A MAD WIFE.
"I'll tell you all about it," said Scone Dacres; "but don't laugh, for
matters like these are not to be trifled with, and I may take
offense."
"Oh, bother, as if I ever laugh at any thing serious! By Jove! no. You
don't know me, old chap."
"All right, then. Well, to begin. This wife that I speak of happened
to me very suddenly. I was only a boy, just out of Oxford, and just
into my fortune. I was on my way to Paris--my first visit--and was
full of no end of projects for enjoyment. I went from Dover, and in
the steamer there was the most infernally pretty girl. Black,
mischievous eyes, with the devil's light in them; hair curly, crispy,
frisky, luxuriant, all tossing over her head and shoulders, and an
awfully enticing manner. A portly old bloke was with her--her father,
I afterward learned. Somehow my hat blew off. She laughed. I laughed.
Our eyes met. I made a merry remark. She laughed again; and there we
were, introduced. She gave me a little felt hat of her own. I fastened
it on in triumph with a bit of string, and wore it all the rest of the
way.
"Well, you understand it all. Of course, by the time we got to Calais,
I was head over heels in love, and so was she, for that matter. The
old man was a jolly old John Bull of a man. I don't believe he had the
slightest approach to any designs on me. He didn't know any thing
about me, so how could he? He was jolly, and when we got to Calais he
was convivial. I attached myself to the two, and had a glorious time.
Before three days I had exchanged vows of eternal fidelity with the
lady, and all that, and had gained her consent to marry me on reaching
England. As to the old man there was no trouble at all. He made no
inquiries about my means, but wrung my hand heartily, and said God
bless me. Besides, there were no friends of my own to consider. My
parents were dead, and I had no relations nearer than cousins, for
whom I didn't care a pin.
"My wife lived at Exeter, and belonged to rather common people; but,
of course, I didn't care for that. Her own manners and style were
refined enough. She had been sent by her father to a very fashionable
boarding-school, where she had been run through the same mould as that
in which her superiors had been formed, and so she might have passed
muster any where. Her father was awfully fond of her, and proud of
her. She tyrannized over him completely. I soon found out that she had
been utterly spoiled by his excessive indulgence, and that she was the
most whimsical, nonsensical, headstrong, little spoiled beauty that
ever lived. But, of course, all that, instead of deterring me, only
increased the fascination which she exercised, and made me more madly
in love than ever.
"Her name was not a particularly attractive one; but what are names!
It was Arethusa Wiggins. Now the old man always called her "Arry,"
which sounded like the vulgar pronunciation of "Harry." Of course I
couldn't call her that, and Arethusa was too infernally long, for a
fellow doesn't want to be all day in pronouncing his wife's name.
Besides, it isn't a bad name in itself, of course; it's poetic,
classic, and does to name a ship of war, but isn't quite the thing for
one's home and hearth.
"After our marriage we spent the honeymoon in Switzerland, and then
came home. I had a very nice estate, and have it yet. You've never
heard of Dacres Grange, perhaps--well, there's where we began life,
and a devil of a life she began to lead me. It was all very well at
first. During the honey-moon there were only a few outbursts, and
after we came to the Grange she repressed herself for about a
fortnight; but finally she broke out in the most furious fashion; and
I began to find that she had a devil of a temper, and in her fits she
was but a small remove from a mad woman. You see she had been humored
and indulged and petted and coddled by her old fool of a father, until
at last she had grown to be the most whimsical, conceited, tetchy,
suspicious, imperious, domineering, selfish, cruel, hard-hearted, and
malignant young vixen that ever lived; yet this evil nature dwelt in a
form as beautiful as ever lived. She was a beautiful demon, and I soon
found it out.
"It began out of nothing at all. I had been her adoring slave for
three weeks, until I began to be conscious of the most abominable
tyranny on her part. I began to resist this, and we were on the verge
of an outbreak when we arrived at the Grange. The sight of the old
hall appeased her for a time, but finally the novelty wore off, and
her evil passions burst out. Naturally enough, my first blind
adoration passed away, and I began to take my proper position toward
her; that is to say, I undertook to give her some advice, which she
very sorely needed. This was the signal for a most furious outbreak.
What was worse, her outbreak took place before the servants. Of course
I could do nothing under such circumstances, so I left the room. When
I saw her again she was sullen and vicious. I attempted a
reconciliation, and kneeling down I passed my arms caressingly around
her. 'Look here,' said I, 'my own poor little darling, if I've done
wrong, I'm sorry, and--'
"Well, what do you think my lady did?"
"I don't know."
"She _kicked me_! that's all; she kicked me, just as I was apologizing
to her--just as I was trying to make it up. She kicked me! when I had
done nothing, and she alone had been to blame. What's more, her boots
were rather heavy, and that kick made itself felt unmistakably.
"I at once arose, and left her without a word. I did not speak to her
then for some time. I used to pass her in the house without looking at
her. This galled her terribly. She made the house too hot for the
servants, and I used to hear her all day long scolding them in a loud
shrill voice, till the sound of that voice became horrible to me.
"You must not suppose, however, that I became alienated all at once.
That was impossible. I loved her very dearly. After she had kicked me
away my love still lasted. It was a galling thought to a man like me
that she, a common girl, the daughter of a small tradesman, should
have kicked me; me, the descendant of Crusaders, by Jove! and of the
best blood in England; but after a while pride gave way to love, and I
tried to open the way for a reconciliation once or twice. I attempted
to address her in her calmer moods, but it was without any success.
She would not answer me at all. If servants were in the room she would
at once proceed to give orders to them, just as though I had not
spoken. She showed a horrible malignancy in trying to dismiss the
older servants, whom she knew to be favorites of mine. Of course I
would not let her do it.
"Well, one day I found that this sort of life was intolerable, and I
made an effort to put an end to it all. My love was not all gone yet,
and I began to think that I had been to blame. She had always been
indulged, and I ought to have kept up the system a little longer, and
let her down more gradually. I thought of her as I first saw her in
the glory of her youthful beauty on the Calais boat, and softened my
heart till I began to long for a reconciliation. Really I could not
see where I had done any thing out of the way. I was awfully fond of
her at first, and would have remained so if she had let me; but, you
perceive, her style was not exactly the kind which is best adapted to
keep a man at a woman's feet. If she had shown the slightest particle
of tenderness, I would have gladly forgiven her all--yes, even the
kick, by Jove!
"We had been married about six months or so, and had not spoken for
over four months; so on the day I refer to I went to her room. She
received me with a sulky expression, and a hard stare full of insult.
"'My dear,' said I, 'I have come to talk seriously with you.'
"'Kate,' said she, 'show this gentleman out.'
"It was her maid to whom she spoke. The maid colored. I turned to her
and pointed to the door, and she went out herself. My wife stood
trembling with rage--a beautiful fury.
"'I have determined,' said I, quietly, 'to make one last effort for
reconciliation, and I want to be heard. Hear me now, dear, dear wife.
I want your love again; I can not live this way. Can nothing be done?
Must I, must you, always live this way? Have I done any wrong? If I
have, I repent. But come, let us forget our quarrel; let us remember
the first days of our acquaintance. We loved one another, darling. And
how beautiful you were! You are still as beautiful; won't you be as
loving? Don't be hard on a fellow, dear. If I've done any wrong, tell
me, and I'll make it right. See, we are joined together for life.
Can't we make life sweeter for one another than it is now? Come, my
wife, be mine again.'
"I went on in this strain for some time, and my own words actually
softened me more as I spoke. I felt sorry, too, for my wife, she
seemed so wretched. Besides, it was a last chance, and I determined to
humble myself. Any thing was better than perpetual hate and misery. So
at last I got so affected by my own eloquence that I became quite
spooney. Her back was turned to me; I could not see her face. I
thought by her silence that she was affected, and, in a gush of
tenderness, I put my arm around her.
"In an instant she flung it off, and stepped back, confronting me with
a face as hard and an eye as malevolent as a demon.
"She reached out her hand toward the bell.
"'What are you going to do?' I asked.
"'Ring for my maid,' said she.
[Illustration: "VERY WELL. HERE IT IS."]
"'Don't,' said I, getting between her and the bell. 'Think; stop, I
implore you. This is our last chance for a reconciliation.'
"She stepped back with a cruel smile. She had a small penknife in her
hand. Her eyes glittered venomously.
"'Reconciliation,' she said, with a sneer. '_I_ don't want it; _I_
don't want _you. You_ came and forced yourself here. Ring for my maid,
and I will let her show you the door.'
"'You can't mean it?' I said.
"'I do mean it,' she replied. 'Ring the bell,' she added, imperiously.
"I stood looking at her.
"'Leave the room, then,' she said.
"'I must have a satisfactory answer,' said I.
"'Very well,' said she. 'Here it is.'
"And saying this she took the penknife by the blade, between her thumb
and finger, and slung it at me. It struck me on the arm, and buried
itself deep in the flesh till it touched the bone. I drew it out, and
without another word left the room. As I went out I heard her
summoning the maid in a loud, stern voice.
"Well, after that I went to the Continent, and spent about six months.
Then I returned.
"On my return I found every thing changed. She had sent off all the
servants, and brought there a lot of ruffians whom she was unable to
manage, and who threw every thing into confusion. All the gentry
talked of her, and avoided the place. My friends greeted me with
strange, pitying looks. She had cut down most of the woods, and sold
the timber; she had sent off a number of valuable pictures and sold
them. This was to get money, for I afterward found out that avarice
was one of her strongest vices.
"The sight of all this filled me with indignation, and I at once
turned out the whole lot of servants, leaving only two or three maids.
I obtained some of the old servants, and reinstated them. All this
made my wife quite wild. She came up to me once and began to storm,
but I said something to her which shut her up at once.
"One day I came home and found her on the portico, in her
riding-habit. She was whipping one of the maids with the butt end of
her riding-whip. I rushed up and released the poor creature, whose
cries were really heart-rending, when my wife turned on me, like a
fury, and struck two blows over my head. One of the scars is on my
forehead still. See."
And Dacres put aside his hair on the top of his head, just over his
right eye, and showed a long red mark, which seemed like the scar of a
dangerous wound.
"It was an ugly blow," he continued. "I at once tore the whip from
her, and, grasping her hand, led her into the drawing-room. There I
confronted her, holding her tight. I dare say I was rather a queer
sight, for the blood was rushing down over my face, and dripping from
my beard.
"'Look here, now,' I said; 'do you know any reason why I shouldn't lay
this whip over your shoulders? The English law allows it. Don't you
feel that you deserve it?'
"She shrank down, pale and trembling. She was a coward, evidently, and
accessible to physical terror.
"'If I belonged to your class,' said I, 'I would do it. But I am of a
different order. I am a gentleman. Go. After all, I'm not sorry that
you gave me this blow.'
"I stalked out of the room, had a doctor, who bound up the wound, and
then meditated over my situation. I made up my mind at once to a
separation. Thus far she had done nothing to warrant a divorce, and
separation was the only thing. I was laid up and feverish for about a
month, but at the end of that time I had an interview with my wife. I
proposed a separation, and suggested that she should go home to her
father. This she refused. She declared herself quite willing to have a
separation, but insisted on living at Dacres Grange.
"'And what am I to do?' I asked.
"'Whatever you please,' she replied, calmly.
"'Do you really propose,' said I, 'to drive me out of the home of my
ancestors, and live here yourself? Do you think I will allow this
place to be under your control after the frightful havoc that you have
made?'
"'I shall remain here,' said she, firmly.
"I said nothing more. I saw that she was immovable. At the same time I
could not consent. I could not live with her, and I could not go away
leaving her there. I could not give up the ancestral home to her, to
mar and mangle and destroy. Well, I waited for about two months, and
then--"
"Well?" asked Hawbury, as Dacres hesitated.
"Dacres Grange was burned down," said the other, in a low voice.
"Burned down!"
"Yes."
"Good Lord!"
"It caught fire in the daytime. There were but few servants. No
fire-engines were near, for the Grange was in a remote place, and so
the fire soon gained headway and swept over all. My wife was frantic.
She came to me as I stood looking at the spectacle, and charged me
with setting fire to it. I smiled at her, but made no reply.
"So you see she was burned out, and that question was settled. It was
a terrible thing, but desperate diseases require desperate remedies;
and I felt it more tolerable to have the house in ruins than to have
her living there while I had to be a wanderer.
"She was now at my mercy. We went to Exeter. She went to her father,
and I finally succeeded in effecting an arrangement which was
satisfactory on all sides.
"First of all, the separation should be absolute, and neither of us
should ever hold communication with the other in any shape or way.
"Secondly, she should take another name, so as to conceal the fact
that she was my wife, and not do any further dishonor to the name.
"In return for this I was to give her outright twenty thousand pounds
as her own absolutely, to invest or spend just as she chose. She
insisted on this, so that she need not be dependent on any annual
allowance. In consideration of this she forfeited every other claim,
all dower right in the event of my death, and every thing else. This
was all drawn up in a formal document, and worded as carefully as
possible. I don't believe that the document would be of much use in a
court of law in case she wished to claim any of her rights, but it
served to satisfy her, and she thought it was legally sound and
actually inviolable.
"Here we separated. I left England, and have never been there since."
Dacres stopped, and sat silent for a long time.
"Could she have been mad?" asked Hawbury.
"I used to think so, but I believe not. She showed too much sense in
every thing relating to herself. She sold pictures and timber, and
kept every penny. She was acute enough in grasping all she could.
During our last interviews while making these arrangements she was
perfectly cool and lady-like."
"Have you ever heard about her since?"
"Never."
"Is she alive yet?"
"That's the bother."
"What! don't you know?"
"No."
"Haven't you ever tried to find out?"
"Yes. Two years ago I went and had inquiries made at Exeter. Nothing
could be found out. She and her father had left the place immediately
after my departure, and nothing was known about them."
"I wonder that you didn't go yourself?"
"What for? I didn't care about seeing her or finding her."
"Do you think she's alive yet?"
"I'm afraid she is. You see she always had excellent health, and
there's no reason why she should not live to be an octogenarian."
"Yet she may be dead."
"_May_ be! And what sort of comfort is that to me in my present
position, I should like to know? _May_ be? Is that a sufficient
foundation for me to build on? No. In a moment of thoughtlessness I
have allowed myself to forget the horrible position in which I am. But
now I recall it. I'll crush down my feelings, and be a man again. I'll
see the child-angel once more; once more feast my soul over her sweet
and exquisite loveliness; once more get a glance from her tender,
innocent, and guileless eyes, and then away to South America."
"You said your wife took another name."
"Yes."
"What was it? Do you know it?"
"Oh yes; it was _Willoughby_"
"_Willoughby_!" cried Hawbury, with a start; "why, that's the name of
my Ethel's friend, at Montreal. Could it have been the same?"
"Pooh, man! How is that possible? Willoughby is not an uncommon name.
It's not more likely that your Willoughby and mine are the same than
it is that your Ethel is the one I met at Vesuvius. It's only a
coincidence, and not a very wonderful one, either."
"It seems con-foundedly odd, too," said Hawbury, thoughtfully.
"Willoughby? Ethel? Good Lord! But pooh! What rot? As though they
_could_ be the same. Preposterous! By Jove!"
And Hawbury stroked away the preposterous idea through his long,
pendent whiskers.
[Illustration: "SHE CAUGHT MINNIE IN HER ARMS."]