WALKING OUT TO DINNER.
If Mrs. Darling's hurried visit to England was caused by the fact of
the repairs in progress at her cottage, being at a standstill, the
repairs must be at a standstill yet; for the lady did not go farther
than Castle Wafer. On the morning following her arrival, Sir Isaac
politely asked whether she would not remain a few days with them
before going on; and Mrs. Darling took him at his word and did remain.
Georgina also remained, and things seemed to go on very smoothly and
quietly, but Mrs. Carleton remained a great deal in her own room; and
to Mr. Frederick St. John's eyes her mother's face wore a strangely
haggard, anxious look.
"Is Mrs. Carleton well?" he asked her one day.
"Quite well, thank you," responded Mrs. Darling, stooping, as she
spoke, to pluck a geranium.
"I have not liked her look at times," continued Frederick, boldly. "I
was fearing she was not in--altogether good health."
"She is in excellent health," was the reply, and Mrs. Darling faced
the speaker with a look intended to express surprise. "Charlotte was
always strong. She and Rose are like myself, blessed with rude health:
I cannot say as much for the other two. I want to take Charlotte away
with me; but she does not feel inclined to come, and was quite angry
when she saw me arrive. She is very happy here."
No more was said, for Mrs. Darling sauntered leisurely away. Frederick
St. John had gained nothing by his move.
The dean, who had written to Mr. Pym, received in due course that
gentleman's answer. Mr. Norris, of Norris Court, had died mad. The
widow, subsequently Mrs. Darling, had hushed the matter up for the
sake of her child, and succeeded in keeping it secret. He, Mr. Pym,
had never disclosed it to mortal ears; but the high character of the
Dean of Westerbury was such that he knew he might safely confide the
fact to him. Indeed, from the tenour of the dean's letter, he felt
there might be some essential reason for not remaining silent.
"You see," cried Frederick, when the dean showed him the letter, "I
was right."
"Nay," dissented the dean. "Right as to your suspicion that madness
was in the family; but this does not prove that it has yet attacked
Mrs. Carleton."
"I suppose it would not prove it to most minds; it does to mine, in a
very great degree. You will at least admit that this renders her a
most undesirable wife for Isaac."
"Granted. But, Frederick, my opinion is that Sir Isaac is in just as
much danger from her as you are, and no more. Rely upon it he has no
idea of marrying."
Frederick was silent. In a sense he agreed with the dean; but he knew
how subtle is the constant companionship of a designing and attractive
woman; and that the danger was all the greater where that
companionship had been previously held aloof from, as in the case of
Sir Isaac.
Two or three days passed on, and nothing occurred to disturb the peace
even of fanciful Frederick St. John. The old routine of life was
observed at Castle Wafer, varied with visits to the Rectory, or with
the Rectory's visits back again. But for the suspicion he was making
so great a trouble of, Mr. St. John would have felt supremely happy. A
strangely bright feeling was stealing over him; a feeling whose source
he did not question or analyze. The influence of Georgina was quietly
making its way in his heart; perhaps, unconsciously to himself, it had
ever in a degree lain there.
Mrs. Darling sat in her room, writing letters. Mrs. Carleton was with
her, looking from the window, the folds of her silver-grey brocade
rustling with every movement. She wore very slight mourning now.
"Charlotte, my dear child," suddenly cried Mrs. Darling, "I am
writing to the cottage. Let me once again ask you when you will be
ready to go with me?"
"Never--to Alnwick. When I left the cottage to become George St.
John's wife, I left it, as a residence, for ever."
"Where _will_ you go? Will you go into Berkshire?--will you go to
London?--to Brighton?--to Paris? Only say where--I don't wish to force
you to Alnwick."
"Mamma, I beg you not to worry me on this point. I am very comfortable
at Castle Wafer, and you need not try to force me away from it. It is
lost labour."
Mrs. Darling made no reply. It would have been useless. All her life
she had found it "lost labour" to endeavour to force Charlotte to do
anything against her will; and sometimes she felt the yoke upon her
was a very heavy one. She bent over her writing again in silence.
Presently Charlotte spoke, abruptly:
"How long is that girl going to remain here?" Mrs. Darling's train of
thought just then was roaming to many things, pleasant or unpleasant,
and she thought "that girl" must mean Honour Tritton. Charlotte's eyes
were ablaze with light at the mistake; and Mrs. Darling could have
bitten her tongue out for her incaution in mentioning the name. What
she next said, did not mend it.
"Charlotte, my darling, I really beg your pardon. I'm sure I don't
know how I came to think of her, unless it was that I was talking to
her this morning. You----"
"Talking to _her!_" came the imperative interruption. "I should like
to know, mamma, what you can have to say to her. If every one had
their deserts, Honour Tritton would be--would be---- What did she
presume to say of me?"
"My dear Charlotte!" cried the unfortunate mother, half aghast at the
tone in which the last sentence was spoken, "she did not presume to
speak of you at all. It was only a casual meeting in one of the lower
passages. She just dropped a curtsey, and asked how I was: that was
all."
"She presumed to put herself in my way the other day, that woman; I
know that," scornfully returned Mrs. Carleton. "But that it might be
said I made too much of a trifle utterly beneath me, I should ask Sir
Isaac to banish her from Castle Wafer."
"Oh, Charlotte! What, because she--she happened to meet you?"
"No. For the misery she wrought in the years gone by. I wonder what
brought her _here_--why she came?"
Mrs. Darling had heard of the meeting with Honour on the stairs, and
knew as much of the scene as though she had been present. She passed
to another topic.
"Then it was of Miss Beauclerc you spoke, Charlotte?"
"It was of Miss Beauclerc. _I want to know what she stops here for_."
The low, impressive whisper in which this was spoken, astonished Mrs.
Darling. What had Charlotte got in her head now?
"My dear, it cannot matter to you whether she stays here or whether
she goes home."
"But it does matter: it matters very much. She is staying as a spy
upon me."
"A spy? Charlotte!"
"She is. She is doing what she can to turn Sir Isaac against me."
"Oh, Charlotte! Indeed you are mistaken. I am quite sure she is doing
nothing of the sort."
"I tell you yes. Look there!"
Mrs. Darling rose in obedience, and glanced from the window in the
direction in which Charlotte had pointed. Georgina Beauclerc, in her
flowing dinner-dress of a clear white muslin, was marching about with
Sir Isaac, both her hands clasped upon his arm, her pretty head and
its silken hair almost touching his face as she talked to him. That
Sir Isaac was bending down to the fair head, a great deal of tender
love in his face, might be discerned even at this distance.
"He promised to ride out with _me_ this afternoon; he was going on his
pony, and I was to try Mr. St. John's grey horse, and she came and
took him from me. He gave me up for her with scarcely a word of
apology, and they have been away together for hours somewhere on foot.
She cannot let him rest. The moment she is dressed for dinner, you
see, she lures him to her side again. And you say she is not plotting
against me?"
What could Mrs. Darling reply? The idea had taken possession of
Charlotte, and she knew that no earthly argument would turn it by so
much as a hair's-breadth. The shadow of a trouble that she should not
have strength to combat fell upon her; and as Charlotte abruptly left
the room, she took a letter from her pocket and read it with a gleam
of thankfulness, for it told of the speedy arrival of one who might be
of use.
Mrs. Carleton descended, glancing to the left and right of the broad
staircase, into all its angles, over the gilded balustrades down on
the inner hall, as had been her custom since that encounter with
Honour. Not with open look, but with stealthy glance, as if she
dreaded meeting the woman again. She went into the drawing-room, and
stood gazing through the open window with covert glances, partially
shielding herself behind the blue satin curtains. Georgina was on the
terrace with Sir Isaac, and on them her regard was fixed. A gaze,
evil, bitter, menacing. Her eyes shone with a lurid light, her lips
were pale, and her hands were contracted as with irrepressible anger.
In the midst of these unwholesome signs, as if instinct whispered to
her that she was not alone, she turned and saw, quietly seated at a
table near, and as quietly regarding her, Frederick St. John.
She came up to him at once, her brow smoothed to its ordinary
impassiveness.
"What a warm afternoon it has been, Mr. St. John!"
"Very warm."
"You are ready for dinner early," she said, in allusion to his notably
late appearance for that meal; often coming in after they had sat down
to table.
"I don't dine at home today. I am going with Miss Beauclerc to the
Rectory."
"And Sir Isaac also?" she quickly asked.
"I think not."
Sir Isaac and Georgina approached the window. They, with Frederick,
had walked to the Rectory that afternoon, and the dean asked them to
come in to dinner. It was very dull, he said, with only Miss Denison,
who generally contrived to act as a wet blanket. So it was arranged
that Georgina and Frederick should go; but Sir Isaac could not
promise. It appeared that Georgina was now urging him to accompany
them. Her voice was heard in the room.
"It is very uncharitable of you, Sir Isaac. You know what papa said it
was for him, with that statue of a woman there. If _you_ were shut up
in a house with a female Hottentot, and you asked papa to come in as a
relief, he would not think of refusing."
"But I can't go," returned Sir Isaac, in laughing tones. "I told the
dean that Mrs. St. John was not well enough to come down."
"And you will let me walk all that way without you! It's not kind, Sir
Isaac. Suppose I get run away with? There may be kidnappers in the
shrubbery."
"You will have a more efficient protector with you than I could make;
one young and powerful--I am old and weak."
"Never old to me--never old to me. Oh, I _wish_ you would come!"
"I wish I could, Georgina; you know that when you leave me, half my
sunshine goes also. But I must head the table at home, in the absence
of Mrs. St. John: I cannot leave my visitors."
"Tiresome people!" apostrophized Georgina, in allusion to the lady
visitors. "I know you would rather be with us. I shall tell papa that
if he is fixed with Miss Denison, you are fixed with Mrs. Carleton. I
don't see how you would get through your days with her just now, if it
were not for me."
She stepped into the room, a saucy expression on her charming face; a
loving smile on Sir Isaac's. Mrs. Carleton was in time to catch a
glimpse of each as she swiftly glided away in the distance; and
neither had the remotest suspicion that their conversation had been
overheard.
Frederick St. John rose. "I think we shall be late, Georgina."
"Shall we! I shall say it was your fault," cried the happy girl, as
she caught up her white mantle and straw hat from a chair. "I'm ready
now."
"Won't you put your cloak on?"
"No. I am only taking it to come back in tonight. You may carry it
for me."
She placed it on his arm; and with her face shaded only by her little
dainty parasol, they went out. Mrs. Carleton was at one of the other
windows watching the departure.
"Do you know the time, Georgina?" he asked.
"Oh--more than five, I suppose."
He held his watch towards her. It wanted only twenty-five minutes to
six. "Of course you can say it is my fault if you like; but Mrs.
Beauclerc will be excessively angry with both of us."
"Not as angry as Miss Denison will be," returned Georgina, laughingly.
"Fanciful old creature! saying she gets indigestion if she dines later
than half-past five. If I were papa, I should let her dine alone, and
order the regular dinner at seven. See how quickly she'd come to her
senses."
"If you were your papa you'd do just as he does" cried Frederick. "And
when you have a house of your own, Georgina, you will be just as
courteous as he is."
"Shall I? Not to Miss Denison. But I should take care not to have
disagreeable people staying with me. I wouldn't have Mrs. Carleton,
for instance."
"Do you think Mrs. Carleton disagreeable?" he asked. "I have heard you
say you liked her."
"So I did at first. I pitied her. But she gets very disagreeable. She
looks at me sometimes as if she would like to kill me, and--see what
she did yesterday."
Georgina extended her wrist towards her companion. There was a blue
mark upon it, as from pressure.
"How did she do this!" he exclaimed, examining the wrist.
"Not purposely, of course; that is, not intending to hurt me, I
differed from her: it was about going out with Sir Isaac. She said it
was too hot for me, and I said the hotter the pleasanter; and she
caught me by the wrist as I was running away. I cried out with the
pain; indeed it was very sharp; and Sir Isaac heard it outside and
looked back. She laughed then, and so did I, and I ran away. This
morning I saw that my wrist had turned blue."
"Did you tell Isaac of this?"
"I don't remember. Stay, though--I think I told him Mrs. Carleton had
been preaching morality to me, as connected with sunstrokes and
freckles," continued the careless girl "Please loose my hand, Mr. St.
John."
He released her hand, saying nothing. Georgina floated on by his side,
her blue ribbons and her fair hair flashing in the setting sun as they
passed through the shrubbery.
"I think she must be frequently out of temper," continued Georgina,
alluding still to Mrs. Carleton. "Did you see her as we passed the
window just now? She looked so cross at me."
"I presume she thinks she has cause for it," observed Mr. St. John.
"What cause?"
"She is jealous of you."
"Jealous of me?"
"Of you and Sir Isaac."
Georgina's grey eyes opened to their utmost width as she stared at the
speaker.
"Jealous of me and Sir Isaac? Why, what could put such an idea into
her stupid head? How _could_ she be jealous of me, in relation to Sir
Isaac? She might as well be jealous of papa."
"I suppose she thinks that she, as chief guest, ought to receive more
of the host's attention than any one else," he said, not caring to be
more explanatory. "And therefore she does not like your monopolizing
Isaac."
"Oh!" cried Georgina, turning up her pretty nose. "I declare I thought
you meant it in another light. I'll take up Sir Isaac's attention all
tomorrow, just to tease her."
He made no reply. He was thinking. It had not been his fault that
Georgina's stay at Castle Wafer was prolonged; but he had seen no
feasible way of preventing it. And yet there was always an
undercurrent in his heart--a wish that she was away from it, beyond
the risk of any possible harm.
"Please put the mantle over my shoulders, Mr. St. John."
"Ah, you are getting cold! You should have put it on at first."
"Getting cold this warm afternoon! Indeed no. But in one minute we
shall be in the Rectory grounds, liable to meet mamma or her charming
guest. They would sing a duet all dinner-time at my walking here in
nothing but my dinner-dress. Miss Denison comes out before dinner, and
creeps round the paths for half-an-hour. She calls it 'taking her
constitutional.' Thank you; she can't find fault now."
Mrs. Beauclerc was a fretful lady of forty-five; Miss Denison was a
fretful lady of somewhat more: and Georgina was greeted with a shower
of reproaches, for having kept dinner waiting. She laid the blame on
Mr. St. John; and Miss Denison looked daggers at him to her heart's
content.
"I could not make him believe you were dining at the gothic hour of
half-past five," cried the imperturbable girl. "The more I told him to
hasten the less he did so. And, mamma, Mrs. St. John says will we all
go to Castle Wafer for the evening."
She stole a glance at him. He was standing calm, upright; a
half-tender, half-reproving look cast upon her for her nonsense. But
he contradicted nothing.
The dean and Mr. St. John were sitting alone after dinner, when a
servant came in and said a gentleman was asking if he could see Dr.
Beauclerc. The dean inquired who it was, but the servant did not know:
when he requested the name, the gentleman said he would tell it
himself to the doctor.
"You can show him in here," said the dean, who was one of the most
accessible men living.
The servant retired, and ushered in a little grey-haired man in
spectacles. The dean did not recognize him: Frederick St. John did,
and with some astonishment. It was Mr. Pym of Alnwick.
He explained to the dean that a little matter of business had brought
him into the neighbourhood, and he had taken the opportunity
(following on the slight correspondence which had just taken place
between them) to call on Dr. Beauclerc. Dr. Beauclerc--who was not
addressed as "Mr. Dean" out of his cathedral city as much as he was in
it--inquired how long he had been in the neighbourhood, and found he
had only just arrived by the evening train,--had come straight to the
Rectory from the station.
A suspicion crossed the dean's mind, and he spoke in accordance with
it. "Did Mr. Pym come from Alnwick on purpose to see him?"
"No," said the little surgeon, taking the glass of wine the dean
passed to him, but declining other refreshment. "I have been summoned
to the neighbourhood of Lexington to see a patient; and as I was on
the spot, I thought I would call upon you, Dr. Beauclerc. My chief
motive in doing so," he added, after a brief pause, "was to inquire
whether you had any particular reason for asking me those questions."
The dean looked at Frederick St. John, as much as to say, Shall we, or
shall we not confide in this medical man?
"I do not inquire from motives of idle curiosity, Dr. Beauclerc,"
resumed the surgeon, marking the dean's hesitation. "Believe me, I
have an urgent reason for wishing to know."
"Better tell him everything," cried Frederick, who had read the dean's
look, and was vehement in his earnestness. "I am sure Mr. Pym may be
trusted; and perhaps he can help us with his advice."
"Very well," said the dean. "But you know, Frederick, the suspicion is
more yours than mine."
"Yes, yes; I take it all upon myself," was the young man's impatient
answer, so fearful was he of losing this new ally. "Mr. Pym, you have
known Mrs. Carleton St. John all her life, have you not? She was
Charlotte Norris."
"Yes, it may be said that I have known her all her life. I brought her
into the world."
"Well, a disagreeable suspicion has recently come upon us in regard to
her--upon me, that is. An awful suspicion; one that I do not like to
mention."
"What is it?" cried the surgeon.
"I fear that she is showing symptoms of insanity."
Frederick St. John looked at Mr. Pym as he spoke, expecting a start of
surprise. Far from evincing any, that gentleman quietly raised his
wine to his lips, sipped it, and put the glass down again.
"Ah," said he. "Well?"
Then Mr. St. John poured forth his tale. He who was usually almost
coldly impassive, who had every tone of his voice, every pulse of his
veins under control, seemed this evening to have become all impulse
and excitement. But in telling his story, he grew gradually calm and
cool.
Mr. Pym listened in silence. At the conclusion of the story he waited
a minute or two, apparently expecting to hear more, but the narrator
had ceased. He spoke then.
"You are sure about that telegram--that it was Prance who sent it?"
"Quite sure. There can be no mistake about that."
"A cautious woman," observed the surgeon. "She mentioned no name. You
see it might have applied to any one as much as to Mrs. Carleton."
"The very remark I made," interposed the dean, and it was the first
word he had spoken. "I tell Mr. St. John that the symptoms and facts
he thinks so much of are very slight."
"Too slight to pronounce any one insane upon," said the doctor. "Will
you be so good as tell me, Mr. St. John, what _first_ gave rise to
suspicion in your mind? It is a rare thing, however eccentric our
friends' actions may be, for us to take up the notion that they are
insane."
"What first gave rise to the suspicion in my mind?" repeated
Frederick. "Why, I don't suppose I ever should have thought of it but
for--but I forgot to tell you that," he broke off, suddenly
remembering that he had omitted to mention what Rose Darling had told
him at Belport.
He related it now. The assertions of the nurse Brayford that Mrs.
Carleton was mad; her terror at the sight of the lighted lanterns in
the Flemish town on St. Martin's Eve. Still Mr. Pym said nothing: he
only took out a note-book and entered something in it.
"Can you not help us, Mr. Pym? Do you not think she must be insane?"
"I cannot say that. But I may tell you that I have always feared it
for her."
"Her father died mad, you wrote word to the dean."
"He died raving mad. You have confided in me, and I see no reason why
I should not tell you all I know--premising, of course, that it must
not be repeated. His madness, as I gathered at the time, was
hereditary; but he had been (unlike his daughter) perfectly well all
his life, betraying no symptoms of it. I was sent for in haste one
night to Norris Court. I was only a young man then--thirty, perhaps;
I'm turned sixty now. My predecessor and late partner, Mr. Jevons, had
been the usual attendant there, but he had retired from business, and
was very infirm. I thought I was wanted for Mrs. Norris, whom I was to
attend in her approaching confinement; but when I reached the Court, I
found what it was. Mr. Norris had suddenly become mad; utterly,
unmistakably mad; and Mrs. Norris, poor thing, was nearly as much so
with terror. He had always been of a remarkably jealous disposition;
some slight incident had caused him to become that day jealous of his
wife, without, I am certain, the least foundation, and after an awful
scene, he attempted her life with his razor. In her endeavour to
escape from him, she dashed her hand through a mirror, whether
accidentally or purposely she could not afterwards remember. Never
shall I forget her dismay and terror when I reached the Court. Her
husband was tolerably quiet then; exhausted, no doubt, from violence;
and his own man, James, was keeping guard over him. That night we had
to put him into a strait-waistcoat. Mrs. Norris, poor young lady--and
she was not twenty then--cried most bitterly as she told me the tale
of her husband's jealousy. She could not imagine what had given rise
to it. She had only received some gentleman, a friend of theirs who
had often called, and had sat and talked with him in the drawing-room,
as she would with any other visitor; but the jealousy, as I explained
to her, preceded the attack of madness. In three or four days the
child Charlotte was born. I took the baby in to Mr. Norris, thinking
it might possibly have a soothing effect upon him. It had just the
contrary--though it is unnecessary to recall minor particulars now. He
had seemed better that day, quite collected, and his servant had
removed the strait-waistcoat. An accession of violence came on at
sight of the child; he sprang out of bed and attempted to seize it; I
put the baby down under the bed, while I helped James to overpower his
master; but it was the hardest struggle I had ever been engaged in.
Mr. Norris never was calm afterwards, and died in a few days, raving
mad."
"But," interrupted the dean, "how was it possible to keep this state
of things from transpiring in the house? The domestics understood, I
believe, that their master died of fever."
"True, Dr. Beauclerc. Fortunately the room to which Mr. Norris was
taken was shut in by other surrounding apartments, and no sound
penetrated beyond it. The servants were kept away by a hint of
infection; a confidential man from an asylum was had in to assist
James and take turn in watching--the servants supposing him to be
merely a sick-nurse. Poor Mrs. Norris entreated for her child's sake
that the nature of its father's malady might be suppressed, if
possible; and the secret was kept. Whether it was well in the long-run
that it should be so kept, I have often asked myself."
Mr. Pym paused in thought. Frederick St. John interrupted it.
"You say this madness was hereditary?"
"Mr. Jevons managed to get to the Court when he found what had
happened. It appeared that some near relatives of Mr. Norris--two, I
think--had died abroad, insane. Mr. Norris was aware of this, and had
been fond of talking of it to Mr. Jevons: the latter thought he had
feared the malady for himself. He had used to say that he should never
marry; and that resolution Mr. Jevons emphatically endorsed. However,
he did marry, and, of course, Mr. Jevons had no power to prevent it.
These particulars I learned of Mr. Jevons as I was driving him to the
Court. Mrs. Norris begged to be made acquainted with all details; and
after her husband's death Mr. Jevons disclosed them to her,
suppressing nothing. What a changed woman she was from that time! and
I believe would then have been thankful had her baby died. 'It must be
my care to prevent its marrying, should it live to grow up,' she said
to Mr. Jevons in my presence; and ten times over during that one
interview she begged him to tell her whether he thought the child
would inherit the fatal disease."
"But the child did marry," interrupted the dean. "Married Mr. Carleton
St. John."
"Yes. I believe Mrs. Darling did try to prevent it, but it was of no
use. Whilst she concealed the reason, arguments could not fail to
prove powerless. It might have been better--I don't know--had she
allowed her daughter to become acquainted with the truth. My opinion
is, that Charlotte has more than once, even before her marriage, been
on the verge of insanity. In her attacks of temper the violence
displayed was very great for a person perfectly sane."
"Did Mrs. Darling ever attempt to excuse this violence to you?"
"Mrs. Darling has never spoken to me on the subject at all since her
first husband's death," replied Mr. Pym. "She has ignored it. But for
an expression at times in her face, I might suppose she fancied that
all recollection of the tragedy had faded from my mind. When I heard
that George St. John was about to marry Miss Norris, I called on Mrs.
Darling, and in the course of conversation I said, incidentally, as it
were, 'Will this marriage be for your daughter's benefit, think you?'
and she seemed offended, and said, Of course it would--what did I
mean?"
"Could you not"--Frederick St. John hesitated as he spoke--"have
whispered a word of warning to Mr. George St. John?"
"I suppose not. The thought crossed me, but I could not see that I was
justified in carrying it out. Had Mrs. Darling met me in a different
manner, I might have ventured. I don't think it would have done any
good, though. George St. John was in love with Miss Norris, or fancied
himself so; and would most likely have married her in spite of
caution."
"In her life, subsequently to her marriage, were there at any time
indications of insanity?"
"I feel tempted to say there were, though I could not bear witness to
it in a court of law," was the reply of Mr. Pym. "One thing is
indisputable--that she inherited her father's jealousy of disposition.
I don't know what it might have been in him; but in her it was in
excess so great as to be in itself a species of madness. She was not,
that I ever heard, jealous of her husband; it displayed itself in her
jealous love for her child. Until he was born, I don't think she had
one of those paroxysms of violence that those about her called
'temper.' George St. John could not understand them. These fits of
passion, coupled with the fierce jealousy that was beyond all reason,
all parallel in my experience, were very like madness."
There was a pause. Frederick St. John broke it with a question.
"Did you suspect--I mean, was there any cause to suspect--that she had
a hand in the little boy's death--Benja's?"
"I did suspect it. That is, I doubted whether it might not be so,"
said Mr. Pym, in low tones. "There was an ugly point in the matter
that I have never liked--that of the doors being fastened. But I am
bound to say there was no proof against her. Still I could not get rid
of my doubts, and I think her mother entertained them also."
"Mrs. Darling!"
"I think so. We both caught each other in the act of trying whether
the bolt would slip when the door closed, in the manner asserted. You
see, when a suspicion of insanity attaches to a man or woman, we are
prone to imagine things that we should never think of doing under
ordinary circumstances."
"Very true," emphatically assented the dean.
"The most bitter person upon the tragedy was Honour; it was only
natural she should be so; but even she did not suspect Mrs. Carleton.
She spoke against her in her ravings, but ravings go for nothing. If
Honour suspected any one, it was Prance rather than Mrs. Carleton."
"Prance!" echoed Mr. St. John.
"She told some tale, at the time, of having seen Prance hiding in a
niche of the corridor, opposite the nursery door. I did not think much
of it, from the state of confusion in which Honour must then have
been; and Prance denied it _in toto_: said she had never been there."
"Then you cannot give me any help?" said Frederick St. John, in tones
of disappointment. "You are unable to bear out my suspicions of her
present madness?"
"How can I bear them out?" asked Mr. Pym. "I have not seen her."
Frederick drummed for a minute on the table. "Don't you think it
strange that Prance should telegraph for Mrs. Darling in the manner
she did, and that Mrs. Darling should hasten to respond to it--on the
wings of the wind, as one may say--and stay on at Castle Wafer?"
"I do," was the surgeon's reply: "assuming that the message related to
Mrs. Carleton, of which I suppose there can be no doubt. Mrs. Carleton
is not ill in body; therefore it must have had reference to her mind."
"I wish you could see her!" impulsively spoke Frederick, "and watch
her as I have done."
"I intend to see her," said Mr. Pym. "I thought of calling at once on
Mrs. Darling; now, as I leave you."
"Do so," cried Frederick. "Contrive to remain a few days at Castle
Wafer. You can say that you are my guest. Stay; I'll give you the
invitation in a careless sort of way before them all tonight, and you
can accept it."
"We will see about that," said the surgeon, rising. "I had better be
going, if Dr. Beauclerc will excuse me, or it may look late to call.
Perhaps you will direct me the nearest way to Castle Wafer."
"I will go with you," said Mr. St. John. "The nearest way is through
the shrubberies. We shall be there in five minutes."
They went out together, the dean saying he would follow with the
ladies, as they were all to spend the evening at Castle Wafer. But
when the dean reached the drawing-room he found they had already gone,
and he did not hurry himself.
It was a lovely moonlight night, clear and bright, and Mr. St. John
and the surgeon commenced their walk, talking eagerly. Mr. St. John
told him, what he had not liked to mention before the dean--Mrs.
Carleton's jealousy of Miss Beauclerc; the occasional wildness of her
eyes when she looked at her, and the little adventure in Georgina's
chamber at midnight. "It is an awful responsibility that rests upon
us," he remarked. "I feel it so, Mr. Pym, now that I have heard your
story tonight. If her father went mad from jealousy, and attempted the
life of his wife, Mrs. Carleton may be attempting some violence to
Miss Beauclerc."
"Miss Beauclerc is young and good-looking, I suppose."
"Both; and her manners are perfectly charming. She is just the girl
that would be obnoxious to a rival."
"It is all fancy, I presume, on Mrs. Carleton's part. There is nothing
between Miss Beauclerc and Sir Isaac?"
Frederick St. John broke into a laugh. "Sir Isaac loves her as he
would a child of his own; and she venerates him as a father. There is
no other sort of love between them, Mr. Pym."
Mr. Pym took a side glance at the speaker. Something in the tone had
struck him that some one else might be a lover of Miss Beauclerc's, if
Sir Isaac was not.
"Even allowing that Mrs. Carleton has been sane hitherto, and my
suspicion a myth, it would never do for her to marry Sir Isaac,"
resumed Frederick. "You would say so if you knew my brother and his
extreme sensitiveness. The very thought of his wife being liable to
insanity would be to him perfectly horrible."
"It would be to most people," said the doctor.
"I think he must be told now. I have abstained from speaking out
hitherto, from a fear that my motives might be misconstrued. My
brother, a confirmed old bachelor, has brought me up to consider
myself his heir; and it would look as though I were swayed by
self-interest."
"I understand," said the surgeon. "But he must be saved from Mrs.
Carleton."
"I cannot bring myself to think that he is in real danger; I believe
still that he has no thought of marrying, and never will have. But
Mrs. Carleton is undeniably attractive, and stranger things have been
known."
"The better plan would be to lay the whole case before Sir Isaac. It
need not be yourself. I should suggest Dr. Beauclerc. And then----"
The surgeon ceased, arrested by the warning hand of Frederick. They
had turned into the dark labyrinth of a place where the artificial
rocks rose on the confines of the Rectory grounds. Georgina Beauclerc
was walking very deliberately towards them. Not at her did Frederick
lift his hand; but at a swift, dark figure, who was following her
silently as a shadow, stealthily as an omen of evil. Frederick St.
John sprang forward and clasped Georgina in his arms.
The dark figure turned suddenly and vanished; but not before its
glaring eyes and its white teeth had been seen by the unwelcome
intruder. He recognized Mrs. Carleton, her black lace shawl thrown
over her head.
"Well, I'm sure!" exclaimed Georgina.
It all passed in an instant. Georgina had heard nothing, seen nothing;
and she felt inclined to resent Mr. St. John's extraordinary movement,
when the first surprise was over. He held her for a moment against his
beating heart; beating more perceptibly than usual just then.
"What did you do that for? Were you going to smother me?"
"I did it to shield you from harm, my darling," he whispered,
unconscious, perhaps, that he used the endearing term. Rarely had
Frederick St. John been less himself than he was at that moment. Miss
Beauclerc looked at him in surprise; in the midst of her bounding
pulses, her glowing blushes, she saw that something had disturbed his
equanimity.
"What are you doing out here alone?"
"You need not be cross"--and indeed his sharp quick question had
sounded so. "As if I could not take a stroll by moonlight if I like!
Perhaps you are afraid of the moon, as mamma is."
"But what were you doing? Had you come from Castle Wafer? You must not
go out at night alone, Georgina."
"Oh indeed; who says so?" she returned, with wilful impertinence; but
it was all put on to hide the ecstatic rapture his one word had
brought to her. "If you must know, mamma and Miss Denison kept up such
a chorus of abuse of me as we went to Castle Wafer, that I would not
go on with them. I came slowly back to meet you and papa."
He had drawn her arm within his own, and was leading her back to the
Rectory. She could hardly keep up with him.
"Where are you hurrying me to?"
"To the dean. He will take care of you to Castle Wafer."
It may be that she thought some one else might have taken care of her.
But she said nothing. Just before they reached the Rectory door, Mr.
St. John stopped under the shade of the laurels.
"Georgina, I must say a serious word to you. Put away nonsense for a
minute, and hear me. I think I have saved you from a great danger;
Will you make me a promise in return?"
"From a great danger!" she repeated, the words rendering her as
serious as he was. "What danger? What can you mean?"
"I cannot tell precisely what danger, neither can I say more
particularly what I mean. Nevertheless I think I am right. It is not
good for you to be about alone just now, whether before nightfall or
after it. You must give me your promise not to be so."
"What is there to harm me?" she whispered, involuntarily clinging more
closely to his arm.
"Leave that with me for the present. Only trust me, and do as I say.
Will you promise?"
"Yes, if there is a necessity for it. I promise you."
Her earnest face was raised in the moonlight. She had never seen him
so solemn as now. He bent his head.
"Will you seal the compact, Georgina?"
Instinct, and the grave tender tone, told her what he meant. Her eyes
filled with tears; but she did not draw her face away, and he left a
kiss upon her lips.
"Mind, Georgina, that's as binding as an oath," he said, as he walked
on. "Take care that you strictly keep your promise. There is urgent
necessity why you should do so. Sometime I may tell you why, if you
are good. I may be telling you all sorts of things besides."
Her face was bent to conceal its hot blushes. Heaven seemed suddenly
to have opened for Georgina Beauclerc.
"Halloa!" cried the dean, as he met them in the hall. "I thought you
had gone on with your mamma, Georgina."
"She came back to walk with you, sir," said Mr. St. John, only waiting
to speak the words and then hastening away again.
Mr. Pym was standing near the rocks as he got up to him. "Where did
you hide yourself?" cried Frederick. "You seemed to vanish into air. I
could see you nowhere."
"I slipped behind here," answered the surgeon, indicating the rocks.
"Was not one of those ladies Mrs. Carleton?"
"Yes."
"Well, I thought it might be as well for her not to see me here. I
wish to call at Castle Wafer by accident, you understand."
Frederick St. John nodded. "Could you see her teeth and her glistening
eyes? She was stealthily following Miss Beauclerc. _For what purpose?_
I am thankful we were here."
"Where is Miss Beauclerc now?"
"She is coming on with the dean. I have cautioned her not to go out
alone. Mr. Pym, what is to be done? This state of things cannot be
allowed to go on. I call upon you, as a good and true man, to aid us,
if it be in your power."
Mr. Pym made no reply. He walked on in his favourite attitude, his
hands clasped behind his back, just as he was walking in that
sorrowful chamber, the evening you first beheld him; and his face
wore, to Mr. St. John's thinking, a strangely troubled look in the
moonlight.