MISS MARJORY’S OPINIONS.
‘And now,’ said Miss Marjory briskly, ‘let me hear what has happened,
or is going to happen, that makes you so anxious.’
Miss Marjory and her niece had arrived at the Manor House a few hours
before; but Tor had not been able, until now, to secure her undivided
attention. Maud and Mrs. Lorraine had been so much amused by her
conversation, that it had been impossible to secure any privacy, and
it was only when Miss Marjory’s enthusiasm over the garden and the
hot-houses had tired out the less comprehending and interested part of
the company, that Tor found himself alone with his guest.
‘It is so good of you to come so quickly,’ said he, with real gratitude
in his tone. ‘I feel as though I really did need an ally at the
present threatened crisis. I cannot thank you enough.’
‘Oh, I shall make it worth my while to have come. I shall leave you
laden with spoil, I can see. There are ever so many things I have
seen already that I want, and haven’t got. I shall take cuttings
innumerable, with or without your leave. Your orchids make me break the
tenth commandment on the spot. I think I must put up an orchid-house
myself. Oh yes, I will make a good thing of this visit—never fear!’
‘If you will let me put up an orchid-house for you, as a slight——’
‘Stuff and nonsense! I’m not going to let you do anything ridiculous
and romantic. Too much glass might be more of a hindrance than a help
to the letting of the house in the future. Now look here—we are alone
at last: tell me what is the matter, and what it is I can do for you.’
‘The matter is, that a foreign chap has turned up here—a Signor
Pagliadini; he says he knew Phil and me abroad, and I believe that’s
true enough, for I know his face, though I can’t recollect him
exactly. But he knows, too—of that I am convinced—who I really am, and
will not swallow the fiction I try to force upon him. In addition to
this, I believe he has a spite against me and comes with a motive; and
though he doesn’t speak out, I am pretty certain that he knows a great
deal more than he has any business to, and that he means mischief.’
‘Why?’
‘By the ugly hints he gives, and by his significant looks and words.
And then I came upon him and Mrs. Belassis in deep talk by the
roadside; and by the startled look she cast at me, I know of whom it
was they were talking.’
‘We can soon stop the Belassis’ mouths,’ remarked Miss Marjory grimly.
‘I think we can give them ample food for meditation on their own
account.’
‘Have you found anything out about the first wife?’
‘I have found out that in February, 1850, she was alive and fairly
well. I am making inquiries, and I think I soon shall be able to
ascertain the date of her death; but it strikes me that your virtuous
uncle has run it very fine. I should not wonder if he finds himself in
a desperately nasty position.’
‘Something like what I find myself in now,’ said Tor, shaking his head.
‘Now, don’t you get low about it,’ advised Miss Marjory, with the air
of a benignant Minerva. ‘You’ll never do anything if you lose heart.
For my part, I rise to the occasion. I know I have a natural talent for
intrigue, though circumstances have not hitherto been favourable to its
development.’
‘I am glad you have,’ smiled Tor, ‘for my powers seem deserting me.
That confounded Italian—I beg your pardon, but I feel strongly upon
the subject—with his smooth tongue and offensive hints, bothers me
tremendously. I know he is my enemy, and will injure me if he can.’
‘Have you ever made an enemy that you know of?’ asked Miss Marjory.
Tor reflected a little.
‘I shouldn’t say exactly that,’ he answered. ‘I have had occasional
disputes with different men at different times. When my blood is up, I
speak my mind pretty freely, and lay it on thick; but then, I don’t
think I am easily roused to wrath, and I have no recollection of any
row likely to have made an eternal enmity between me and another
fellow. No, I have no clue at all to his motive, but I am quite certain
he has one, and possesses some knowledge of the truth; he would not
go on as he does, if he was actuated merely by a curiosity to know
why I was called “Torwood” in Italy and am “Debenham” here. His whole
language and bearing convinces me that he comes here as an enemy and a
spy. And if Mrs. Belassis once gets a hint as to the true state of the
case, it will be all up with me. I wish I had never sent Phil away on
that voyage.’
‘Why so?’
‘Because, if I could, I would fetch him back at all risks. I would
tell the whole truth—show my accounts, get you as a witness as to my
motives, and take my chance of a prosecution. I have Phil’s I O U for
a larger sum than I have yet expended; and although I have forged his
signature, and passed myself off under a false name, I think I might,
by counsel’s aid, get off pretty easily. But I don’t choose to risk
it, with Phil out of reach on the high seas. Things would be more
complicated, and disagreeable insinuations might be cast at me. I wish
he had never gone; but as he has, I must try to hold out these few
months longer, and then, when he is once back, whether ill or well, he
shall come to Ladywell, and I will abdicate in his favour. I think I
shall have pretty well broken Belassis’ power by that time, and opened
the eyes of the executors. He will never regain the ascendency he once
had here.’
‘Oh yes, you must certainly hold out. I will help you. I am sure I can
hold the Belassis faction at bay, if I can do no more. You are certain
that Philip Debenham has sailed?’
‘Quite certain. I have received, through Dr. Schneeberger, a letter
from his medical friend under whose care Phil travels. It was written
on board the vessel, and said that the journey had been safely
accomplished, that Phil had borne it well, though without any sign of
returning powers, and that they were to sail before midnight. He will
be far enough away by now.’
‘Safely out of Mrs. Belassis’ or the Italian’s reach, anyway,’ said
Miss Marjory. ‘I wonder who this Italian can be? A spy of hers?’
‘Not possible, I think. He came as a guest to a Mr. Meredith, a
sculptor here, with an introduction from a relative of theirs in
Florence who has known him for several years. I made, for my own
satisfaction, as many close inquiries as I could without attracting
attention. He says he knew Philip well, and me slightly; that he met
us in Rome and Naples. I dare say it is all true enough—indeed it must
be, for he recalls incidents that I remember quite well, only I don’t
remember him.’
‘This is interesting and romantic,’ said Miss Marjory, fanning herself
gently. ‘I will tackle this fascinating Italian, and see if I cannot
pluck out the heart of his mystery.’
‘I wish you could,’ said Tor.
‘Does he speak English?’
‘No; only Italian and French, so far as I know.’
‘Well, well, I am old-fashioned enough to speak Italian. When I was
young, it was the fashion to learn only a few things, and those well.
Girls were not encouraged then to dabble in science and metaphysics,
and play at atheism and agnosticism when they should be practising
their scales and learning their catechism. We were not at all learned
young ladies in my day. We didn’t look down on our parents, sneer at
the clergy, or aspire to the “higher culture” and “higher morality,”
or whatever their new-fangled jargon may be; but we were taught how to
behave ourselves in the company of our elders, we did not lounge or
yawn when obliged to listen to conversation rather above our heads,
nor did we interrupt our betters or interfere whenever we happened to
disagree. We did not talk big about universal equality or socialistic
philanthropy, but I flatter myself we understood our duty to our
neighbour better than this generation understands it. And I venture to
say I can talk Italian against any modern young lady extant, however
learned she may be.’
Once get Miss Marjory upon any of her pet themes, and she was certain
to wax eloquent. Tor was quite content to listen, and the late
experiences he had had of nineteenth-century culture inclined him to
agree with Miss Marjory’s view of the case. Men are proverbially
averse to the higher education of women.
‘Well, Miss Marjory,’ said Tor, ‘you will have that opportunity
to-night; for I have asked Signor Pagliadini to dine here, and you will
be able to tackle him to your heart’s content.’
‘To dine here!’ echoed Miss Marjory. ‘Why, I thought you were sworn
foes.’
‘Not at all; we are nominally on excellent terms. In public he has not
said one unpleasant word. It is in a private interview that he was so
disagreeable. Whatever his motive is, he does not wish to drive me to
strong measures. I believe I shall have fair warning if he makes up his
mind to attack me.’
‘I will tackle him,’ said Miss Marjory, with a certain satisfaction in
her tone. ‘I flatter myself I shall be able to discover who he is and
what he wants.’
Tor was quite of the same opinion. He believed that Miss Marjory
could do anything she had a mind to, and was content to hand over
Signor Pagliadini to her tender mercies, to be turned inside out, or
submitted to any other process that might seem good to her.
‘My sister and my aunt do not understand Italian,’ he went on to say,
‘so that they will not be a bit the wiser for any conversation which
they may overhear.’
‘Ah, perhaps that is as well,’ said Miss Marjory.
Ethel Hardcastle and Maud Debenham had meantime struck up a great
friendship, after the manner of young girls. Ethel was always ready to
admire and adore anyone who was kind and pretty and good to her; and
anything like a strong will or an originality of disposition struck
her as something peculiarly desirable. Thus in a couple of hours’ time
the young mistress of Ladywell, with her frank gracious ways, her
fresh, charming face, and her saucy independent speech, had altogether
bewitched the less-favoured but simple-minded Ethel, and Maud became
the object of her youthful and generous enthusiasm.
Maud liked to be admired, and therefore she liked Ethel; and because
she liked her, she waxed confidential; and an acute observer of human
nature might safely aver that a stage had already been arrived at when
long conversations in one another’s rooms at night, of a peculiarly and
almost needlessly confidential character, would become inevitable.
Tor became aware of this sudden friendship when he arrived in the
drawing-room shortly before the dinner-hour, and found the two girls
deep in talk in a distant window.
Miss Marjory looked remarkably well—every inch the gentlewoman she
was—in her rich amber satin and costly lace, which set off to peculiar
advantage her small dark head and bright animated eyes. She had the
distinguished, high-bred look which seems growing more and more rare
in these modern times, and which no amount of outward magnificence can
ever simulate.
‘Signor Pagliadini,’ announced the servant, throwing open the door; and
Miss Marjory’s keen eyes were riveted in a moment upon the stranger’s
face.
He was presented to the guests, and went through the ceremony with all
the ease of indifference. He had certainly no cause to be interested in
these two ladies, whom he had never seen before, nor was likely to see
again.
Dinner was announced in a few minutes. Tor gave his arm to Miss
Marjory; Mrs. Lorraine followed with Ethel; Maud and the Signor brought
up the rear.
‘He is very good-looking,’ said Miss Marjory softly to her host—‘too
good-looking to be dangerous, I think. Very handsome men are always
rather stupid.’
Tor smiled, and wondered how far this sweeping statement was true. He
was rather inclined to accept Miss Marjory’s axioms, for he believed
her to be a keen observer of human nature.
The dinner passed off smoothly. Conversations in English, French, and
Italian were carried on promiscuously, English predominating somewhat,
as three out of the four ladies present much preferred their native
tongue as a medium of communication.
Only once did Miss Marjory address any low-toned observation to Tor,
and that was when the Italian and Maud were laughing very much together
over some anecdote he had just related.
Leaning forward slightly, she said in a quiet undertone:
‘Whether that man speaks English or not, he understands it as well as
you or I.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I don’t think anything about it. I _know_ it.’
Nothing of interest happened when the ladies had left the table. The
Signor talked easily and pleasantly of persons and places that both had
known, but made no allusion to what had passed between them a few days
previously. Tor followed his lead, and was only too glad to be left
in peace. Torwood’s name was never mentioned between them, and both
seemed quite ready to join the ladies, as soon as a decent interval had
elapsed.
The Italian was willing enough to take refuge with Miss Marjory as soon
as the drawing-room had been reached. Tor could not help fancying that
he felt some relief at the presence of strangers, as though he did not
feel disposed to show fight that day, and yet had no inclination to
become too friendly.
Miss Marjory never knew what it was to want words. English or Italian,
it was all the same to her. She was wont to say of herself that if
she were to be cast away upon a savage island, she should learn the
language in a few days, so impossible would it be for her to remain
silent.
The Signor seemed pleased by her conversation. Maud had taken Ethel out
into the garden. Tor was talking to Mrs. Lorraine at the other end of
the great room. There was nobody to hear what passed between these two,
and Miss Marjory could be charmingly innocent when she chose.
‘Have you ever been in England before, Signor?’
There was the least possible hesitation before the answer came.
‘As a child, Madame, I was here; but I have little recollection of it.’
‘Was it this part of the world that you visited then?’
He smiled and shook his head.
‘That I cannot say. I cannot remember well enough.’
‘You have seen London, of course?’
‘I spent one night there on my way here. That is all my acquaintance
with it.’
‘You were in a desperate hurry to reach these remote parts,’ remarked
Miss Marjory, laughing. ‘Most men would not have hastened away quite so
fast from the gaieties of a London season.’
‘I—I had an introduction to Mr. Meredith,’ answered the stranger with a
very slight embarrassment of manner, which did not escape Miss Marjory.
‘Well, I imagine the introduction would have kept,’ she answered
lightly. ‘I suppose the fact of the case is, that you had paid Homburg
or Baden, or Paris perhaps, a long visit first, and had seen enough of
the delights of life to satiate you for a time. Or perhaps,’ she added
slily, ‘you were afraid that your reputation would reach this place
before you, and scare simple country people, who do not understand gay
doings.’
The young man looked relieved at having his way made so plain for him.
He bowed and smiled, and remarked with edifying admiration that the
Signora was quite too clever—her eyes saw through everything, like the
sun at noonday.
‘I always did say my eyes saw a little farther than other people’s,’
answered Miss Marjory, with a little laugh. ‘What a charming man our
host is!’ she continued, after a while. ‘So superior to most young
men of the present day—just as his father was before him; they are
remarkably alike.’
‘You were acquainted, then, with Mr. Debenham, our good friend’s
father?’
‘Oh yes; his father and I were great friends. Like father, like son,
you know, Signor. It is quite so in this case—charming men both.’
Signor Pagliadini looked intently at her through his glasses. Miss
Marjory returned the glance with the frankest possible ease.
‘Think I’ve puzzled him there,’ she remarked to herself. ‘If the son is
so like the father, he can hardly rank as an impostor.’
‘I did not know Mr.—our friend’s father,’ said the Signor slowly. ‘He
is not at all like his sister.’
‘Do you think not?’ returned Miss Marjory, in her brisk way. ‘Well,
now, I should have called them quite as much alike as the average run
of brothers and sisters. He is a little fairer, and is bronzed, of
course, by sun and wind, but they have the same clear skin and good
colouring, the same kind of open foreheads and well-marked brows; and
a wonderful similarity in disposition, so frank, and pleasant, and
unaffected. Oh yes, no one can doubt that there is a strong affinity
between them.’
Signor Pagliadini sat silent and absorbed.
‘Come, Signor,’ recommenced Miss Marjory, after a pause, ‘I must not
become wearisome on the subject of my old friend’s children. The
topic cannot be very interesting to you, even though you are a friend
also;’ and without any effort she shifted the conversation dexterously
this way and that, seemingly quite at random, as is natural when two
strangers sit down to ‘make talk,’ but with a method in her apparent
aimlessness, of which, however, her interlocutor was quite unconscious.
They parted on the best of terms, and with the mutual hope of future
meetings.
‘I must have a breath of fresh air before I am an hour older,’ said
Miss Marjory, drawing a long breath. ‘May I step out a few minutes, Mr.
Debenham, and look at the stars?’
‘We will look at them together,’ said Tor; and he gave her his arm,
and walked her off, unheeding Maud’s demure look of congratulation,
and gentle pat on the back, as he passed her. ‘Well,’ he said, as they
stood together in the warm summer night, ‘have you made out anything?’
‘That man is a spy!’ she answered with energy and decision. ‘Who and
what he is besides, I have not yet made out; but he is a spy!’
‘I believe it; but what makes you so certain?’
‘I am certain because he has not got his story right. He is
masquerading—pretending to be what he is not, and he is all confused
as to his antecedents. Fancy being so stupid as to try and play a part
without knowing exactly how to do it, and what to say—just like a man!
Men are such clumsy creatures! One time he told me he had just come
from Florence, from a Signor Something who gave him an introduction.
Then he said another time he had been in Rome until he came here, and
had travelled straight to England; and once he slipped out something
which showed he had been in Germany quite lately; but he saw he had
tripped that time, and tried to explain his words away—the very
stupidest thing he could have done, of course. He didn’t know how many
times he contradicted himself, but I kept count. Whoever that man is,
he is playing a part, and he is a spy!’