Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1741 page)

Long Fallas was our country seat. There was no hunting; the shooting was let; the place was seven miles from Timbercombe town and station; and our nearest neighbour was a young Ritualistic clergyman, popularly reported in the village to be starving himself to death. I declined my mother’s extraordinary proposal without a moment’s hesitation. Cecilia, with the readiest and sweetest submission, accepted it.

This was our first open difference of opinion. Even without the Spectacles I could see that my mother hailed it as a good sign. She had consented to our marriage in the spring, without in the least altering her opinion that the angelic Zilla was the right wife for me. ‘Settle it between yourselves, my dears,’ she said, and left her chair to look for her work. Cecilia rose immediately to save her the trouble.

The instant their backs were turned on me I put on the terrible glasses. Is there such a thing in anatomy as a back view of the heart? There is such a thing assuredly when you look through the Devil’s Spectacles. My mother’s private sentiments presented themselves to me, as follows: ‘If they don’t get thoroughly sick of each other in a winter at Long Fallas I give up all knowledge of human nature. He shall marry Zilla yet.’ Cecilia’s motives asserted themselves with transparent simplicity in these words, ‘His mother fully expects me to say “No.” Horrible as the prospect is, I’ll disappoint her by saying “Yes.”‘

‘Horrible as the prospect is’ was to my mind a very revolting expression, considering that I was personally included in the prospect. My mother’s mischievous test of our affection for each other now presented itself to me in the light of a sensible proceeding. In the solitude of Long Fallas, I should surely discover whether Cecilia was about to marry me for my money or for myself. I concealed my Spectacles, and said nothing at the time. But later, when my mother entered the drawing-room dressed to go out for dinner, I waylaid her, quite willing to go to Long Fallas. Cecilia came in dressed for dinner also. She had never looked so irresistibly lovely as when she was informed of my change of opinion. ‘What a happy time we shall have,’ she said, and smiled as if she really meant it?

They went away to their party. I was in the library when they returned. Hearing the carriage stop at the door I went out into the hall, and was suddenly checked on my way to the ladies by the sound of a man’s voice: ‘Many thanks; I am close at home now.’ My mother’s voice followed: ‘I will let you know if we go to the country, Sir John. You will ride over and see us?’ ‘With thee greatest pleasure. Good-night, Miss Cecilia.’ There was no mistaking the tone in which those last four words were spoken. Sir John’s accent expressed indescribable tenderness. I retired again to the library.

My mother came in, followed by her charming companion.

‘Here is a new complication,’ she said. ‘Cecilia doesn’t want to go to Long Fallas.’ I asked why. Cecilia answered, without looking at me, ‘Oh, I have changed my mind. She turned aside to relieve my mother of her fur cloak. I instantly consulted my Spectacles, and obtained my information in these mysterious terms: ‘Sir John goes to Timbercombe.’

Very short, and yet suggestive of more than one interpretation. A little inquiry made the facts more clear. Sir John had been one of the guests at the dinner, and he and Cecilia had shaken hands like old friends. At my mother’s request, he had been presented to her. He had produced such an excellent impression that she had taken him in her carriage part of his way home. She had also discovered that he was about to visit a relative living at Timbercombe (already mentioned, I think, as our nearest town). Another momentary opportunity with the Spectacles completed my discoveries. Sir John had proposed marriage (unsuccessfully) to Cecilia, and being still persistently in love with her, only wanted a favourable opportunity to propose again. The excellent impression which he had produced on my mother was perfectly intelligible now.

In feeling reluctant to give her rejected lover that other opportunity, was Cecilia afraid of Sir John, or afraid of herself? My Spectacles informed me that she deliberately declined to face that question, even in her thoughts.

Under these circumstances, the test of a dreary winter residence at Long Fallas became, to my mind, more valuable than ever. Single-handed, Cecilia might successfully keep up appearances and deceive other people, though she might not deceive me. But, in combination with Sir John, there was a chance that she might openly betray the true state of her feelings. If I was really the favoured man, she would, of course, be dearer to me than ever. If not (with more producible proof than the Devil’s Spectacles to justify me), I need not hesitate to break off the engagement.

‘Second thoughts are not always best, dear Cecilia,’ I said. ‘Do me a favour. Let us try Long Fallas, and if we find the place quite unendurable, let us return to London.’

Cecilia looked at me and hesitated — looked at my mother, and submitted to Long Fallas in the sweetest manner. The more they were secretly at variance, the better the two ladies appeared to understand each other.

We did not start for the country until three days afterward. The packing up was a serious matter to begin with, and my mother prolonged the delay by paying a visit to her niece at the school in the country. She kept the visit a secret from Cecilia, of course. But even when we were alone, and when I asked about Zilla, I was only favoured with a very brief reply. She merely lifted her eyes to Heaven, and said, ‘Perfectly charming!’

I
V      THE TEST OF LONG FALLAS

We had had a week of it. If we had told each other the truth we should have said, ‘Let us go back to London.’

Thus far there had been no signs of Sir John. The Spectacles informed me that he had arrived at Timbercombe, and that Cecilia had written to him. But, strangely enough, they failed to disclose what she had said. Has she forgotten it already, or was there some defect, hitherto unsuspected, in my supernatural glasses?

Christmas Day was near at hand. The weather was, so far, almost invariably misty and wet. Cecilia began to yawn over her favourite intellectual resources. My mother waited with superhuman patience for events. As for myself, having literally nothing else to amuse me, I took to gratifying an improper curiosity in the outlying regions of the family circle. In plain English, I discovered a nice little needle-woman, who was employed at Long Fallas. Her name was Miss Peskey. When nobody was looking, I amused myself with Miss Peskey.

Let no person of strict principles be alarmed. It was an innocent flirtation, on my side; and the nice little needle-woman rigidly refused to give me the smallest encouragement. Quite a young girl, Miss Peskey had the self-possession of a mature woman. She allowed me time to see that she had a trim little figure, soft blue eyes, and glossy golden hair; and then, in the sweetest of voices, respectfully requested me to leave her to her work. If I tried to persuade her to let me stay a little longer, she rose meekly, and said ‘I shall, most unwillingly, be compelled to place myself under the protection of the housekeeper.’ Once I attempted to take her hand. She put her handkerchief to her eyes and said, ‘Is it manly, sir, to insult a defenceless girl?’ In one word, Miss Peskey foiled me at every point. For the first week I never even got the chance of looking at her through the Devil’s Spectacles.

On the first day of the new week the weather cleared up wonderfully; spring seemed to have come to us in the middle of winter.

Cecilia and I went out riding. On our return, having nothing better to do, I accompanied the horses back to the stables, and naturally offended the groom, who thought I was ‘watching him.’ Returning toward the house, I passed the window of the ground-floor room, at the back of the building, devoted to the needlewoman. A railed yard kept me at a respectful distance, but at the same time gave me a view of the interior of the room. Miss Peskey was not alone; my mother was with her. They were evidently talking, but not a word reached my ears. It mattered nothing. While I could see them through my Spectacles, their thoughts were visible to me before they found their way into words.

My mother was speaking — ’Well, my dear, have you formed your opinion of him yet?’

Miss Peskey replied, ‘Not quite yet.’

‘You are wonderfully cautious in arriving at a conclusion. How much longer is this clever contrivance of yours to last?’

‘Give me two days more, dear madam; I can’t decide until Sir John helps me.’

‘Is Sir John really coming here?’

‘I think so.’

‘And have
you
managed it?’

‘If you will kindly excuse me, I would rather not answer just yet.’

The housekeeper entered the room, and called my mother away on some domestic business. As she walked to the door, I had time to read her thought before she went out — ’Very extraordinary to find such resources of clever invention in such a young girl!’

Miss Peskey, left in maiden meditation with her work on her lap, smiled to herself. I turned the glasses on her, and made a discovery that petrified me. To put it plainly, the charming needlewoman was deceiving us all (with the one exception of my mother) under an assumed name and vocation in life. Miss Peskey was no other than my cousin Zilla, ‘the Angel of the school!’

Let me do my poor mother justice. She was guilty of the consenting to the deception, and of no more. The invention of the trick, and the entire responsibility of carrying it out, rested wholly and exclusively with Miss Zilla, aged seventeen.

I followed the train of thought which my mother’s questions had set going in the mind of this young person. To justify my own conduct, I must report the result as briefly as I can. Have you heard of ‘fasting’ girls? have you heard of ‘mesmeric’ girls? have you heard of girls (in the newspapers) who have invented the most infamous charges against innocent men? Then don’t accuse my Spectacles of seeing impossible sights!

My report of Miss Zilla’s thoughts, as they succeeded each other, begins as follows:

First Thought: ‘My small fortune is all very well; but I want to be mistress of a great establishment, and get away from school. Alfred, dear fellow, is reported to have fifteen thousand a year. Is his mother’s companion to be allowed to catch this rich fish, without the least opposition? Not if I know it!’

Second Thought: ‘How very simple old people are! His mother visits me, invites me to Long Fallas, and expects me to cut out Cecilia. Men are such fools (the writing master has fallen in love with me) that she would only have to burst out crying, and keep him to herself. I have proposed a better way than fair fighting for Alfred, suggested by a play I read the other day. The old mother consents, with conditions. “I am sure you will do nothing, my dear, unbecoming to a young lady. Win him, as Miss Hardcastle won Mr Marlow in She Stoops to Conquer, if you like; but do nothing to forfeit your self-respect.” What astonishing simplicity! Where
did
she go to school when she was young?’

Third Thought: ‘How amazingly lucky that Cecilia’s maid is lazy, and that the needlewoman dines in the servants’ hall! The maid had the prospect of getting up before six in the morning, to be ready to go in the chaise-car with the servant who does the household errands at Timbercombe — and for what? To take a note from her mistress to Sir John, and wait for an answer. The good little needlewoman hears this, smiles, and says, “I don’t mind how early I get up; I’ll take it for you, and bring back the answer.”‘

Fourth Thought: ‘What a blessing it is to have blue eyes and golden hair! Sir John was quite struck with me. I thought at the time he would do instead of Alfred. Fortunately I have since asked the simple old mother about him. He is a poor baronet. Not to be thought of for an instant. “My Lady” — without a corresponding establishment! Too dreadful! But I didn’t throw away my fascinations. I saw him wince when he read the letter. “No bad news, I hope, sir,” I ventured to say. He shook his head solemnly. “Your mistress” (he took me, of course, for Cecilia’s maid) forbids me to call at Long Fallas.” I thought to myself what a hypocrite Cecilia must be, and I said modestly to Sir John, to keep up appearances. Our private arrangement is that he is to ride over to Long Fallas to-morrow, and wait in the shrubbery at half-past two. If it rains or snows he is to try the next fine day. In either case the poor needlewoman will ask for a half holiday, and will induce Miss Cecilia to take a little walk in the right direction. Sir John gave me two sovereigns and a kiss at parting. I accepted both tributes with the most becoming humility. He shall have his money’s worth, though he is a poor baronet; he shall meet his young lady in the shrubbery. And I may catch the rich fish, after all!’