to the heart's core, I will not deny it, Clara: it has made me feel my position, and shudder at it." Mr. Cartwright here rose from the sofa, and putting his handkerchief to his eyes, walked towards the window: his breast heaved with audible sobs. "My beloved Cartwright! what mean you?" exclaimed his affectionate wife, following him to the window, and gently attempting to withdraw the cambric that concealed his features: "what can that undutiful boy mean? Your dependence upon me? Good Heaven! is there any thing that was ever mine that is not now your own?" "Alas! dear love, he has not launched a random shot,—he knows but too well how to take aim, and how to point his dart,—and it has done its work." This was spoken in a tone of such profound sadness, that the soul of Mrs. Cartwright was moved by it. She threw her arms around her husband's neck, and fondly kissing him, implored that he would tell her if there were any thing she could do to prove her love, and place him in a situation at once to render the repetition of such a hateful phrase impossible. "I thought," she continued, "that your being my husband, dearest Cartwright, gave you a right to all I possess.—Is it not so, my love?" "To your income, dearest Clara, during your life; and as you are several years my junior, sweetest! this, as far as my wants and wishes are concerned, is quite enough. But the young man has doubtless found some wily lawyer to inform him, that should you die intestate he would be your heir; as by your late husband's will, my love, though he has left every thing to you, should you not make a will every shilling of the property will go to him, whatever other children you have now, or may have hereafter." "Oh, Cartwright! why did you not tell me this before! Should any thing happen to me in the hour of danger that is approaching, think what a dreadful injustice would be done to all! Let me not delay another day,—do send for Mr. Corbold,—I cannot rest till all this is set right. My dear unborn babe, as well as its beloved father, may reproach me for this cruel carelessness." "Compose yourself, sweet Clara! I will send for Corbold without delay. But for Heaven's sale do not agitate your dear spirits!—it was the fear of this which has alone prevented me from reminding you of the interest of our dear unborn babe." "And your own, my dear generous husband! Do you doubt, dear Cartwright, that the father's interest is as dear to me as the child's?" A tender caress answered this question. But delay in matters of business was not the besetting sin of Mr. Cartwright; and while the embrace yet lasted, he stretched his arm to the bell. The summons was answered, and the cab despatched for the lawyer with a celerity that did much credit to the establishment. When Mr. Corbold arrived, he was received by his cousin in the library, which, in conformity to the resolution announced long ago to Charles Mowbray, was preserved religiously for his own use and comfort; and a few minutes' short but pithy conversation sufficed to put the serious attorney au fait of what was expected of him. "You know, cousin Stephen," said the Vicar of Wrexhill, "that the Lord is about to bless my house with increase; and it is partly on this account, and partly for the purpose of making a suitable provision for me in case of her death,—which may he long delay!" "I am sure, cousin Cartwright, there is no work that I could set about with greater readiness and pleasure. Shall I receive my instructions from you, cousin, at this present time?" and the zealous Mr. Corbold accompanied the question by an action very germain to it,—namely, the pulling forth from a long breast-pocket a technically-arranged portion of draught-paper tied round with red tape. "By no means, cousin Stephen," replied the Vicar of Wrexhill; "it is from my beloved wife herself that I wish you to receive your instructions. Of course, what you do to-day can only be preparatory to the engrossing it on parchment: and though, from delicacy, I will not be present during your interview with her, yet before the document be finally signed, sealed, and delivered, I shall naturally wish to glance my eye over it. There is no longer, therefore, any occasion to delay; come with me, cousin Stephen, to my dear wife's dressing-room; and may Heaven bless to you and to me the fruits of this day's labour!" The master of the house then preceded the serious but admiring attorney through the stately hall, and up the stately staircase, and into the beautiful little apartment where Mrs. Cartwright, with a very pensive expression of countenance, sat ready to receive them. "Oh! Mr. Corbold," she said, kindly extending her hand to him, "I am very glad to see you. But my joy is dashed with remorse when I remember the thoughtless folly with which I have so long delayed this necessary interview.—My dearest Cartwright," she continued, turning to her husband, "can you forgive me for this?—Perhaps, dearest, you can,—for your soul is all generosity. But I shall never forgive myself. My only excuse rests in my ignorance. I believed that the law gave, as I am sure it ought to do, and as in fact it did in the case of my first marriage, every thing that belongs to me to my husband. It is true that I only brought my first husband about three hundred thousand pounds in money, and most of it has been since very profitably converted into land. Perhaps, Mr. Corbold, it is this which makes the difference." Mr. Corbold assured her that she was perfectly right, not considering himself as called upon at the present moment to allude to the accident of her having children. "Now then, my beloved Clara, I leave you," said Mr. Cartwright. "Not for worlds would I suffer my presence to influence you, even by a look, in the disposition of property so entirely your own!" "This generous delicacy, my beloved husband, is worthy of you. I shall, I own, prefer being left on this occasion with our pious kinsman and friend." The vicar kissed his lady's delicate fingers, and departed. "Heaven has been exceeding gracious to me, Mr. Corbold. It must be seldom, I fear, that in your profession you meet with so high-minded and exemplary a character as that of your cousin. Ah, my dear sir! how can I be thankful enough for so great mercy!" "The Lord hath rewarded his handmaiden," replied the serious attorney. "You have deserved happiness, excellent lady,—and you have it." Corbold now again pulled out his draught-paper, and with an air of much deference, placed himself opposite to Mrs. Cartwright. "I presume you have ink and pens at hand, my honoured lady?" "Take my keys, Mr. Corbold;—in that desk you will find every thing you want for writing; and in the drawer of it is the copy of my late husband's will. It is this that I mean to make the model of my own. He set me an example of generous confidence, Mr. Corbold, and I cannot, I think, do better than follow it." Mrs. Cartwright drew the desk towards her, and from the drawer of it took the instrument which had made her mistress, not only of all the property she had originally brought her husband, but also of an estate which had come to him after his marriage. "This deed, sir," she said, putting the parchment in Mr. Corbold's hands, "will, I hope, supersede the necessity of instructions from me. I am a very poor lawyer, Mr. Corbold, and I think it very probable that were you to write after my dictation, my will might turn out to be something very different from what I wish to make it. But if you take this as your model, it cannot fail to be right, as by this instrument I have been made to stand exactly in the position in which I now wish to place my exemplary husband Mr. Cartwright." "If such be your wish, dearest lady," said the attorney, "I will, with your permission, take this parchment with me; and by so doing, I shall not only avoid the necessity of troubling you, but, by the blessing of Heaven upon my humble endeavours, I shall be enabled accurately to prepare precisely such a document as it appears to be your wish to sign. In these matters no instructions can make us such plain sailing, my dear madam, as the having a satisfactory precedent in our hands.—Ah! dearest lady! when I witness the conjugal happiness of yourself and my ever-to-be-respected cousin, my heart sinks within me, as I remember that equal felicity would be my own, were it not for the cruel interference of one to whom I have never done an injury, and for whom I would willingly show, if he would let me, all a brother's love." "Keep up your spirits, my good cousin!" replied the lady. "If Helen favours your suit,—and on this point you must be a better judge than I,—Charles's opposition will not long avail to impede your union." The lover sighed, raised his eyes to heaven, and probably, not very well knowing what to say, departed without replying a word. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he perceived his cousin standing within the door of his library, which he held ajar. He put out his hand and beckoned him in. "You have made quick work of it, cousin Stephen," said the anxious vicar. "I trust you have not hurried away without fully understanding my dear wife's wishes. I ask no questions, cousin Corbold, and do not, I beseech you, imagine that I wish you to betray any trust;—merely tell me if my dear Mrs. Cartwright appears to be easier in her mind now that she has disclosed her intentions to you." The best and soberest minded men are sometimes assailed by temptation; of which painful fact Mr. Stephen Corbold at that moment became proof. Some merry devil prompted him to affect the belief that his reverend cousin was in earnest, and, putting on a sanctified look of decorum, he replied, "Of course, cousin Cartwright, I know you too well to believe that you would wish to meddle or make with such an instrument as this. When your excellent and, I doubt not, well-intentioned lady shall be defunct, you will in the course of law be made acquainted with her will. I rejoice to tell you that her mind seems now to be perfectly unburdened and clear from all worldly anxieties whatever." As the attorney ended these words, he raised his eyes, which were fixed as he spoke upon the roll of parchment which he held in his hand, and caught, fixed full upon him, such a broadside of rage from the large and really very expressive eyes of his cousin, that he actually trembled from top to toe, and heartily repenting him of the temerity which led him to hazard so dangerous a jest, he quietly sat down at a table, and spreading open the parchment upon it, added, "But although it would be altogether foreign to your noble nature, cousin Cartwright, to express, or indeed to feel any thing like curiosity on the subject, it would be equally foreign to mine not to open my heart to you with all the frankness that our near kindred demands. Do not then refuse, dear cousin, to share with me the pleasure I feel in knowing that Heaven has taken care of its own! The only instruction I have received from your pious and exemplary wife, cousin Cartwright, was to draw her will exactly on the model of this, which, as you may perceive, is a copy of the one under which she herself was put into the possession of the splendid fortunes of which, by especial providence, you have already the control, and of which, should it please the merciful Disposer of all things so to order it that this lady, really fitter for heaven than earth, should be taken to Abraham's bosom before you, you will become the sole owner and possessor, you and your heirs for ever!" Mr. Cartwright had in general great command over himself, rarely betraying any feeling which he wished to conceal. Perhaps even the anger which gleamed in his eye a few moments before, and which had now given place to a placidity that would by every serious lady in England have been denominated "heavenly,"—perhaps even this, though it seemed to dart forth involuntarily, was in truth permitted to appear, as being a more safe and desirable mode of obtaining his object than the collaring his cousin and saying, "Refuse to let me see that paper, and I murder you!" But no object was now to be obtained by permitting his looks to express his feelings; and therefore, though he felt his heart spring within him in a spasm of joy and triumph, he looked as quiet and unmoved as if nothing extraordinary had happened. "It is very well, cousin Stephen," he said; "make not any unnecessary delay in the preparing of this deed. Life is very uncertain; and moreover, the time is known to no man. Wherefore, let this thing be done immediately." "Could I see Miss Helen for a moment alone, if I got this completed, signed, sealed, and delivered by to-morrow night?" said the attorney. "Yes, my good cousin, yes; I pledge you my word for it." In justice to the character of the unfortunate Mrs. Mowbray, it is but fair to remark, that notwithstanding the ceaseless process by which, from the very first hour of their acquaintance, the Vicar of Wrexhill had sought to estrange her from her children, he never ceased to speak of Charles as her undoubted heir, and of Helen and Fanny as young ladies of large fortune. The lamentable infatuation, therefore, which induced her to put every thing in his power, went not the length of intending to leave her children destitute; though it led her very sincerely to believe that the power thus weakly given would be properly—and as she would have said, poor woman! "religiously" exercised for their advantage. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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