THE END OF WORLDLY TROUBLES
Not more than five minutes afterwards, Mrs. Elstree arrived upon this
scene of wreck. The splintered panels, the broken lock, the axe lying
on the floor, proclaimed aloud that there had been an Incident of some
gravity--certainly what we have called a Deplorable Incident.
Such a thing as a Deplorable Incident in such a place and with such a
man was, indeed, remarkable. Mrs. Elstree gazed upon the wreck with
astonishment unfeigned: she turned to the tenant of the studio, who
stood exactly where Armorel had left him. As the sea when the storm
has ceased continues to heave in sullen anger, so that majestic spirit
still heaved with wrath as yet unappeased.
In answer to the mute question of her eyes, he growled, and threw
himself into his study-chair. When she picked up the axe and bore it
back to its place, he growled. When she pointed to the door, he
growled again.
She looked at his angry face, and she laughed gently. The last time we
saw her she was pale and hysterical. She was now smiling, apparently
in perfect health of body and ease of mind. Perhaps she was a very
good actress--off the stage: perhaps she shook off things easily.
Otherwise one does not always step from a highly nervous and
hysterical condition to one of happiness and cheerfulness.
'There appears to have been a little unpleasantness,' she said softly.
'Something, apparently an axe--something hard and sharp--has been
brought into contact with the door. It has been awkward for the door.
There has been, I suppose, an earthquake.'
He said nothing, but drummed the table with his fingers--a sign of
impatient and enforced listening.
'Earthquakes are dangerous things, sometimes. Meanwhile, Alec, if I
were you I would have the broken bits taken away.' She touched the
bell on the table. 'Ford'--this was the name of the discreet
man-servant--'will you kindly take the door, which you see is broken,
off its hinges and send it away to be mended. We will manage with the
curtain.'
'What do you want, Zoe?'--when this operation had been effected--'what
is the important news you have to bring me? And why have you given up
your berth? I suppose you think I am able to find you a place just by
lifting up my little finger? And I hear you have gone without a
moment's notice, just as if you had run away?'
'I did run away, Alec,' she replied. 'After what has--been done'--she
caught her breath--'I was obliged to run away. I could no longer
stay.'
'What has been done, then? Did Armorel tell you? No--she couldn't.'
'She has told me nothing. I have hardly seen her at all during the
last few days. Of course, I know that you proposed to her--because you
went off with that purpose; and that she refused you--because that was
certain. And, now, don't begin scolding and questioning, because we
have got something much more important to discuss. I have given up my
charge of Armorel, and I have come here. If you possibly can, Alec,
clear up your face a little, forget the earthquake, and behave with
some attempt at politeness. I insist,' she added sharply, 'upon being
treated with some pretence at politeness.'
'Mind, I am in no mood to listen to a pack of complaints and squabbles
and jealousies.'
'Whatever mind you are in, my dear Alec, it wants the sweetening. You
shall have no squabbles or jealousies. I will not even ask who brought
along the earthquake--though, of course, it was an Angel in the House.
They are generally the cause of all the earthquakes. Fortunately for
you, I am not jealous. The important thing about which I want to talk
to you is money, Alec--money.'
Something in her manner seemed to hold out promise. A drowning man
catches at a straw. Alec lifted his gloomy face.
'What's the use?' he said. 'You have failed to get money in the way I
suggested. I haven't got any left at all. And we are now at the very
end. All is over and done, Zoe. The game is ended. We must throw up
the sponge.'
'Not just yet, dear Alec,' she said softly.
'Look here, Zoe'--he softened a little. 'I have thought over things. I
shall have to disappear for a while, I believe, till things blow over.
Now, here's just a gleam of luck. Jagenal the lawyer has been here
to-day. He came to tell me that he has discovered, somehow, something
belonging to me. He says it will run up to nearly a thousand pounds.
It isn't much, but it is something. Now, Zoe, I mean to convert that
thousand into cash--notes--portable property--and I shall keep it in
my pocket. Don't think I am going to let the creditors have much of
that! If the smash has to come off, I will then give you half, and
keep the other half myself. Meantime, the possession of the money may
stave off the smash. But if it comes, we will go away--different ways,
you know--and own each other no more.'
'Not exactly, my dear Alec. You may go away, if you please, but I
shall go with you. For the future, I mean to go the same way as
you--with you--beside you.'
'Oh!' His face did not betray immoderate joy at this prospect. 'I
suppose you have got something else to say. If that was all, I should
ask how you propose to pay for your railway ticket and your hotel
bill.'
'Of course, I have got something else to say.'
'It must be something substantial, then. Look here, Zoe: this is
really no time for fooling. Everything, I tell you, has gone, and all
at once. I can't explain. Credit--everything!'
'I have read,' said Zoe, taking the most comfortable chair and lying
well back in it, 'that the wise man once discovered that everybody
must be either a hammer or an anvil. I think it was Voltaire. He
resolved on becoming the hammer. You, Alec, made the same useful
discovery. You, also, became a hammer. So far, you have done pretty
well, considering. But now there is a sudden check, and you are thrown
out altogether.'
'Well?'
'That seems to show that your plans were incomplete. Your ideas were
sound, but they were not fully developed.'
'I don't know you this morning, Zoe. I have never heard you talk like
this before.'
'You have never known me, Alec,' she replied, perhaps a little sadly.
'You have never tried to know me. Well--I know all. Mr. Roland Lee,
the painter, was one anvil--you played upon him very harmoniously.
Effie Wilmot was another. Now, Alec, don't'--she knew the premonitory
symptoms--'don't begin to deny, either with the "D" or without,
because, I assure you, I know everything. You are like the ostrich,
who buries his head in the sand and thinks himself invisible. Don't
deny things, because it is quite useless. Before we go a step farther
I am going to make you understand exactly. I know the whole story. I
have suspected things for a long time, and now I have learned the
truth. I learned it bit by bit through the fortunate accident of
living with Armorel, who has been the real discoverer. First I saw the
man's work, and I saw at once where you got your pictures from, and
what was the meaning of certain words that had passed from Armorel.
Why, Armorel was the model--your model, and you didn't know it. And
the coast scenery is her scenery--the Scilly Isles, where you have
never been. I won't tell you how I pieced things together till I had
made a connected story and had no longer any doubt. But remember the
night of the Reading. Why did Armorel hold that Reading? Why did she
show the unfinished picture? Why did she sing that song? It was for
you, Alec. It was to tell you a great deal more than it told the
people. It was to let you know that everything was discovered. Do you
deny it now?'
'I suppose that infernal girl--she is capable of everything----'
'Even of earthquakes? No, Alec, she has told me nothing. They've got
into the habit of talking--she and Effie and the painter man--as if I
was asleep. You see I lie about a good deal by the fireside, and I
don't want to talk, and so I lie with my eyes shut and listen. Then
Armorel leaves everything about--manuscript poems, sketches,
letters--everything, and I read them. A companion, of course, must see
that her ward is not getting into mischief. It is her duty to read
private letters. When they talk in the evening, Effie, who worships
Armorel, tells her everything, including your magnificent attempt to
become a dramatic poet, my dear boy--wrong--wrong--you should not get
more than one ghost from one family. You should not put all your
ghosts into one basket. When the painter comes--Armorel is in love
with him, and he is in love with her; but he has been a naughty boy,
and has to show true repentance before.... Oh! It's very pretty and
sentimental: they play the fiddle and talk about Scilly and the old
times, and Effie sighs with sympathy. It is really very pretty,
especially as it all helped me to understand their ghostlinesses and
to unravel the whole story. Fortunately, my dear Alec, you have had to
do with a girl who is not of the ordinary society stamp, otherwise
your story would have been given to the society papers long ago, and
then even I could have done nothing for you. Armorel is a girl of
quite extinct virtues--forbearing, unrevengeful, honourable,
unselfish. You, my dear Alec, could never appreciate or understand
such a girl.'
'The girl is--a girl. What is there to understand in one girl more
than in another?'
'Nothing--nothing. O great Poet and greater Painter!--Nothing. O man
of fine insight, and delicate fancy, and subtle intellect!--Nothing.
Only a girl.'
'I know already that they are not going to say anything more about it.
They are going to let the whole business be forgotten. If anything
comes out through you----'
'Nothing will come out. I told you because it is well that we should
perfectly understand each other. You will never again be able to
parade before me in the disguise of genius. This is a great pity,
because you have always enjoyed playing the part. Never again, Alec,
because I have found you out. Should you ever find me out, I shall not
be able to walk with you in the disguise of ... but you must find out
first.'
'What do you mean?'
'Oh! you must find out first. When you do find out, you will be able
to hold out your arms and cry, "We are alike at last. You have come
down to my level: we are now in the same depths. Come to my arms,
sister in pretence! Come, my bride!"' She spread out her arms with an
exaggerated gesture and laughed, but not mirthfully.
'What on earth do you mean, Zoe? I never saw you like this before.'
'No, we change sometimes, quite suddenly. It is very unaccountable.
And now I shall never be anything else than what I am now--what you
have made me.'
'What have you done, then?'
'Done? Nothing. To do something is polite for committing a crime.
Could I have done something, do you think? Could I actually commit a
crime? O Alec!--my dear Alec!--a crime? Well, the really important
thing is that your troubles are over.'
'By Jove! They are only just beginning.'
'It is only money that troubles you. If it was conscience, or the
sense of honour, I could not help you. As it is only money----how
much, actually, will put a period to the trouble?'
'If I were to use Jagenal's promised thousand, I could really manage
with two thousand more.'
'Oh! Then, my dear Alec, what do you think of this?'
She drew out of her pocket a new clean white bank-book, and handed it
to him.
He opened it. 'Heavens, Zoe! What is the meaning of this?'
'You can read, Alec: it means what it says. Four thousand two hundred
and twenty-five pounds standing to my credit. Observe the name--Mrs.
Alexander Feilding--Mrs. Alexander Feilding--wife, that is, of Alec!
Mrs. Elstree has vanished. She has gone to join the limbo of ghosts
who never existed. Her adored Jerome is there, too.'
'What does it mean?'
'It means, again, that I have four thousand two hundred and
twenty-five pounds of my own, who, the day before yesterday, had
nothing. Where I got that money from is my own business. Perhaps
Armorel relented and has advanced this money--perhaps some old friends
of my father's--he had friends, though he was reputed so rich and died
so miserably--have quietly subscribed this amount--perhaps my cousins,
whom you forced me to abandon, have found me out and endowed me with
this sum--a late but still acceptable act of generosity--perhaps my
mother's sister, who swore she would never forgive me for going on the
stage, has given way at last! In short, my dear Alec----'
'Four thousand pounds! Where could you raise that money?'
'Make any conjecture you please. I shall not tell you. The main point
is that the money is here--safely deposited in my name and to my
credit. It is mine, you see, my dear Alec; and it can only be used for
your purposes with my consent--under my conditions.'
'How on earth,' he repeated slowly, 'did you get four thousand
pounds?'
'It is difficult for you to find an answer to that question,' she
replied, 'isn't it? Especially as I shall not answer it. About my
conditions now.'
'What conditions?'
'The possession of this capital--I have thought it all out--will
enable us, first of all, to pay off your creditors in full if you
must--or at least to satisfy them. Next, it will restore your credit.
Thirdly, it will enable you to live while I am laying the foundations
of a new and more stable business.'
'You?'
'I, my dear boy. I mean in future to be the active working and
contriving partner in the firm. I have the plans and method worked out
already in my head. You struck out, I must say, a line of audacity.
There is something novel about it. But your plan wanted elasticity.
You kept a ghost. Well, I suppose other people have done this before.
You kept three or four ghosts, each in his own line. Nobody thought of
setting up as the Universal Genius before--at least, not to my
knowledge. But, then, you placed your whole dependence upon your one
single family of ghosts. Once deprived of him--whether your painter,
your poet, your story-teller--and where were you? Lost! You are
stranded. This has happened to you now. Your paper is to come out as
usual, and you have got nothing to put into it. Your patrons will be
flocking to your studio, and you have got nothing to show. You have
made a grievous blunder. Now, Alec, I am going to remedy all this.'
'You?'
'You shall see what I am capable of doing. You shall no longer waste
your time and money in going about to great houses. Your wife shall
have her _salon_, which shall be a centre of action far more useful
and effective. You shall become, through her help, a far greater
leader, with a far greater name, than you have ever dreamed of. And
your paper shall be a bigger thing.'
'You, Zoe? You to talk like this?'
'You thought I was a helpless creature because I never succeeded on
the stage, and could not even carry out your poor little schemes upon
Armorel's purse, I suppose, and because I---- Well, you shall be
undeceived.'
'If I could only believe this!'
'You will find, Alec, that my stage experiences will not go for
nothing. Why, even if I was a poor actress, I did learn the whole
business of stage management. I am going to transfer that business
from the stage to the drawing-room, which shall be, at first, this
room. We shall play our little comedy together, you and I.' She sprang
to her feet, and began to act as if she was on the stage--'It will be
a duologue. Your _rôle_ will still be that of the Universal Genius;
mine will be that of the supposed extinct Lady--the Lady of the
Salon--I shall be at home one evening a week--say on Sunday. And it
shall be an evening remembered and expected. We shall both take Art
seriously: you as the Master, I as the sympathetic and intelligent
worshipper of Art. We shall attract to our rooms artists of every kind
and those who hang about artistic circles: our furniture shall show
the latest artistic craze: foreigners shall come here as to the art
centre of London--we will cultivate the foreign element: young people
shall come for advice, for encouragement, for introduction:
reputations shall be made and marred in this room: you shall be the
Leader and Chief of the World of Art. If there is here and there one
who knows that you are a humbug, what matters? Alec'--she struck a
most effective attitude--'rise to the prospect! Have a little
imagination! I see before me the most splendid future--oh! the most
splendid future!'
'All very well. But there's the present staring us in the face. How
and where are we to find the--the successors to Lady Frances and Effie
and----'
'Where to find ghosts? Leave that to me. I know where there are plenty
only too glad to be employed. They can be had very cheap, my dear
Alec, I can assure you. Oh! I have not been so low down in the social
levels for nothing. You paid a ridiculous price for your ghosts--quite
ridiculous. I will find you ghosts enough, never fear.'
'Where are they?'
'When one goes about the country with a travelling company one hears
strange things. I have heard of painters--good painters--who once
promised to become Royal Academicians, and anything you please, but
took to ways--downward ways, you know--and now sit in public-houses
and sell their work for fifteen shillings a picture. I will find you
such a genius, and will make him take pains and produce a picture
worthy of his better days, and you shall have it for a guinea and a
pint of champagne.'
Alec Feilding gasped. The vista before him was too splendid.
'Or, if you want verses, I know of a poet who used to write little
dainty pieces--_levers de rideau, libretti_ for little operettas, and
so forth. He carries the boards about the streets when he is very hard
up. I can catch that creature and lock him up without drink till he
has written a poem far better--more manly--than anything that girl of
yours could ever produce, for half-a-crown. And he will never ask what
becomes of it. If you want stories, I know a man--quite a young
fellow--who gets about fifteen shillings a week in his travelling
company. This fellow is wonderful at stories. For ten shillings a
column he will reel you out as many as you want--good stuff, mind--and
the papers have never found him out: and he will never ask what has
become of them, because he is never sober for more than an hour or two
at a time in the middle of the day, and he will forget his own
handiwork. Alec, I declare that I can find you as many ghosts as you
like, and better--more popular--more interesting than your old lot.'
'If I could only believe----' he repeated.
'You say that because you have never even begun to believe that a
woman can do anything. Well, I do not ask you to believe. I say that
you shall see. I owe to you the idea. All the working out shall be my
own. All the assistance you can give me will be your own big and
important presence and your manner of authority. Yes; some men get
rich by the labours of others: you, Alec, shall become famous--perhaps
immortal--by the genius--the collected genius, of others.'
His imagination was not strong enough to understand the vision that
she spread out before him. In a wooden way, he saw that she intended
something big. He only half believed it: he only half understood it:
but he did understand that ghosts were to be had.
'There's next week's paper, Zoe,' he said helplessly. 'Nothing for it
yet! We mustn't have a breakdown--it would be fatal!'
'Breakdown! Of course not, even if I write it all myself. You don't
believe that I can write even, I suppose?'
'Well, you shall do as you like.' He got up and stood over the fire
again, sighing his relief. 'At all events, we have got this money.
Good Heavens! What a chance! And what a day! I stood here this
morning, Zoe, thinking all was lost. Then old Jagenal comes in and
tells me of a thousand pounds--said it would run to nearly a thousand.
And then you come in with a bank-book of four thousand! Oh! it's
Providential! It's enough to make a man humble. Zoe, I confess'--he
took her hands in his, stooped, and kissed her tenderly--'I don't
deserve such treatment from you. I do not, indeed. Are you sure about
those ghosts? As for me, of course you are right. I can't paint a
stroke. I can't make a rhyme. I can't write stories. I can do
nothing--but live upon those who can do everything. You are quite sure
about those ghosts?'
'Oh, yes! Quite sure. Of course I knew all along. But you must keep it
up more religiously than ever, because the business is going to be so
much--so very much--bigger. Now for my conditions.'
'Any conditions--any!'
'You will insert this advertisement for six days, beginning to-morrow,
in the _Times_.'
He read it aloud. He read it without the least change of countenance,
so wooden was his face, so hard his heart.
'On Wednesday, April 21, 1887, at St. Leonard's, Worthing, Alexander
Feilding, of the Grove Studio, Marlborough Road, to Zoe, only daughter
of the late Peter Evelyn, formerly of Kensington Palace Gardens.'
'I believe,' he said, folding the paper, 'that was the date. It was
three years ago, wasn't it? I say, Zoe, won't it be awkward having to
explain things--long interval, you know--engagement as companion--wrong
name?'
'I have thought of that. But it would be more awkward pretending that
we were married to-day and being found out. No. There are not
half-a-dozen people who will ever know that I was Armorel's companion.
Then, a circumstance, which there is no need ever to explain, forbade
the announcement of our marriage--hint at a near relation's will--I
was compelled to assume another name. Cruel necessity!'
'You are a mighty clever woman, Zoe.'
'I am. If you are wise, now, you will assume a joyful air. You will go
about rejoicing that the bar to this public announcement has been at
length removed. Family reasons--you will say--no fault of yours or of
mine. It is your business, of course, how you will look--but I
recommend this line. Be the exultant bridegroom, not the downcast
husband. Will you walk so?'--she assumed a buoyant dancing step with a
smiling face--'or so?' she hung a dejected head and crawled sadly.
'By gad, it's wonderful!' he cried, looking at her with astonishment.
And, indeed, who would recognise the quiet, sleepy, indolent woman of
yesterday in the quick, restless, and alert woman of to-day?
'Henceforth I must work, Alec. I cannot sit down and go to sleep any
longer. That time has gone. I think I have murdered sleep.'
'Work away, my girl. Nobody wants to prevent you. Are there any other
conditions?'
'You will sell your riding-horses and buy a Victoria. Your wife must
have something to drive about in. And you will lead, in many respects,
an altered life. I must have, for the complete working out of my
plans, an ideal domestic life. Turtle-doves we must be for affection,
and angels incarnate for propriety. The highest Art in the home is the
highest standard of manners that can be set up.'
'Very good. Any more conditions?'
'Only one more condition. _J'y suis. J'y reste._ You will call your
servant and inform him that I am your wife, and the mistress of this
establishment. I think there will be no more earthquakes and broken
panels. Alec'--she laid her hand upon his arm--'you should have done
this three years ago. I should have saved you. I should have saved
myself. Now, whatever happens, we are on the same level--we cannot
reproach each other. We shall walk hand in hand. It was done for you,
Alec. And I would do it again. Yes--yes--yes. Again!' She repeated the
words with flashing eyes. 'Fraud--sham--pretence--these are our
servants. We command them. By them we live, and by them we climb. What
matter--so we reach the top--by what ladders we have climbed?' She
looked around with a gesture of defiance, fine and free. 'The world is
all alike,' she said. 'There is no truth or honour anywhere. We are
all in the same swim.'
The man dropped into his vacant chair. 'We are saved!' he cried.
'Saved!' she echoed. 'Saved! Did you ever see a Court of Justice,
Alec? I have. Once, when our company was playing at Winchester, I went
to see the Assizes. I remember then wondering how it would feel to be
a prisoner. Henceforth I shall understand his sensations. There they
stand, two prisoners, side by side--a man and a woman--a pair of them.
Found out at last, and arrested and brought up for trial. There sits
the Judge, stern and cold: there are the twelve men of the jury, grave
and cold: there are the policemen, stony-hearted: there are the
lawyers, laughing and talking: there are the people behind, all grave
and cold. No pity in any single face--not a gleam of pity--for the
poor prisoners. Some people go stealing and cheating because they are
driven by poverty. These people did not: they were driven by vanity
and greed. Look at them in the box: they are well dressed. See! they
are curiously like you and me, Alec'--she was acting now better than
she ever acted on the stage--'The man is like you, and the woman--oh!
you poor, unlucky wretch!--is like me--curiously, comically like me.
They will be found guilty. What punishment will they get? As for her,
it was for her husband's sake that she did it. But, I suppose, that
will not help her. What will they get, Alec?'
He sat up in the chair and heaved a great sigh of relief.
'What are you talking about, my dear? I was not listening. Well; we
are saved. It has been a mighty close shave. Another day, and I must
have thrown up the sponge. We have a world of work before us; but if
you are only half or quarter as clever as you think yourself, we shall
do splendidly.' He laid his arm round her waist, and drew her gently
and kissed her again. 'So--now you are sensible--what were you talking
about prisoners for? No more separations now. Let me kiss away these
tears. And now, Zoe--now--time presses. I am anxious to repair my
losses. Where are we to find these ghosts? Sit down. To work! To
work!'