SIR MARMADUKE AT WILLESDEN.
On the next day Sir Marmaduke purposed going to Willesden. He was in
great doubt whether or no he would first consult that very eminent
man Dr. Trite Turbury, as to the possibility, and,--if possible,--as
to the expediency, of placing Mr. Trevelyan under some control. But
Sir Marmaduke, though he would repeatedly declare that his son-in-law
was mad, did not really believe in this madness. He did not, that
is, believe that Trevelyan was so mad as to be fairly exempt from
the penalties of responsibility; and he was therefore desirous of
speaking his own mind out fully to the man, and, as it were, of
having his own personal revenge, before he might be deterred by the
interposition of medical advice. He resolved therefore that he would
not see Sir Trite Turbury, at any rate till he had come back from
Willesden. He also went down in a cab, but he left the cab at the
public-house at the corner of the road, and walked to the cottage.
When he asked whether Mr. Trevelyan was at home, the woman of
the house hesitated and then said that her lodger was out. "I
particularly wish to see him," said Sir Marmaduke, feeling that the
woman was lying to him. "But he ain't to be seen, sir," said the
woman. "I know he is at home," said Sir Marmaduke. But the argument
was soon cut short by the appearance of Trevelyan behind the woman's
shoulder.
"I am here, Sir Marmaduke Rowley," said Trevelyan. "If you wish to
see me you may come in. I will not say that you are welcome, but you
can come in." Then the woman retired, and Sir Marmaduke followed
Trevelyan into the room in which Lady Rowley and Emily had been
received; but the child was not now in the chamber.
"What are these charges that I hear against my daughter?" said Sir
Marmaduke, rushing at once into the midst of his indignation.
"I do not know what charges you have heard."
"You have put her away."
"In strict accuracy that is not correct, Sir Marmaduke."
"But she is put away. She is in my house now because you have no
house of your own for her. Is not that so? And when I came home she
was staying with her uncle, because you had put her away. And what
was the meaning of her being sent down into Devonshire? What has she
done? I am her father, and I expect to have an answer."
"You shall have an answer, certainly."
"And a true one. I will have no hocus-pocus, no humbug, no Jesuitry."
"Have you come here to insult me, Sir Marmaduke? Because, if so,
there shall be an end to this interview at once."
"There shall not be an end;--by G----, no, not till I have heard what
is the meaning of all this. Do you know what people are saying of
you;--that you are mad, and that you must be locked up, and your
child taken away from you, and your property?"
"Who are the people that say so? Yourself;--and, perhaps, Lady
Rowley? Does my wife say so? Does she think that I am mad? She did
not think so on Thursday, when she prayed that she might be allowed
to come back and live with me."
"And you would not let her come?"
"Pardon me," said Trevelyan. "I would wish that she should come,--but
it must be on certain conditions."
"What I want to know is why she was turned out of your house?"
"She was not turned out."
"What has she done that she should be punished?" urged Sir Marmaduke,
who was unable to arrange his questions with the happiness which had
distinguished Major Magruder. "I insist upon knowing what it is that
you lay to her charge. I am her father, and I have a right to know.
She has been barbarously, shamefully ill-used, and by G---- I will
know."
"You have come here to bully me, Sir Marmaduke Rowley."
"I have come here, sir, to do the duty of a parent to his child;
to protect my poor girl against the cruelty of a husband who in
an unfortunate hour was allowed to take her from her home. I will
know the reason why my daughter has been treated as though,--as
though,--as though--"
"Listen to me for a minute," said Trevelyan.
"I am listening."
"I will tell you nothing; I will answer you not a word."
"You will not answer me?"
"Not when you come to me in this fashion. My wife is my wife, and
my claim to her is nearer and closer than is yours, who are her
father. She is the mother of my child, and the only being in the
world,--except that child,--whom I love. Do you think that with
such motives on my part for tenderness towards her, for loving care,
for the most anxious solicitude, that I can be made more anxious,
more tender, more loving by coarse epithets from you? I am the
most miserable being under the sun because our happiness has been
interrupted, and is it likely that such misery should be cured by
violent words and gestures? If your heart is wrung for her, so is
mine. If she be much to you, she is more to me. She came here the
other day, almost as a stranger, and I thought that my heart would
have burst beneath its weight of woe. What can you do that can add
an ounce to the burden that I bear? You may as well leave me,--or at
least be quiet."
Sir Marmaduke had stood and listened to him, and he, too, was so
struck by the altered appearance of the man that the violence of his
indignation was lessened by the pity which he could not suppress.
When Trevelyan spoke of his wretchedness, it was impossible not to
believe him. He was as wretched a being to look at as it might have
been possible to find. His contracted cheeks, and lips always open,
and eyes glowing in their sunken caverns, told a tale which even
Sir Marmaduke, who was not of nature quick in deciphering such
stories, could not fail to read. And then the twitching motion of
the man's hands, and the restless shuffling of his feet, produced a
nervous feeling that if some remedy were not applied quickly, some
alleviation given to the misery of the suffering wretch, human power
would be strained too far, and the man would break to pieces,--or
else the mind of the man. Sir Marmaduke, during his journey in the
cab, had resolved that, old as he was, he would take this sinner
by the throat, this brute who had striven to stain his daughter's
name,--and would make him there and then acknowledge his own
brutality. But it was now very manifest to Sir Marmaduke that there
could be no taking by the throat in this case. He could not have
brought himself to touch the poor, weak, passionate creature before
him. Indeed, even the fury of his words was stayed, and after that
last appeal he stormed no more. "But what is to be the end of it?" he
said.
"Who can tell? Who can say? She can tell. She can put an end to it
all. She has but to say a word, and I will devote my life to her. But
that word must be spoken." As he said this, he dashed his hand upon
the table, and looked up with an air that would have been comic with
its assumed magnificence had it not been for the true tragedy of the
occasion.
"You had better, at any rate, let her have her child for the
present."
"No;--my boy shall go with me. She may go, too, if she pleases, but
my boy shall certainly go with me. If I had put her from me, as you
said just now, it might have been otherwise. But she shall be as
welcome to me as flowers in May,--as flowers in May! She shall be as
welcome to me as the music of heaven."
Sir Marmaduke felt that he had nothing more to urge. He had
altogether abandoned that idea of having his revenge at the cost of
the man's throat, and was quite convinced that reason could have
no power with him. He was already thinking that he would go away,
straight to his lawyer, so that some step might be taken at once to
stop, if possible, the taking away of the boy to America, when the
lock of the door was gently turned, and the landlady entered the
room.
"You will excuse me, sir," said the woman, "but if you be anything to
this gentleman--"
"Mrs. Fuller, leave the room," said Trevelyan. "I and the gentleman
are engaged."
"I see you be engaged, and I do beg pardon. I ain't one as would
intrude wilful, and, as for listening, or the likes of that, I scorn
it. But if this gentleman be anything to you, Mr. Trevelyan--"
"I am his wife's father," said Sir Marmaduke.
"Like enough. I was thinking perhaps so. His lady was down here on
Thursday,--as sweet a lady as any gentleman need wish to stretch by
his side."
"Mrs. Fuller," said Trevelyan, marching up towards her, "I will not
have this, and I desire that you will retire from my room."
But Mrs. Fuller escaped round the table, and would not be banished.
She got round the table, and came closely opposite to Sir Marmaduke.
"I don't want to say nothing out of my place, sir," said she, "but
something ought to be done. He ain't fit to be left to hisself,--not
alone,--not as he is at present. He ain't, indeed, and I wouldn't be
doing my duty if I didn't say so. He has them sweats at night as'd be
enough to kill any man; and he eats nothing, and he don't do nothing;
and as for that poor little boy as is now in my own bed upstairs, if
it wasn't that I and my Bessy is fond of children, I don't know what
would become of that boy."
Trevelyan, finding it impossible to get rid of her, had stood
quietly, while he listened to her. "She has been good to my child,"
he said. "I acknowledge it. As for myself, I have not been well. It
is true. But I am told that travel will set me on my feet again.
Change of air will do it." Not long since he had been urging the
wretchedness of his own bodily health as a reason why his wife
should yield to him; but now, when his sickness was brought as a
charge against him,--was adduced as a reason why his friends should
interfere, and look after him, and concern themselves in his affairs,
he saw at once that it was necessary that he should make little of
his ailments.
"Would it not be best, Trevelyan, that you should come with me to a
doctor?" said Sir Marmaduke.
"No;--no. I have my own doctor. That is, I know the course which
I should follow. This place, though it is good for the boy, has
disagreed with me, and my life has not been altogether pleasant;--I
may say, by no means pleasant. Troubles have told upon me, but change
of air will mend it all."
"I wish you would come with me, at once, to London. You shall come
back, you know. I will not detain you."
"Thank you,--no. I will not trouble you. That will do, Mrs. Fuller.
You have intended to do your duty, no doubt, and now you can go."
Whereupon Mrs. Fuller did go. "I am obliged for your care, Sir
Marmaduke, but I can really do very well without troubling you."
"You cannot suppose, Trevelyan, that we can allow things to go on
like this."
"And what do you mean to do?"
"Well;--I shall take advice. I shall go to a lawyer,--and to a
doctor, and perhaps to the Lord Chancellor, and all that kind of
thing. We can't let things go on like this."
"You can do as you please," said Trevelyan, "but as you have
threatened me, I must ask you to leave me."
Sir Marmaduke could do no more, and could say no more, and he took
his leave, shaking hands with the man, and speaking to him with a
courtesy which astonished himself. It was impossible to maintain
the strength of his indignation against a poor creature who was so
manifestly unable to guide himself. But when he was in London he
drove at once to the house of Dr. Trite Turbury, and remained there
till the doctor returned from his round of visits. According to
the great authority, there was much still to be done before even
the child could be rescued out of the father's hands. "I can't act
without the lawyers," said Dr. Turbury. But he explained to Sir
Marmaduke what steps should be taken in such a matter.
Trevelyan, in the mean time, clearly understanding that hostile
measures would now be taken against him, set his mind to work to
think how best he might escape at once to America with his boy.