BOZZLE, THE EX-POLICEMAN.
[Illustration]
When Mr. Trevelyan had gone through the miserable task of breaking up
his establishment in Curzon Street, and had seen all his furniture
packed, including his books, his pictures, and his pet Italian
ornaments, it was necessary that he should go and live somewhere. He
was very wretched at this time,--so wretched that life was a burden
to him. He was a man who loved his wife;--to whom his child was very
dear; and he was one too to whom the ordinary comforts of domestic
life were attractive and necessary. There are men to whom release
from the constraint imposed by family ties will be, at any rate for
a time, felt as a release. But he was not such a man. There was no
delight to him in being able to dine at his club, and being free to
go whither he pleased in the evening. As it was, it pleased him to
go no whither in the evenings; and his mornings were equally blank
to him. He went so often to Mr. Bideawhile, that the poor old lawyer
became quite tired of the Trevelyan family quarrel. Even Lady
Milborough, with all her power of sympathising, began to feel that
she would almost prefer on any morning that her dear young friend,
Louis Trevelyan, should not be announced. Nevertheless, she always
saw him when he came, and administered comfort according to her
light. Of course he would have his wife back before long. That was
the only consolation she was able to offer; and she offered it so
often that he began gradually to feel that something might be done
towards bringing about so desirable an event. After what had occurred
they could not live again in Curzon Street,--nor even in London for
awhile; but Naples was open to them. Lady Milborough said so much to
him of the advantages which always came in such circumstances from
going to Naples, that he began to regard such a trip as almost the
natural conclusion of his adventure. But then there came that very
difficult question;--what step should be first taken? Lady Milborough
proposed that he should go boldly down to Nuncombe Putney, and make
the arrangement. "She will only be too glad to jump into your arms,"
said Lady Milborough. Trevelyan thought that if he went to Nuncombe
Putney, his wife might perhaps jump into his arms; but what would
come after that? How would he stand then in reference to his
authority? Would she own that she had been wrong? Would she promise
to behave better in future? He did not believe that she was yet
sufficiently broken in spirit to make any such promise. And he told
himself again and again that it would be absurd in him to allow her
to return to him without such subjection, after all that he had gone
through in defence of his marital rights. If he were to write to her
a long letter, argumentative, affectionate, exhaustive, it might be
better. He was inclined to believe of himself that he was good at
writing long, affectionate, argumentative, and exhaustive letters.
But he would not do even this as yet. He had broken up his house, and
scattered all his domestic gods to the winds, because she had behaved
badly to him; and the thing done was too important to allow of
redress being found so easily.
So he lived on a wretched life in London. He could hardly endure to
show himself at his club, fearing that every one would be talking of
him as the man who was separated from his wife,--perhaps as the man
of whose wife Colonel Osborne was the dear friend. No doubt for a day
or two there had been much of such conversation; but it had died away
from the club long before his consciousness had become callous. At
first he had gone into a lodging in Mayfair; but this had been but
for a day or two. After that he had taken a set of furnished chambers
in Lincoln's Inn, immediately under those in which Stanbury lived;
and thus it came to pass that he and Stanbury were very much thrown
together. As Trevelyan would always talk of his wife this was rather
a bore; but our friend bore with it, and would even continue to
instruct the world through the columns of the D. R. while Trevelyan
was descanting on the peculiar cruelty of his own position.
"I wish to be just, and even generous; and I do love her with all my
heart," he said one afternoon, when Hugh was very hard at work.
"'It is all very well for gentlemen to call themselves reformers,'"
Hugh was writing, "'but have these gentlemen ever realised to
themselves the meaning of that word? We think that they have never
done so as long as--' Of course you love her," said Hugh, with his
eyes still on the paper, still leaning on his pen, but finding by the
cessation of sound that Trevelyan had paused, and therefore knowing
that it was necessary that he should speak.
"As much as ever," said Trevelyan, with energy.
"'As long as they follow such a leader, in such a cause, into
whichever lobby he may choose to take them--' Exactly so,--exactly,"
said Stanbury; "just as much as ever."
"You are not listening to a word," said Trevelyan.
"I haven't missed a single expression you have used," said Stanbury.
"But a fellow has to do two things at a time when he's on the daily
press."
"I beg your pardon for interrupting you," said Trevelyan, angrily,
getting up, taking his hat, and stalking off to the house of Lady
Milborough. In this way he became rather a bore to his friends. He
could not divest his mind of the injury which had accrued to him from
his wife's conduct, nor could he help talking of the grief with which
his mind was laden. And he was troubled with sore suspicions, which,
as far as they concerned his wife, had certainly not been merited. It
had seemed to him that she had persisted in her intimacy with Colonel
Osborne in a manner that was not compatible with that wife-like
indifference which he regarded as her duty. Why had she written to
him and received letters from him when her husband had plainly told
her that any such communication was objectionable? She had done
so, and as far as Trevelyan could remember her words, had plainly
declared that she would continue to do so. He had sent her away into
the most remote retirement he could find for her; but the post was
open to her. He had heard much of Mrs. Stanbury, and of Priscilla,
from his friend Hugh, and thoroughly believed that his wife was in
respectable hands. But what was to prevent Colonel Osborne from
going after her, if he chose to do so? And if he did so choose,
Mrs. Stanbury could not prevent their meeting. He was racked with
jealousy, and yet he did not cease to declare to himself that he knew
his wife too well to believe that she would sin. He could not rid
himself of his jealousy, but he tried with all his might to make the
man whom he hated the object of it, rather than the woman whom he
loved.
He hated Colonel Osborne with all his heart. It was a regret to him
that the days of duelling were over, so that he could not shoot the
man. And yet, had duelling been possible to him, Colonel Osborne had
done nothing that would have justified him in calling his enemy out,
or would even have enabled him to do so with any chance of inducing
his enemy to fight. Circumstances, he thought, were cruel to him
beyond compare, in that he should have been made to suffer so great
torment without having any of the satisfaction of revenge. Even Lady
Milborough, with all her horror as to the Colonel, could not tell
him that the Colonel was amenable to any punishment. He was advised
that he must take his wife away and live at Naples because of this
man,--that he must banish himself entirely if he chose to repossess
himself of his wife and child;--and yet nothing could be done to
the unprincipled rascal by whom all his wrongs and sufferings were
occasioned! Thinking it very possible that Colonel Osborne would
follow his wife, he had a watch set upon the Colonel. He had found a
retired policeman,--a most discreet man, as he was assured,--who, for
a consideration, undertook the management of interesting jobs of this
kind. The man was one Bozzle, who had not lived without a certain
reputation in the police courts. In these days of his madness,
therefore, he took Mr. Bozzle into his pay; and after a while he got
a letter from Bozzle with the Exeter post-mark. Colonel Osborne had
left London with a ticket for Lessboro'. Bozzle also had taken a
place by the same train for that small town. The letter was written
in the railway carriage, and, as Bozzle explained, would be posted by
him as he passed through Exeter. A further communication should be
made by the next day's post, in a letter which Mr. Bozzle proposed to
address to Z. A., Post-office, Waterloo Place.
On receiving this first letter, Trevelyan was in an agony of
doubt, as well as misery. What should he do? Should he go to Lady
Milborough, or to Stanbury; or should he at once follow Colonel
Osborne and Mr. Bozzle to Lessboro'? It ended in his resolving at
last to wait for the letter which was to be addressed to Z. A. But he
spent an interval of horrible suspense, and of insane rage. Let the
laws say what they might, he would have the man's blood, if he found
that the man had even attempted to wrong him. Then, at last, the
second letter reached him. Colonel Osborne and Mr. Bozzle had each of
them spent the day in the neighbourhood of Lessboro', not exactly in
each other's company, but very near to each other. "The Colonel" had
ordered a gig, on the day after his arrival at Lessboro', for the
village of Cockchaffington; and, for all Mr. Bozzle knew, the Colonel
had gone to Cockchaffington. Mr. Bozzle was ultimately inclined
to think that the Colonel had really spent his day in going to
Cockchaffington. Mr. Bozzle himself, knowing the wiles of such
men as Colonel Osborne, and thinking at first that that journey
to Cockchaffington might only be a deep ruse, had walked over to
Nuncombe Putney. There he had had a pint of beer and some bread and
cheese at Mrs. Crocket's house, and had asked various questions, to
which he did not receive very satisfactory answers. But he inspected
the Clock House very minutely, and came to a decided opinion as to
the point at which it would be attacked, if burglary were the object
of the assailants. And he observed the iron gates, and the steps,
and the shape of the trees, and the old pigeon-house-looking fabric
in which the clock used to be placed. There was no knowing when
information might be wanted, or what information might not be of use.
But he made himself tolerably sure that Colonel Osborne did not visit
Nuncombe Putney on that day; and then he walked back to Lessboro'.
Having done this, he applied himself to the little memorandum book in
which he kept the records of these interesting duties, and entered a
claim against his employer for a conveyance to Nuncombe Putney and
back, including driver and ostler; and then he wrote his letter.
After that he had a hot supper, with three glasses of brandy and
water, and went to bed with a thorough conviction that he had earned
his bread on that day.
The letter to Z. A. did not give all these particulars, but it
did explain that Colonel Osborne had gone off, apparently, to
Cockchaffington, and that he,--Bozzle,--had himself visited Nuncombe
Putney. "The hawk hasn't been nigh the dovecot as yet," said Mr.
Bozzle in his letter, meaning to be both mysterious and facetious.
It would be difficult to say whether the wit or the mystery disgusted
Trevelyan the most. He had felt that he was defiling himself with
dirt when he first went to Mr. Bozzle. He knew that he was having
recourse to means that were base and low,--which could not be other
than base or low, let the circumstances be what they might. But Mr.
Bozzle's conversation had not been quite so bad as Mr. Bozzle's
letters; as it may have been that Mr. Bozzle's successful activity
was more insupportable than his futile attempts. But, nevertheless,
something must be done. It could not be that Colonel Osborne should
have gone down to the close neighbourhood of Nuncombe Putney without
the intention of seeing the lady whom his obtrusive pertinacity had
driven to that seclusion. It was terrible to Trevelyan that Colonel
Osborne should be there, and not the less terrible because such a one
as Mr. Bozzle was watching the Colonel on his behalf. Should he go to
Nuncombe Putney himself? And if so, when he got to Nuncombe Putney
what should he do there? At last, in his suspense and his grief, he
resolved that he would tell the whole to Hugh Stanbury.
"Do you mean," said Hugh, "that you have put a policeman on his
track?"
"The man was a policeman once."
"What we call a private detective. I can't say I think you were
right."
"But you see that it was necessary," said Trevelyan.
"I can't say that it was necessary. To speak out, I can't understand
that a wife should be worth watching who requires watching."
"Is a man to do nothing then? And even now it is not my wife whom I
doubt."
"As for Colonel Osborne, if he chooses to go to Lessboro', why
shouldn't he? Nothing that you can do, or that Bozzle can do, can
prevent him. He has a perfect right to go to Lessboro'."
"But he has not a right to go to my wife."
"And if your wife refuses to see him; or having seen him,--for a man
may force his way in anywhere with a little trouble,--if she sends
him away with a flea in his ear, as I believe she would--"
"She is so frightfully indiscreet."
"I don't see what Bozzle can do."
"He has found out at any rate that Osborne is there," said Trevelyan.
"I am not more fond of dealing with such fellows than you are
yourself. But I think it is my duty to know what is going on. What
ought I to do now?"
"I should do nothing,--except dismiss Bozzle."
"You know that that is nonsense, Stanbury."
"Whatever I did I should dismiss Bozzle." Stanbury was now quite in
earnest, and, as he repeated his suggestion for the dismissal of the
policeman, pushed his writing things away from him. "If you ask my
opinion, you know, I must tell you what I think. I should get rid of
Bozzle as a beginning. If you will only think of it, how can your
wife come back to you if she learns that you have set a detective to
watch her?"
"But I haven't set the man to watch her."
"Colonel Osborne is nothing to you, except as he is concerned with
her. This man is now down in her neighbourhood; and, if she learns
that, how can she help feeling it as a deep insult? Of course the man
watches her as a cat watches a mouse."
"But what am I to do? I can't write to the man and tell him to come
away. Osborne is down there, and I must do something. Will you go
down to Nuncombe Putney yourself, and let me know the truth?"
After much debating of the subject, Hugh Stanbury said that he would
himself go down to Nuncombe Putney alone. There were difficulties
about the D. R.; but he would go to the office of the newspaper and
overcome them. How far the presence of Nora Rowley at his mother's
house may have assisted in bringing him to undertake the journey,
perhaps need not be accurately stated. He acknowledged to himself
that the claims of friendship were strong upon him; and that as he
had loudly disapproved of the Bozzle arrangement, he ought to lend a
hand to some other scheme of action. Moreover, having professed his
conviction that no improper visiting could possibly take place under
his mother's roof, he felt bound to shew that he was not afraid to
trust to that conviction himself. He declared that he would be ready
to proceed to Nuncombe Putney to-morrow;--but only on condition that
he might have plenary power to dismiss Bozzle.
"There can be no reason why you should take any notice of the man,"
said Trevelyan.
"How can I help noticing him when I find him prowling about the
place? Of course I shall know who he is."
"I don't see that you need know anything about him."
"My dear Trevelyan, you cannot have two ambassadors engaged in
the same service without communication with each other. And any
communication with Mr. Bozzle, except that of sending him back to
London, I will not have." The controversy was ended by the writing of
a letter from Trevelyan to Bozzle, which was confided to Stanbury, in
which the ex-policeman was thanked for his activity and requested to
return to London for the present. "As we are now aware that Colonel
Osborne is in the neighbourhood," said the letter, "my friend Mr.
Stanbury will know what to do."
As soon as this was settled, Stanbury went to the office of the D. R.
and made arrangement as to his work for three days. Jones could do
the article on the Irish Church upon a pinch like this, although he
had not given much study to the subject as yet; and Puddlethwaite,
who was great in City matters, would try his hand on the present
state of society in Rome, a subject on which it was essential that
the D. R. should express itself at once. Having settled these little
troubles Stanbury returned to his friend, and in the evening they
dined together at a tavern.
"And now, Trevelyan, let me know fairly what it is that you wish,"
said Stanbury.
"I wish to have my wife back again."
"Simply that. If she will agree to come back, you will make no
difficulty."
"No; not quite simply that. I shall desire that she shall be guided
by my wishes as to any intimacies she may form."
"That is all very well; but is she to give any undertaking? Do you
intend to exact any promise from her? It is my opinion that she will
be willing enough to come back, and that when she is with you there
will be no further cause for quarrelling. But I don't think she will
bind herself by any exacted promise; and certainly not through a
third person."
"Then say nothing about it. Let her write a letter to me proposing to
come,--and she shall come."
"Very well. So far I understand. And now what about Colonel Osborne?
You don't want me to quarrel with him I suppose?"
"I should like to keep that for myself," said Trevelyan, grimly.
"If you will take my advice you will not trouble yourself about him,"
said Stanbury. "But as far as I am concerned, I am not to meddle or
make with him? Of course," continued Stanbury, after a pause, "if I
find that he is intruding himself in my mother's house, I shall tell
him that he must not come there."
"But if you find him installed in your mother's house as a
visitor,--how then?"
"I do not regard that as possible."
"I don't mean living there," said Trevelyan, "but coming backwards
and forwards;--going on in habits of intimacy with,--with--?" His
voice trembled so as he asked these questions, that he could not
pronounce the word which was to complete them.
"With Mrs. Trevelyan, you mean."
"Yes; with my wife. I don't say that it is so; but it may be so. You
will be bound to tell me the truth."
"I will certainly tell you the truth."
"And the whole truth."
"Yes; the whole truth."
"Should it be so I will never see her again,--never. And as for
him;--but never mind." Then there was another short period of
silence, during which Stanbury smoked his pipe and sipped his whisky
toddy. "You must see," continued Trevelyan, "that it is absolutely
necessary that I should do something. It is all very well for you to
say that you do not like detectives. Neither do I like them. But what
was I to do? When you condemn me you hardly realise the difficulties
of my position."
"It is the deuce of a nuisance certainly," said Stanbury, through the
cloud of smoke,--thinking now not at all of Mrs. Trevelyan, but of
Mrs. Trevelyan's sister.
"It makes a man almost feel that he had better not marry at all,"
said Trevelyan.
"I don't see that. Of course there may come troubles. The tiles may
fall on your head, you know, as you walk through the streets. As far
as I can see, women go straight enough nineteen times out of twenty.
But they don't like being,--what I call looked after."
"And did I look after my wife more than I ought?"
"I don't mean that; but if I were married,--which I never shall be,
for I shall never attain to the respectability of a fixed income,--I
fancy I shouldn't look after my wife at all. It seems to me that
women hate to be told about their duties."
"But if you saw your wife, quite innocently, falling into an improper
intimacy,--taking up with people she ought not to know,--doing that
in ignorance, which could not but compromise yourself;--wouldn't you
speak a word then?"
"Oh! I might just say, in an off-hand way, that Jones was a rascal,
or a liar, or a fool, or anything of that sort. But I would never
caution her against Jones. By George, I believe a woman can stand
anything better than that."
"You have never tried it, my friend."
"And I don't suppose I ever shall. As for me, I believe Aunt Stanbury
was right when she said that I was a radical vagabond. I dare say I
shall never try the thing myself, and therefore it's very easy to
have a theory. But I must be off. Good night, old fellow. I'll do the
best I can; and, at any rate, I'll let you know the truth."
There had been a question during the day as to whether Stanbury
should let his sister know by letter that he was expected; but it had
been decided that he should appear at Nuncombe without any previous
notification of his arrival. Trevelyan had thought that this was very
necessary, and when Stanbury had urged that such a measure seemed
to imply suspicion, he had declared that in no other way could the
truth be obtained. He, Trevelyan, simply wanted to know the facts
as they were occurring. It was a fact that Colonel Osborne was down
in the neighbourhood of Nuncombe Putney. That, at least, had been
ascertained. It might very possibly be the case that he would be
refused admittance to the Clock House,--that all the ladies there
would combine to keep him out. But,--so Trevelyan urged,--the truth
on this point was desired. It was essentially necessary to his
happiness that he should know what was being done.
"Your mother and sister," said he, "cannot be afraid of your coming
suddenly among them."
Stanbury, so urged, had found it necessary to yield, but yet he had
felt that he himself was almost acting like a detective policeman, in
purposely falling down upon them without a word of announcement. Had
chance circumstances made it necessary that he should go in such a
manner he would have thought nothing of it. It would simply have been
a pleasant joke to him.
As he went down by the train on the following day, he almost felt
ashamed of the part which he had been called upon to perform.