And so Miss Cartwright was laid in that peaceful cemetery at Rome where
the sweet violets clamber over the graves, and the cypresses grow tall
against the blue sky, throwing shadows alike on the Christian
resting-place, and on the tomb of the old republican, who had himself
enclosed in a pyramid of marble. They were obliged to shut Cartouche
into a room from which there was no possible exit, or the dog would have
forced his way after them; and indeed, after they came back, Jack could
hardly endure the questioning look of his eyes. As for Miss Preston,
she could not pet him enough. She asked Jack with tears in her eyes
whether he would let her take him back to Florence, where she meant to
return at once, not caring to remain in Rome; but Jack would not part
with the dog. For a week or two longer he intended to stay on in the
house in the Via della Croce, for there were certain arrangements to
make which made it necessary for him to be in Rome; then he thought he
would go back to his work in London, and if the prospect looked a little
forlorn, he told himself that he must get used to it, and put his
shoulder to the wheel. All his aunt's property had come to him, but
this winter had also brought him a contempt of idleness, and it did not
in any way modify his plans for his future life. He had seen Mrs
Leyton, and something, which she purposely let drop, had confirmed his
impression that Phillis was lost to him. He could not quite give up
hope, but told himself that time only could answer his doubts, and
meanwhile thought with some reluctance of the task which must be
undertaken before Phillis would feel satisfied that Bice knew how Oliver
Trent had really acted.
Two days after the funeral, three people were standing in a room in the
Palazzo Capponi, the windows of which looked into a square courtyard,
round which ran a covered way, and which for its centre had a slender
fountain, with camellias growing round it. The room itself was
certainly ugly. The proportions were fine, and some good pictures hung
on the walls, but the panels, doors, and ceiling were painted heavily
and in bad taste, while the furniture was hideously covered with yellow
satin. In the furthest window, an old Italian servant with a brown and
wrinkled face sat knitting, and turning her back to the three, who were
Bice, Trent, and young Moroni. It was to this last that Bice was
talking eagerly in his own language, paying no attention to Trent's
looks of annoyance. At this moment the servant brought in a card.
"It is Mr Ibbetson," said Bice, after a moment's pause. "Yes; of
course we are at home to him."
If her colour rose a little, Trent did not see it. He had expected this
meeting, but no preparation could subdue the feeling of dismay which
seized him. He said sharply,--
"I hope you will not be anything of the sort. You ought not to admit
him."
"Do you suppose I will allow you to dictate to me?" she said, looking at
Trent with flashing eyes.
"Your mother is not here," he said, biting his lips.
"There is Brigitta--"
The servant had retired into the anteroom; Bice was moving towards him,
when Trent placed himself before her.
"Listen to reason," he said beseechingly. "I tell you I can't promise
to keep my temper with this man."
"And what do I care!" she retorted. "Are you afraid of him? I don't
suppose he comes to see you, and so if you like you can go away.
Certainly I shall receive him."
The girl had changed in some way or other. Her beauty was, if possible,
more remarkable than ever, so large were her eyes, and so curved the
lines of her mouth, but instead of the frank and open manner which had
been as simple as that of a child, there was noticeable a touch of hard
recklessness, of defiance which was almost like despair. Young Moroni,
standing by, had also changed. He had grown older, and now looked from
one to the other, understanding nothing of the words, but aware that
something was amiss, and ready at a sign from Bice to fling himself upon
the other man. He, poor fellow, was feeling as if all his old hopes had
come to an end. Trent was very pale, but had recovered his coolness.
He said scornfully,--
"No, I am not quite such a fool. I imagine the meeting will be less
agreeable for him than for me, on the whole. But these knight-errants
of yours, my dear Bice, should learn to conduct themselves less
offensively when they meddle with what does not concern them. Pray, is
this other also to take part in the coming interview?"
"He will not be the wiser," said the girl indifferently. Her anger
seemed to have died out, and she said a few careless words to Moroni,
who brightened, nodded, and took a newspaper with him into a recess
where he was half hidden by a heavy yellow curtain. Then she walked to
the door and threw it open. "Ask the English gentleman to come in," she
said to the servant who was waiting, and came back to the middle of the
room, flinging a triumphant and haughty glance at Trent.
As for him in these moments he had rapidly reviewed his position. Ever
since he had heard of Ibbetson's sudden arrival in Rome, he had known
that this meeting must in all probability take place, and had prepared
for it, thinking carefully over his chances, so that it did not take him
by surprise, although he had had a faint hope of inducing Bice to refuse
to see him. He had played a bold game, calculating that interest and
the hope of regaining his uncle's favour would keep Ibbetson in England,
and managing to persuade Bice that he was misjudged from having really
befriended Clive. What was she to think! Clive's own letters almost
took his part; she had already promised, and was sick at heart, while
her strong will failed in spite of its bold front. Trent had worked
warily with her, and had all but won. But at this moment, though this
flashed through his mind, and though he was well aware how perilous was
his position and how much depended on his own coolness and audacity, he
felt despairingly that he was not cool. He loved this girl so
passionately that it irritated him almost beyond endurance to feel that
the man he looked upon as his rival was eagerly welcomed by her in the
face of his expressed wish. No dread of possible consequences fell upon
him so painfully as this fact.
As for Bice her heart was beating fast, she did not know what she felt.
When Jack came in she was standing alone in the middle of the room with
all its heavy adornments. Somehow they only seemed to add to her
beauty, which struck him as freshly as ever. He greeted her kindly, and
exchanged a stiff bow with Trent.
"We have been so shocked and grieved," she said with eagerness. "I
shall always feel as if she were the kindest person I have ever known."
"Thank you," Jack replied gravely. "I, for one, have good reason to say
so."
"Did she suffer very much?"
"At first. By the time I saw her it was more weakness than pain."
"And you were in time? We have heard very few particulars."
"Yes. I arrived the afternoon before."
He was sitting next Bice on a sofa. Trent had flung himself on a chair,
and taken up a book, but he was keenly on the watch. Bice, whose
contemptuous mood had passed, looked at him nervously.
"I thought that when you left Rome you intended to come back again? Why
did you stay all that time in England?" she asked in a hesitating voice.
"I did intend to return when I left, but circumstances are sometimes too
strong for intentions," said Jack, feeling a comical conviction that he
was growing sententious. Pope's line flashed through his mind: "And
mark the point where sense and dulness meet."
"I hope the sense is equal to the dulness," he thought.
"And you saw Clive?"
She glanced at Oliver again as she put the question, but this time her
looks were defiant. She thought that Ibbetson had gathered a false
impression of what Trent had done; at the same time she took a certain
pleasure in introducing a subject which would perhaps irritate Trent.
He at once accepted the challenge, laying down the book and saying in
his soft tones:
"You need hardly put that question, Bice; Mr Ibbetson not only saw
Clive, but, as you know, made discoveries so new and startling, that if
they had not had the misfortune to place me in a very unenviable light,
I should really have been disposed to congratulate him upon their
extraordinary ingenuity."
"You would be giving me more credit than I deserve," Jack replied
calmly. "My discoveries were so far from ingenious that I might have
wondered at their results if I had not remembered an old saying."
"Pray allow us to benefit."
"You may go by different roads, and yet reach the same end."
Jack was getting irate at what he considered insolence, though he was
ready to spare him if Bice made any sign.
"Most oracular. May I ask whether the application is intended for my
use?" said Trent without any change of countenance. But Ibbetson
noticed that his hand which was resting on the arm of the chair, grasped
it closely. He bent forward and answered,--
"Certainly I have no wish to be your fellow-traveller."
Bice, who had been glancing doubtfully from one to the other,
interposed.
"You are not quite fair on Mr Trent. Has it ever been explained to
you? Oh, then, it is no wonder. He was deceived as well as poor Clive
by that wicked man."
"Was he?"
"Yes, indeed. What a friend for Clive to choose! Do you think he will
be more careful now? Because, if not, I am sure he will be ruined."
"He has had a lesson, of course."
"And it was all through you that the man was found out. Imagine his
telling you that he had repaid the money! I suppose he is too ill to be
punished?"
"He is dead," Ibbetson answered briefly.
"Dead!" she looked questioningly at him; something which he could not
shut out of his manner, gave her suspicions. She said with her old
imperativeness, "Why do you speak in such little sentences? Are you
hiding something, or are you offended? Don't you know that we can
never, never, thank you enough?"
"You don't include me in your `we,' I hope," said Trent with a sharp
change of voice.
"Certainly personal relations need not be discussed between us," replied
Jack haughtily. "May I ask how the history of the money continues after
reaching this point?"
"If it were not for this lady, I might decline to answer your
questions," said Trent in the same tone. "She being present, and
considering herself under obligations to you, I will inform you that it
does not continue at all. It ends with Mr Smith."
"Who is dead?"
"Who is dead."
Surely there was some triumph in his voice.
"And therefore beyond the possibility of being called as a witness."
"That may be your way of looking at the case. From my view I should say
that he was beyond the possibility of being called to account for
dishonesty."
"Take care, Mr Trent," returned Jack gravely. Oliver glanced swiftly
at him, something in his face giving him a thrill of uneasiness. Then
he looked at Bice; her eyes were fixed eagerly, inquiringly upon him,
the breath came quickly through her parted lips as she leaned forward.
The sight of these two, sitting side by side, maddened him.
"May I be permitted to ask to what your warning relates?" he said with
an attempt at scorn.
"Certainly. Do you wish me to enter into particulars now, or would you
prefer them to be given in private?" Before Trent said "Now," he
rapidly reviewed his chances. If he could have had a hope that Ibbetson
would not tell all to Bice, he would have chosen a private interview,
but he felt certain that sooner or later she would be informed, and,
therefore, determined to meet the charge boldly. Besides, he could see
she would not be put off. And after all, was not his word as good any
day as that wretched Smith's. He said, "Now," briefly.
"Then, to put it in the fewest possible words, I may tell you that,
although Smith is dead, I have in my possession such strong and clear
evidence of his having paid you the money, that there would not be the
smallest difficulty in proving it in a court of law."
"Perhaps a receipt," sneered Trent.
"No. But a deposition, taken when he knew himself dying, and signed in
the presence of the clergyman and another witness."
"Your court of law would require a little stronger evidence than this
document, however interesting, Mr Ibbetson."
He still spoke without flinching.
"Oh, they would have it. The chain is very complete. There would be
the evidence of the London landlady that she had furnished you with
Smith's address and refused it to others by your advice. That of Clive
that you denied all knowledge of it. And lastly that of the Broadwater
lodging-house keeper that you saw Smith there on such a day. What took
you there?"
"What's that to you?" asked Trent firmly. But he was livid. Then
suddenly changing his tone he turned imploringly to Bice, whose eyes
were still fixed upon him, though she had drawn her hands tightly
against her chest, and was shrinking backwards. "Bice! You at least
will not believe this ridiculous slander. You and I both know that
Clive would not listen to advice. I was very uneasy about him--for your
sake, remember--could I have done him any harm? Perhaps I had better
have treated him more openly, better for myself certainly it would have
been, but I thought he would grow desperate, and lose all self-respect
if I let him know that I knew his story to be false. It was for that
reason that I never told him I had traced Smith. For Smith utterly
denied it to me then. I believe now that he was lying, as, according to
Mr Ibbetson, he has lied about me, but at the time I took his word for
his statement. And then I lent Clive the money, calling it lending, but
never intending to take it from him, only feeling that the effort of
repaying it would make more impression than words. You understand this,
Bice?"
She did not answer his appeal. A mute horror seemed to have seized her.
Ibbetson looked at him with more pity than she did, and bent his eyes
on the ground as he went on.
"Finally, there is the man Elias Brooks."
"What of him?" said Trent hoarsely.
"It is never safe to buy silence, because speech will always be ready
for a higher bidder. Indeed, I doubt if you knew what most required
hushing up. He was interested in your interview with Smith, and is
prepared to repeat the greater part of it."
"Confound you and him together," said Trent, springing up. "Are these
your tools? And you believe him?"
"Yes I do; because the corroboration is exact."
"I shall expect satisfaction for these insults, Mr Ibbetson." Oliver's
voice was choked.
"Not really, I think," Jack said coolly.
"Stop!" interrupted Bice. She stood up, trembling so much that she had
to rest her hand on the sofa. Trent's eyes fell before hers which
seemed to blaze with the fire of her indignation. She tried to speak,
but the words would not come. "Go away, go!" she said at last with a
shudder.
He made a step towards her.
"Bice, my darling, hear me!"
"You could treat Clive like that!"
"Let me explain--"
"Not a word," she interrupted. She spoke in a strained high voice, but
words had come back to her. "You have deceived me from first to last.
I have never loved you, but I thought you were good to Clive. Every day
of my life I will thank God that He has saved me from becoming your
wife. Do you hear? Now go."
The scorn, the sweeping indignation of her voice startled them all.
Brigitta looked round; Moroni, whom Jack had not seen until that moment,
came hurriedly forward, and stood looking from one to another. Trent
caught her hand.
"Take care!" he said in a sharp whisper; then, as she shook him off with
such a vehement movement as that with which she would have flung some
reptile from her, he went on desperately, "Are you mad? I have borne a
great deal, but I cannot bear everything. Have you forgotten that there
are other ties between us besides those which you are so ready to cast
off? Perhaps you wish your mother to be ruined. How is she to pay her
debts?"
She had drawn herself to her full height, her face was very pale, her
eyes seemed as if he must wither up before them. Then she laughed.
"That is well, that is very, very well; I think it is the only thing
that was wanted," she said, letting her words drop one by one. "Mr
Ibbetson, Giovanni, will you come and hear Mr Trent's last appeal, and
my answer."
Jack, who had turned away from a scene that pained him, and had been
standing at the window, looking out at the court with its fountain, its
camellias, and the rain splashing on its great paving stones, came back
unwillingly. Moroni, hearing his name, though he understood nothing
more, hastened forward and stood at Bice's side, with a ready purpose in
his eyes to do anything she could ask.
"Not now," said Trent, drawing back.
"Yes, now," she asserted. "Do you suppose I will ever look at your face
again? Listen, then, both of you. We owe him money, and he threatens
me with it--_He_! He supposes that even a prison would not be
preferable to being his wife!"
As all the passion of her Italian nature leapt forth, the scorn in her
voice might have swept him away before it, but that his own rage was
ungovernable. He said with a sneer:--
"Oh, I imagine you have taken care to arrange for something better than
a prison. Pray, is this a preconcerted scene, and is Mr Ibbetson to
pay your debts and marry you?"
Jack made a step forward, then he stopped himself by a strong effort.
Trent had fallen beneath his punishment, he would not even speak to him;
he turned to Bice and said with great gentleness:--
"I am very sorry you should have been exposed to this man's gross
insults, although they cannot touch you. Will you go to your room and
leave him to me?"
"Signorina, what is it? what has he done?" asked Moroni, seizing her
hands.
But the girl was speechless. Her eyes dilated, she was deadly pale, and
looked like one who had received a heavy blow. Ibbetson, who was very
much grieved, said a few words in Italian to Moroni.
"But it is impossible! Does he dare to reproach you--you! because your
mother owes him some money! It should have been a great honour to him
to have been so happy as to do her a little service. Signorina,
_carina_," cried the young fellow, with passionate entreaty in his
voice, "I am rich, all that I have is yours!" His face was glowing, he
pressed her hands to his lips; in the eagerness of his devotion he
seemed to have forgotten that any others were in the room. "Only suffer
me to act for you, I beseech of you!"
Trent came forward once more, and though his voice shook it had regained
its old softness:--
"Bice!"
She turned away her head.
"I spoke hastily. Say one word."
She remained silent, and Ibbetson turned sharply round.
"You had better go," he said, in a low voice. "Why?" asked Trent,
eyeing him sullenly,--
"I should think you could answer the question for yourself; perhaps
before you find yourself kicked out."
"Well, that spectacle is hardly pleasant for you or for me," said
Oliver, pointing to Moroni, who stood close to Bice as if he were her
champion; "and so I leave you with greater satisfaction than might have
been the case. But you have not heard the last of me, Mr Ibbetson."
He walked out of the room slowly, and except, perhaps, for the pallor of
his face, no one would have guessed that he was a disgraced and
disappointed man. There was a moment's silence between them all when he
had lifted the curtain and passed out, nothing breaking it except the
patter of the rain on the stones of the courtyard, the click-click of
old Brigitta's needles, and the distant clang of some church bell.
Moroni clenched his hands, and muttered something under his breath.
Jack stood looking after Trent, uncertain what to do himself, whether to
go or stay. He was roused from his thoughts by Bice's voice:--
"Is he gone?"
"Yes; he is gone," said Jack, coming back, and speaking gravely. "I'm
afraid this has been a very trying interview for you. Perhaps I ought
to have managed that you should have been spared. And yet--"
"No, no," she said faintly. "You have nothing to reproach yourself
with. It was better that it should have been like this; it was
necessary. And you must not think that it is the sort of grief you
would perhaps expect--is it very wicked to feel as I do, as if a burden
were lifted off my life? Because I do feel it already in spite of his
threats."
"I am sure I don't wonder," said Ibbetson kindly, "I only wonder--"
"That I ever promised to many him? Phillis would never have done so, I
know, but then--I am not so brave as Phillis. And I always believed he
was very good to Clive, and then he persuaded me that what he had done
had been misrepresented, and I thought it was from something I had said;
and so--"
"Signorina, do not shut me out any longer, talk in our own language,"
said young Moroni impatiently.
The girl smiled; a sad little smile it was. "Poor Giovanni, whether you
hear little or much, you believe always that I am right, don't you?"
"_Altro_, I know it, signorina!"
She looked wistfully at him for a moment. Then she put out a hand to
him and to Jack, with a simple confiding impulse which touched them
both. "Good-bye, dear friends," she said softly in Italian, "try always
to think as kindly."
As the heavy curtain fell behind her, Moroni turned impetuously to
Ibbetson.
"Now, signore," he said, "I must hear more."
"Wait a moment," said Jack. "Is it because you love her?"
"Do I not? And I mean to win her. He is dismissed, is he not? Let me
hear it all, I beseech you, I burn with impatience. I will walk back
with you, and then I shall hasten to her mother. What is this about the
money? Shall I not call out that Trent?"