Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1390 page)

CHAPTER L. THE NEWS FROM THE FARM.

When I next heard from Miss Jillgall, the introductory part of her letter merely reminded me that Philip Dunboyne was established in the town, and that Helena was in daily communication with him. I shall do Selina no injustice if my extract begins with her second page.

“You will sympathize, I am sure” (she writes), “with the indignation which urged me to call on Philip, and tell him the way to the farmhouse. Think of Helena being determined to marry him, whether he wants to or not! I am afraid this is bad grammar. But there are occasions when even a cultivated lady fails in her grammar, and almost envies the men their privilege of swearing when they are in a rage. My state of mind is truly indescribable. Grief mingles with anger, when I tell you that my sweet Euneece has disappointed me, for the first time since I had the happiness of knowing and admiring her. What can have been the motive of her refusal to receive her penitent lover? Is it pride? We are told that Satan fell through pride. Euneece satanic? Impossible! I feel inclined to go and ask her what has hardened her heart against a poor young man who bitterly regrets his own folly. Do you think it was bad advice from the farmer or his wife? In that case, I shall exert my influence, and take her away. You would do the same, wouldn’t you?

“I am ashamed to mention the poor dear Minister in a postscript. The truth is, I don’t very well know what I am about. Mr. Gracedieu is quiet, sleeps better than he did, eats with a keener appetite, gives no trouble. But, alas, that glorious intellect is in a state of eclipse! Do not suppose, because I write figuratively, that I am not sorry for him. He understands nothing; he remembers nothing; he has my prayers.

“You might come to us again, if you would only be so kind. It would make no difference now; the poor man is so sadly altered. I must add, most reluctantly, that the doctor recommends your staying at home. Between ourselves, he is little better than a coward. Fancy his saying; ‘No; we must not run that risk yet.’ I am barely civil to him, and no more.

“In any other affair (excuse me for troubling you with a second postscript), my sympathy with Euneece would have penetrated her motives; I should have felt with her feelings. But I have never been in love; no gentleman gave me the opportunity when I was young. Now I am middle-aged, neglect has done its dreary work — my heart is an extinct crater. Figurative again! I had better put my pen away, and say farewell for the present.”

Miss Jillgall may now give place to Eunice. The same day’s post brought me both letters.

I should be unworthy indeed of the trust which this affectionate girl has placed in me, if I failed to receive her explanation of her conduct toward Philip Dunboyne, as a sacred secret confided to my fatherly regard. In those later portions of her letter, which are not addressed to me confidentially, Eunice writes as follows:

“I get news — and what heartbreaking news! — of my father, by sending a messenger to Selina. It is more than ever impossible that I can put myself in the way of seeing Helena again. She has written to me about Philip, in a tone so shockingly insolent and cruel, that I have destroyed her letter. Philip’s visit to the farm, discovered I don’t know how, seems to have infuriated her. She accuses me of doing all that she might herself have done in my place, and threatens me — No! I am afraid of the wicked whisperings of that second self of mine if I think of it. They were near to tempting me when I read Helena’s letter. But I thought of what you said, after I had shown you my Journal; and your words took my memory back to the days when I was happy with Philip. The trial and the terror passed away.

“Consolation has come to me from the best of good women. Mrs. Staveley writes as lovingly as my mother might have written, if death had spared her. I have replied with all the gratitude that I really feel, but without taking advantage of the services which she offers. Mrs. Staveley has it in her mind, as you had it in your mind, to bring Philip back to me. Does she forget, do you forget, that Helena claims him? But you both mean kindly, and I love you both for the interest that you feel in me.

“The farmer’s wife — dear good soul! — hardly understands me so well as her husband does. She confesses to pitying Philip. ‘He is so wretched,’ she says. ‘And, dear heart, how handsome, and what nice, winning manners! I don’t think I should have had your courage, in your place. To tell the truth, I should have jumped for joy when I saw him at the door; and I should have run down to let him in — and perhaps been sorry for it afterward. If you really wish to forget him, my dear, I will do all I can to help you.’

“These are trifling things to mention, but I am afraid you may think I am unhappy — and I want to prevent that.

“I have so much to be thankful for, and the children are so fond of me. Whether I teach them as well as I might have done, if I had been a more learned girl, may perhaps be doubtful. They do more for their governess, I am afraid, than their governess does for them. When they come into my room in the morning, and rouse me with their kisses, the hour of waking, which used to be so hard to endure after Philip left me, is now the happiest hour of my day.”

With that reassuring view of her life as a governess, the poor child’s letter comes to an end.

CHAPTER LI. THE TRIUMPH OF MRS. TENBRUGGEN.

Miss Jillgall appears again, after an interval, on the field of my extracts. My pleasant friend deserves this time a serious reception. She informs me that Mrs. Tenbruggen has begun the inquiries which I have the best reason to dread — for I alone know the end which they are designed to reach.

The arrival of this news affected me in two different ways.

It was discouraging to find that circumstances had not justified my reliance on Helena’s enmity as a counter-influence to Mrs. Tenbruggen. On the other hand, it was a relief to be assured that my return to London would serve, rather than compromise, the interests which it was my chief anxiety to defend. I had foreseen that Mrs. Tenbruggen would wait to set her enterprise on foot, until I was out of her way; and I had calculated on my absence as an event which would at least put an end to suspense by encouraging her to begin.

The first sentences in Miss Jillgall’s letter explain the nature of her interest in the proceedings of her friend, and are, on that account, worth reading.

“Things are sadly changed for the worse” (Selina writes); “but I don’t forget that Philip was once engaged to Euneece, and that Mr. Gracedieu’s extraordinary conduct toward him puzzled us all. The mode of discovery which dear Elizabeth suggested by letter, at that time, appears to be the mode which she is following now. When I asked why, she said: ‘Philip may return to Euneece; the Minister may recover — and will be all the more likely to do so if he tries Massage. In that case, he will probably repeat the conduct which surprised you; and your natural curiosity will ask me again to find out what it means. Am I your friend, Selina, or am I not?’ This was so delightfully kind, and so irresistibly conclusive, that I kissed her in a transport of gratitude. With what breathless interest I have watched her progress toward penetrating the mystery of the girls’ ages, it is quite needless to tell you.”

.......

Mrs. Tenbruggen’s method of keeping Miss Jillgall in ignorance of what she was really about, and Miss Jillgall’s admirable confidence in the integrity of Mrs. Tenbruggen, being now set forth on the best authority, an exact presentation of the state of affairs will be completed if I add a word more, relating to the positions actually occupied toward Mrs. Tenbruggen’s enterprise, by my correspondent and myself.

On her side, Miss Jillgall was entirely ignorant that one of the two girls was not Mr. Gracedieu’s daughter, but his adopted child. On my side, I was entirely ignorant of Mrs. Tenbruggen’s purpose in endeavoring to identify the daughter of the murderess. Speaking of myself, individually, let me add that I only waited the event to protect the helpless ones — my poor demented friend, and the orphan whom his mercy received into his heart and his home.

Miss Jillgall goes on with her curious story, as follows:

.......

“Always desirous of making myself useful, I thought I would give my dear Elizabeth a hint which might save time and trouble. ‘Why not begin,’ I suggested, ‘by asking the Governor to help you?’ That wonderful woman never forgets anything. She had already applied to you, without success.

“In my next attempt to be useful, I did violence to my most cherished convictions, by presenting the wretch Helena to the admirable Elizabeth. That the former would be cold as ice, in her reception of any friend of mine, was nothing wonderful. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed it over with the graceful composure of a woman of the world. In the course of conversation with Helena, she slipped in a question: ‘Might I ask if you are older than your sister?’ The answer was, of course: ‘I don’t know.’ And here, for once, the most deceitful girl in existence spoke the truth.

“When we were alone again, Elizabeth made a remark: ‘If personal appearance could decide the question,’ she said, ‘the disagreeable young woman is the oldest of the two. The next thing to be done is to discover if looks are to be trusted in this case.’

“My friend’s lawyer received confidential instructions (not shown to me, which seems rather hard) to trace the two Miss Gracedieus’ registers of birth. Elizabeth described this proceeding (not very intelligibly to my mind) as a means of finding out which of the girls could be identified by name as the elder of the two.

“The report arrived this morning. I was only informed that the result, in one case, had entirely defeated the inquiries. In the other case, Elizabeth had helped her agent by referring him to a Birth, advertised in the customary columns of the
Times
newspaper. Even here, there was a fatal obstacle. The name of the place in which Mr. Gracedieu’s daughter had been born was not added, as usual. I still tried to be useful. Had my friend known the Minister’s wife? My friend had never even seen the Minister’s wife. And, as if by a fatality, her portrait was no longer in existence. I could only mention that Helena was like her mother. But Elizabeth seemed to attach very little importance to my evidence, if I may call it by so grand a name. ‘People have such strange ideas about likenesses,’ she said, ‘and arrive at such contradictory conclusions. One can only trust one’s own eyes in a matter of that kind.’

“My friend next asked me about our domestic establishment. We had only a cook and a housemaid. If they were old servants who had known the girls as children, they might be made of some use. Our luck was as steadily against us as ever. They had both been engaged when Mr. Gracedieu assumed his new pastoral duties, after having resided with his wife at her native place.

“I asked Elizabeth what she proposed to do next.

“She deferred her answer, until I had first told her whether the visit of the doctor might be expected on that day. I could reply to this in the negative. Elizabeth, thereupon, made a startling request; she begged me to introduce her to Mr. Gracedieu.

“I said: ‘Surely, you have forgotten the sad state of his mind?’ No; she knew perfectly well that he was imbecile. ‘I want to try,’ she explained, ‘if I can rouse him for a few minutes.’

“‘By Massage?’ I inquired.

“She burst out laughing. ‘Massage, my dear, doesn’t act in that way. It is an elabourate process, pursued patiently for weeks together. But my hands have more than one accomplishment at their finger-ends. Oh, make your mind easy! I shall do no harm, if I do no good. Take me, Selina, to the Minister.’

“We went to his room. Don’t blame me for giving way; I am too fond of Elizabeth to be able to disappoint her.

“It was a sad sight when we went in. He was quite happy, playing like a child, at cup-and-ball. The attendant retired at my request. I introduced Mrs. Tenbruggen. He smiled and shook hands with her. He said: ‘Are you a Christian or a Pagan? You are very pretty. How many times can you catch the ball in the cup?’ The effort to talk to her ended there. He went on with his game, and seemed to forget that there was anybody in the room. It made my heart ache to remember what he was — and to see him now.

“Elizabeth whispered: ‘Leave me alone with him.’

“I don’t know why I did such a rude thing — I hesitated.

“Elizabeth asked me if I had no confidence in her. I was ashamed of myself; I left them together.

“A long half-hour passed. Feeling a little uneasy, I went upstairs again and looked into the room. He was leaning back in his chair; his plaything was on the floor, and he was looking vacantly at the light that came in through the window. I found Mrs. Tenbruggen at the other end of the room, in the act of ringing the bell. Nothing in the least out of the ordinary way seemed to have happened. When the attendant had answered the bell, we left the room together. Mr. Gracedieu took no notice of us.