The Last Chronicle of Barset

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER LXIV.

  THE TRAGEDY IN HOOK COURT.

  Conway Dalrymple had hurried out of the room in Mrs. Broughton'shouse in which he had been painting Jael and Sisera, thinking thatit would be better to meet an angry and perhaps tipsy husband onthe stairs, than it would be either to wait for him till he shouldmake his way into his wife's room, or to hide away from him withthe view of escaping altogether from so disagreeable an encounter.He had no fear of the man. He did not think that there would be anyviolence,--nor, as regarded himself, did he much care if there wasto be violence. But he felt that he was bound, as far as it mightbe possible, to screen the poor woman from the ill effects of herhusband's temper and condition. He was, therefore, prepared to stopBroughton on the stairs, and to use some force in arresting him onhis way, should he find the man to be really intoxicated. But hehad not descended above a stair or two before he was aware thatthe man below him, whose step had been heard in the hall, wasnot intoxicated, and that he was not Dobbs Broughton. It was Mr.Musselboro.

  "It is you, is it?" said Conway. "I thought it was Broughton." Thenhe looked into the man's face and saw that he was ashy pale. All thatappearance of low-bred jauntiness which used to belong to him seemedto have been washed out of him. His hair had forgotten to curl,his gloves had been thrown aside, and even his trinkets were outof sight. "What has happened?" said Conway. "What is the matter?Something is wrong." Then it occurred to him that Musselboro had beensent to the house to tell the wife of the husband's ruin.

  "The servant told me that I should find you upstairs," saidMusselboro.

  "Yes; I have been painting here. For some time past I have been doinga picture of Miss Van Siever. Mrs. Van Siever has been here to-day."Conway thought that this information would produce some strong effecton Clara's proposed husband; but he did not seem to regard the matterof the picture nor the mention of Miss Van Siever's name.

  "She knows nothing of it?" said he. "She doesn't know yet?"

  "Know what?" asked Conway. "She knows that her husband has lostmoney."

  "Dobbs has--destroyed himself."

  "What!"

  "Blew his brains out this morning just inside the entrance at HookCourt. The horror of drink was on him, and he stood just in thepathway and shot himself. Bangles was standing at the top of theirvaults and saw him do it. I don't think Bangles will ever be a managain. O Lord! I shall never get over it myself. The body was therewhen I went in." Then Musselboro sank back against the wall of thestaircase, and stared at Dalrymple as though he still saw before himthe terrible sight of which he had just spoken.

  Dalrymple seated himself on the stairs and strove to bring his mindto bear on the tale which he had just heard. What was he to do, andhow was that poor woman upstairs to be informed? "You came hereintending to tell her," he said, in a whisper. He feared every momentthat Mrs. Broughton would appear on the stairs, and learn from a wordor two what had happened without any hint to prepare her for thecatastrophe.

  "I thought you would be here. I knew you were doing the picture. Heknew it. He'd had a letter to say so,--one of those anonymous ones."

  "But that didn't influence him?"

  "I don't think it was that," said Musselboro. "He meant to have hadit out with her; but it wasn't that as brought this about. Perhapsyou didn't know that he was clean ruined?"

  "She had told me."

  "Then she knew it?"

  "Oh, yes; she knew that. Mrs. Van Siever had told her. Poor creature!How are we to break this to her?"

  "You and she are very thick," said Musselboro. "I suppose you'll doit best." By this time they were in the drawing-room, and the doorwas closed. Dalrymple had put his hand on the other man's arm, andhad led him downstairs, out of reach of hearing from the room above."You'll tell her,--won't you?" said Musselboro. Then Dalrymple triedto think what loving female friend there was who could break the newsto the unfortunate woman. He knew of the Van Sievers, and he knewof the Demolines, and he almost knew that there was no other womanwithin reach whom he was entitled to regard as closely connected withMrs. Broughton. He was well aware that the anonymous letter of whichMusselboro had just spoken had come from Miss Demolines, and he couldnot go there for sympathy and assistance. Nor could he apply to Mrs.Van Siever after what had passed this morning. To Clara Van Sieverhe would have applied, but that it was impossible he should reachClara except through her mother. "I suppose I had better go to her,"he said, after a while. And then he went, leaving Musselboro in thedrawing-room. "I'm so bad with it," said Musselboro, "that I reallydon't know how I shall ever go up that court again."

  Conway Dalrymple made his way up the stairs with very slow steps,and as he did so he could not but think seriously of the nature ofhis friendship with this woman, and could not but condemn himselfheartily for the folly and iniquity of his own conduct. Scores oftimes he had professed his love to her with half-expressed words,intended to mean nothing, as he said to himself when he tried toexcuse himself, but enough to turn her head, even if they did notreach her heart. Now, this woman was a widow, and it came to be hisduty to tell her that she was so. What if she should claim fromhim now the love which he had so often proffered to her! It wasnot that he feared that she would claim anything from him at thismoment,--neither now, nor to-morrow, nor the next day,--but the agonyof the present meeting would produce others in which there would besome tenderness mixed with the agony; and so from one meeting toanother the thing would progress. Dalrymple knew well enough how suchthings might progress. But in this danger before him, it was not ofhimself that he was thinking, but of her. How could he assist her atsuch a time without doing her more injury than benefit? And, if hedid not assist her, who would do so? He knew her to be heartless; buteven heartless people have hearts which can be touched and almostbroken by certain sorrows. Her heart would not be broken by herhusband's death, but it would become very sore if she were utterlyneglected. He was now at the door, with his hand on the lock, and waswondering why she should remain so long within without making herselfheard. Then he opened it, and found her seated in a lounging-chair,with her back to the door, and he could see that she had a volume ofa novel in her hand. He understood it all. She was pretending to beindifferent to her husband's return. He walked up to her, thinkingthat she would recognize his step; but she made no sign of turningtowards him. He saw the motion of her hair over the back of the chairas she affected to make herself luxuriously comfortable. She wasstriving to let her husband see that she cared nothing for him, orfor his condition, or for his jealousy, if he were jealous,--or evenfor his ruin. "Mrs. Broughton," he said, when he was close to her.Then she jumped up quickly, and turned round, facing him. "Where isDobbs?" she said. "Where is Broughton?"

  "He is not here."

  "He is in the house, for I heard him. Why have you come back?"

  Dalrymple's eye fell on the tattered canvas, and he thought of thedoings of the past month. He thought of the picture of three Graces,which was hanging in the room below, and he thoroughly wished that hehad never been introduced to the Broughton establishment. How was heto get through his present difficulty? "No," said he, "Broughton didnot come. It was Mr. Musselboro whose steps you heard below."

  "What is he here for? What is he doing here? Where is Dobbs? Conway,there is something the matter. He has gone off!"

  "Yes;--he has gone off."

  "The coward!"

  "No; he was not a coward;--not in that way."

  The use of the past tense, unintentional as it had been, told thestory to the woman at once. "He is dead," she said. Then he took bothher hands in his and looked into her face without speaking a word.And she gazed at him with fixed eyes, and rigid mouth, while thequick coming breath just moved the curl of her nostrils. It occurredto him at the moment that he had never before seen her so whollyunaffected, and had never before observed that she was so totallydeficient in all the elements of real beauty. She was the first tospeak again. "Conway," she said, "tell it me all. Why do you notspeak to me?"

  "There is
nothing further to tell," said he.

  Then she dropped his hands and walked away from him to thewindow,--and stood there looking out upon the stuccoed turret ofa huge house that stood opposite. As she did so she was employingherself in counting the windows. Her mind was paralysed by the blow,and she knew not how to make any exertion with it for any purpose.Everything was changed with her,--and was changed in such a waythat she could make no guess as to her future mode of life. She wassuddenly a widow, a pauper, and utterly desolate,--while the onlyperson in the whole world that she really liked was standing close toher. But in the midst of it all she counted the windows of the houseopposite. Had it been possible for her she would have put her mindaltogether to sleep.

  He let her stand for a few minutes and then joined her at the window."My friend," he said, "what shall I do for you?"

  "Do?" she said. "What do you mean by--doing?"

  "Come and sit down and let me talk to you," he replied. Then he ledher to the sofa, and as she seated herself I doubt whether she hadnot almost forgotten that her husband was dead.

  "What a pity it was to cut it up," she said, pointing to the rags ofJael and Sisera.

  "Never mind the picture now. Dreadful as it is, you must allowyourself to think of him for a few minutes."

  "Think of what! O God! yes. Conway, you must tell me what to do. Waseverything gone? It isn't about myself. I don't mind about myself. Iwish it was me instead of him. I do. I do."

  "No wishing is of any avail."

  "But, Conway, how did it happen? Do you think it is true? That manwould say anything to gain his object. Is he here now?"

  "I believe he is here still."

  "I won't see him. Remember that. Nothing on earth shall make me seehim."

  "It may be necessary, but I do not think it will be;--at any rate notyet."

  "I will never see him. I believe that he has murdered my husband. Ido. I feel sure of it. Now I think of it I am quite sure of it. Andhe will murder you too;--about that girl. He will. I tell you I knowthe man." Dalrymple simply shook his head, smiling sadly. "Very well!you will see. But, Conway, how do you know that it is true? Do youbelieve it yourself?"

  "I do believe it."

  "And how did it happen?"

  "He could not bear the ruin that he had brought upon himself andyou."

  "Then;--then--" She went no further in her speech; but Dalrympleassented by a slight motion of his head, and she had been informedsufficiently that her husband had perished by his own hand. "What amI to do?" she said. "Oh, Conway;--you must tell me. Was there ever somiserable a woman! Was it--poison?"

  He got up and walked quickly across the room and back again to theplace where she was sitting. "Never mind about that now. You shallknow all that in time. Do not ask any questions about that. If I wereyou I think I would go to bed. You will be better there than up, andthis shock will make you sleep."

  "No," she said. "I will not go to bed. How should I know that thatman would not come to me and kill me? I believe he murdered Dobbs;--Ido. You are not going to leave me, Conway?"

  "I think I had better, for a while. There are things which should bedone. Shall I send one of the women to you?"

  "There is not one of them that cares for me in the least. Oh, Conway,do not go; not yet. I will not be left alone in the house with him.You will be very cruel if you go and leave me now,--when you have sooften said that you,--that you,--that you were my friend." And now,at last, she began to weep.

  "I think it will be best," he said, "that I should go to Mrs. VanSiever. If I can manage it I will get Clara to come to you."

  "I do not want her," said Mrs. Broughton. "She is a heartless coldcreature, and I do not want to have her near me. My poor husband wasruined among them;--yes, ruined among them. It has all been done thatshe may marry that horrid man and live here in this house. I haveknown ever so long that he has not been safe among them."

  "You need fear nothing from Clara," said Dalrymple, with some touchof anger in his voice.

  "Of course you will say so. I can understand that very well. And itis natural that you should wish to be with her. Pray go."

  Then he sat beside her, and took her hand, and endeavoured to speakto her so seriously, that she herself might become serious, and ifit might be possible, in some degree contemplative. He told her hownecessary it was that she should have some woman near her in hertrouble, and explained to her that as far as he knew her femalefriends, there would be no one who would be so considerate with heras Clara Van Siever. She at one time mentioned the name of MissDemolines; but Dalrymple altogether opposed the notion of sending forthat lady,--expressing his opinion that the amiable Madalina had doneall in her power to create quarrels both between Mrs. Broughton andher husband and between Dobbs Broughton and Mrs. Van Siever. And hespoke his opinion very fully about Miss Demolines. "And yet you likedher once," said Mrs. Broughton. "I never liked her," said Dalrymplewith energy. "But all that matters nothing now. Of course you cansend for her if you please; but I do not think her trustworthy, andI will not willingly come in contact with her." Then Mrs. Broughtongave him to understand that of course she must give way, but that ingiving way she felt herself to be submitting to that ill-usage whichis the ordinary lot of women, and to which she, among women, had beenspecially subjected. She did not exactly say as much, fearing that ifshe did he would leave her altogether; but that was the gist of herplaints and wails, and final acquiescence.

  "And you are going?" she said, catching hold of his arm.

  "I will employ myself altogether and only about your affairs, till Isee you again."

  "But I want you to stay."

  "It would be madness. Look here;--lie down till Clara comes or till Ireturn. Do not go beyond this room and your own. If she cannot comethis evening I will return. Good-by now. I will see the servants as Igo out, and tell them what ought to be told."

  "Oh, Conway," she said, clutching hold of him again, "I know that youdespise me."

  "I do not despise you, and I will be as good a friend to you as Ican. God bless you." Then he went, and as he descended the stairs hecould not refrain from telling himself that he did in truth despiseher.

  His first object was to find Musselboro, and to dismiss thatgentleman from the house. For though he himself did not attributeto Mrs. Van Siever's favourite any of those terrible crimes andpotentialities for crime, with which Mrs. Dobbs Broughton hadinvested him, still he thought it reasonable that the poor womanupstairs should not be subjected to the necessity of either seeinghim or hearing him. But Musselboro had gone, and Dalrymple could notlearn from the head woman-servant whom he saw, whether before goinghe had told to any one in the house the tale of the catastrophe whichhad happened in the City. Servants are wonderful actors, lookingoften as though they knew nothing when they know everything,--asthough they understood nothing, when they understand all. Dalrymplemade known all that was necessary, and the discreet upper servantlistened to the tale with a proper amount of awe and horror andcommiseration. "Shot hisself in the City;--laws! You'll excuse me,sir, but we all know'd as master was coming to no good." But shepromised to do her best with her mistress,--and kept her promise. Itis seldom that servants are not good in such straits as that.

  From Mrs. Broughton's house Dalrymple went directly to Mrs. VanSiever's, and learned that Musselboro had been there about half anhour before, and had then gone off in a cab with Mrs. Van Siever. Itwas now nearly four o'clock in the afternoon, and no one in the houseknew when Mrs. Van Siever would be back. Miss Van Siever was out,and had been out when Mr. Musselboro had called, but was expectedin every minute. Conway therefore said that he would call again, andon returning found Clara alone. She had not then heard a word ofthe fate of Dobbs Broughton. Of course she would go at once to Mrs.Broughton, and if necessary stay with her during the night. She wrotea line at once to her mother, saying where she was, and went acrossto Mrs. Broughton leaning on Dalrymple's arm. "Be good to her," saidConway, as he left her at the door. "I will," said Clara. "I will beas kind as
my nature will allow me." "And remember," said Conway,whispering into her ear as he pressed her hand at leaving her, "thatyou are all the world to me." It was perhaps not a proper time for anexpression of love, but Clara Van Siever forgave the impropriety.