Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2032 page)

Mercy
(
aside, wondering at him
). How strangely unlike what I fancied he would be!

Julian
(
eating and talking
). I came here by way of Kensington Gardens. For some time past I have been living in a flat, ugly, barren, agricultural district. You can’t think how pleasant I found the picture of the Gardens as a contrast on this bright winter’s day. The smart nursery-maids and the lovely children, and the people skating on the ice of the Round Pond — all so exhilarating after what I have been used to, that I actually caught myself whistling as I walked through the brilliant scene. Who do you think I met, while I was in full song?

Mercy
(
still wondering.
) I can’t guess.

Julian.
My bishop! If I had been whistling a sacred melody, his lordship might have excused my vulgarity out of consideration for my music. Unfortunately I was whistling an air from an opera — familiar, no doubt to his lordship on the street organs. When I took off my hat to him he looked the other way. (
He lays down his knife and fork and speaks more seriously.
) Strange; in a world that is bursting with sin and sorrow, to attach importance to such a trifle as a cheerful clergyman whistling a tune! I have never been able to see why we should set ourselves up as belonging to a particular caste, and as being forbidden, in any harmless thing, to do as other people do. One of the great obstacles in the way of our doing good among our fellow-creatures is raised by the mere assumption of the clerical costume and the clerical voice. For my part, I set up no claim to be more sacred or more reverend than any other Christian man who does what good he can. (
He returns to the pie and resumes his livelier tone.
) Are you a Radical? I am.

Mercy
(
astonished
). A Radical!

Julian.
Don’t be alarmed. Public opinion has called me by harder names than that. I have been spending my time lately — as I told you just now — in an agricultural district. My business there was to perform the duty for the rector of the place, who wanted a holiday. How do you think the experiment has ended? The squire of the parish calls me a communist; the farmers denounce me as an incendiary; my friend the rector has been recalled in a hurry; and I have now the honour of speaking to you in the character of a banished man, who has made a respectable neighbourhood too hot to hold him. (
He brings his chair nearer to the sofa.
)

Mercy
(
aside
). Can this be the preacher whom I heard at the Refuge?

Julian
(
seating himself
). You will be naturally anxious to know what my offence was? Do you understand Political Economy and the laws of Supply and Demand?

Mercy
(
still wondering
). No.

Julian.
No more do I — in a Christian country. That was my offence. You shall hear my confession in two words. (
His tone alters again; he speaks seriously.
) I had no idea of what the life of a farm labourer really was, in some parts of England, until I undertook the rector’s duties. Never before had I seen such dire wretchedness as I saw in the cottages. Never before had I met with such noble patience under suffering as I found among the people. The martyrs of old could endure and die. I asked myself if they could endure and live, like the martyrs whom I saw round me? live, week after week, month after month, year after year, on the brink of starvation; live and see their pining children growing up round them, to work and want in their turn; live, with the poor man’s parish-prison to look to as the end, when hunger and labour have done their worst! Was God’s beautiful earth made to hold such misery as this? I can hardly think of it, I can hardly speak of it, even now, with dry eyes.

Mercy
(
aside
). Now I begin to know him again!

Julian
(
continuing
). I did all I could to plead for the helpless ones. I went round among the holders of the land to say a word for the tillers of the land. “They don’t want much,” I said; “in the name of Heaven, give them enough to live on.” Political Economy shrieked at the horrid proposal. The laws of Supply and Demand veiled their majestic faces in dismay. Starvation wages were the right wages I was told. And why? Because the labourer was obliged to accept them! I determined — so far as one man could do it — that the labourer should not be obliged to accept them. I collected my own resources — I wrote to my friends — and I removed some of the poor fellows to other parts of England, where their work was better paid. Such was the conduct which made the neighbourhood too hot to hold me. It doesn’t matter — -I mean to go on. I am known in London — I can raise subscriptions. The laws of Supply and Demand shall find labour scarce in that agricultural district — and Political Economy shall spend a few extra shillings on the poor, as certainly as I am that radical, communist, and incendiary, Julian Gray. (
He rises.
)

Mercy
(
rising and taking out her purse
). Allow me to offer my little tribute, such as it is.

Julian
(
in his lighter tone
). No, no. Though I
am
a parson, I don’t carry the begging-box everywhere. (MERCY
opens her purse with a gesture of entreaty.
) You persist? Don’t tempt me. The frailest of all human creatures is a clergyman tempted by a subscription. (MERCY
forces the money on him.
) Must I take it? Thank you for setting the good example. Thank you for giving the timely help. What name shall I put down on the list?

Mercy
(
confusedly
). No name. My subscription is anonymous. (
The door on the left opens,
LADY JANET
appears dressed to go out, followed by
HORACE. MERCY
sees them, and directs
JULIAN’S
attention to them.
) Here is Lady Janet.

Lady J.
(
surprised
). Julian!

Julian.
My dear aunt, you are looking charmingly. (
He kisses
LADY J.
on the cheek, and gives his hand to
HORACE.) How do you do, Horace?

Lady J.
(
to
JULIAN). When did you come?

(MERCY
and
HORACE
walk aside.
)

Julian.
About ten minutes since. (
He whispers.
) Who is the young lady?

Lady J.
(
slyly
). Are you interested in her?

Julian.
Indescribably.

Lady J.
(
calling to
MERCY). My dear! (MERCY
approaches.
LADY J.
introduces
JULIAN.) Let me formally introduce my nephew. Miss Grace Roseberry — (JULIAN
starts.
) What’s the matter?

Julian.
Nothing.

Mercy
(
aside
). He started when he heard my name!

Julian.
Don’t trouble yourself to introduce me, Lady Janet. (
He bows to
MERCY.) I have already ventured to introduce myself. (
He turns to
HORACE.) Are you staying here, Horace?

Horace.
Yes.

Lady J.
(
to
JULIAN). Your old room is ready for you, Julian, if you will stay too.

Julian.
With the greatest pleasure. Don’t let me disarrange any of your plans. Are you going out?

Lady J.
(
addressing
MERCY). I have ordered the carriage, my dear, expressly on your account. The fine frosty air is sure to do you good.

Mercy
. Thank you, Lady Janet. I will go and get ready. (
She crosses to the door on the left, and looking back at
JULIAN
while she opens it, speaks aside.
) Why did he start when he heard my name? (
She goes out.
)

Julian
(
eagerly to
LADY J.). Where did you meet with that charming creature?

Lady J.
Gently, Julian. That young lady is the daughter of a relative of ours by marriage — the late Colonel Roseberry. For the present she is living with me as
my
daughter —
 
—

Horace
(
interposing
). And in a fortnight more she will be living with me — as my wife.

Julian
(
astonished
). Your wife!

Horace
(
sharply
). May I ask if you disapprove of the marriage?

Lady J.
Nonsense, Horace. Julian congratulates you, of course.

Julian
(
mechanically
). I congratulate you, of course.

Lady J.
(
to
JULIAN). Talking of ladies and marriage, who is the lady you mentioned in your letter? Is she the future Mrs. Julian Gray?

Julian
(
seriously
). She is a perfect stranger to me.

Lady J.
A perfect stranger! You wrote me word you were interested in her.

Julian.
Certainly, and, what is more,
you
are interested in her, too.

Lady J.
No mysteries, Julian. Explain yourself.

Horace
(
to
JULIAN). Am I in the way?

Julian.
Not at all. As Miss Roseberry’s future husband you are in your right place.

Horace.
What has Miss Roseberry got to do with it?

Julian.
Wait a little. You have heard me speak, aunt, of the English Consul at Mannheim?

Lady J.
Yes — an old friend of yours.

Julian.
I found a letter from the Consul waiting for me on my return to London. The letter presented to me a certain friendless English lady, who had a statement to make in which I might be interested. She had been traveling near the French frontier soon after the outbreak of the war, and she had been accidentally wounded by a German bullet.

Horace
(
starting
). Can this be the woman whom I saw in the French cottage? I was told she had been killed by the bullet.

Julian.
It may be the same. The person I speak of was restored to life by an operation. The surgeon was a German, named Ignatius Wetzel.

Horace.
I know him! It is the same woman!.

Lady J.
Pardon me Julian. What interest have I in all this?

Julian.
You will see directly. The Consul first heard of the lady in the hospital at Mannheim — and went to make inquiries. She was then delirious. All the authorities could do was to show a name marked on her clothes, the name of “Mercy Merrick.” No papers were found on her and nothing more was discovered until the medical treatment had restored her to herself. The Consul saw her soon afterwards, and naturally addressed her by the name of “Merrick.” She informed him that he was mistaken. Her name was
not
“Merrick.”