Can You Forgive Her?

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LI.

  Bold Speculations on Murder.

  George Vavasor was not in a very happy mood when he left Queen AnneStreet, after having flung his gift ring under the grate. Indeedthere was much in his condition, as connected with the house whichhe was leaving, which could not but make him unhappy. Alice wasengaged to be his wife, and had as yet said nothing to show that shemeditated any breach of that engagement, but she had treated him ina way which made him long to throw her promise in her teeth. He wasa man to whom any personal slight from a woman was unendurable. Toslights from men, unless they were of a nature to provoke offence,he was indifferent. There was no man living for whose liking ordisliking George Vavasor cared anything. But he did care much for thegood opinion, or rather for the personal favour, of any woman to whomhe had endeavoured to make himself agreeable. "I will marry you,"Alice had said to him,--not in words, but in acts and looks, whichwere plainer than words,--"I will marry you for certain reasons of myown, which in my present condition make it seem that that arrangementwill be more convenient to me than any other that I can make; butpray understand that there is no love mixed up with this. There isanother man whom I love;--only, for those reasons above hinted, Ido not care to marry him." It was thus that he read Alice's presenttreatment of him, and he was a man who could not endure thistreatment with ease.

  But though he could throw his ring under the grate in his passion, hecould not so dispose of her. That he would have done so had his handsbeen free, we need not doubt. And he would have been clever enoughto do so in some manner that would have been exquisitely painful toAlice, willing as she might be to be released from her engagement.But he could not do this to a woman whose money he had borrowed, andwhose money he could not repay;--to a woman, more of whose money heintended to borrow immediately. As to that latter part of it, he didsay to himself over and over again, that he would have no more ofit. As he left the house in Queen Anne Street, on that occasion, heswore, that under no circumstances would he be indebted to her foranother shilling. But before he had reached Great Marlborough Street,to which his steps took him, he had reminded himself that everythingdepended on a further advance. He was in Parliament, but Parliamentwould be dissolved within three months. Having sacrificed so muchfor his position, should he let it all fall from him now,--now, whensuccess seemed to be within his reach? That wretched old man inWestmoreland, who seemed gifted almost with immortality,--why couldhe not die and surrender his paltry acres to one who could use them?He turned away from Regent Street into Hanover Square before hecrossed to Great Marlborough Street, giving vent to his passionrather than arranging his thoughts. As he walked the four sides ofthe square he considered how good it would be if some accident shouldbefall the old man. How he would rejoice were he to hear to-morrowthat one of the trees of the "accursed place," had fallen on the"obstinate old idiot," and put an end to him! I will not say that hemeditated the murder of his grandfather. There was a firm convictionon his mind, as he thought of all this, that such a deed as thatwould never come in his way. But he told himself, that if he choseto make the attempt, he would certainly be able to carry it throughwithout detection. Then he remembered Rush and Palmer--the openlybold murderer and the secret poisoner. Both of them, in Vavasor'sestimation, were great men. He had often said so in company. He haddeclared that the courage of Rush had never been surpassed. "Think ofhim," he would say with admiration, "walking into a man's house, withpistols sufficient to shoot every one there, and doing it as thoughhe were killing rats! What was Nelson at Trafalgar to that? Nelsonhad nothing to fear!" And of Palmer he declared that he was a manof genius as well as courage. He had "looked the whole thing in theface," Vavasor would say, "and told himself that all scruples andsqueamishness are bosh,--child's tales. And so they are. Who livesas though they fear either heaven or hell? And if we do live withoutsuch fear or respect, what is the use of telling lies to ourselves?To throw it all to the dogs, as Palmer did, is more manly." "Andbe hanged," some hearer of George's doctrine replied. "Yes, and behanged,--if such is your destiny. But you hear of the one who ishanged, but hear nothing of the twenty who are not."

  Vavasor walked round Hanover Square, nursing his hatred against theold Squire. He did not tell himself that he would like to murder hisgrandfather. But he suggested to himself, that if he desired to doso, he would have courage enough to make his way into the old man'sroom, and strangle him; and he explained to himself how he would beable to get down into Westmoreland without the world knowing that hehad been there,--how he would find an entrance into the house by awindow with which he was acquainted,--how he could cause the man todie as though, those around him should think, it was apoplexy,--he,George Vavasor, having read something on that subject lately. Allthis he considered very fully, walking rapidly round Hanover Squaremore than once or twice. If he were to become an active student inthe Rush or Palmer school, he would so study the matter that he wouldnot be the one that should be hung. He thought that he could, so far,trust his own ingenuity. But yet he did not meditate murder. "Beastlyold idiot!" he said to himself, "he must have his chance as othermen have, I suppose," And then he went across Regent Street to Mr.Scruby's office in Great Marlborough Street, not having, as yet, cometo any positive conclusion as to what he would do in reference toAlice's money.

  But he soon found himself talking to Mr. Scruby as though there wereno doubts as to the forthcoming funds for the next elections. AndMr. Scruby talked to him very plainly, as though those funds mustbe forthcoming before long. "A stitch in time saves nine," said Mr.Scruby, meaning to insinuate that a pound in time might have thesame effect. "And I'll tell you what, Mr. Vavasor,--of course I've myoutstanding bills for the last affair. That's no fault of yours, forthe things came so sharp one on another that my fellows haven't hadtime to make it out. But if you'll put me in funds for what I must beout of pocket in June--"

  "Will it be so soon as June?"

  "They are talking of June. Why, then, I'll lump the two billstogether when it's all over."

  In their discussion respecting money Mr. Scruby injudiciouslymentioned the name of Mr. Tombe. No precise caution had been givento him, but he had become aware that the matter was being managedthrough an agency that was not recognized by his client; and as thatagency was simply a vehicle of money which found its way into Mr.Scruby's pocket, he should have held his tongue. But Mr. Tombe's nameescaped from him, and Vavasor immediately questioned him. Scruby, whodid not often make such blunders, readily excused himself, shakinghis head, and declaring that the name had fallen from his lipsinstead of that of another man. Vavasor accepted the excuse withoutfurther notice, and nothing more was said about Mr. Tombe while hewas in Mr. Scruby's office. But he had not heard the name in vain,and had unfortunately heard it before. Mr. Tombe was a remarkableman in his way. He wore powder to his hair,--was very polite in hisbearing,--was somewhat asthmatic, and wheezed in his talking,--andwas, moreover, the most obedient of men, though it was said of himthat he managed the whole income of the Ely Chapter just as hepleased. Being in these ways a man of note, John Grey had spoken ofhim to Alice, and his name had filtered through Alice and her cousinKate to George Vavasor. George seldom forgot things or names, andwhen he heard Mr. Tombe's name mentioned in connection with his ownmoney matters, he remembered that Mr. Tombe was John Grey's lawyer.

  As soon as he could escape out into the street he endeavoured to putall these things together, and after a while resolved that he wouldgo to Mr. Tombe. What if there should be an understanding between JohnGrey and Alice, and Mr. Tombe should be arranging his money mattersfor him! Would not anything be better than this,--even that littletragedy down in Westmoreland, for which his ingenuity and couragewould be required? He could endure to borrow money from Alice. Hemight even endure it still,--though that was very difficult afterher treatment of him; but he could not endure to be the recipient ofJohn Grey's money. By heavens, no! And as he got into a cab, and hadhimself driven off to the neighbourhood of Doctors' Commons, he gavehimself credit for much fi
ne manly feeling. Mr. Tombe's chambers werefound without difficulty, and, as it happened, Mr. Tombe was there.

  The lawyer rose from his chair as Vavasor entered, and bowed hispowdered head very meekly as he asked his visitor to sit down. "Mr.Vavasor;--oh, yes. He had heard the name. Yes; he was in the habit ofacting for his very old friend Mr. John Grey. He had acted for Mr. JohnGrey, and for Mr. John Grey's father,--he or his partner,--he believedhe might say, for about half a century. There could not be a nicergentleman than Mr. John Grey;--and such a pretty child as he used tobe!" At every new sentence Mr. Tombe caught his poor asthmatic breath,and bowed his meek old head, and rubbed his hands together as thoughhe hardly dared to keep his seat in Vavasor's presence without thesupport of some such motion and wheezed apologetically, and seemedto ask pardon of his visitor for not knowing intuitively what was thenature of that visitor's business. But he was a sly old fox was Mr.Tombe, and was considering all this time how much it would be wellthat he should tell Mr. Vavasor, and how much it would be well that heshould conceal. "The fat had got into the fire," as he told his oldwife when he got home that evening. He told his old wife everything,and I don't know that any of his clients were the worse for his doingso. But while he was wheezing, and coughing, and apologizing, he madeup his mind that if George Vavasor were to ask him certain questions,it would be best that he should answer them truly. If Vavasor did askthose questions, he would probably do so upon certain knowledge, andif so, why, in that case, lying would be of no use. Lying would notput the fat back into the frying pan. And even though such questionsmight be asked without any absolute knowledge, they would, at anyrate, show that the questioner had the means of ascertaining thetruth. He would tell as little as he could; but he decided during hislast wheeze, that he could not lie in the matter with any chance ofbenefiting his client. "The prettiest child I ever saw, Mr. Vavasor!"said Mr. Tombe, and then he coughed violently. Some people who knewMr. Tombe declared that he nursed his cough.

  "I dare say," said George.

  "Yes, indeed,--ugh--ugh--ugh."

  "Can you tell me, Mr. Tombe, whether either you or he have anything todo with the payment of certain sums to my credit at Messrs. Hock andBlock's?"

  "Messrs. Hock and Block's, the bankers,--in Lom--bard Street?" said Mr.Tombe, taking a little more time.

  "Yes; I bank there," said Vavasor, sharply.

  "A most respectable house."

  "Has any money been paid there to my credit, by you, Mr. Tombe?"

  "May I ask you why you put the question to me, Mr. Vavasor?"

  "Well, I don't think you may. That is to say, my reason for asking itcan have nothing to do with yours for replying to it. If you have hadno hand in any such payment, there is an end of it, and I need nottake up your time by saying anything more on the subject."

  "I am not prepared to go that length, Mr. Vavasor,--not altogether togo that length,--ugh--ugh--ugh."

  "Then, will you tell me what you have done in the matter?"

  "Well,--upon my word, you've taken me a little by surprise. Let mesee. Pinkle,--Pinkle." Pinkle was a clerk who sat in an inner room,and Mr. Tombe's effort to call him seemed to be most ineffectual. ButPinkle understood the sound, and came. "Pinkle, didn't we pay somemoney into Hock and Block's a few weeks since, to the credit of Mr.George Vavasor?"

  "Did we, sir?" said Pinkle, who probably knew that his employer wasan old fox, and who, perhaps, had caught something of the fox naturehimself.

  "I think we did. Just look Pinkle;--and, Pinkle,--see the date, andlet me know all about it. It's fine bright weather for this time ofyear, Mr. Vavasor; but these easterly winds!--ugh--ugh--ugh!"

  Vavasor found himself sitting for an apparently interminable numberof minutes in Mr. Tombe's dingy chamber, and was coughed at, andwheezed at, till he begun to be tired of his position moreover, whentired, he showed his impatience. "Perhaps you'll let us write you aline when we have looked into the matter?" suggested Mr. Tombe.

  "I'd rather know at once," said Vavasor. "I don't suppose it can takeyou very long to find out whether you have paid money to my account,by order of Mr. Grey. At any rate, I must know before I go away."

  "Pinkle, Pinkle!" screamed the old man through his coughing; andagain Pinkle came. "Well, Pinkle, was anything of the kind done, oris my memory deceiving me?" Mr. Tombe was, no doubt, lying shamefully,for, of course, he remembered all about it; and, indeed, GeorgeVavasor had learned already quite enough for his own purposes.

  "I was going to look," said Pinkle; and Pinkle again went away.

  "I'm sorry to give your clerk so much trouble," said Vavasor, in anangry voice; "and I think it must be unnecessary. Surely you knowwhether Mr. Grey has commissioned you to pay money for me?"

  "We have so many things to do, Mr. Vavasor; and so many clients. Wehave, indeed. You see, it isn't only one gentleman's affairs. But Ithink there was something done. I do, indeed."

  "What is Mr. John Grey's address?" asked Vavasor, very sharply.

  "Number 5, Suffolk Street, Pall Mall East," said Mr. Tombe. HereinMr. Tombe somewhat committed himself. His client, Mr. Grey, was, infact, in town, but Vavasor had not known or imagined that such wasthe case. Had Mr. Tombe given the usual address of Nethercoats, nothingfurther would have been demanded from him on that subject. But hehad foolishly presumed that the question had been based on specialinformation as to his client's visit to London, and he had told theplain truth in a very simple way.

  "Number 5, Suffolk Street," said Vavasor, writing down the address."Perhaps it will be better that I should go to him, as you do notseem inclined to give me any information." Then he took up his hat,and hardly bowing to Mr. Tombe, left the chambers. Mr. Tombe, as hedid so, rose from his chair, and bent his head meekly down upon thetable.

  "Pinkle, Pinkle," wheezed Mr. Tombe. "Never mind; never mind." Pinkledidn't mind; and we may say that he had not minded; for up to thatmoment he had taken no steps towards a performance of the order whichhad been given him.