Works of Ellen Wood, page 921
“Naturally he is anxious for my safety, Karl; for the sake of his own self-interest.”
“Precisely so. He would rather keep you here in danger than suffer you to escape to freedom. Do you know anything of his antecedents!”
“Nothing. For all I can tell, as to who or what the man was before that night he rescued me, he might have dropped from the moon.”
“And since then it has been the business of your life to conciliate him, Adam!”
“What would you! The man knows that I am Adam Andinnian: and, knowing it, he holds a sword over me. Is it worth my while, or not, to try to keep it from falling!”
Karl sighed deeply. He saw all the intricacies of the case; and, what, was worse, he saw no outlet from them. If only he could but feel that his brother was passably safe at the Maze, he would have been less uneasy: but a secret instinct, that he surely believed was a prevision, warned him of danger.
“I wish, with my whole heart, Adam, that you had never come here!” broke from him, in his dire perplexity, the reiterated cry. Sir Adam threw down the “Art Journal,” and turned to confront his brother, leaning a little forward in his chair. His face was flushed, his voice took a tone of passion, even his beautiful teeth looked stem. —
“Karl, did you ever try to realize to yourself all the horrors of my position at Portland?” he asked. “I, a gentleman, with a gentleman’s habits — and a man to whom freedom of will and of limb was as the very essence of life — was condemned for ever to a manacled confinement; to mate with felons; to be pointed at as one of a herd of convict labourers. A felon myself, you will perhaps say; but I do not recognize it. Had I been guilty of aught disgraceful? No. What I did, in shooting that man Scott, I was perfectly justified in doing, after my solemn warning to him. Remember, it was my wife he insulted that evening; not simply, as the world was allowed to believe, my young neighbour, Miss Rose Turner. What should you feel if some low reprobate seized your wife, Lucy, before your eyes, and pressed his foul kisses on her innocent face? Your blood would be up, I take it.”
“Adam, since I knew she was your wife I have almost held you justified.”
“To go on. Can you realize a tithe of what it was for me on Portland Island?”
“From the time you went there until I heard of your death, I never ceased to realize it in my own soul night or day.”
“Karl, I believe it. I remember what your sensitively tender nature always used to be. And we did care for each other, old fellow.”
“Ay, and do.”
“Well, compare that life I escaped from with this that I lead now. Here I am, so to say, a free man, at perfect liberty within these small bounds, my wife for my companion, my table at my command, master on my own estate, the revenues of which I divide with you that you may be the baronet to the world and keep up Foxwood. As fate has fallen, Karl, I could not be so happy anywhere as here.”
“I know; I know. But it is the risk I fear.”
“There must be some risk everywhere.”
“Answer me truly — as you would to your own heart, Adam. If by some miracle you could be transported safely to a far-off land, would you not feel more secure there than here?”
“Yes. And for Rose’s sake I would go if I could; she is just as apprehensive here as you. But I can’t. When Smith says I must not attempt to get away, he is right. I feel that he is. The man’s interest lies in my safety, and I believe he thinks my safety lies in my remaining here.” —
“Just so,” said Karl. “Smith is the stumbling-block.”
“Well, he holds the reins, you see. It is no use trying to fight against his opinion: besides, I think he is right. However that may be, I can’t afford to come to a rupture with him. Good heavens, Karl! fancy his sending me back in irons to Portland! That will never be, however,” added Sir Adam more calmly, “for I would not be taken alive. I or my capturers should fall.” —
He put his hand inside his white waistcoat, and showed the end of a pistol. One he kept close to him night and day, always loaded, always ready. Karl’s arguments failed him, one by one. As he was helpless to combat the decisions of his wife, so was he helpless here.
And so the interview ended in nothing, just as others had ended.
A black cloud, threatening thunder, had come over the summer’s night when Karl went out. It did not seem to him half so dark as the trouble at his own heart. He would have given his life freely, to purchase security for his brother.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER I.
The Maze Invaded
THE previous night’s black cloud had culminated in a thunder-storm, and the morning air felt fresh and cool; but the blue sky was clear, the sun as bright as ever.
Lucy came down with sad eyes and a pale face. Her night had been one of mental pain. She was wondering how much longer she could keep up this mask of cheerfulness — which she would especially have to wear that day; and she knew that she could not have done it at all, then or at any other time, but for the very present help of God. Karl, waiting in the breakfast-room, turned to shake hands with her. But for their being alone, he would not have ventured on this eminently suggestive action.
“How are you to-day, Lucy?”
“Oh, quite well, thank you. Did you hear the storm?”
“Yes. It has cleared away some of the sultry heat. We shall have a lovely day.”
The Lloyds were expected from Basham. When at the flower-show the previous day, Lucy had remarked that some of the hot-house plants were not as fine as those at Foxwood: upon that, the General and one of his daughters had simultaneously expressed a wish to see those at Foxwood. Lucy at once gave the invitation; and it was arranged that they should spend the next day at the Court She had told her husband of this while Captain Lamprey was present; but it had not been alluded to afterwards. She spoke again now, while she and Karl were waiting breakfast for Miss Blake, who was at Matins at St. Jerome’s.
“I could not do less than ask them,” she observed. “I hope you are not vexed.”
“You did quite right, Lucy,” he cheerfully answered. “I shall be glad to see them.”
“I don’t know how many will come. Perhaps all; except Mrs. Lloyd, who never goes out anywhere. I hope Theresa will give up St. Jerome’s for the rest of the day, and stay at home to help me entertain them.” Karl smiled. “To make sure of that you should invite Mr. Cattacomb.”
“But you would not like that, would you?”
“No. I was only joking, Lucy. Here she is.”
The Lloyds had said they would come early, and Karl strolled out to meet the eleven o’clock train, leaving his wife decorating her drawing-room with flowers. Unhappy though Lucy was, she was proud of her home, and pleased that it should find admiration in the eyes of the world.
As Karl was passing Clematis Cottage, he saw Mr. Smith seated at the open window, leisurely enjoying the freshened air, and smoking a cigar. Karl had been wanting to take a close, observant view of him; and he turned in on the spur of the moment The asking for something which he really required afforded an excuse. Mr. Smith rose up to receive him graciously, and threw his half-smoked cigar out at the window.
“I think you have the plan of the out-lying lands of the estate, Mr. Smith, where the new cottages are to be built? Will you spare it to me in the course of the day? I will send Hewitt for it.”
“Certainly, Sir Karl; it is at your service. Won’t you take a seat? The bit of a breeze at this open window is quite refreshing.”
Karl sat down. Mr. Smith’s green glasses lay on the table, and he could enjoy as clear a view of him as he pleased. The agent talked away, all unconscious no doubt that notes were being taken of his face and form.
“It is his own hair,” mentally spoke Karl. “‘Very dark brown,’ they said; ‘nearly black.’ Just so. At the time of the escape Salter had neither whiskers nor beard nor moustache: the probability being, they thought, that he had now a full crop of all. Just so, again. Eyebrows: thick and arched, Grimley said: these are not thick; nor, what I should call, arched: perhaps there may be some way of manipulating eyebrows, and these have undergone the process. Eyes brown: yes. Face fresh and pleasant: yes. Voice and manners free and genial: yes. Age? — there I can’t make the two ends meet. I am sure this man’s forty. Is it Salter, or is it not?” finally summed up Karl. “I don’t know, I think it is: but I don’t know.”
“Truefit the farmer spoke to me yesterday, Sir Karl,” broke in Mr. Smith on his musings. “He was asking whether you and Lady Andinnian viewed this new farce on his grounds with approbation. That’s what he called it — farce. Meaning St. Jerome’s.”
“I suppose he does not like it,” observed Karl.
“I fancy he does not really care about it himself, one way or the other, Sir Karl; in fact, he signified as much. But it seems his better-half, Mrs. Truefit, has taken a prejudice against it: calling the ceremonies ‘goings-on,’ and ‘rubbish,’ and ‘scandal,’ and all sorts of depreciating things. It is a pity Mr. Cattacomb can’t confine himself to tolerable common-sense. The idea of their hanging that bell outside over the door, and pulling it perpetually!” — .
“Yes,” said Karl. “So much nonsense takes all solemnity away.”
“They are going to dress Tom Pepp in a white garment now, while he rings it, with a red cross down the back. It’s that, I fancy, that has put up Mrs. Truefit. I told the farmer that I believed Sir Karl and Lady Andinnian did not favour the place: at least, that I had never seen them attend it.”
“And you never will,” returned Karl, as he rose.
There was nothing to stay for; his observations were taken, and he departed, having to walk quickly to be in time at the station. Had he been free in mind the matters connected with St. Jerome’s might have vexed him more than they did: but all annoyances were lost sight of in his one great care.
The train came in, and the party arrived by it; six of them. Captain Lloyd, who was at home on leave; two Miss Lloyds; a married sister and her husband, Mr and Mrs. Panton, at present staying on a visit; and the General.
Karl had expressed pleasure at his wife’s invitation; perhaps had felt it; but he could not foresee the unlucky contretemps that the visit was to bring forth. To his unbounded astonishment, his inward confusion, no sooner had his guests entered Foxwood Court, than they expressed a wish to see the place called the Maze, and requested Sir Karl to conduct them to it “I was telling Panton about the Maze last night — talking of the Court and its surroundings,” observed the General. “Panton does not believe it possible that one could lose oneself in any maze whatever: so I promised him he should have a try at it. You will afford us the opportunity of seeing it, Sir Karl.”
“I — I am not sure,” stammered Karl, utterly taken aback, while his wife’s face flushed a burning red. “I hardly think it is in my power, General. The lady who inhabits it desires to keep herself so very quiet, that I should not feel justified in intruding upon her. She is not in strong health, I believe.”
“But we would not think of disturbing the lady,” called out all the voices together. “We only wish to see the maze of trees, Sir Karl: not the dwelling-house. What’s her name?”
“Grey.”
“Well, we shall not hurt her. Does she live by herself?”
“While her husband is abroad. I am sure she will not choose to be intruded upon.”
Sir Karl might as well have talked to the winds. All opposed him. Of course there was no suspicion that he had any personal objection; only that he wished to respect the scruples of his lady-tenant. At length, the General declared he would go over to Mrs. Grey, ask to see her, and personally prefer the request.
Poor Karl was at his wits’ end. He saw that he should not be able to stem the storm — for he dared not be resolute in the denial, so fearful was he always of arousing any suspicion of there being a mystery in the place — and he was fain to yield. He would take them over, he said; but not before he had sent a note to say that they were coming. This he insisted on; it would be but common politeness, he urged; and they all agreed with him.
Hastily writing a few words to Mrs. Grey in his own room, he called Hewitt to take the note over, and gave him at the same time a private message to deliver to Ann Hopley. Of course Karl’s object was to warn his brother to keep out of sight — and Mrs. Grey too. Hewitt looked more scared than his master.
“To think of their wanting to go over there!” he exclaimed in a low tone of covert fear.
“It can’t be helped, Hewitt. Go.”
A few minutes, and Hewitt came back with a message: which he delivered to his master in public. Mrs. Grey’s compliments to Sir Karl Andinnian, and he was at liberty to bring his friends within her gates if he pleased. So they all started; Lucy with them.
Lucy with them!
The ladies had assumed it to be so much a matter of course that their hostess should accompany them, that Lucy, timid in her self-consciousness, saw not her way clear to any plea of excuse. And it might be that, down deep in her woman’s frail heart, there was a hankering longing to see the inside of that place which contained her rival. In the midst of her indecision she glanced at Karl and hesitated. But he saw not the look or the hesitation: for all the sign he gave out, she was as welcome to go to the place as these guests were. It is true that Miss Blake fixed her eyes upon her, and Lucy coloured under it: but perhaps the very fact only served to speed her on the way.
The party started, passing out at the grand gates of Foxwood. Between that spot and the Maze, short though it was, they encountered Mr. Cattacomb. Miss Blake took upon herself to introduce him, and to ask him to accompany them, saying they were going to see that renowned show-place, the Maze.
“I did not know we had a show-place in the neighbourhood,” drawled Mr. Cattacomb in his affectation.
“Neither have we,” curtly rejoined Sir Karl, who would willingly have pitched Mr. Cattacomb over a mile elsewhere, but did not see an excuse for doing it. “The Maze was never constituted a show-place yet, Miss Blake. I feel anything but comfortable at intruding there to-day, I assure you. Between my wish to gratify my friends, and my fear that it may be objectionable to the occupant of the Maze, I am in a blissful state of uncertainty,” he added in a laughing kind of way, for the general benefit, fearing he might have spoken too pointedly and shown that he was really ill at ease.
“Sir Karl is ultra-sensitive,” remarked Miss Blake — and a keen observer might have fancied there was some sarcasm in her tone.
Karl rang the clanging bell — which might be heard far and wide; and Ann Hopley appeared, the key of the gate in her hand. She curtsied to the company as she admitted them.
“My mistress desires me to say, Sir Karl, that she hopes the gentle-people will see all they wish to see,” cried the woman aloud, addressing the rest as much as she did Sir Karl. “Mrs. Grey begs they will pardon her not appearing to welcome them, but she is not well to-day, and has to keep her room.”
“Mrs. Grey is very kind,” returned Sir Karl. “We shall be cautious not to disturb her.”
They filed of their own accord into the maze. The old trees had not been so beset with gay tongues and laughter for many a day. One ran here, another there; they were like school boys and girls out for a holiday. Ann Hopley was about to follow them in when the clanging bell at the gate once more sounded, and she turned back to open it. Karl, never at rest — as who could be, knowing what he knew — looked after her while he talked with the rest; and he saw that the visitor was a policeman.
His heart leaped into his mouth. Careless, in the moment’s terror, of what might be thought of him, he broke off in the middle of a sentence to the General, and returned to the gate. His face was never very rosy, but every vestige of colour had forsaken it now. At a collected moment, he would have remembered that it was not in that way his brother would have been sought out — in the person of one solitary unarmed policeman — but fear scares probability away: as Rose had observed to him only the previous evening. Worse than all, the rest came flocking to the gate after him.
“Grey, ain’t it?” the policeman was saying to Ann Hopley. He had a paper in his hand and a pencil. “Mrs. Grey,” replied the servant, “Mrs. Grey. There ain’t no husband, I think’?”
“No.”
“What’s her Chris’en name?”
A warning glance shot from Sir Karl’s eyes, cautioning Ann Hopley to be on her guard. In truth it was not needed: the woman was caution itself, and had her ready wits at hand always. Karl saw what it was — some parish paper about to be left — and was recovering his inward equanimity.
“My mistress’s Christian name? Mary.”
“Mrs. Mary Grey,” repeated the policeman, writing down the name on the paper. “You’ll please to give it her,” he added, handing the paper in. “It have got to be attended to.”
“All tax-papers for Mrs. Grey must come to Foxwood Court,” interposed Sir Karl. “Mrs. Grey takes, the house furnished, and has nothing to do with the taxes.”
“Beg pardon, Sir Karl, but that there’s a voting-paper for a poor-law guardian,” said the man, touching his hat.
“Oh, a voting-paper. Let it go in then,” concluded Sir Karl. Mrs. Grey had no more to do with voting than she had with taxes; but Sir Karl let it pass.
They were in the maze again; Ann Hopley having wound herself out of sight with the paper. Mr. Panton, the disbeliever, wound himself in and out of the trees and about the paths; but the voices always guided him back again.
“What a delightful place, Sir Karl!” cried Mrs. Panton. “Quite like a Fair Rosamond’s Bower.”
Sir Karl laughed in reply. And — as Miss Blake noticed — there was not a trace of shame in his face. Lucy’s colour, though, rose painfully.
“Let me see! it was a silken thread, was it not, that guided Queen Eleanor to her rival?” continued Mrs. Panton. “A cruel woman! I wonder whether she carried the bowl of poison in her hand?”
“I wonder if the woman who destroyed the Queen’s happiness, had any forewarning in her dreams of the fate in store for her?” retorted Miss Blake, sharply — for she was thinking of another case, very near to her, that she judged to be analogous. “For her punishment, it is to be hoped she had.”
