The Man of Last Resort/Mrs. Van Bartan/Chapter 2
II
Robert dalton was of good blood, having descended from colonial families of degree. He was perhaps in his middle thirties, in appearance no usual man, straight as a spire, with a powerful face in which every feature seemed prominent; hair rather prematurely gray, and soft and clinging as a woman's, and withal a manner courtly to such a degree that the young, and those others unskilled in divining the natures of men, associated with Mr. Dalton relations of a so-called romantic nature. This conclusion was grossly erroneous, and led to much profitless gossip. In fact, Robert Dalton was a stern and practical man of large legal acquirements, with no more romance in his composition than a ship carpenter. In the practice of his profession he was always cold, clear headed, and technical, believing no man, and fearing no man; in truth, the wags asserted, his courtesy was in itself a libel, because of all members of the bar no one was more rigid, more exacting, or more relentless than Robert Dalton, of Carpenter, Lomax, & Dalton.
The mental build of young Dalton rendered him especially valuable as a chancery lawyer, and this department of the business he gradually assumed until it was almost entirely in his hands. For years he drafted all difficult pleadings, especially difficult under the rigid practice of the common law obtaining in the Virginias. He drafted likewise all deeds, wills, and papers of like tenor, with such unusual care and skill that he rapidly gained a reputation,—the sort of reputation which it usually requires a lifetime to establish, and the value of which is above rubies.
When the judges spoke of him they said, “If Mr. Dalton prepared this paper it is probably correct.”
It would be unwise to attribute to young Dalton an utter disregard for social relations. The error of such an assertion would readily be detected by those who knew him. In fact, he was usually present at prominent social functions, and largely sought after by reason of his magnetic nature and the charm of his vigorous mind.
The father of young Dalton had been a man of improvident habits, and, immediately upon the death of his wife, squandered his large estate in the riot of dissipation, so that his son inherited nothing but a dilapidated manor-house and a single slave. This servant, a pure negro, was deeply attached to young Dalton, and the two continued to reside in the manor-house near the city suburbs, the negro acting as cook, valet, and man-of-all-work. This manor house was one of the first built in the Virginias. It was surrounded by a long, ill-kept lawn, in which the ancient knotted oaks seemed to stand guard over the memory of some departed greatness. The house itself, covered with the green Virginia creeper, was little better than a ruin. The plaster had fallen away from the great pillars, and the walls were cracked, in places, almost to the roof.
Strangely enough, Robert Dalton never attempted to repair the estate, taking pride rather in its air of decay. This statement is not entirely accurate. He did, indeed, fit up the ancient drawing-room for the purposes of a library, thrusting in rows of bookcases beside long antique mirrors and mahogany window seats. These bookcases were filled entirely with reports of courts, late digests, the decisions of tribunals of last resort, and volume after volume on wills, contracts, and corporations, but scarcely a volume on standard or current literature. For these latter he had no inclination, and, as he apologetically explained, no time.
In this library, Dalton did most of his legal work, obtaining here freedom from interruption and the quiet which he required.
As the city developed, this neglected suburban street was seized upon and assumed as the fashionable quarter by the wealthy Eastern families. They paved it far into the country, and ruthlessly wiped out the splendid old homesteads, erecting on their ruins ostentatious palaces with prim lawns, reminding one not a little of that civilized vandalism which would cut out from its frame the superb painting of a landscape and replace therein a practical and entirely accurate map of the same landscape.
These wealthy families swept out, too, the old social customs of this city, setting up elaborate formalities and impoverishing standards of dress and entertainment.
The recognized leader was Mrs. LeConte Dean, the wife of a nail manufacturer of vast wealth. Her receptions were the society events. Indeed, it has been said that recognition by this newly rich importation determined one's social status.
The Van Bartans were another of these wealthy families coming directly from the city of New York. The father had founded gigantic iron mills from which he had gathered a princely revenue. Upon his death, the wife, a grim woman of frightful prejudices, had continued to maintain their country place in sumptuous, albeit rather frigid, elegance. They had one child, Gerald Van Bartan, an utterly worthless young man of extravagant habits and wandering aims; nevertheless, a youth of generosity and kindly impulses. The boy was a source of ceaseless vexation to his mother.
Carpenter, Lomax, & Dalton were her solicitors; especially Robert Dalton, in whom she reposed the greatest confidence, and not infrequently she spoke to him at great length of her difficulties with her son, and usually concluded by working herself into a towering rage.
When one morning in the early autumn it was announced that Gerald Van Bartan was very shortly to wed Miss Columbia Summers, a young lady of great beauty and of aristocratic lineage, but of reduced and nipping finances, the city was very justly indignant. Robert Dalton had for many years paid court to this young woman, and the self-constituted match-makers had long since entered up their decree in this matter and dismissed it, and they resented, as almost a personal affront, the going afield of their plans.
Thereupon idle folk prattled of the great blow to Dalton, his broken heart, and other drivel. There was no evidence that Robert Dalton had any other than a passing interest in this matter, and neither his partners nor those others intimately acquainted with the man suspected that this gossip contained any element of truth Indeed, he had come to be regarded as of stoical build.
When this rumor came to the ears of Mrs. Van Rartan, she received it with almost suspicious composure, and a few days later sent for Dalton, her solicitor, and inquired if she could dispose of her entire property. To this Dalton replied that she could, the title to all property having passed to her by virtue of her husband's will, of which she was the sole beneficiary. Thereupon she smiled, and said that she might require his services further on.
The wedding and receptions which followed were great social functions, and for three years thereafter Mrs. Van Bartan maintained the two young people in the veriest profligate magnificence, the elder woman anticipating every wish of the younger, and heaping upon her the costliest gowns and jewels to be had.
During this time, Carpenter and Lomax watched Dalton closely, but they could detect no change in the man, except perhaps that he was even more rigid and exacting in his professional transactions.
Thus matters continued without event until the night set apart for the first autumn reception of Mrs. LeConte Dean. These were annual events of great revelry, and largely attended. The night was unpropitious, raw, and foggy, as October nights usually are in this region, but this in no wise interfered with the occasion; indeed, it was long remembered as one of startling magnificence.
This reception Robert Dalton determined not to attend, partly because he avoided as far as possible every gathering at which he might be thrown with the younger Mrs. Van Bartan, but principally because the firm had an important case in the Federal Court then sitting, and he had been asked to prepare an elaborate decree for the following day.
After determining to remain at home, Robert Dalton went into his library, gathered his books of reference from their cases, and began the preparation of his legal paper. This decree he found more difficult to draft than he had anticipated, and, striving to adjust its intricate matters, he became more and more absorbed until he was entirely unconscious of his surroundings and of the time that had elapsed.
Finally he arose in order to refer to some report that was not within reach of his hand. As he turned to the light he beheld a woman, wrapped in the folds of a long party cloak, standing with her hand on the door, as though she had just entered. Dalton was so utterly astonished that he literally rubbed his eyes to ascertain if he were not the victim of an illusion. Whereupon the woman threw back her cloak, and advanced to the table, when he perceived to his amazement that it was the younger Mrs. Van Bartan. To this man she seemed a daughter of the very gods in the full bloom of womanhood. The rich velvet cloak thrown back from her bare shoulders, the ball dress clinging like puffy webs to a form that his brooding mind had idolized; her eyes illumined, and her splendid hair wound in loose coils above her dainty head.
It would all be very weary to set out in detail what occurred on this October night; how the younger woman explained that she had finally divined the intention of the elder Mrs. Van Bartan, and how she had hoped to see Dalton at the LeConte Dean's, and not finding him had slipped away, and, availing herself of the foggy night, had been driven unattended to his house in order to implore his aid; how she came and stood beside him, and pointed out the dread results sure to follow the elder Mrs. Van Bartan's unnatural intentions,—results disastrous to her and to hers. Gerald Van Bartan was worthless, she knew that; he had never been taught to work; he was now too old to learn; it would mean poverty, grinding poverty, and shame worse than all; and her father, aged and broken in health, and the others of them, all dependent upon her, would be thrown out to huddle in beggary, literally, beggary.
How Dalton replied that there was nothing he could do; reminding her that the elder Mrs. Van Bartan was a woman of iron will, of stern resolve, of relentless determination, and that neither he nor any other living man could affect her. And how like a woman she answered that he, Dalton, would be sent for to make the will, and that he must save her some way, she did not know how,—he would know, he was shrewd, he was a great lawyer, he could certainly find some way; this she knew, and he must do it.
And how he labored to show her that there was nothing he could do—absolutely nothing; that the whole thing was hopeless, thoroughly, utterly hopeless; and then how she came to him and put her bare white arms around him and looked up into his face, the big tears shining in her glorious eyes, and said that if this were true, then she proposed to tell him all the truth, the truth that she loved him, him only in all the wide world, him always from her very childhood, and that for others she had made this sacrifice; and how great, how awful a sacrifice it had been, men could not understand. How he coldly loosed her arms, although to do it wrenched his very heart loose; although he would have given his life gladly to have taken her in his embrace if only for a moment, and told her how he understood and how he loved her for it, and how he would always love her to the very end of all things; but, instead, how he had sternly led her out to the carriage and forced her to leave him, and how he turned back into the library with his head swimming and his heart pounding like a hammer, and fought the whole thing out through the long October night, until the dawn crept in and the birds began to chirp in the Virginia creeper.
Some weeks later, as was anticipated, the elder Mrs. Van Bartan summoned Robert Dalton to her residence in order to prepare her will. Upon his arrival he found Simon Harrison, President of the First National Bank, and David Pickney, a steel manufacturer, both prominent citizens of unquestioned integrity; also the late Milton South, a most estimable physician. At Mrs. Van Bartan's request, Robert Dalton prepared the will in the presence of these three persons. When he had finished he handed the paper to the testatrix, who thereupon read it aloud in the presence of all, declared it entirely correct, and affixed her signature. As is customary, Dalton requested the three gentlemen to converse with the testatrix and satisfy themselves that she was in proper mental condition. This they did at some length, and not unskilfully, all being men of good sense. Afterward Harrison and Pickney subscribed their names as witnesses in the manner prescribed by the statute. Mrs. Van Bartan then placed the will in an envelope, sealed it with her own hand in the presence of all, and gave it to Simon Harrison to retain until after her death.
On the seventeenth day of December following, Mrs. Van Bartan died suddenly, and some days thereafter the will was opened and read at her late residence by Simon Harrison, executor. Gerald Van Bartan and his young wife were present, as was also Robert Dalton, and those others who had been with the deceased when the will was drawn. The elder members of the law firm, Carpenter and Lomax, were likewise present, and, at the request of Harrison, the Episcopal minister, Rev. Mr. Boreland, and his counsel, an obscure practitioner named Gouch.
The will was short, leaving the entire estate, real and personal, naming it specifically, for some religious purpose; and, in a spirit of grim jest, it would seem, one dollar each to her “beloved children,” Gerald Van Bartan and Columbia Van Bartan, his wife.
The effect of this will upon the two young people, as the executor slowly read its provisions, would require a dramatist of no little stature to describe. The woman's face grew drawn and bloodless. The man's knees seemed to give way, and he would have fallen had he not been helped to a chair.
Dalton, men did not notice, for he was a skilful actor. When the executor had finished, Mr. Lomax plucked Carpenter by the arm, and inquired, in a low voice, if he had noticed any defect in the will. Carpenter replied that he had not, but that he had paid little attention to its form, whereupon Lomax requested him to examine it closely. The elder counsellor stepped up beside Harrison and began to go carefully over the instrument. Presently he stopped in amazement, and put his finger down on the paper.
“This will,” he said, “is utterly void.”
At the word, the blood surged back into Columbia Van Bartan's face. She took two steps toward Robert Dalton, then turned and buried her face in the folds of a heavy curtain. Dalton was cool and entirely incredulous.
“I think you are very much mistaken, Mr. Carpenter,” he said quietly.
“Mistaken?” answered the counsellor. “Why, this bequest is made simply to 'St. Luke's Episcopal Church.' That organization is neither an individual nor a corporation; it has no recognized legal existence. And this request must fail for want of a devisee.”
At this point Harrison, who was a slow but very careful man, interrupted and explained with great accuracy that the will was in every detail exactly as the testatrix had desired it; that even the language used was her language; that she had said “St. Luke's Episcopal Church,” and that Mr. Dalton had written it in the instrument precisely as Mrs. Van Bartan had said, and that there could be no possible error either by accident or design.
Carpenter was about to reply, when Lomax, noticing his excitement, stepped in between Harrison and the elder attorney, and pointed out at great length that this was all no doubt true, but that, under the law, an indefinite religious organization, could not take a bequest; that this was not generally known to those unfamiliar with legal business, but that Mr. Dalton should have known that, in order to devise property to a religious organization, it must be given to a board of trustees, or to a certain person or persons, named in the will, for a specific and accurately determined purpose; that this, Mr. Dalton should have explained, and that his writing down the exact words of Mrs. Van Bartan had defeated her intentions, and rendered this bequest void.
“But, sir,” put in the attorney Gouch, pompously, “the testatrix's intention must control. I see no”
“Come, come, my good man,” cried Carpenter, angrily, “this is what is known in Virginia as a 'vague and indefinite charity.' Such bequests have been held void for almost a century. Why Silas Hart attempted to create such a devise as early as 1790, and John Marshall, Chief Justice of the United States, held it void at law. Twenty years later, Joseph Gallego attempted to bequeath a similar charity to the Roman Catholic Church at Richmond, and Henry St. George Tucker, President of the Supreme Court of Virginia, in a famous opinion, held that it must fail, and from that time until the present the courts of this country have been passing upon this common error of testators and their incompetent advisers.”
Robert Dalton looked up anxiously. “In what cases?” he stammered.
“What cases!” almost shouted the elder counsellor, for he had now lost his temper completely. “What cases, you bungler! Ask the veriest pettyfogger; ask the commonest justice of the peace, but do not catechise me.” And after having delivered himself of this venom, he seized his hat and cane and stalked out of the house. He was greatly enraged to think that a man of Dalton's learning, a member of a firm of high standing, should make such a stupendous blunder.
Later in the day Robert Dalton came to the office and requested Carpenter and Lomax to join him in his private room. His face showed plainly the evidences of a great mental strain. When they were together he closed the door, and, turning to them, said that he had examined the question which they had raised, in regard to Mrs. Van Bartan's will, and he was now satisfied that he had made a prodigious error in drafting the instrument; that as his mistake would deprive a powerful church of a vast estate, endless criticism of a most acrimonious character would follow; that it was not just for any part of this criticism to fall upon the shoulders of either Carpenter or Lomax, and, therefore, he had determined to publicly withdraw from the firm. To this they made scarcely a courteous objection, and Dalton accordingly withdrew, publishing an announcement thereof in the daily papers.
The report of a great error in Mrs. Van Bartan's will spread through the city with the marvellous rapidity of an evil rumor. The vials of bitter criticism were poured out upon the head of Robert Dalton. Men declared that they had long suspected that he was a sham, a posing ignoramus, a dangerous blunderer.
The executor, Harrison, as was his duty, attempted to execute the charitable bequest, but, of course, failed. Whereupon the press of the city stood up in the market-place like the self-complacent Pharisee and declared that in this day mistakes were crimes; that it was not enough for an attorney to do the best he knew,—it was his duty to know; it was not enough for an attorney to be honest, he must he likewise competent; that the law was a learned profession in which the bungler was equally as dangerous as the knave; that vast estates were conveyed by will, and how easily by mistake or design a lawyer could destroy the testator's most sacred wish; he could rob the helpless of his right, the dependent of his inheritance, or the charitable institution of its patron's aid, and all this without color of criminal wrong. The law, it asserted, punished with relentless hand the man who blundered in positions of trust; it punished with awful penalties the man who blundered in the heat of passion, but it had no censure, no sting, no scourge for the man who blundered at the bedside of the dying.
Thus was Robert Dalton's fame as a lawyer damned into the veriest blackness.