Miss or Mrs.?

by Wilkie Collins

  NINTH SCENE.

  The Drawing-Room.

  "Amelia!"

  "Say something."

  "Ask him to sit down."

  Thus addressing one another in whispers, the three stepdaughters ofLady Winwood stood bewildered in their own drawing-room, helplesslyconfronting an object which appeared before them on the threshold of thedoor.

  The date was the 23d of December. The time was between two and three inthe afternoon. The occasion was the return of the three sisters from theCommittee meeting of the Sacred Concerts' Society. And the object wasRichard Turlington.

  He stood hat in hand at the door, amazed by his reception. "I have comeup this morning from Somersetshire," he said. "Haven't you heard? Amatter of business at the office has forced me to leave my guests at myhouse in the country. I return to them to-morrow. When I say my guests,I mean the Graybrookes. Don't you know they are staying with me? SirJoseph and Miss Lavinia and Natalie?" On the utterance of Natalie'sname, the sisters roused themselves. They turned about and regarded eachother with looks of dismay. Turlington's patience began to fail him."Will you be so good as to tell me what all this means?" he said, alittle sharply. "Miss Lavinia asked me to call here when she heard I wascoming to town. I was to take charge of a pattern for a dress, which shesaid you would give me. You ought to have received a telegram explainingit all, hours since. Has the message not reached you?"

  The leading spirit of the three sisters was Miss Amelia. She was thefirst who summoned presence of mind enough to give a plain answer toTurlington's plain question.

  "We received the telegram this morning," she said. "Something hashappened since which has shocked and surprised us. We beg your pardon."She turned to one of her sisters. "Sophia, the pattern is ready in thedrawer of that table behind you. Give it to Mr. Turlington."

  Sophia produced the packet. Before she handed it to the visitor, shelooked at her sister. "Ought we to let Mr. Turlington go," she asked,"as if nothing had happened?"

  Amelia considered silently with herself. Dorothea, the third sister(who had not spoken yet), came forward with a suggestion. She proposed,before proceeding further, to inquire whether Lady Winwood was in thehouse. The idea was instantly adopted. Sophia rang the bell. Amelia putthe questions when the servant appeared.

  Lady Winwood had left the house for a drive immediately after luncheon.Lord Winwood--inquired for next--had accompanied her ladyship. Nomessage had been left indicating the hour of their return.

  The sisters looked at Turlington, uncertain what to say or do next. MissAmelia addressed him as soon as the servant had left the room.

  "Is it possible for you to remain here until either my father or LadyWinwood return?" she asked.

  "It is quite impossible. Minutes are of importance to me to-day."

  "Will you give us one of your minutes? We want to consider somethingwhich we may have to say to you before you go."

  Turlington, wondering, took a chair. Miss Amelia put the case before hersisters from the sternly conscientious point of view, at the oppositeend of the room.

  "We have not found out this abominable deception by any underhandmeans," she said. "The discovery has been forced upon us, and we standpledged to nobody to keep the secret. Knowing as we do how cruelly thisgentleman has been used, it seems to me that we are bound in honor toopen his eyes to the truth. If we remain silent we make ourselvesLady Winwood's accomplices. I, for one--I don't care what may come ofit--refuse to do that."

  Her sisters agreed with her. The first chance their clever stepmotherhad given them of asserting their importance against hers was now intheir hands. Their jealous hatred of Lady Winwood assumed the mask ofDuty--duty toward an outraged and deceived fellow-creature. Could anyearthly motive be purer than that? "Tell him, Amelia!" cried the twoyoung ladies, with the headlong recklessness of the sex which only stopsto think when the time for reflection has gone by.

  A vague sense of something wrong began to stir uneasily in Turlington'smind.

  "Don't let me hurry you," he said, "but if you really have anything totell me--"

  Miss Amelia summoned her courage, and began.

  "We have something very dreadful to tell you," she said, interruptinghim. "You have been presented in this house, Mr. Turlington, asa gentleman engaged to marry Lady Winwood's cousin. Miss NatalieGraybrooke." She paused there--at the outset of the disclosure. A suddenchange of expression passed over Turlington's face, which daunted herfor the moment. "We have hitherto understood," she went on, "that youwere to be married to that young lady early in next month."

  "Well?"

  He could say that one word. Looking at their pale faces, and their eagereyes, he could say no more.

  "Take care!" whispered Dorothea, in her sister's ear. "Look at him,Amelia! Not too soon."

  Amelia went on more carefully.

  "We have just returned from a musical meeting," she said. "One of theladies there was an acquaintance, a former school-fellow of ours. Sheis the wife of the rector of St. Columb Major--a large church, far fromthis--at the East End of London."

  "I know nothing about the woman or the church," interposed Turlington,sternly.

  "I must beg you to wait a little. I can't tell you what I want to tellyou unless I refer to the rector's wife. She knows Lady Winwood byname. And she heard of Lady Winwood recently under very strangecircumstances--circumstances connected with a signature in one of thebooks of the church."

  Turlington lost his self-control. "You have got something against myNatalie," he burst out; "I know it by your whispering, I see it in yourlooks! Say it at once in plain words."

  There was no trifling with him now. In plain words Amelia said it.

  * * * * * * * * *

  There was silence in the room. They could hear the sound of passingfootsteps in the street. He stood perfectly still on the spot where theyhad struck him dumb by the disclosure, supporting himself with hisright hand laid on the head of a sofa near him. The sisters drew backhorror-struck into the furthest corner of the room. His face turned themcold. Through the mute misery which it had expressed at first, thereappeared, slowly forcing its way to view, a look of deadly vengeancewhich froze them to the soul. They whispered feverishly one to theother, without knowing what they were talking of, without hearing theirown voices. One of them said, "Ring the bell!" Another said, "Offer himsomething, he will faint." The third shuddered, and repeated, over andover again, "Why did we do it? Why did we do it?"

  He silenced them on the instant by speaking on his side. He came onslowly, by a step at a time, with the big drops of agony falling slowlyover his rugged face. He said, in a hoarse whisper, "Write me down thename of the church--there." He held out his open pocketbook to Ameliawhile he spoke. She steadied herself, and wrote the address. She triedto say a word to soften him. The word died on her lips. There was alight in his eyes as they looked at her which transfigured his face tosomething superhuman and devilish. She turned away from him, shuddering.

  He put the book back in his pocket, and passed his handkerchief over hisface. After a moment of indecision, he suddenly and swiftly stole out ofthe room, as if he was afraid of their calling somebody in, and stoppinghim. At the door he turned round for a moment, and said, "You will hearhow this ends. I wish you good-morning."

  The door closed on him. Left by themselves, they began to realize it.They thought of the consequences when his back was turned and it was toolate.

  The Graybrookes! Now he knew it, what would become of the Graybrookes?What would he do when he got back? Even at ordinary times--when he wason his best behavior--he was a rough man. What would happen? Oh, goodGod! what would happen when he and Natalie next stood face to face? Itwas a lonely house--Natalie had told them about it--no neighbors near;nobody by to interfere but the weak old father and the maiden aunt.Something ought to be done. Some steps ought to be taken to warn them.Advice--who could give advice? Who was the first person who ought tobe told of what had happened? Lady Winwood? No! even at that crisis thesisters still sh
rank from their stepmother--still hated her with the oldhatred! Not a word to _her!_ They owed no duty to _her!_ Who else couldthey appeal to? To their father? Yes! There was the person to advisethem. In the meanwhile, silence toward their stepmother--silence towardevery one till their father came back!

  They waited and waited. One after another the precious hours, pregnantwith the issues of life and death, followed each other on the dial. LadyWinwood returned alone. She had left her husband at the House of Lords.Dinner-time came, and brought with it a note from his lordship. Therewas a debate at the House. Lady Winwood and his daughters were not towait dinner for him.