Poor Miss Finch

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER THE THIRTY-SIXTH

  The Brothers Meet

  A FAINT sound of crying found its way to my ears from the lower end ofthe room, and reminded me that the rector and his wife had been presentamong us. Feeble Mrs. Finch was lying back in her chair, weeping andwailing over what had happened. Her husband, with the baby in his arms,was trying to compose her. I ought perhaps to have offered my help--but,I own, poor Mrs. Finch's distress produced only a passing impression onme. My whole heart was with another person. I forgot the rector and hiswife, and went back to Oscar.

  This time he moved--he lifted his head when he saw me. Shall I everforget the silent misery in that face, the dull dreadful stare in thosetearless eyes?

  I took his hand--I felt for the poor disfigured, rejected man as hismother might have felt for him--I gave him a mother's kiss. "Becomforted, Oscar," I said. "Trust me to set this right."

  He drew a long trembling breath, and pressed my hand gratefully. Iattempted to speak to him again--he stopped me by looking suddenlytowards the door.

  "Is Nugent outside?" he asked in a whisper.

  I went into the corridor. It was empty. I looked into Lucilla's room. Sheand Grosse and the nurse were the only persons in it. I beckoned toZillah to come out and speak to me. I asked for Nugent. He had leftLucilla abruptly at the bed-room door--he was out of the house. Iinquired if it was known in what direction he had gone. Zillah had seenhim in the field at the end of the garden, walking away rapidly, with hisback to the village, and his face to the hills.

  "Nugent has gone," I said, returning to Oscar.

  "Add to your kindness to me," he answered. "Let _me_ go too."

  A quick fear crossed my mind, that he might be bent on following hisbrother.

  "Wait a little," I said, "and rest here."

  He shook his head.

  "I must be by myself," he said. After considering a little, he added aquestion. "Has Nugent gone to Browndown?"

  "No. Nugent has been seen walking towards the hills."

  He took my hand again. "Be merciful to me," he said. "Let me go."

  "Home? To Browndown?"

  "Yes."

  "Let me go with you."

  He shook his head. "Forgive me. You shall hear from me later in the day."

  No tears! no flaming-up of the quick temper that I knew so well! Nothingin his face, nothing in his voice, nothing in his manner, but a composuremiserable to see--the composure of despair.

  "At least, let me accompany you to the gate," I said.

  "God bless and reward you!" he answered. "Let me go."

  With a gentle hand--and yet with a firmness which took me completely bysurprise--he separated himself from me, and went out.

  I could stand no longer--I dropped trembling into a chair. The convictionforced itself on me that there were worse complications, dirermisfortunes, still to come. I was almost beside myself--I broke outvehemently with wild words spoken in my own language. Mrs. Finch recalledme to my senses. I saw her as in a dream, drying her tears, and lookingat me in alarm. The rector approached, with profuse expressions ofsympathy and offers of assistance. I wanted no comforting. I had served ahard apprenticeship to life; I had been well seasoned to trouble. "Thankyou, sir," I said. "Look to Mrs. Finch." There was more air in thecorridor. I went out again, to walk about, and get the better of itthere.

  A small object attracted my attention, crouched up on one of the windowseats. The small object was--Jicks.

  I suppose the child's instinct must have told her that something had gonewrong. She looked furtively sideways at me, round her doll: she had gravedoubts of my intentions towards her. "Are you going to whack Jicks?"asked the curious little creature, shrinking into her corner. I sat downby her, and soon recovered my place in her confidence. She began tochatter again as fast as usual. I listened to her as I could havelistened to no grown-up person at that moment. In some mysterious waythat I cannot explain, the child comforted me. Little by little, I learntwhat she had wanted with me, when she had attempted to drag me out of theroom. She had seen all that had passed in the bed-chamber; and she hadrun out to take me back with her, and show me the wonderful sight ofLucilla with the bandage off her eyes. If I had been wise enough tolisten to Jicks, I might have prevented the catastrophe that hadhappened. I might have met Lucilla in the corridor, and have forced herback into her own room and turned the key on her.

  It was too late now to regret what had happened. "Jicks has been good," Isaid, patting my little friend on the head with a heavy heart. The childlistened--considered with herself gravely--got off the window-seat--andclaimed her reward for being good, with that excellent brevity of speechwhich so eminently distinguished her:

  "Jicks will go out."

  With those words, she shouldered her doll; and walked off. The last I sawof her, she was descending the stairs as a workman descends a ladder, onher way to the garden--and from the garden (the first time the gate wasopened) to the hills. If I could have gone out with her light heart, Iwould have joined Jicks.

  I had hardly lost sight of the child, before the door of Lucilla's roomopened, and Herr Grosse appeared in the corridor.

  "Soh!" he muttered with a gesture of relief, "the very womans I waslooking for. A nice mess-fix we are in now! I must stop with Feench. (Ishall end in hating Feench!) Can you put me into a beds for the night?"

  I assured him that he could easily sleep at the rectory. In answer to myinquiries after his patient, he gravely acknowledged that he was anxiousabout Lucilla. The varying and violent emotions which had shaken her(acting through her nervous system) might produce results which wouldimperil the recovery of her sight. Absolute repose was not simplynecessary--it was now the only chance for her. For the nextfour-and-twenty hours, he must keep watch over her eyes. At the end ofthat time--no earlier--he might be able to say whether the mischief donewould be fatal to her sight or not. I asked how she had contrived to gether bandage off, and to make her fatal entrance into the sitting-room.

  He shrugged his shoulders. "There are times," he said cynically, "whenevery womans is a hussy, and every mans is a fool. This was one of thetimes."

  It appeared, on further explanation, that my poor Lucilla had pleaded soearnestly (after the nurse had left the room) to be allowed to try hereyes, and had shown such ungovernable disappointment when he persisted insaying No, that he had yielded--not so much to her entreaties, as to hisown conviction that it would be less dangerous to humour her than tothwart her, with such a sensitive and irritable temperament as hers. Hehad first bargained however, on his side, that she should remain in thebed-chamber, and be content, for that time, with using her sight on theobjects round her in the room. She had promised all that he asked--and hehad been foolish enough to trust to her promise. The bandage once off,she had instantly set every consideration at defiance--had torn herselfout of his hands like a mad creature--and had rushed into thesitting-room before he could stop her. The rest had followed as a matterof course. Feeble as it was at the first trial of it, her sense of sightwas sufficiently restored to enable her to distinguish objects dimly. Ofthe three persons who had offered themselves to view on the right-handside of the door, one (Mrs. Finch) was a woman; another (Mr. Finch) was ashort, grey-headed, elderly man; the third (Nugent), in his height--whichshe could see--and in the color of his hair--which she could see-was theonly one of the three who could possibly represent Oscar. The catastrophethat followed was (as things were) inevitable. Now that the harm wasdone, the one alternative left was to check the mischief at the pointwhich it had already reached. Not the slightest hint at the terriblemistake that she had made must be suffered to reach her ears. If we anyof us said one word about it before he authorized us to do so, he wouldrefuse to answer for the consequences, and would then and there throw upthe case.

  So, in his broken English, Herr Grosse explained what had happened, andissued his directions for our future conduct.

  "No person is to go into her," he said, in conclusion, "but you and gootMrs. Zillahs
. You two watch her, turn-about-turn-about. In a whiles, shewill sleep. For me, I go to smoke my tobaccos in the garden. Hear this,Madame Pratolungo. When Gott made the womens, he was sorry afterwards forthe poor mens--and he made tobaccos to comfort them."

  Favoring me with this peculiar view of the scheme of creation, HerrGrosse shook his shock head, and waddled away to the garden.

  I softly opened the bed-room door, and looked in--disappearing just intime to escape the rector and Mrs. Finch returning to their own side ofthe house.

  Lucilla was lying on the sofa. She asked who it was in a drowsyvoice--she was happily just sinking into slumber. Zillah occupied a chairnear her. I was not wanted for the moment--and I was glad, for the firsttime in my experience at Dimchurch, to get out of the room again. By somecontradiction in my character which I am not able to explain, there was acertain hostile influence in the sympathy that I felt for Oscar, whichestranged me, for the moment, from Lucilla. It was not her fault--and yet(I am ashamed to own it) I almost felt angry with her for reposing socomfortably, when I thought of the poor fellow, without a creature to saya kind word to him, alone at Browndown.

  Out again in the corridor, the question faced me:--What was I to do next?

  The loneliness of the house was insupportable; my anxiety about Oscargrew more than I could endure. I put on my hat, and went out.

  Having no desire to interfere with Herr Grosse's enjoyment of his pipe, Imade my way through the garden as quickly as possible, and found myselfin the village again. My uneasiness on the subject of Oscar, was matchedby my angry desire to know what Nugent would do. Now that he had workedthe very mischief which his brother had foreseen to be possible--the verymischief which it had been Oscar's one object to prevent in asking him toleave Dimchurch--would he take his departure? would he rid us, at onceand for ever, of the sight of him? The bare idea of the otheralternative--I mean, of his remaining in the place--shook me with such anunutterable dread of what might happen next, that my feet refused tosupport me. I was obliged, just beyond the village, to sit down by theroad-side, and wait till my giddy head steadied itself before I attemptedto move again.

  After a minute or two, I heard footsteps coming along the road. My heartgave one great leap in me. I thought it was Nugent.

  A moment more brought the person in view. It was only Mr. Gootheridge ofthe village inn, on his way home. He stopped, and took off his hat.

  "Tired, ma'am?" he said.

  The uppermost idea in my mind found its way somehow, ill as I was, toexpression on my lips--in the form of a question addressed to thelandlord.

  "Do you happen to have seen anything of Mr. Nugent Dubourg?" I asked.

  "I saw him not five minutes since, ma'am."

  "Where?"

  "Going into Browndown."

  I started up, as if I had been struck or shot. Worthy Mr. Gootheridgestared. I wished him good-day, and went on as fast as my feet would takeme, straight to Browndown. Had the brothers met in the house? I turnedcold at the bare thought of it--but I still kept on. There was anobstinate resolution in me to part them, which served me in place ofcourage. Account for it as you may, I was bold and frightened both at thesame time. At one moment, I was fool enough to say to myself, "They willkill me." At another, just as foolishly, I found comfort in the oppositeview. "Bah! They are gentlemen; they can't hurt a woman!"

  The servant was standing idling at the front door, when I arrived insight of the house. This, in itself, was unusual. He was a hard-workingwell-trained man. On other occasions, nobody had ever seen him out of hisproper place. He advanced a few steps to meet me. I looked at himcarefully. Not the slightest appearance of disturbance was visible in hisface.

  "Is Mr. Oscar at home?" I asked.

  "I beg your pardon, ma'am. Mr. Oscar is at home--but you can't see him.He and Mr. Nugent are together."

  I rested my hand on the low wall in front of the house, and made adesperate effort to put a calm face on it.

  "Surely Mr. Oscar will see _me?_" I said.

  "I have Mr. Oscar's orders, ma'am, to wait at the door, and telleverybody who comes to the house (without exception) that he is engaged."

  The house-door was half open. I listened intently while the man wasspeaking. If they had been at high words together, I must have heard themin the silence of the lonely hills all round us. I heard nothing.

  It was strange, it was inconceivable. At the same time it relieved me.There they were together, and no harm had come of it, so far.

  I left my card--and walked on a little, past the corner of the housewall. As soon as I was out of the servant's sight, I turned back to theside of the building, and ventured as near as I durst to the window ofthe sitting-room. Their voices reached me, but not their words. On bothsides, the tones were low and confidential. Not a note of anger in eithervoice--listen for it as I might! I left the house again, breathless withamazement, and (so rapidly does a woman shift from one emotion toanother) burning with curiosity.

  After half an hour of aimless wandering in the valley, I returned to therectory.

  Lucilla was still sleeping. I took Zillah's place, and sent her into thekitchen. The landlady of the inn was there to help us with the dinner.But she was hardly equal, single-handed, to the superintendence of suchdishes as we had to set before Herr Grosse. It was high time I relievedZillah if we were to pass successfully through the ordeal of the greatsurgeon's criticism, as reviewer of all the sauces.

  An hour more passed before Lucilla woke. I sent a messenger to Grosse,who appeared enveloped in a halo of tobacco, examined the patient's eyes,felt her pulse, ordered her wine and jelly, filled his monstrous pipe,and gruffly returned to his promenade in the garden.

  The day wore on. Mr. Finch came to make inquiries, and then went back tohis wife--whom he described as "hysterically irresponsible," and inimminent need of another warm bath. He declined, in his most patheticmanner, to meet the German at dinner. "After what I have suffered, afterwhat I have seen, these banquetings--I would say, these ticklings of thepalate--are not to my taste. You mean well, Madame Pratolungo. (Goodcreature!) But I am not in heart for feasting. Simple fare, by my wife'scouch; a few consoling words, in the character of pastor and husband,when the infant is quiet. So my day is laid out. I wish you well. I don'tobject to your little dinner. Good day! good day!"

  A second examination of Lucilla's eyes brought us to the dinner-hour.

  At the sight of the table-cloth, Herr Grosse's good humour returned. Wetwo dined together alone--the German sending in selections of his ownmaking from the dishes to Lucilla's room. So far, he said, she hadescaped any serious injury. But he still insisted on keeping his patientperfectly quiet, and he refused to answer for anything until the nighthad passed. As for me, Oscar's continued silence weighed more and moreheavily on my spirits. My past suspense in the darkened room with Lucillaseemed to be a mere trifle by comparison with the keener anxieties whichI suffered now. I saw Grosse's eyes glaring discontentedly at me throughhis spectacles. He had good reason to look at me as he did--I had neverbefore been so stupid and so disagreeable in all my life.

  Towards the end of the dinner, there came news from Browndown at last.The servant sent in a message by Zillah, begging me to see him for amoment outside the sitting-room door.

  I made my excuses to my guest, and hurried out.

  The instant I saw the servant's face, my heart sank. Oscar's kindness hadattached the man devotedly to his master. I saw his lips tremble, and hiscolor come and go, when I looked at him.

  "I have brought you a letter, ma'am."

  He handed me a letter addressed to me in Oscar's handwriting.

  "How is your master?" I asked.

  "Not very well, when I saw him last."

  "When you saw him last?"

  "I bring sad news, ma'am. There's a break-up at Browndown."

  "What do you mean? Where is Mr. Oscar?"

  "Mr. Oscar has left Dimchurch."