MRS. BELASSIS FINDS AN ALLY.
Two days later Mrs. Belassis and Betsy Long held a secret meeting under
an oak-tree in a secluded corner of the park.
‘Well, Betsy,’ said the ex-mistress graciously, ‘have you anything to
tell me yet?’
‘Well, ma’am, I don’t know as it’s anything you’ll care to hear; but I
can’t help thinking there’s something odd about the foreign gentleman
as is staying down at Mr. Meredith’s.’
‘A foreign gentleman?’ repeated Mrs. Belassis. ‘I have not heard of
him. Who is he?’
‘I suppose he’s a friend of Mr. Meredith’s. Folks say so. Anyway, he is
staying down there. But I believe he’s come to see master, really.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, he came to see him two days ago. He was took into the little
drawing-room, and I was in the big one, doing a bit of dusting I’d
forgotten in the morning; for I knew Miss Debenham and Mrs. Lorraine
had gone out driving.’
‘Could you hear what passed?’
‘I could hear a good deal; but I couldn’t understand a word, for ’twas
all in some foreign language—Italian, I suppose; but I’m quite sure
those two gentlemen weren’t strangers to one another, or they’d never
have gone on as they did.’
‘How did they go on?’
‘Well, they talked and talked, and seemed to get quite excited-like,
and once I thought they were going to quarrel, and I peeped through the
curtains. There they were, standing glaring at one another like two
wild beasts; and Mr. Debenham, he had his head back in that masterful
way of his, and was speaking as proud as proud could be. I thought the
foreign gentleman was a bit scared by the look in his eyes, for he
seemed to knock under then; but they went on talking for ever so long.’
‘Do you think they did quarrel?’
‘If they did, they must have made it up afterwards, for by-and-by
they went round the garden together, and had tea with the ladies when
they got back. But James, he said as master looked very grave all
dinner-time, and hardly talked at all.’
Mrs. Belassis pondered over this communication; but Betsy had not come
to the end of her revelations, and did not give her mistress much time
for thought.
‘There’s something about that foreign gentleman as master doesn’t like,
_I_ know,’ continued the girl; ‘for he hadn’t long gone before master
shut himself up in his study to write letters. He was there up till the
dressing-bell rang; and just as I was going in for the letters, which
is part of my work—I collects them from the ladies and from master,
and puts them in the box ready for the man—I met him coming out of his
room. “There’s only one letter, Betsy,” he said; and so there was, and
he’d only just finished it, for the ink wasn’t hardly dry; and it was
addressed to “Miss Marjory Descartes,” at a place beginning with W. I
can’t remember the name.’
‘Whitbury?’ suggested Mrs. Belassis, looking aroused and almost
excited. ‘Go on, Betsy; I see you have more to tell. You have been very
clever, and I shall not forget it.’
Betsy curtseyed, and drew a few steps nearer, as she made her next
communication in a lowered voice.
‘I turned the letter over; and it had been done up so quickly that the
gum hadn’t hardly stuck. I gave a little pull, and it came open in my
hands.’
A look of intense interest came over Mrs. Belassis’ face.
‘And you read the letter? What did it say?’
‘Well, ma’am, I’m no particular scholar, and the letter was too long
for me to read through. I was in a mortal fear as somebody would come
and catch me. If it hadn’t been dressing-time, I’d not have dared to do
so much as I did.’
‘Well, go on, Betsy. What did you make out?’
‘The master, he wrote all about the foreign gentleman, and I’m main
sure he didn’t like his coming, not a bit. He talked about danger, and
not understanding what was coming, and ended up by asking the lady to
come and see him. I couldn’t make out no more than that; but I’m quite
sure as it was all about the strange gentleman, and that master had
been regular put about by his coming.’
‘Ah!’ said Mrs. Belassis, and said no more, because her thoughts were
too confused as yet to admit of the interpretation of words.
Betsy, who saw that she had made an impression, proceeded to deepen
it. She was enjoying very much her own cleverness, and the sense of
importance that her position gave to her.
‘I fastened up the letter pretty quick again, and put it in the box;
but I couldn’t get the thing out of my head. In the evening I took a
walk in the park, as I often do, and there’s one of the gardeners as
has sometimes come and had a talk with me. He’s a nice respectable
young man, and I don’t mind having a little chat with him now and
again. Well, ma’am, that evening, as I was waiting about amongst
the trees, watching the shadows get longer and darker, I thought I
saw the young man a-coming, and I went to meet him; but when I got
close up, why, I saw it was somebody all muffled up with a great silk
handkerchief, and he seemed sneaking up towards the house, as if he
didn’t want to be seen. I was behind him, and I came so soft that he
didn’t hear me, and passed by; but I knew quite well who he was. It
was the gentleman who had been with master in the afternoon, and it’s
my opinion he hung for hours about the house before he went; and I’m
almost sure I saw him in the shrubbery last night, too!’
A little cross-examination convinced Mrs. Belassis that Betsy was
speaking the truth, and she left the girl in a very contemplative
frame of mind, after bidding her keep a sharp look-out, and notice
particularly how often the stranger visited Ladywell, and how many
private interviews he held with Mr. Debenham.
‘There is something odd about this,’ said Mrs. Belassis to herself.
‘That foreigner knows something which Philip wishes hushed up. That
is evident, I think. The point is, what on earth can Miss Marjory
Descartes have to do with it? If she visits Ladywell, perhaps I can
find that out for myself; meantime I must leave that question. But I
will see this foreigner. I will call on Michael Meredith and inquire
after him, as he has been so ill. I do not frequently visit the house;
but I do not see, under the present circumstances, that my doing so can
attract any suspicion.’
Mrs. Belassis walked on thoughtfully for awhile, and then added, with
an air of determination:
‘Yes, I will go now, morning though it be. All times are alike to the
blind. Perhaps a little dexterous flattery will induce Meredith to ask
me to luncheon, and then I shall see this strange guest. I much want
some conversation with him. I wish I could speak Italian; however, no
doubt French will suit my purpose just as well.’
When Mrs. Belassis had planned a certain course of action, it was not
often that she failed to carry it through.
The Merediths and the Belassis’ were not on intimate terms, but there
had never been any coldness between them. Michael Meredith did not
trouble himself with matters which did not concern him; and Maud’s
complaints about her uncle and aunt never made any impression upon him,
neither did he pay any heed to the hints he heard dropped from time to
time as to the honesty of the ex-lawyer. His own finances were not in
the hands of Belassis. He had never heard that his old friend Debenham
had doubted his brother-in-law’s integrity; and so he had no grudge
against Belassis, and always received his wife or daughters with his
customary gentle _empressement_.
Mrs. Belassis could be very suave and gentle when it suited her
purpose; and her concern over the blind man’s illness, her anxiety
to learn its every detail, and the interest she evinced in the whole
subject, quite won Meredith’s heart; for if there was one thing he
loved to discuss more than another, it was himself and his sensations,
and a new and interested listener was an immense acquisition.
Mrs. Belassis skilfully led him on to speak more and more, until the
luncheon-bell broke in upon the interview, and with an apology for her
lengthy visit she rose to depart.
‘No, no, my dear madam; indeed I cannot permit you to leave so
suddenly. Your kind visit has quite cheered me up. You really must
remain and partake of our simple mid-day meal. I want to introduce to
you my young friend Signor Pagliadini, who is at present our guest.
He is a most intelligent young man, quite an acquisition to the
neighbourhood; only, unluckily, he does not speak English.’
‘Who is he?’ asked Mrs. Belassis, with interest.
‘A young Italian, of good birth and considerable wealth, I believe. A
relative of my wife’s, Signor Mattei of Florence, knows him, and sent
him to me with an introduction. He has known him for many years, and
speaks highly of his talent and love of art.’
‘Is he going to make any stay here?’
‘I do not think his plans are made; but I hope to induce him to be my
guest for some days to come. Philip, I think, will join with me in
persuading him to remain in our part of the world; for he knows him
well, I find. They were quite intimate friends, I believe, at one time.’
‘Indeed!’
‘Yes; he speaks very highly of our dear Philip, as everyone does. I
think my dear Roma is to be congratulated, as well as Philip, upon the
way in which matters have turned out.’
‘What!’
‘Ah, did you not know? Well, young people do like a little bit of
mystery and secrecy, so I must not betray them. However, my dear madam,
we have not grown so old, you and I, that we have lost our sympathy for
the first romance of a young love. And now, let me give you my arm to
the dining-room, and I shall then have the pleasure of making known to
you my young Italian friend.’
When Mr. Meredith and his companion made their quiet entrance into the
next room, Mrs. Belassis caught one glimpse of two dark heads bent
very closely together over a lovely bunch of roses and heliotrope,
which was being transferred from his hands to hers. The blind man was
no hindrance to any such small passages as these; but Roma’s cheeks
flamed crimson when she saw that her father was not alone, and the
ardent look in the young Italian’s eyes was not lost upon Mrs. Belassis.
The introduction passed off easily, and the conversation was carried on
in French, so as to be intelligible to Mrs. Belassis.
‘What lovely flowers, Miss Meredith!’ said their guest, not altogether
without malice. ‘Are they from your garden?’
‘I had the honour of presenting them to Mademoiselle,’ answered the
Italian gravely. ‘They came from the garden of my esteemed friend, M.
Debenham.’
‘Oh, have you been to see Philip again?’ asked Meredith. ‘You go there
very often. You must find a great deal to say to one another.’
‘I have not seen my friend to-day,’ answered the Signor; ‘but I took
the liberty of helping myself to his flowers without leave.’
‘You have courage, Monsieur,’ remarked Mrs. Belassis, with rather a
keen look.
‘That is a virtue much esteemed in your country—is it not so, Madame?’
he asked. ‘Or have I taken an unpardonable liberty?’
‘That is for my nephew to decide, not for me. No doubt you know best
how far your friendship warrants such an act.’
‘Madame is right,’ answered he, meeting her searching gaze with one
equally keen and significant. ‘I think I know how far I may go with my
friend Filippo.’
She could not be certain of it, but she had an idea that more was meant
than met the ear. Her suspicion that this man knew more of Philip’s
private history than appeared, was gradually strengthened by what
followed.
‘You know my nephew well—is it not so?’
‘I once knew Philip Debenham well, intimately I might say; but the
master of that great house yonder—I cannot say he is a great friend of
mine.’
‘How do you mean, Monsieur?’
The Italian smiled and shrugged, with a gesture far more significant
than words.
‘Ah, Madame, we all learn the lesson of life; times change, and friends
too—with circumstances such as these, it is often the case.’
‘Has Philip Debenham changed so much?’
‘So it appears to me; but I may be mistaken. My memory may be
defective.’
‘I do not think Philip could ever have been so very different from
what he is now,’ said Roma. ‘He strikes me as a man who would change
singularly little. He is so independent of other people and their
opinions.’
‘Mademoiselle is perfectly right there,’ answered the Italian. ‘He goes
his own way, without in any way considering what may be the effect upon
others.’
Roma smiled and shook her head. Her colour was a little warmer than
usual. She was perfectly aware that the Signor was jealous of Philip
Debenham. There was no need that he should be so; but she could not
tell him that, and she could not be very hard upon him if he did feel
somewhat bitter against his rival. Roma knew well that this man loved
her, and his love gave her a deep-seated sense of joy, as well as some
embarrassment and pain.
Mrs. Belassis, however, put quite a different interpretation upon his
words.
‘Was it always so with him?’ she asked.
‘On the contrary, he was once the kindest and best of friends. This is
quite a new development.’
‘The pride of his new position, perhaps.’
‘Yes; a position such as his must have its grave difficulties. My
friend is very bold, but I am not sure whether he has not undertaken
more than he can grapple with.’
‘I am quite of that opinion myself,’ said Mrs. Belassis, still trying
to read the face before her, whilst she grew more and more convinced
that the stranger held the clue to the mystery whose existence she had
only vaguely guessed. From the readiness he evinced to talk on the
subject, Mrs. Belassis argued that he was looking out for an ally to
assist him in some attack upon the false friend, and only too ready was
she to support him in such an attempt.
She must contrive to secure a private interview—that must be the first
step; and fortune certainly favoured her this day, for when she rose to
take her departure, Signor Pagliadini rose likewise, and begged for the
honour of escorting her to her own house.
Side by side the two newly-made acquaintances passed out of sight
of the house, silent at first, because a sudden sense of restraint
seemed to have fallen upon them; but even this silence encouraged Mrs.
Belassis in her theory, and she determined to make a bold plunge and
see the effect.
‘Monsieur,’ she began slowly and significantly, ‘I am quite ready to
help you.’
‘Madame is good to say so; but I do not quite comprehend.’
‘I think that you do, Monsieur.’
They paused by mutual consent, and looked at one another keenly and
steadfastly.
‘Will Madame sit down?’ asked the Italian, indicating a fallen
tree-trunk which lay beside the hedge. The narrow lane was shady and
secluded, and it was not likely that anyone would pass by to disturb
them. ‘We had better understand one another. May I ask in what way
Madame proposes to assist me?’
‘Your object, Monsieur, if I mistake you not, is to repair some great
injustice which my nephew has committed against his friend. Am I not
right so far as I go?’
‘I will not say that Madame is altogether deceived; but I should like
to know on what grounds you suspect your nephew.’
Mrs. Belassis hardly knew how to put into words her vague suspicions.
She would much rather that her companion suggested the nature of the
injustice. She tried to draw him out.
‘I have been frank with you, Monsieur, and have told you that I suspect
my nephew. Is not that enough? It is your turn now to tell me what it
is you have discovered, that will bear upon our suspicion.’
But the bait did not take.
‘Our suspicion is doubtless the same. I am aware that one does not like
to put it into words. May I ask further against which of Mr. Debenham’s
friends Madame believes this injustice to have been done?’
‘Against Mr. Torwood, of course.’
The sudden flash of some emotion, which she could not fathom, passed
over the stranger’s face as she uttered the name, and convinced Mrs.
Belassis that she had been right in her surmise.
‘Quite so, Madame. It is his old friend Mr. Torwood whom he has
injured—the friend to whom he owes so much. Your suspicion is correct.’
‘Did you know Mr. Torwood once?’
‘Slightly—yes.’
‘Do you know where he is now?’
‘I do.’
A look of triumph gleamed in Mrs. Belassis’ eye.
‘Good,’ she said, with an air of satisfaction. ‘Philip Debenham asserts
that he is on board some sailing-vessel upon a sea-voyage. I do not
believe he is in any such place. I am convinced that the sea-voyage is
simply a blind.’
‘Madame is again right—perfectly right. Mr. Torwood is not at sea at
present. The sea-voyage exists only in the vivid imagination of his
friend.’
‘Ah!’ Mrs. Belassis drew a long breath. ‘Monsieur,’ she said eagerly,
‘tell me, where is Mr. Torwood?’
‘Madame, you shall know that also in due time. At present, I may not
reveal his abode.’
Mrs. Belassis hardly felt this check, in her excitement and triumph.
‘You know where he is, Monsieur? You could lay your hand upon him at
any moment?’
‘At any moment, Madame. When the time comes the man shall come
forward. Philip Debenham and Torrington Torwood shall stand face to
face.’
‘May I be there to see!’ breathed Mrs. Belassis; and after a brief
pause she added: ‘Is Mr. Torwood in England, then?’
‘He is.’
‘He has escaped from the restraints put upon him by _his friend_?’
A curious flash passed over the young man’s face, as he answered
steadily:
‘He has.’
Mrs. Belassis would like to have known more, but it was now the
stranger’s turn to ask questions.
‘Madame,’ he began, and the tone, although quite respectful, had in it
a certain ring of authority, which obliged Mrs. Belassis to be more
candid than perhaps she had at first intended, ‘if we are to work
together, we must understand one another. I have a motive in what I
do. A friend of mine has been wronged, and I am anxious to assist him
to his rights again; my motive for what I do is friendship. But you
do not know Mr. Torwood. Philip Debenham is your nephew and near
neighbour—why is it you are so anxious to disgrace him?’
Mrs. Belassis was somewhat taken aback by this home-thrust; but she was
equal to the occasion.
‘I will tell you, Monsieur. As you say, we must be frank with one
another; and I will not pretend that an abstract love of justice alone
actuates me, for it would not be true, and you would not believe me.
No; I have a grievance against Philip Debenham, and it is this. He has
been more ungrateful to me and to my husband than you would believe
possible. He owes us almost everything, for from the age of ten years,
he was adopted by us, and brought up like our own child. He was
educated abroad by his own wish; and after eight years of school and
college life, we found him an excellent berth in a merchant’s office.
This not being grand enough for my lord, who had not a penny of his
own, he ran away and lived for eight years upon the charity of Mr.
Torwood, whom he is now using so badly. Then he succeeded to a large
fortune and property, and came back to this place, and has behaved
with studied ingratitude to us ever since, openly accusing his uncle of
frauds, which no doubt he would have perpetrated himself in the same
situation. I need not say that we feel such base ingratitude keenly,
and that for my husband’s sake I am justly indignant. When I find that
he is spending Mr. Torwood’s money almost more freely than his own, I
confess I do wish to see him brought to book.’
A step came tramping down the lane, and Tor’s tall figure emerged
suddenly into view. He gave one quick glance at the two persons seated
upon the fallen tree, lifted his hat and passed by without a word.
‘A handsome man!’ said Mrs. Belassis, looking after him with an evil
light in her eyes. ‘One would not think, to look at him, what a load of
guilt he was carrying about with him.’
Tor’s appearance seemed quite to have broken up the conference. Signor
Pagliadini, with a preoccupied air, made his adieu, and left Mrs.
Belassis to finish her walk alone.
‘Spends Torwood’s money almost more freely than his own,’ slowly
repeated the Signor, in Mrs. Belassis’ French phrasing; and then he
added, in good vigorous English, ‘The deuce he does!’