Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1751 page)

The ‘cat’ was Sir John’s daughter. She had just met Miss Pillico on the lawn, and had only been noticed by a formal bow. Sour Bess looked after the lady-doctor with an expression of devilish malice which was not lost on Mrs Crossmichael. ‘An enemy to Sophia!’ she whispered to her sister. ‘Ah, Miss Dowager, it’s a long time since we have seen each other. You’re looking remarkably well. Have you, too, been consulting Miss Pillico?’ She took Bess’s arm in the friendliest manner, and walked away with her to the farther end of the garden.

I
X

‘Well Lois!’

‘Don’t come near me, or you will spoil everything! One word. Did that man make you another offer when you were at Windsor?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you refused him again?’

‘Certainly!’

‘And you still think Otto is worth having?’

‘I can’t live without him!’

‘Otto is yours.’

‘Half an hour afterwards, Mr Fitzmark received a letter, marked Private: ‘After such conduct as yours no young lady, in my sister’s position, could condescend to explain herself. I think it right, however, to inform you — merely to remove a false impression from your mind — that the gentleman who has excited your jealousy (and no wonder, for he is in every way your superior) has made her a proposal of marriage, and has, to my sincere regret, been refused. It is needless to add that you will not be received, if you venture to call again at my father’s house. — L. C.’

The despatch of this letter was followed by a bolder experiment still.

When the garden-party had come to an end, and the guests were at home again, Miss Pillico received Mrs Crossmichael’s visiting card — with a line on it in pencil: ‘I should be glad to say two words, if quite convenient.’ Mrs Crossmichael had produced a favourable impression in the garden — the interview was immediately granted.

‘You are naturally surprised to see me again, after I have already had the pleasure of meeting you. Events have happened — no! I had better not trouble you with the events, except on condition. The condition is, that you will kindly reply to a question which I must ask first.’ So Salome’s sister opened fire on the enemy. The enemy only bowed.

‘A lady possessed of your personal advantages, who follows your profession,’ Mrs Crossmichael proceeded, ‘excites admiration (especially among the men) for other qualities besides her medical ability — ’

‘I don’t desire such admiration,’ Miss Pillico interposed; ‘and I never notice it.’

‘Not even in the case of one of your most ardent admirers — Mr Otto Fitzmark?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Allow me to beg your pardon, Miss Pillico, for an intrusion which has,
now,
no excuse. I came here — without Mr Fitzmark’s knowledge — to make a very painful communication (so far as our family is concerned), in which, as I foolishly imagined, a duty — a friendly duty — might be involved towards yourself. Pray accept my excuses. Good evening.’

‘Stop, Mrs Crossmichael! Did you say duty was involved?’

‘I did, Miss Pillico.’

‘An act of duty is too serious to be trifled with. Will it help you if we
suppose
that I have noticed the feeling of admiration to which you refer?’

‘Thank you — it will help very much.’

‘Pray go on.’

‘I trust to your honour, Miss Pillico, to keep what I am about to say, a profound secret. Before Mr Fitzmark had the honour of becoming acquainted with you, his attentions to my sister were a subject of general remark among our friends. He called this morning in a state of indescribable confusion and distress, to inform her that his sentiments had undergone a change; the attractions of some other lady, as I strongly suspect, being answerable for this result. I have merely to add (speaking from my own experience) that he is an exceedingly shy man. He is also — according to his own account of it — subject to some extraordinary delusion, which persuades him that he can never marry. My own idea is, that this is a mere excuse; a stupid falsehood invented to palliate his conduct to my sister. As I think, she is well out of it. I have no opinion of Mr Fitzmark; and I should consider it my duty,’ Mrs Crossmichael proceeded, with an expression of undisguised malignity — ’my bounden duty to warn any lady, in whom I was interested, against encouraging the addresses of such a false and fickle man. If you ask how you are interested in hearing this, I can only own that, like other foolish women, I act on impulse, and often regret it too late. Once more, good evening.’

Salome was waiting at home, eager to know how the interview had ended. Mrs Crossmichael described it in these words:

‘I have assumed the character, my dear, of your vindictive sister; eager to lower the man who has jilted you, in Sophia’s estimation. The trap is set — thanks to that charming girl, Sir John’s daughter. To-morrow will show if Pillico walks into it.’

X

To-morrow did show. Mrs Crossmichael received a reply to her letter, from Mr Fitzmark.

‘I entreat you to intercede for me. No words can tell how ashamed I am of my conduct, and how I regret the inexcusable jealousy which led to it. Salome — no! I dare not speak of her in that familiar way — Miss Salome is too good and too noble not to forgive a sincerely penitent man. I know how utterly unworthy of her I am; and I dare not hope to obtain more than my pardon. May she be happy! — is the only wish I can now presume to form.

‘One word more, relating to myself, before I close these lines.

‘I was foolish enough, when I made that ever-to-be-regretted visit, to hint at an obstacle to my entering the marriage state. It all originated in a mistaken view, taken by Miss Sophia Pillico, of the state of my heart. She called medically this morning, and applied the stethoscope as before: the result seemed to surprise her. She asked how many times I had taken my medicine, — I said, Twice. Digitalis, she thereupon remarked, was a wonderful remedy. She also said that she might, in her anxiety, have taken an exaggerated view of my case, and have alarmed me without reason. Her conduct, after this, was so extraordinary that I cannot pretend to describe it. She waited, after the examination was over, and seemed to expect me to say something more. I waited, on my side, for a word of explanation. She flew into a rage, and told me to provide myself with another doctor. What does it mean?

‘Being naturally interested in finding out whether there was anything the matter with me or not, I called on the resident medical man in this neighbourhood. He took great pains with me; and he admitted that I had an overburdened heart.

‘God knows that this is true enough! But the cause assigned makes me blush while I write. It seems that I eat too much — and my full stomach presses against my heart, “Live moderately, and take a long walk every day,” the doctor said; “and there isn’t an Office in London that won’t be glad to insure your life.”

‘Do me one last favour. Pray don’t let Miss Salome know about my stomach!’

Private Note by the Editor
— When Mrs Crossmichael showed this letter to her sister, she said, ‘Now I have bowled Pillico out at last!’ Quite a mistake. Sophia publicly alluded to her brief professional connection with Mr Fitzmark, in these terms: ‘Other women view the approach of age with horror — I look to it myself with impatience and hope. At my present time of life, stupid male patients persist in falling in love with me. Mr Fitzmark was a particularly offensive instance of this. No words can say what a relief it is to me to hear, that he is going to marry Miss Salome Skirton.’

I

She is at the present time, as I have every reason to believe, the most distinguished woman in England — she has never written a novel.

I first saw her on board of our steamship, bound from New York to Liverpool. She was accompanied by her dog; and there occurred a little difference of opinion between the commander of the vessel and herself.

The captain began it with his customary politeness:

‘Excuse me, Miss: I must beg you to submit to a little disappointment. You can’t have your dog with you in the saloon. Dogs are not allowed, on board our ships, among the passengers.’

To this the young lady answered: ‘And pray, sir, — if these tyrannical regulations are to be carried out — where is my dog to go?’

‘Your dog is to go Miss, to the butcher.’

‘You brute!’

I declare it on my word of honour, she did actually express her opinion in those terms to the only absolute despot now to be found on the face of the earth — the commander of a ship, afloat on his own vessel. What an ill-natured man might have done under these circumstances I hardly like to guess. Our captain’s sweet temper saw the humorous side of the insult offered to him; he burst out laughing. I stepped up, before the lady’s answer could express itself in stronger language still, and tried the effect of polite explanation.

‘The butcher at sea.’ I said, ‘is like the butcher on shore. In spite of his calling, Miss, he is not, generally speaking, of a bloodthirsty disposition. Our man here is accustomed to take care of passenger’s dogs. He will let you see
your
dog whenever you please; and the one risk you pet will be likely to run is the risk of being too well fed. May I be allowed to lead you to the forward part of the vessel, so that you can judge for yourself?’

We were rolling, at the time, as usual in all well-regulated Atlantic steam ships. I took the greatest care of our charming passenger; and she took the greatest care of her dog.The captain gave me a look as we passed him. I was sacrificing some of the precious time included in my turn of rest below. He attributed this act of folly (as he afterwards told me) to the influence of love at first sight. Having suffered, as will be presently seen, from concealment of the truth by other persons, I am all the readier to speak frankly of myself. The captain’s interpretation of my conduct was undeniably correct. While the young lady, the butcher, and the dog were all three in course of arriving at a friendly understanding, I reached a conclusion in my own private mind. ‘Whether she is above me, or whether she is below me,’ I said to myself, ‘is something which remains to be discovered. But this I know already. Either I have found my wife, or I shall live and die an unmarried man.’

Who am I? And who is she?

I am Evan Fencote, first officer of the ship, and third son of a country gentleman; left a widower at my birth. He spent all his money in a great lawsuit, and died leaving barely enough to pay his debts and to bury him. I had to get my own living, and I got it at sea. My stature is five feet ten inches; my age is thirty-two; my temper is considered impetuous — and that is all I have to say for myself on the present occasion.

My young lady is Miss Mira Ringmore, daughter of an Englishman established in business in the United States. Her father had recently married for the second time. The new wife hated Miss Ringmore and Miss Ringmore hated the new wife. Being of age, and having her own little income (inherited from her mother), she had nothing to do but to please herself. Happening to notice our ship in the harbour — dressed in flags in honour of the captain’s birthday — she took a fancy to our pretty colours; felt an impulse to go back to the old country with us; and followed the lead of her own feelings at a day’s notice. Having friends on the other side — I mean in England — she purposed to visit them, beginning with her maternal aunt, a single lady whose kindness she remembered with gratitude in the time when she was a child.