CHAPTER VII. ON THE WAY TO THE MAJOR.
"YES," said Benjamin. "It _is_ a coincidence certainly. Still--"
He stopped and looked at me. He seemed a little doubtful how I mightreceive what he had it in his mind to say to me next.
"Go on," I said.
"Still, my dear, I see nothing suspicious in what has happened," heresumed. "To my mind it is quite natural that your husband, being inLondon, should pay a visit to one of his friends. And it's equallynatural that we should pass through Vivian Place on our way back here.This seems to be the reasonable view. What do _you_ say?"
"I have told you already that my mind is in a bad way about Eustace,"I answered. "_I_ say there is some motive at the bottom of his visit toMajor Fitz-David. It is not an ordinary call. I am firmly convinced itis not an ordinary call!"
"Suppose we get on with our dinner?" said Benjamin, resignedly. "Here isa loin of mutton, my dear--an ordinary loin of mutton. Is there anythingsuspicious in _that?_ Very well, then. Show me you have confidence inthe mutton; please eat. There's the wine, again. No mystery, Valeria,in that claret--I'll take my oath it's nothing but innocent juice of thegrape. If we can't believe in anything else, let's believe in juice ofthe grape. Your good health, my dear."
I adapted myself to the old man's genial humor as readily as I could.We ate and we drank, and we talked of by-gone days. For a little while Iwas almost happy in the company of my fatherly old friend. Why was I notold too? Why had I not done with love, with its certain miseries, itstransient delights, its cruel losses, its bitterly doubtful gains? Thelast autumn flowers in the window basked brightly in the last of theautumn sunlight. Benjamin's little dog digested his dinner in perfectcomfort on the hearth. The parrot in the next house screeched his vocalaccomplishments cheerfully. I don't doubt that it is a great privilegeto be a human being. But may it not be the happier destiny to be ananimal or a plant?
The brief respite was soon over; all my anxieties came back. I was oncemore a doubting, discontented, depressed creature when I rose to saygood-by.
"Promise, my dear, you will do nothing rash," said Benjamin, as heopened the door for me.
"Is it rash to go to Major Fitz-David?" I asked.
"Yes--if you go by yourself. You don't know what sort of man he is; youdon't know how he may receive you. Let me try first, and pave the way,as the saying is. Trust my experience, my dear. In matters of this sortthere is nothing like paving the way."
I considered a moment. It was due to my good friend to consider before Isaid No.
Reflection decided me on taking the responsibility, whatever it mightbe, upon my own shoulders. Good or bad, compassionate or cruel, theMajor was a man. A woman's influence was the safest influence to trustwith him, where the end to be gained was such an end as I had in view.It was not easy to say this to Benjamin without the danger of mortifyinghim. I made an appointment with the old man to call on me the nextmorning at the hotel, and talk the matter over again. Is it verydisgraceful to me to add that I privately determined (if the thing couldbe accomplished) to see Major Fitz-David in the interval?
"Do nothing rash, my dear. In your own interests, do nothing rash!"
Those were Benjamin's last words when we parted for the day.
I found Eustace waiting for me in our sitting-room at the hotel. Hisspirits seemed to have revived since I had seen him last. He advanced tomeet me cheerfully, with an open sheet of paper in his hand.
"My business is settled, Valeria, sooner than I had expected," he began,gayly. "Are your purchases all completed, fair lady? Are _you_ freetoo?"
I had learned already (God help me!) to distrust his fits of gayety. Iasked, cautiously,
"Do you mean free for to-day?"
"Free for to-day, and to-morrow, and next week, and next month--and nextyear too, for all I know to the contrary," he answered, putting his armboisterously round my waist. "Look here!"
He lifted the open sheet of paper which I had noticed in his hand, andheld it for me to read. It was a telegram to the sailing-master of theyacht, informing him that we had arranged to return to Ramsgate thatevening, and that we should be ready to sail for the Mediterranean withthe next tide.
"I only waited for your return," said Eustace, "to send the telegram tothe office."
He crossed the room as he spoke to ring the bell. I stopped him.
"I am afraid I can't go to Ramsgate to-day," I said.
"Why not?" he asked, suddenly changing his tone, and speaking sharply.
I dare say it will seem ridiculous to some people, but it is really truethat he shook my resolution to go to Major Fitz-David when he put hisarm round me. Even a mere passing caress from _him_ stole away my heart,and softly tempted me to yield. But the ominous alteration in his tonemade another woman of me. I felt once more, and felt more strongly thanever, that in my critical position it was useless to stand still, andworse than useless to draw back.
"I am sorry to disappoint you," I answered. "It is impossible for me (asI told you at Ramsgate) to be ready to sail at a moment's notice. I wanttime."
"What for?"
Not only his tone, but his look, when he put that second question,jarred on every nerve in me. He roused in my mind--I can't tell how orwhy--an angry sense of the indignity that he had put upon his wife inmarrying her under a false name. Fearing that I should answer rashly,that I should say something which my better sense might regret, if Ispoke at that moment, I said nothing. Women alone can estimate what itcost me to be silent. And men alone can understand how irritating mysilence must have been to my husband.
"You want time?" he repeated. "I ask you again--what for?"
My self-control, pushed to its extremest limits, failed me. The rashreply flew out of my lips, like a bird set free from a cage.
"I want time," I said, "to accustom myself to my right name."
He suddenly stepped up to me with a dark look.
"What do you mean by your 'right name?'"
"Surely you know," I answered. "I once thought I was Mrs. Woodville. Ihave now discovered that I am Mrs. Macallan."
He started back at the sound of his own name as if I had struck him--hestarted back, and turned so deadly pale that I feared he was going todrop at my feet in a swoon. Oh, my tongue! my tongue! Why had I notcontrolled my miserable, mischievous woman's tongue!
"I didn't mean to alarm you, Eustace," I said. "I spoke at random. Prayforgive me."
He waved his hand impatiently, as if my penitent words were tangiblethings--ruffling, worrying things, like flies in summer--which he wasputting away from him.
"What else have you discovered?" he asked, in low, stern tones.
"Nothing, Eustace."
"Nothing?" He paused as he repeated the word, and passed his hand overhis forehead in a weary way. "Nothing, of course," he resumed, speakingto himself, "or she would not be here." He paused once more, and lookedat me searchingly. "Don't say again what you said just now," he went on."For your own sake, Valeria, as well as for mine." He dropped into thenearest chair, and said no more.
I certainly heard the warning; but the only words which really producedan impression on my mind were the words preceding it, which he hadspoken to himself. He had said: "Nothing, of course, _or she could notbe here."_ If I had found out some other truth besides the truth aboutthe name, would it have prevented me from ever returning to my husband?Was that what he meant? Did the sort of discovery that he contemplatedmean something so dreadful that it would have parted us at once andforever? I stood by his chair in silence, and tried to find the answerto those terrible questions in his face. It used to speak to me soeloquently when it spoke of his love. It told me nothing now.
He sat for some time without looking at me, lost in his own thoughts.Then he rose on a sudden and took his hat.
"The friend who lent me the yacht is in town," he said. "I suppose I hadbetter see him, and say our plans are changed." He tore up the telegramwith an air of sullen resignation as he spoke. "You are evidentlydetermined not
to go to sea with me," he resumed. "We had better give itup. I don't see what else is to be done. Do you?"
His tone was almost a tone of contempt. I was too depressed aboutmyself, too alarmed about _him,_ to resent it.
"Decide as you think best, Eustace," I said, sadly. "Every way, theprospect seems a hopeless one. As long as I am shut out from yourconfidence, it matters little whether we live on land or at sea--wecannot live happily."
"If you could control your curiosity." he answered, sternly, "we mightlive happily enough. I thought I had married a woman who was superior tothe vulgar failings of her sex. A good wife should know better than topry into affairs of her husband's with which she had no concern."
Surely it was hard to bear this? However, I bore it.
"Is it no concern of mine?" I asked, gently, "when I find that myhusband has not married me under his family name? Is it no concern ofmine when I hear your mother say, in so many words, that she pities yourwife? It is hard, Eustace, to accuse me of curiosity because I cannotaccept the unendurable position in which you have placed me. Your cruelsilence is a blight on my happiness and a threat to my future. Yourcruel silence is estranging us from each other at the beginning of ourmarried life. And you blame me for feeling this? You tell me I am pryinginto affairs which are yours only? They are _not_ yours only: I have myinterest in them too. Oh, my darling, why do you trifle with our loveand our confidence in each other? Why do you keep me in the dark?"
He answered with a stern and pitiless brevity,
"For your own good."
I turned away from him in silence. He was treating me like a child.
He followed me. Putting one hand heavily on my shoulder, he forced me toface him once more.
"Listen to this," he said. "What I am now going to say to you I say forthe first and last time. Valeria! if you ever discover what I amnow keeping from your knowledge--from that moment you live a life oftorture; your tranquillity is gone. Your days will be days of terror;your nights will be full of horrid dreams--through no fault of mine,mind! through no fault of mine! Every day of your life you will feelsome new distrust, some growing fear of me, and you will be doing me thevilest injustice all the time. On my faith as a Christian, on my honoras a man, if you stir a step further in this matter, there is an end toyour happiness for the rest of your life! Think seriously of what I havesaid to you; you will have time to reflect. I am going to tell my friendthat our plans for the Mediterranean are given up. I shall not beback before the evening." He sighed, and looked at me with unutterablesadness. "I love you, Valeria," he said. "In spite of all that haspassed, as God is my witness, I love you more dearly than ever."
So he spoke. So he left me.
I must write the truth about myself, however strange it may appear. Idon't pretend to be able to analyze my own motives; I don't pretend evento guess how other women might have acted in my place. It is true of me,that my husband's terrible warning--all the more terrible in its mysteryand its vagueness--produced no deterrent effect on my mind: it onlystimulated my resolution to discover what he was hiding from me. Hehad not been gone two minutes before I rang the bell and ordered thecarriage, to take me to Major Fitz-David's house in Vivian Place.
Walking to and fro while I was waiting--I was in such a fever ofexcitement that it was impossible for me to sit still--I accidentallycaught sight of myself in the glass.
My own face startled me, it looked so haggard and so wild. Could Ipresent myself to a stranger, could I hope to produce the necessaryimpression in my favor, looking as I looked at that moment? For all Iknew to the contrary, my whole future might depend upon the effect whichI produced on Major Fitz-David at first sight. I rang the bell again,and sent a message to one of the chambermaids to follow me to my room.
I had no maid of my own with me: the stewardess of the yacht wouldhave acted as my attendant if we had held to our first arrangement. Itmattered little, so long as I had a woman to help me. The chambermaidappeared. I can give no better idea of the disordered and desperatecondition of my mind at that time than by owning that I actuallyconsulted this perfect stranger on the question of my personalappearance. She was a middle-aged woman, with a large experience of theworld and its wickedness written legibly on her manner and on her face.I put money into the woman's hand, enough of it to surprise her.She thanked me with a cynical smile, evidently placing her own evilinterpretation on my motive for bribing her.
"What can I do for you, ma'am?" she asked, in a confidential whisper."Don't speak loud! there is somebody in the next room."
"I want to look my best," I said, "and I have sent for you to help me."
"I understand, ma'am."
"What do you understand?"
She nodded her head significantly, and whispered to me again. "Lordbless you, I'm used to this!" she said. "There is a gentleman in thecase. Don't mind me, ma'am. It's a way I have. I mean no harm." Shestopped, and looked at me critically. "I wouldn't change my dress if Iwere you," she went on. "The color becomes you."
It was too late to resent the woman's impertinence. There was no helpfor it but to make use of her. Besides, she was right about the dress.It was of a delicate maize-color, prettily trimmed with lace. I couldwear nothing which suited me better. My hair, however, stood in need ofsome skilled attention. The chambermaid rearranged it with a ready handwhich showed that she was no beginner in the art of dressing hair. Shelaid down the combs and brushes, and looked at me; then looked at thetoilet-table, searching for something which she apparently failed tofind.
"Where do you keep it?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Look at your complexion, ma'am. You will frighten him if he sees youlike that. A touch of color you _must_ have. Where do you keep it? What!you haven't got it? you never use it? Dear, dear, dear me!"
For a moment surprise fairly deprived her of her self-possession.Recovering herself, she begged permission to leave me for a minute. Ilet her go, knowing what her errand was. She came back with a box ofpaint and powders; and I said nothing to check her. I saw, in the glass,my skin take a false fairness, my cheeks a false color, my eyes a falsebrightness--and I never shrank from it. No! I let the odious conceit goon; I even admired the extraordinary delicacy and dexterity with whichit was all done. "Anything" (I thought to myself, in the madness of thatmiserable time) "so long as it helps me to win the Major's confidence!Anything, so long as I discover what those last words of my husband'sreally mean!"
The transformation of my face was accomplished. The chambermaid pointedwith her wicked forefinger in the direction of the glass.
"Bear in mind, ma'am, what you looked like when you sent for me," shesaid. "And just see for yourself how you look now. You're the prettiestwoman (of your style) in London. Ah what a thing pearl-powder is, whenone knows how to use it!"
The Law and the Lady Page 7
