Anne opened the letter, and looked at it for the second time. The
passages relating to Sir Patrick were expressed in these terms:
"I don't think, darling, you have any idea of the interest that
you have roused in my uncle. Although he has not to reproach
himself, as I have, with being the miserable cause of the
sacrifice that you have made, he is quite as wretched and quite
as anxious about you as I am. We talk of nobody else. He said
last night that he did not believe there was your equal in the
world. Think of that from a man who has such terribly sharp eyes
for the faults of women in general, and such a terribly sharp
tongue in talking of them! I am pledged to secrecy; but I must
tell you one other thing, between ourselves. Lord Holchester's
announcement that his brother refuses to consent to a separation
put my uncle almost beside himself. If there is not some change
for the better in your life in a few days' time, Sir Patrick will
find out a way of his own--lawful or not, he doesn't care--for
rescuing you from the dreadful position in which you are placed,
and Arnold (with my full approval) will help him. As we
understand it, you are, under one pretense or another, kept a
close prisoner. Sir Patrick has already secured a post of
observation near you. He and Arnold went all round the cottage
last night, and examined a door in your back garden wall, with a
locksmith to help them. You will no doubt hear further about this
from Sir Patrick himself. Pray don't appear to know any thing of
it when you see him! I am not in his confidence--but Arnold is,
which comes to the same thing exactly. You will see us (I mean
you will see my uncle and me) to-morrow, in spite of the brute
who keeps you under lock and key. Arnold will not accompany us;
he is not to be trusted (he owns it himself) to control his
indignation. Courage, dearest! There are two people in the world
to whom you are inestimably precious, and who are determined not
to let your happiness be sacrificed. I am one of them, and (for
Heaven's sake keep this a secret also!) Sir Patrick is the
other."
Absorbed in the letter, and in the conflict of opposite feelings
which it roused--her color rising when it turned her thoughts
inward on herself, and fading again when she was reminded by it
of the coming visit--Anne was called back to a sense of present
events by the reappearance of the servant, charged with a
message. Mr. Speedwell had been for some time in the cottage, and
he was now waiting to see her down stairs.
Anne found the surgeon alone in the drawing-room. He apologized
for disturbing her at that early hour.
"It was impossible for me to get to Fulham yesterday," he said,
"and I could only make sure of complying with Lord Holchester's
request by coming here before the time at which I receive
patients at home. I have seen Mr. Delamayn, and I have requested
permission to say a word to you on the subject of his health."
Anne looked through the window, and saw Geoffrey smoking his
pipe--not in the back garden, as usual, but in front of the
cottage, where he could keep his eye on the gate.
"Is he ill?" she asked.
"He is seriously ill," answered Mr. Speedwell. "I should not
otherwise have troubled you with this interview. It is a matter
of professional duty to warn you, as his wife, that he is in
danger. He may be seized at any moment by a paralytic stroke. The
only chance for him--a very poor one, I am bound to say--is to
make him alter his present mode of life without loss of time."
"In one way he will be obliged to alter it," said Anne. "He has
received notice from the landlady to quit this cottage."
Mr. Speedwell looked surprised.
"I think you will find that the notice has been withdrawn," he
said. "I can only assure you that Mr. Delamayn distinctly
informed me, when I advised change of air, that he had decided,
for reasons of his own, on remaining here."
(Another in the series of incomprehensible domestic events!
Hester Dethridge--on all other occasions the most immovable of
women--had changed her mind!)
"Setting that aside," proceeded the surgeon, "there are two
preventive measures which I feel bound to suggest. Mr. Delamayn
is evidently suffering (though he declines to admit it himself)
from mental anxiety. If he is to have a chance for his life, that
anxiety must be set at rest. Is it in your power to relieve it?"
"It is not even in my power, Mr. Speedwell, to tell you what it
is."
The surgeon bowed, and went on:
"The second caution that I have to give you," he said, "is to
keep him from drinking spirits. He admits having committed an
excess in that way the night before last. In his state of health,
drinking means literally death. If he goes back to the
brandy-bottle--forgive me for saying it plainly; the matter is
too serious to be trifled with--if he goes back to the
brandy-bottle, his life, in my opinion, is not worth five
minutes' purchase. Can you keep him from drinking?"
Anne answered sadly and plainly:
"I have no influence over him. The terms we are living on here--"
Mr. Speedwell considerately stopped her.
"I understand," he said. "I will see his brother on my way home."
He looked for a moment at Anne. "You are far from well yourself,"
he resumed. "Can I do any thing for you?"
"While I am living my present life, Mr. Speedwell, not even your
skill can help me."
The surgeon took his leave. Anne hurried back up stairs, before
Geoffrey could re-enter the cottage. To see the man who had laid
her life waste--to meet the vindictive hatred that looked
furtively at her out of his eyes--at the moment when sentence of
death had been pronounced on him, was an ordeal from which every
finer instinct in her nature shrank in horror.
Hour by hour, the morning wore on, and he made no attempt to
communicate with her, Stranger still, Hester Dethridge never
appeared. The servant came up stairs to say goodby; and went away
for her holiday. Shortly afterward, certain sounds reached Anne's
ears from the opposite side of the passage. She heard the strokes
of a hammer, and then a noise as of some heavy piece of furniture
being moved. The mysterious repairs were apparently being begun
in the spare room.
She went to the window. The hour was approaching at which Sir
Patrick and Blanche might be expected to make the attempt to see
her.
For the third time, she looked at the letter.
It suggested, on this occasion, a new consideration to her. Did
the strong measures which Sir Patrick had taken in secret
indicate alarm as well as sympathy? Did he believe she was in a
position in which the protection of the law was powerless to
reach her? It seemed just possible. Suppose she were free to
consult a magistrate, and to own to him (if words could express
it) the vague presentiment of danger which was then present in
her
mind--what proof could she produce to satisfy the mind of a
stranger? The proofs were all in her husband's favor. Witnesses
could testify to the conciliatory words which he had spoken to
her in their presence. The evidence of his mother and brother
would show that he had preferred to sacrifice his own pecuniary
interests rather than consent to part with her. She could furnish
nobody with the smallest excuse, in her case, for interfering
between man and wife. Did Sir Patrick see this? And did Blanche's
description of what he and Arnold Brinkworth were doing point to
the conclusion that they were taking the law into their own hands
in despair? The more she thought of it, the more likely it
seemed.
She was still pursuing the train of thought thus suggested, when
the gate-bell rang.
The noises in the spare room suddenly stopped.
Anne looked out. The roof of a carriage was visible on the other
side of the wall. Sir Patrick and Blanche had arrived. After an
interval Hester Dethridge appeared in the garden, and went to the
grating in the gate. Anne heard Sir Patrick's voice, clear and
resolute. Every word he said reached her ears through the open
window.
"Be so good as to give my card to Mr. Delamayn. Say that I bring
him a message from Holchester House, and that I can only deliver
it at a personal interview."
Hester Dethridge returned to the cottage. Another, and a longer
interval elapsed. At the end of the time, Geoffrey himself
appeared in the front garden, with the key in his hand. Anne's
heart throbbed fast as she saw him unlock the gate, and asked
herself what was to follow.
To her unutterable astonishment, Geoffrey admitted Sir Patrick
without the slightest hesitation--and, more still, he invited
Blanche to leave the carriage and come in!
"Let by-gones be by-gones," Anne heard him say to Sir Patrick. "I
only want to do the right thing. If it's the right thing for
visitors to come here, so soon after my father's death, come, and
welcome. My own notion was, when you proposed it before, that it
was wrong. I am not much versed in these things. I leave it to
you."
"A visitor who brings you messages from your mother and your
brother," Sir Patrick answered gravely, "is a person whom it is
your duty to admit, Mr. Delamayn, under any circumstances."
"And he ought to be none the less welcome," added Blanche, "when
he is accompanied by your wife's oldest and dearest friend."
Geoffrey looked, in stolid submission, from one to the other.
"I am not much versed in these things," he repeated. "I have said
already, I leave it to you."
They were by this time close under Anne's window. She showed
herself. Sir Patrick took off his hat. Blanche kissed her hand
with a cry of joy, and attempted to enter the cottage. Geoffrey
stopped her--and called to his wife to come down.
"No! no!" said Blanche. "Let me go up to her in her room."
She attempted for the second time to gain the stairs. For the
second time Geoffrey stopped her. "Don't trouble yourself," he
said; "she is coming down."
Anne joined them in the front garden. Blanche flew into her arms
and devoured her with kisses. Sir Patrick took her hand in
silence. For the first time in Anne's experience of him, the
bright, resolute, self-reliant old man was, for the moment, at a
loss what to say, at a loss what to do. His eyes, resting on her
in mute sympathy and interest, said plainly, "In your husband's
presence I must not trust myself to speak."
Geoffrey broke the silence.
"Will you go into the drawing-room?" he asked, looking with
steady attention at his wife and Blanche.
Geoffrey's voice appeared to rouse Sir Patrick. He raised his
head--he looked like himself again.
"Why go indoors this lovely weather?" he said. "Suppose we take a
turn in the garden?"
Blanche pressed Anne's hand significantly. The proposal was
evidently made for a purpose. They turned the corner of the
cottage and gained the large garden at the back--the two ladies
walking together, arm in arm; Sir Patrick and Geoffrey following
them. Little by little, Blanche quickened her pace. "I have got
my instructions," she whispered to Anne. "Let's get out of his
hearing."
It was more easily said than done. Geoffrey kept close behind
them.
"Consider my lameness, Mr. Delamayn," said Sir Patrick. "Not
quite so fast."
It was well intended. But Geoffrey's cunning had taken the alarm.
Instead of dropping behind with Sir Patrick, he called to his
wife.
"Consider Sir Patrick's lameness," he repeated. "Not quite so
fast."
Sir Patrick met that check with characteristic readiness. When
Anne slackened her pace, he addressed himself to Geoffrey,
stopping deliberately in the middle of the path. "Let me give you
my message from Holchester House," he said. The two ladies were
still slowly walking on. Geoffrey was placed between the
alternatives of staying with Sir Patrick and leaving them by
themselves--or of following them and leaving Sir Patrick.
Deliberately, on his side, he followed the ladies.
Sir Patrick called him back. "I told you I wished to speak to
you," he said, sharply.
Driven to bay, Geoffrey openly revealed his resolution to give
Blanche no opportunity of speaking in private to Anne. He called
to Anne to stop.
"I have no secrets from my wife," he said. "And I expect my wife
to have no secrets from me. Give me the message in her hearing."
Sir Patrick's eyes brightened with indignation. He controlled
himself, and looked for an instant significantly at his niece
before he spoke to Geoffrey.
"As you please ," he said. "Your brother requests me to tell you
that the duties of the new position in which he is placed occupy
the whole of his time, and will prevent him from returning to
Fulham, as he had proposed, for some days to come. Lady
Holchester, hearing that I was likely to see you, has charged me
with another message, from herself. She is not well enough to
leave home; and she wishes to see you at Holchester House
to-morrow--accompanied (as she specially desires) by Mrs.
Delamayn."
In giving the two messages, he gradually raised his voice to a
louder tone than usual. While he was speaking, Blanche (warned to
follow her instructions by the glance her uncle had cast at her)
lowered her voice, and said to Anne:
"He won't consent to the separation as long as he has got you
here. He is trying for higher terms. Leave him, and he must
submit. Put a candle in your window, if you can get into the
garden to-night. If not, any other night. Make for the back gate
in the wall. Sir Patrick and Arnold will manage the rest."
She slipped those words into Anne's ears--swinging her parasol to
and fro, and looking as if the merest gossip was dropping from
her lips--with the dexterity which
rarely fails a woman when she
is called on to assist a deception in which her own interests are
concerned. Cleverly as it had been done, however, Geoffrey's
inveterate distrust was stirred into action by it. Blanche had
got to her last sentence before he was able to turn his attention
from what Sir Patrick was saying to what his niece was saying. A
quicker man would have heard more. Geoffrey had only distinctly
heard the first half of the last sentence.
"What's that," he asked, "about Sir Patrick and Arnold?"
"Nothing very interesting to you," Blanche answered, readily. "I
will repeat it if you like. I was telling Anne about my
step-mother, Lady Lundie. After what happened that day in
Portland Place, she has requested Sir Patrick and Arnold to
consider themselves, for the future, as total strangers to her.
That's all."
"Oh!" said Geoffrey, eying her narrowly.
"Ask my uncle," returned Blanche, "if you don't believe that I
have reported her correctly. She gave us all our dismissal, in
her most magnificent manner, and in those very words. Didn't she,
Sir Patrick?"
It was perfectly true. Blanche's readiness of resource had met
the emergency of the moment by describing something, in
connection with Sir Patrick and Arnold, which had really
happened. Silenced on one side, in spite of himself, Geoffrey was
at the same moment pressed on the other for an answer to his
mother's message.
"I must take your reply to Lady Holchester, " said Sir Patrick.
"What is it to be?"
Geoffrey looked hard at him, without making any reply.
Sir Patrick repeated the message--with a special emphasis on that
part of it which related to Anne. The emphasis roused Geoffrey's
temper.
"You and my mother have made that message up between you, to try
me!" he burst out. "Damn all underhand work is what _I_ say!"
"I am waiting for your answer," persisted Sir Patrick, steadily
ignoring the words which had just been addressed to him.
Geoffrey glanced at Anne, and suddenly recovered himself.
"My love to my mother," he said. "I'll go to her to-morrow--and
take my wife with me, with the greatest pleasure. Do you hear
that? With the greatest pleasure." He stopped to observe the
effect of his reply. Sir Patrick waited impenetrably to hear
more--if he had more to say. "I'm sorry I lost my temper just
now," he resumed "I am badly treated--I'm distrusted without a
cause. I ask you to bear witness," he added, his voice getting
louder again, while his eyes moved uneasily backward and forward
between Sir Patrick and Anne, "that I treat my wife as becomes a
lady. Her friend calls on her--and she's free to receive her
friend. My mother wants to see her--and I promise to take her to
my mother's. At two o'clock to-morrow. Where am I to blame? You
stand there looking at me, and saying nothing. Where am I to
blame?"
"If a man's own conscience justifies him, Mr. Delamayn," said Sir
Patrick, "the opinions of others are of very little importance.
My errand here is performed."
As he turned to bid Anne farewell, the uneasiness that he felt at
leaving her forced its way to view. The color faded out of his
face. His hand trembled as it closed tenderly and firmly on hers.
"I shall see you to-morrow, at Holchester House," he said; giving
his arm while he spoke to Blanche. He took leave of Geoffrey,
without looking at him again, and without seeing his offered
hand. In another minute they were gone.
Anne waited on the lower floor of the cottage while Geoffrey
closed and locked the gate. She had no wish to appear to avoid
him, after the answer that he had sent to his mother's message.
He returned slowly half-way across the front garden, looked
toward the passage in which she was standing, passed before the
door, and disappeared round the corner of the cottage on his way
to the back garden. The inference was not to be mistaken. It was
Man and Wife Page 71
