Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (184 page)

Consternation and amazement so thoroughly overpowered him, that he suffered his visitor to lock the door against all intruders, and then to lead him peremptorily to a chair, without uttering a single word of inquiry or expostulation. All though the narrative, on which Mat now entered, he sat totally speechless, until Mr. Thorpe’s letter was placed in his hands, and he was informed that Madonna was still to be left entirely under his own care. Then, for the first time, his cheeks showed symptoms of returning to their natural colour, and he exclaimed fervently, “Thank God! I shan’t lose her after all! I only wish you had begun by telling me of that, the moment you came into the room!”

Saying this, he began to read Mr. Thorpe’s letter. When he had finished it, and looked up at Mat, the tears were in his eyes.

“I can’t help it,” said the simple-hearted painter. “It would even affect
you,
Mr. Grice, to be addressed in such terms of humiliation as these. How can he doubt my forgiving him, when he has a right to my everlasting gratitude for not asking me to part with our darling child? They never met — he has never, never, seen her face,” continued Valentine, in lower and fainter tones. “She always wore her veil down, by my wish, when we went out; and our walks were generally into the country, instead of town way. I only once remember seeing him coming towards us; and then I crossed the road with her, knowing we were not on terms. There’s something shocking in father and daughter living so near each other, yet being — if one may say so — so far, so very far apart. It is dreadful to think of that. It is far more dreadful to think of its having been
her
hand which held up the hair for you to look at, and
her
little innocent action which led to the discovery of who her father really was!”

“Do you ever mean to let her know as much about it as we do?” asked Matthew.

The look of dismay began to appear again in Valentine’s face. “Have you told Zack, yet?” he inquired, nervously and eagerly.

“No,” said Mat; “and don’t
you!
When Zack’s on his legs again, he’s going to take a voyage, and get a season’s hunting along with me in the wild country over the water. I’m as fond of the lad as if he was a bit of my own flesh and blood. I cottoned to him when he hit out so hearty for me at the singing-shop — and we’ve been brothers together ever since. You mightn’t think it, to look at me; but I’ve spared Zack’s father for Zack’s sake; and I don’t ask no more reward for it than to take the lad a hunting for a season or two along with me. When he comes back home again, and we say Good-bye, I’ll tell him all what’s happened; but I won’t risk bringing so much as a cross look into his eyes now, by dropping a word to him of what’s passed betwixt his father and me.”

Although this speech excited no little surprise and interest in Valentine’s mind, it did not succeed in suspending the anxieties which had been awakened in him by Matthew’s preceding question, and which he now began to feel the necessity of confiding to Mrs. Blyth — his grand counselor in all difficulties, and unfailing comforter in all troubles.

“Do you mind waiting here,” he said, “while I go upstairs, and break the news to my wife? Without her advice I don’t know what to do about communicating our discovery to the poor dear child. Do you mind waiting?”

No: Matthew would willingly wait. Hearing this, Mr. Blyth left the room directly.

He remained away a long time. When he came back, his face did not seem to have gained in composure during his absence.

“My wife has told me of another discovery,” he said, “which her motherly love for our adopted daughter enabled her to make some time since. I have been sadly surprised and distressed at hearing of it. But I need say no more on the subject to you, than that Mrs. Blyth has at once decided me to confide nothing to Madonna — to Mary, I ought to say — until Zack has got well again and has left England. When I heard just now, from you, of his projected voyage, I must confess I saw many objections to it. They have all been removed by what my wife has told me. I heartily agree with her that the best thing Zack can do is to make the trip he proposes. You are willing to take care of him; and I honestly believe that we may safely trust him with you.”

A serious difficulty being thus disposed of, Valentine found leisure to pay some attention to minor things. Among other questions which he now asked, was one relating to the Hair Bracelet, and to the manner in which Matthew had become possessed of it. He was answered by the frankest confession, a confession which tried even
his
kindly and forbearing disposition to the utmost, as he listened to it; and which drew from him, when it was ended, some of the strongest terms of reproach that had ever passed his lips.

Mat listened till he had done; then, taking his hat to go, muttered a few words of rough apology, which Valentine’s good-nature induced him to accept, almost as soon as they were spoken. “We must let bygones be bygones,” said the painter. “You have been candid with me, at last, at any-rate; and, in recognition of that candor, I say ‘Good-night, Mr. Grice,’ as a friend of yours still.”

When Mat returned to Kirk Street, the landlady came out of her little parlor to tell him of a visitor who had been to the lodgings in his absence. An elderly lady, looking very pale and ill, had asked to see young Mr. Thorpe, and had prefaced the request by saying that she was his mother. Zack was then asleep, but the lady had been taken up stairs to see him in bed — had stooped over him, and kissed him — and had then gone away again, hastily, and in tears. Matthew’s face grew grave as he listened, but he said nothing when the landlady had done, except a word or two charging her not to mention to Zack what had happened when he woke. It was plain that Mrs. Thorpe had been told her husband’s secret, and that she had lovingly devoted herself to him, as comforter and companion to the last.

When the doctor paid his regular visit to the invalid, the next morning, he was called on immediately for an answer to the important question of when Zack would be fit to travel. After due consideration and careful inspection of the injured side of the patient’s head, he replied that in a month’s time the lad might safely go on board ship; and that the sea-voyage proposed would do more towards restoring him to perfect health and strength, than all the tonic medicines that all the doctors in England could prescribe.

Matthew might have found the month’s inaction to which he was now obliged to submit for Zack’s sake, rather tedious, but for the opportune arrival in Kirk Street of a professional visitor from Dibbledean.

Though his client had ungratefully and entirely forgotten him, Mr. Tatt had not by any means forgotten his client, but had, on the contrary, attended to his interests with unremitting resolution and assiduity. He had discovered that Mat was entitled, under his father’s will, to no less a sum than two thousand pounds, if his identity could be properly established. To effect this result was now, therefore, the grand object of Mr. Tatt’s ambition. He had the prospect, not only of making a little money, but of establishing a reputation in Dibbledean, if he succeeded — and, by dint of perseverance, he ultimately did succeed. He carried Mat about to all sorts of places, insisted on his signing all sorts of papers and making all sorts of declarations, and ended by accumulating such a mass of evidence before the month was out, that Mr. Nawby, as executor to “the late Joshua Grice,” declared himself convinced of the claimant’s identity.

On being informed of this result, Mat ordered the lawyer, after first deducting the amount of his bill from the forthcoming legacy, to draw him out such a legal form as might enable him to settle his property forthwith on another person. When Mr. Tatt asked to be furnished with the name of this person, he was told to write “Martha Peckover.”

“Mary’s child has got you to look after her, and money enough from her father to keep her,” said Mat, as he put the signed instrument into Valentine’s hands. “When Martha Peckover’s old and past her work, she may want a bank-note or two to fall back on. Give her this, when I’m gone — and say she earned it from Mary’s brother, the day she stopped and suckled Mary’s child by the road-side.”

The day of departure drew near. Zack rallied so rapidly, that he was able, a week before it arrived, to go himself and fetch the letter from his father which was waiting for him at the Agent’s office. It assured him, briefly, but very kindly, of the forgiveness which he had written to ask — referred him to the man of business for particulars of the allowance granted to him, while he pursued his studies in the Art, or otherwise occupied himself — urged him always to look on Mr. Blyth as the best friend and counselor that he could ever have — and ended by engaging him to write often about himself and his employments, to his mother; sending his letters to be forwarded through the Agent. When Zack, hearing from this gentleman that his father had left the house in Baregrove Square, desired to know what had occasioned the change of residence, he was only informed that the state of Mr. Thorpe’s health had obliged him to seek perfect retirement and repose: and that there were reasons at present for not mentioning the place of his retreat to any one, which it was not deemed expedient for his son to become acquainted with.

The day of departure arrived.

In the morning, by Valentine’s advice, Zack wrote to his mother; only telling her, in reference to his proposed trip, that he was about to travel to improve and amuse himself, in the company of a friend, of whom Mr. Blyth approved. While he was thus engaged, the painter had a private interview with Matthew Grice, and very earnestly charged him to remember his responsibilities towards his young companion. Mat answered briefly and characteristically: “I told you I was as fond of him as if he was a bit of my own flesh and blood. If you don’t believe I shall take care of him, after that — I can’t say nothing to make you.”

Both the travelers were taken up into Mrs. Blyth’s room to say Farewell. It was a sad parting. Zack’s spirits had not been so good as usual, since the day of his visit to the Agent’s — and the other persons assembled were all more or less affected in an unusual degree by the approaching separation. Madonna had looked ill and anxious — though she would not own to having anything the matter with her — for some days past. But now, when she saw the parting looks exchanged around her, the poor girl’s agitation got beyond her control, and became so painfully evident, that Zack wisely and considerately hurried over the farewell scene. He went out first. Matthew followed him to the landing — then stopped — and suddenly retraced his steps.

He entered the room again, and took his sister’s child by the hand once more; bent over her as she stood pale and in tears before him, and kissed her on the cheek. “Tell her some day that me and her mother was playmates together,” he said to Mrs. Blyth, as he turned away to join Zack on the stairs.

Valentine accompanied them to the ship. When they shook hands together, he said to Matthew; “Zack has engaged to come back in a year’s time. Shall we see
you
again with him?”

Mat took the painter aside, without directly answering him.

“If ever you go to Bangbury,” he whispered, “look into the churchyard, in the dark corner amongst the trees. There’s a bit of walnut-wood planking put up now at the place where she’s buried; and it would be a comfort to me to know that it was kep’ clean and neat. I should take it kind of you if you’d give it a brush or two with your hand when you’re near it — for I never hope to see the place myself; no more.”

Sadly and thoughtfully, Valentine returned alone to his own house. He went up at once to his wife’s room.

As he opened the door, he started, and stopped on the threshold. Madonna was sitting on the couch by her adopted mother, with her face hidden on Mrs. Blyth’s bosom, and her arms clasped tight round Mrs. Blyth’s neck.

“Have you ventured to tell her all, Lavvie?” he asked.

Mrs. Blyth was not able to speak in answer — she looked at him with tearful eyes, and bowed her head.

Valentine lingered at the door for a moment-then softly closed it, and left them together.

CLOSING CHAPTER. A YEAR AND A HALF AFTERWARDS.

It is sunset after a fine day in August, and Mr. Blyth is enjoying the evening breeze in the invalid room.

Besides the painter and his wife, and Madonna, two visitors are present, who occupy both the spare beds in the house. One is Mrs. Thorpe, the other Mrs. Peckover; and they have been asked to become Valentine’s guests, to assist at the joyful ceremony of welcoming Zack to England on his return from the wilds of America. He has outstayed his year’s leave of absence by nearly six months; and his appearance at Mr. Blyth’s has become an event of daily, or more properly, of hourly expectation.