Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1421 page)

When Hugh’s visit came to an end, he continued his journey in a northerly direction. The property left to him by his father included a cottage, standing in its own grounds, on the Scotch shore of the Solway Firth. The place had been neglected during the long residence of the elder Mr. Mountjoy on the Continent. Hugh’s present object was to judge, by his own investigation, of the necessity for repairs.

On the departure of his guest, Mr. Henley (still obstinately hopeful of the marriage on which he had set his mind) assumed a jocular manner towards Iris, and asked if the Scotch cottage was to be put in order for the honeymoon. Her reply, gently as it was expressed, threw him into a state of fury. His vindictive temper revelled, not only in harsh words, but in spiteful actions. He sold one of his dogs which had specially attached itself to Iris; and, seeing that she still enjoyed the country, he decided on returning to London.

She submitted in silence. But the events of that past time, when her father’s merciless conduct had driven her out of his house, returned ominously to her memory. She said to herself: “Is a day coming when I shall leave him again?” It was coming — and she little knew how.

CHAPTER XVI

THE DOCTOR IN FULL DRESS

MR. HENLEY’S household had been again established in London, when a servant appeared one morning with a visiting card, and announced that a gentleman had called who wished to see Miss Henley. She looked at the card. The gentleman was Mr. Vimpany.

On the point of directing the man to say that she was engaged, Iris checked herself.

Mrs. Vimpany’s farewell words had produced a strong impression on her. There had been moments of doubt and gloom in her later life, when the remembrance of that unhappy woman was associated with a feeling (perhaps a morbid feeling) of self-reproach. It seemed to be hard on the poor penitent wretch not to have written to her. Was she still leading the same dreary life in the mouldering old town? Or had she made another attempt to return to the ungrateful stage? The gross husband, impudently presenting himself with his card and his message, could answer those questions if he could do nothing else. For that reason only Iris decided that she would receive Mr. Vimpany.

On entering the room, she found two discoveries awaiting her, for which she was entirely unprepared.

The doctor’s personal appearance exhibited a striking change; he was dressed, in accordance with the strictest notions of professional propriety, entirely in black. More remarkable still, there happened to be a French novel among the books on the table — and that novel Mr. Vimpany, barbarous Mr. Vimpany, was actually reading with an appearance of understanding it!

“I seem to surprise you,” said the doctor. “Is it this?” He held up the French novel as he put the question.

“I must own that I was not aware of the range of your accomplishments,” Iris answered.

“Oh, don’t talk of accomplishments! I learnt my profession in Paris. For nigh on three years I lived among the French medical students. Noticing this book on the table, I thought I would try whether I had forgotten the language — in the time that has passed (you know) since those days. Well, my memory isn’t a good one in most things, but strange to say (force of habit, I suppose), some of my French sticks by me still. I hope I see you well, Miss Henley. Might I ask if you noticed the new address, when I sent up my card?”

“I only noticed your name.”

The doctor produced his pocket-book, and took out a second card. With pride he pointed to the address: “5 Redburn Road, Hampstead Heath.” With pride he looked at his black clothes. “Strictly professional, isn’t it?” he said. “I have bought a new practice; and I have become a new man. It isn’t easy at first. No, by jingo — I beg your pardon — I was about to say, my own respectability rather bothers me; I shall get used to it in time. If you will allow me, I’ll take a liberty. No offence, I hope?”

He produced a handful of his cards, and laid them out in a neat little semicircle on the table.

“A word of recommendation, when you have the chance, would be a friendly act on your part,” he explained. “Capital air in Redburn Road, and a fine view of the Heath out of the garret windows — but it’s rather an out-of-the-way situation. Not that I complain; beggars mustn’t be choosers. I should have preferred a practice in a fashionable part of London; but our little windfall of money — ”

He came to a full stop in the middle of a sentence. The sale of the superb diamond pin, by means of which Lord Harry had repaid Mrs. Vimpany’s services, was, of all domestic events, the last which it might be wise to mention in the presence of Miss Henley. He was awkwardly silent. Taking advantage of that circumstance, Iris introduced the subject in which she felt interested.

“How is Mrs. Vimpany?” she asked.

“Oh, she’s all right!”

“Does she like your new house?”

The doctor made a strange reply. “I really can’t tell you,” he said.

“Do you mean that Mrs. Vimpany declines to express an opinion?”

He laughed. “In all my experience,” he said, “I never met with a woman who did that! No, no; the fact is, my wife and I have parted company. There’s no need to look so serious about it! Incompatibility of temper, as the saying is, has led us to a friendly separation. Equally a relief on both sides. She goes her way, I go mine.”

His tone disgusted Iris — and she let him see it. “Is it of any use to ask you for Mrs. Vimpany’s address?” she inquired.

His atrocious good-humour kept its balance as steadily as ever: “Sorry to disappoint you. Mrs. Vimpany hasn’t given me her address. Curious, isn’t it? The fact is, she moped a good deal, after you left us; talked of her duty, and the care of her soul, and that sort of thing. When I hear where she is, I’ll let you know with pleasure. To the best of my belief, she’s doing nurse’s work somewhere.”

“Nurse’s work? What do you mean?”

“Oh, the right thing — all in the fashion. She belongs to what they call a Sisterhood; goes about, you know, in a shabby black gown, with a poke bonnet. At least, so Lord Harry told me the other day.”

In spite of herself, Iris betrayed the agitation which those words instantly roused in her. “Lord Harry!” she exclaimed. “Where is he? In London?”

“Yes — at Parker’s Hotel.”

“When did he return?”

“Oh, a few days ago; and — what do you think? — he’s come back from the goldfields a lucky man. Damn it, I’ve let the cat out of the bag! I was to keep the thing a secret from everybody, and from you most particularly. He’s got some surprise in store for you. Don’t tell him what I’ve done! We had a little misunderstanding, in past days, at Honeybuzzard — and, now we are friends again, I don’t want to lose his lordship’s interest.”

Iris promised to be silent. But to know that the wild lord was in England again, and to remain in ignorance whether he had, or had not, returned with the stain of bloodshed on him, was more than she could endure.

“There is one question I must ask you,” she said. “I have reason to fear that Lord Harry left this country, with a purpose of revenge — ”

Mr. Vimpany wanted no further explanation. “Yes, yes; I know. You may be easy about that. There’s been no mischief done, either one way or the other. The man he was after, when he landed in South Africa (he told me so himself) has escaped him.”

With that reply, the doctor got up in a hurry to bring his visit to an end. He proposed to take to flight, he remarked facetiously, before Miss Henley wheedled him into saying anything more.

After opening the door, however, he suddenly returned to Iris, and added a last word in the strictest confidence.

“If you won’t forget to recommend me to your friends,” he said, “I’ll trust you with another secret. You will see his lordship in a day or two, when he returns from the races. Good-bye.”

The races! What was Lord Harry doing at the races?

CHAPTER XVII

ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH

IRIS had only to remember the manner in which she and Mountjoy had disappointed her father, to perceive the serious necessity of preventing Mountjoy’s rival from paying a visit at Mr. Henley’s house.

She wrote at once to Lord Harry, at the hotel which Mr. Vimpany had mentioned, entreating him not to think of calling on her. Being well aware that he would insist on a meeting, she engaged to write again and propose an appointment. In making this concession, Iris might have found it easier to persuade herself that she was yielding to sheer necessity, if she had not been guiltily conscious of a feeling of pleasure at the prospect of seeing Lord Harry again, returning to her an innocent man. There was some influence, in this train of thought, which led her mind back to Hugh. She regretted his absence — wondered whether he would have proposed throwing her letter to the Irish lord into the fire — sighed, closed the envelope, and sent the letter to the post.

On the next day, she had arranged to drive to Muswell Hill, and to pay the customary visit to Rhoda. Heavy rain obliged her to wait for a fitter opportunity. It was only on the third day that the sky cleared, and the weather was favourable again. On a sunshiny autumn morning, with a fine keen air blowing, she ordered the open carriage. Noticing, while Fanny Mere was helping her to dress, that the girl looked even paler than usual, she said, with her customary kindness to persons dependent on her, “You look as if a drive in the fresh air would do you good — you shall go with me to the farm, and see Rhoda Bennet.”

When they stopped at the house, the farmer’s wife appeared, attending a gentleman to the door. Iris at once recognised the local medical man. “You’re not in attendance, I hope, on Rhoda Bennet?” she said.

The doctor acknowledged that there had been some return of the nervous derangement from which the girl suffered. He depended mainly (he said) on the weather allowing her to be out as much as possible in the fresh air, and on keeping her free from all agitation. Rhoda was so far on the way to recovery, that she was now walking in the garden by his advice. He had no fear of her, provided she was not too readily encouraged, in her present state, to receive visitors. Her mistress would be, of course, an exception to this rule. But even Miss Henley would perhaps do well not to excite the girl by prolonging her visit. There was one other suggestion which he would venture to make, while he had the opportunity. Rhoda was not, as he thought, warmly enough clothed for the time of year; and a bad cold might be easily caught by a person in her condition.

Iris entered the farm-house; leaving Fanny Mere, after what the doctor had said on the subject of visitors, to wait for her in the carriage.

After an absence of barely ten minutes Miss Henley returned; personally changed, not at all to her own advantage, by the introduction of a novelty in her dress. She had gone into the farmhouse, wearing a handsome mantle of sealskin. When she came out again, the mantle had vanished, and there appeared in its place a common cloak of drab-coloured cloth. Noticing the expression of blank amazement in the maid’s face, Iris burst out laughing.

“How do you think I look in my new cloak?” she asked.

Fanny saw nothing to laugh at in the sacrifice of a sealskin mantle. “I must not presume, Miss, to give an opinion,” she said gravely.

“At any rate,” Iris continued, “you must be more than mortal if my change of costume doesn’t excite your curiosity. I found Rhoda Bennet in the garden, exposed to the cold wind in this ugly flimsy thing. After what the doctor had told me, it was high time to assert my authority. I insisted on changing cloaks with Rhoda. She made an attempt, poor dear, to resist; but she knows me of old — and I had my way. I am sorry you have been prevented from seeing her; you shall not miss the opportunity when she is well again. Do you admire a fine view? Very well; we will vary the drive on our return. Go back,” she said to the coachman, “by Highgate and Hampstead.”

Fanny’s eyes rested on the shabby cloak with a well-founded distrust of it as a protection against the autumn weather. She ventured to suggest that her mistress might feel the loss (in an open carriage) of the warm mantle which she had left on Rhoda’s shoulders.

Iris made light of the doubt expressed by her maid. But by the time they had passed Highgate, and had approached the beginning of the straight road which crosses the high ridge of Hampstead Heath, she was obliged to acknowledge that she did indeed feel the cold. “You ought to be a good walker,” she said, looking at her maid’s firm well-knit figure. “Exercise is all I want to warm me. What do you say to going home on foot?” Fanny was ready and willing to accompany her mistress. The carriage was dismissed, and they set forth on their walk.