Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1214 page)

Passing and repassing the bookcases, she noticed a remote corner devoted to miscellaneous literature. A volume in faded binding of sky-blue, had been placed upside down. She looked at the book before she put it in its right position. The title was “Gallery of British Beauty.” Among the illustrations — long since forgotten — appeared her own portrait, when she was a girl of Carmina’s age.

A faintly contemptuous smile parted her hard lips, provoked by the recollections of her youth.

What a fool she had been, at that early period of her life! In those days, she had trembled with pleasure at the singing of a famous Italian tenor; she had flown into a passion when a new dress proved to be a misfit, on the evening of a ball; she had given money to beggars in the street; she had fallen in love with a poor young man, and had terrified her weak-minded hysterical mother, by threatening to commit suicide when the beloved object was forbidden the house. Comparing the girl of seventeen with the matured and cultivated woman of later years, what a matchless example Mrs. Gallilee presented of the healthy influence of education, directed to scientific pursuits! “Ah!” she thought, as she put the book back in its place, “my girls will have reason to thank me when they grow up; they have had a mother who has done her duty.”

She took a few more turns up and down the room. The sky had cleared again; a golden gleam of sunlight drew her to the window. The next moment she regretted even this concession to human weakness. A disagreeable association presented itself, and arrested the pleasant flow of her thoughts. Mr. Gallilee appeared on the door-step; leaving the house on foot, and carrying a large brown-paper parcel under his arm.

With servants at his disposal, why was he carrying the parcel himself? The time had been, when Mrs. Gallilee would have tapped at the window, and would have insisted on his instantly returning and answering the question. But his conduct, since the catastrophe in Carmina’s room, had produced a complete estrangement between the married pair. All his inquiries after his wife’s health had been made by deputy. When he was not in the schoolroom with the children, he was at his club. Until he came to his senses, and made humble apology, no earthly consideration would induce Mrs. Gallilee to take the slightest notice of him.

She returned to her reading.

The footman came in, with two letters — one arriving by post; the other having been dropped into the box by private messenger. Communications of this latter sort proceeded, not unfrequently, from creditors. Mrs. Gallilee opened the stamped letter first.

It contained nothing more important than a few lines from a daily governess, whom she had engaged until a successor to Miss Minerva could be found. In obedience to Mrs. Gallilee’s instructions, the governess would begin her attendance at ten o’clock on the next morning.

The second letter was of a very different kind. It related the disaster which had befallen Mr. Le Frank.

Mr. Null was the writer. As Miss Carmina’s medical attendant, it was his duty to inform her guardian that her health had been unfavourably affected by an alarm in the house. Having described the nature of the alarm, he proceeded in these words: “You will, I fear, lose the services of your present music-master. Inquiries made this morning at the hospital, and reported to me, appear to suggest serious results. The wounded man’s constitution is in an unhealthy state; the surgeons are not sure of being able to save two of the fingers. I will do myself the honour of calling to-morrow before you go out for your drive.”

The impression produced by this intelligence on the lady to whom it was addressed, can only be reported in her own words. She — who knew, on the best scientific authority, that the world had created itself — completely lost her head, and actually said, “Thank God!”

For weeks to come — perhaps for months if the surgeons’ forebodings were fulfilled — Mrs. Gallilee had got rid of Mr. Le Frank. In that moment of infinite relief, if her husband had presented himself, it is even possible that he might have been forgiven.

As it was, Mr. Gallilee returned late in the afternoon; entered his own domain of the smoking-room; and left the house again five minutes afterwards. Joseph officiously opened the door for him; and Joseph was surprised, precisely as his mistress had been surprised. Mr. Gallilee had a large brown paper parcel under his arm — the second which he had taken out of the house with his own hands! Moreover, he looked excessively confused when the footman discovered him. That night, he was late in returning from the club. Joseph (now on the watch) observed that he was not steady on his legs — and drew his own conclusions accordingly.

Punctual to her time, on the next morning, the new governess arrived. Mrs. Gallilee received her, and sent for the children.

The maid in charge of them appeared alone. She had no doubt that the young ladies would be back directly. The master had taken them out for a little walk, before they began their lessons. He had been informed that the lady who had been appointed to teach them would arrive at ten o’clock. And what had he said? He had said, “Very good.”

The half-hour struck — eleven o’clock struck — and neither the father nor the children returned. Ten minutes later, someone rang the door bell. The door being duly opened, nobody appeared on the house-step. Joseph looked into the letter-box, and found a note addressed to his mistress, in his master’s handwriting. He immediately delivered it.

Hitherto, Mrs. Gallilee had only been anxious. Joseph, waiting for events outside the door, heard the bell rung furiously; and found his mistress (as he forcibly described it) “like a woman gone distracted.” Not without reason — to do her justice. Mr. Gallilee’s method of relieving his wife’s anxiety was remarkable by its brevity. In one sentence, he assured her that there was no need to feel alarmed. In another, he mentioned that he had taken the girls away with him for a change of air. And then he signed his initials — J. G.

Every servant in the house was summoned to the library, when Mrs. Gallilee had in some degree recovered herself.

One after another they were strictly examined; and one after another they had no evidence to give — excepting the maid who had been present when the master took the young ladies away. The little she had to tell, pointed to the inference that he had not admitted the girls to his confidence before they left the house. Maria had submitted, without appearing to be particularly pleased at the prospect of so early a walk. Zo (never ready to exert either her intelligence or her legs) had openly declared that she would rather stay at home. To this the master had answered, “Get your things on directly!” — and had said it so sharply that Miss Zoe stared at him in astonishment. Had they taken anything with them — a travelling bag for instance? They had taken nothing, except Mr. Gallilee’s umbrella. Who had seen Mr. Gallilee last, on the previous night? Joseph had seen him last. The lower classes in England have one, and but one, true feeling of sympathy with the higher classes. The man above them appeals to their hearts, and merits their true service, when he is unsteady on his legs. Joseph nobly confined his evidence to what he had observed some hours previously: he mentioned the parcel. Mrs. Gallilee’s keen perception, quickened by her own experience at the window, arrived at the truth. Those two bulky packages must have contained clothes — left, in anticipation of the journey, under the care of an accomplice. It was impossible that Mr. Gallilee could have got at the girls’ dresses and linen, and have made the necessary selections from them, without a woman’s assistance. The female servants were examined again. Each one of them positively asserted her innocence. Mrs. Gallilee threatened to send for the police. The indignant women all cried in chorus, “Search our boxes!” Mrs. Gallilee took a wiser course. She sent to the lawyers who had been recommended to her by Mr. Null. The messenger had just been despatched, when Mr. Null himself, in performance of yesterday’s engagement, called at the house.

He, too, was agitated. It was impossible that he could have heard what had happened. Was he the bearer of bad news? Mrs. Gallilee thought of Carmina first, and then of Mr. Le Frank.

“Prepare for a surprise,” Mr. Null began, “a joyful surprise, Mrs. Gallilee! I have received a telegram from your son.”

He handed it to her as he spoke.

“September 6th. Arrived at Quebec, and received information of Carmina’s illness. Shall catch the Boston steamer, and sail to-morrow for Liverpool. Break the news gently to C. For God’s sake send telegram to meet me at Queenstown.”

It was then the 7th of September. If all went well, Ovid might be in London in ten days more.

CHAPTER LV.

Mrs. Gallilee read the telegram — paused — and read it again. She let it drop on her lap; but her eyes still rested mechanically on the slip of paper. When she spoke, her voice startled Mr. Null. Usually loud and hard, her tones were strangely subdued. If his back had been turned towards her, he would hardly have known who was speaking to him.

“I must ask you to make allowances for me,” she began, abruptly; “I hardly know what to say. This surprise comes at a time when I am badly prepared for it. I am getting well; but, you see, I am not quite so strong as I was before that woman attacked me. My husband has gone away — I don’t know where — and has taken my children with him. Read his note: but don’t say anything. You must let me be quiet, or I can’t think.”

She handed the letter to Mr. Null. He looked at her — read the few words submitted to him — and looked at her again. For once, his stock of conventional phrases failed him. Who could have anticipated such conduct on the part of her husband? Who could have supposed that she herself would have been affected in this way, by the return of her son?

Mrs. Gallilee drew a long heavy breath. “I have got it now,” she said. “My son is coming home in a hurry because of Carmina’s illness. Has Carmina written to him?”

Mr. Null was in his element again: this question appealed to his knowledge of his patient. “Impossible, Mrs. Gallilee — in her present state of health.”

“In her present state of health? I forgot that. There was something else. Oh, yes! Has Carmina seen the telegram?”

Mr. Null explained. He had just come from Carmina. In his medical capacity, he had thought it judicious to try the moral effect on his patient of a first allusion to the good news. He had only ventured to say that Mr. Ovid’s agents in Canada had heard from him on his travels, and had reason to believe that he would shortly return to Quebec. Upon the whole, the impression produced on the young lady —

It was useless to go on. Mrs. Gallilee was pursuing her own thoughts, without even the pretence of listening to him.

“I want to know who wrote to my son,” she persisted. “Was it the nurse?”

Mr. Null considered this to be in the last degree unlikely. The nurse’s language showed a hostile feeling towards Mr. Ovid, in consequence of his absence.

Mrs. Gallilee looked once more at the telegram. “Why,” she asked, “does Ovid telegraph to You?”

Mr. Null answered with his customary sense of what was due to himself. “As the medical attendant of the family, your son naturally supposed, madam, that Miss Carmina was under my care.”

The implied reproof produced no effect. “I wonder whether my son was afraid to trust us?” was all Mrs. Gallilee said. It was the chance guess of a wandering mind — but it had hit the truth. Kept in ignorance of Carmina’s illness by the elder members of the family, at what other conclusion could Ovid arrive, with Zo’s letter before him? After a momentary pause, Mrs. Gallilee went on. “I suppose I may keep the telegram?” she said.

Prudent Mr. Null offered a copy — and made the copy, then and there. The original (he explained) was his authority for acting on Mr. Ovid’s behalf, and he must therefore beg leave to keep it. Mrs. Gallilee permitted him to exchange the two papers. “Is there anything more?” she asked. “Your time is valuable of course. Don’t let me detain you.”

“May I feel your pulse before I go?”

She held out her arm to him in silence.

The carriage came to the door while he was counting the beat of the pulse. She glanced at the window, and said, “Send it away.” Mr. Null remonstrated. “My dear lady, the air will do you good.” She answered obstinately and quietly, “No” — and once more became absorbed in thought.

It had been her intention to combine her first day of carriage exercise with a visit to Teresa’s lodgings, and a personal exertion of her authority. The news of Ovid’s impending return made it a matter of serious importance to consider this resolution under a new light. She had now, not only to reckon with Teresa, but with her son. With this burden on her enfeebled mind — heavily laden by the sense of injury which her husband’s flight had aroused — she had not even reserves enough of energy to spare for the trifling effort of dressing to go out. She broke into irritability, for the first time. “I am trying to find out who has written to my son. How can I do it when you are worrying me about the carriage? Have you ever held a full glass in your hand, and been afraid of letting it overflow? That’s what I’m afraid of — in my mind — I don’t mean that my mind is a glass — I mean — ” Her forehead turned red.
“Will
you leave me?” she cried.