Poor Miss Finch

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER THE FIFTH

  Candlelight View of the Man

  THERE had been barely light enough left for me to read by. Zillah lit thecandles and drew the curtains. The silence which betokens a profounddisappointment reigned in the room.

  "Who can he be?" repeated Lucilla, for the hundredth time. "And whyshould your looking at him have distressed him? Guess, MadamePratolungo!"

  The last sentence in the gazetteer's description of Exeter hung a littleon my mind--in consequence of there being one word in it which I did notquite understand--the word "Assizes." I have, I hope, shown that Ipossess a competent knowledge of the English language, by this time. Butmy experience fails a little on the side of phrases consecrated to theuse of the law. I inquired into the meaning of "Assizes," and wasinformed that it signified movable Courts, for trying prisoners at giventimes, in various parts of England. Hearing this, I had another of myinspirations. I guessed immediately that the interesting stranger was acriminal escaped from the Assizes.

  Worthy old Zillah started to her feet, convinced that I had hit him off(as the English saying is) to a T. "Mercy preserve us!" cried the nurse,"I haven't bolted the garden door!"

  She hurried out of the room to defend us from robbery and murder, beforeit was too late. I looked at Lucilla. She was leaning back in her chair,with a smile of quiet contempt on her pretty face. "Madame Pratolungo,"she remarked, "that is the first foolish thing you have said, since youhave been here."

  "Wait a little, my dear," I rejoined. "You have declared that nothing isknown of this man. Now you mean by that--nothing which satisfies _you._He has not dropped down from Heaven, I suppose? The time when he camehere, must be known. Also, whether he came alone, or not. Also, how andwhere he has found a lodging in the village. Before I admit that my guessis completely wrong, I want to hear what general observation in Dimchurchhas discovered on the subject of this gentleman. How long has he beenhere?"

  Lucilla did not, at first, appear to be much interested in the purelypractical view of the question which I had just placed before her.

  "He has been here a week," she answered carelessly.

  "Did he come, as I came, over the hills?"

  "Yes."

  "With a guide, of course?"

  Lucilla suddenly sat up in her chair.

  "With his brother," she said. "His _twin_ brother, Madame Pratolungo."

  _I_ sat up in _my_ chair. The appearance of his twin-brother in the storywas a complication in itself. Two criminals escaped from the Assizes,instead of one!

  "How did they find their way here?" I asked next.

  "Nobody knows."

  "Where did they go to, when they got here?"

  "To the Cross-Hands--the little public-house in the village. The landlordtold Zillah he was perfectly astonished at the resemblance between them.It was impossible to know which was which--it was wonderful, even fortwins. They arrived early in the day, when the tap-room was empty; andthey had a long talk together in private. At the end of it, they rang forthe landlord, and asked if he had a bed-room to let in the house. Youmust have seen for yourself that The Cross-Hands is a mere beer-shop. Thelandlord had a room that he could spare--a wretched place, not fit for agentleman to sleep in. One of the brothers took the room for all that."

  "What became of the other brother?"

  "He went away the same day--very unwillingly. The parting between themwas most affecting. The brother who spoke to us to-night insisted onit--or the other would have refused to leave him. They both shedtears----"

  "They did worse than that," said old Zillah, re-entering the room at themoment. "I have made all the doors and windows fast, downstairs; he can'tget in now, my dear, if he tries."

  "What did they do that was worse than crying?" I inquired.

  "Kissed each other!" said Zillah, with a look of profound disgust. "Twomen! Foreigners, of course."

  "Our man is no foreigner," I said. "Did they give themselves a name?"

  "The landlord asked the one who stayed behind for his name," repliedLucilla. "He said it was 'Dubourg.'"

  This confirmed me in my belief that I had guessed right. "Dubourg" is ascommon a name in my country as "Jones" or "Thompson" is in England--justthe sort of feigned name that a man in difficulties would give among_us._ Was he a criminal countryman of mine? No! There had been nothingforeign in his accent when he spoke. Pure English--there could be nodoubt of that. And yet he had given a French name. Had he deliberatelyinsulted my nation? Yes! Not content with being stained by innumerablecrimes, he had added to the list of his atrocities--he had insulted mynation!

  "Well?" I resumed. "We have left this undetected ruffian deserted in thepublic-house. Is he there still?"

  "Bless your heart!" cried the old nurse, "he is settled in theneighborhood. He has taken Browndown."

  I turned to Lucilla. "Browndown belongs to Somebody," I said hazardinganother guess. "Did Somebody let it without a reference?"

  "Browndown belongs to a gentleman at Brighton," answered Lucilla. "Andthe gentleman was referred to a well-known name in London--one of thegreat City merchants. Here is the most provoking part of the wholemystery. The merchant said, 'I have known Mr. Dubourg from his childhood.He has reasons for wishing to live in the strictest retirement. I answerfor his being an honorable man, to whom you can safely let your house.More than this I am not authorized to tell you.' My father knows thelandlord of Browndown; and that is what the reference said to him, wordfor word. Isn't it provoking? The house was let for six months certain,the next day. It is wretchedly furnished. Mr. Dubourg has had severalthings that he wanted sent from Brighton. Besides the furniture, apacking-case from London arrived at the house to-day. It was so stronglynailed up that the carpenter had to be sent for to open it. He reportsthat the case was full of thin plates of gold and silver; and it wasaccompanied by a box of extraordinary tools, the use of which was amystery to the carpenter himself. Mr. Dubourg locked up these things in aroom at the back of the house, and put the key in his pocket. He seemedto be pleased--he whistled a tune, and said, 'Now we shall do!' Thelandlady at the Cross-Hands is our authority for this. She does whatlittle cooking he requires; and her daughter makes his bed, and so on.They go to him in the morning, and return to the inn in the evening. Hehas no servant with him. He is all by himself at night. Isn't itinteresting? A mystery in real life. It baffles everybody."

  "You must be very strange people, my dear," I said, "to make a mystery ofsuch a plain case as this."

  "Plain?" repeated Lucilla, in amazement.

  "Certainly! The gold and silver plates, and the strange tools, and theliving in retirement, and the sending the servants away at night--allpoint to the same conclusion. My guess is the right one. The man is anescaped criminal; and his form of crime is coining false money. He hasbeen discovered at Exeter--he has escaped the officers of justice--and heis now going to begin again here. You can do as you please. If _I_ happento want change, I won't get it in this neighborhood."

  Lucilla laid herself back in her chair again. I could see that she gaveme up, in the matter of Mr. Dubourg, as a person willfully andincorrigibly wrong.

  "A coiner of false money, recommended as an honorable man by one of thefirst merchants in London!" she exclaimed. "We do some very eccentricthings in England, occasionally--but there is a limit to our nationalmadness, Madame Pratolungo, and you have reached it. Shall we have somemusic?"

  She spoke a little sharply. Mr. Dubourg was the hero of her romance. Sheresented--seriously resented--any attempt on my part to lower him in herestimation.

  I persisted in my unfavorable opinion of him, nevertheless. The questionbetween us (as I might have told her) was a question of believing, or notbelieving, in the merchant of London. To her mind, it was a sufficientguarantee of his integrity that he was a rich man. To my mind (speakingas a good Socialist), that very circumstance told dead against him. Acapitalist is a robber of one sort, and a coiner is a robber of anothersort. Whether the capitalist recommends the coiner, or the coin
er thecapitalist, is all one to me. In either case (to quote the language of anexcellent English play) the honest people are the soft easy cushions onwhich these knaves repose and fatten. It was on the tip of my tongue toput this large and liberal view of the subject to Lucilla. But (alas!) itwas easy to see that the poor child was infected by the narrow prejudicesof the class amid which she lived. How could I find it in my heart to runthe risk of a disagreement between us on the first day? No--it was not tobe done. I gave the nice pretty blind girl a kiss. And we went to thepiano together. And I put off making a good Socialist of Lucilla till amore convenient opportunity.

  We might as well have left the piano unopened. The music was a failure.

  I played my best. From Mozart to Beethoven. From Beethoven to Schubert.From Schubert to Chopin. She listened with all the will in the world tobe pleased. She thanked me again and again. She tried, at my invitation,to play herself; choosing the familiar compositions which she knew byear. No! The abominable Dubourg, having got the uppermost place in hermind, kept it. She tried, and tried, and tried--and could do nothing. Hisvoice was still in her ears--the only music which could possess itself ofher attention that night. I took her place, and began to play again. Shesuddenly snatched my hands off the keys. "Is Zillah here?" she whispered.I told her Zillah had left the room. She laid her charming head on myshoulder, and sighed hysterically. "I can't help thinking of him," sheburst out. "I am miserable for the first time in my life--no! I am happyfor the first time in my life. Oh, what must you think of me! I don'tknow what I am talking about. Why did you encourage him to speak to us? Imight never have heard his voice but for you." She lifted her head againwith a little shiver, and composed herself. One of her hands wanderedhere and there over the keys of the piano, playing softly. "His charmingvoice!" she whispered dreamily while she played. "Oh, his charmingvoice!" She paused again. Her hand dropped from the piano, and took mine."Is this love?" she said, half to herself, half to me.

  My duty as a respectable woman lay clearly before me--my duty was to tellher a lie.

  "It is nothing, my dear, but too much excitement and too much fatigue," Isaid. "To-morrow you shall be my young lady again. To-night you must beonly my child. Come, and let me put you to bed."

  She yielded with a weary sigh. Ah, how lovely she looked in her prettynight-dress, on her knees at the bed-side--the innocent, afflictedcreature--saying her prayers!

  I am, let me own, an equally headlong woman at loving and hating. When Ihad left her for the night, I could hardly have felt more tenderlyinterested in her if she had been really a child of my own. You have metwith people of my sort--unless you are a very forbidding personindeed--who have talked to you in the most confidential manner of alltheir private affairs, on meeting you in a railway carriage, or sittingnext to you at a table-d'hote. For myself, I believe I shall go onrunning up sudden friendships with strangers to my dying day. InfamousDubourg! If I could have got into Browndown that night, I should haveliked to have done to him what a Mexican maid of mine (at the CentralAmerican period of my career) did to her drunken husband--who was a kindof peddler, dealing in whips and sticks. She sewed him strongly up onenight in the sheet, while he lay snoring off his liquor in bed; and thenshe took his whole stock-in-trade out of the corner of the room, andbroke it on him, to the last article on sale, until he was beaten to ajelly from head to foot.

  Not having this resource open to me, I sat myself down in my bedroom, toconsider--if the matter of Dubourg went any further--what it was mybusiness to do next.

  I have already mentioned that Lucilla and I had idled away the wholeafternoon, woman-like, in talking of ourselves. You will best understandwhat course my reflections took, if I here relate the chief particularswhich Lucilla communicated to me, concerning her own singular position inher father's house.