Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but all other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
Decorative images before and after every chapter have not been
referenced.
TORWOOD’S TRUST.
A Novel.
BY
EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN.
‘Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower,
safety ... I protest, our plot is as good a plot as
ever was laid.’
HENRY IV., _Pt. I., Act II., Sc. III._
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen.
1884.
[_All Rights Reserved._]
CONTENTS OF VOL. III.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. DETECTED 1
II. THE ATTACK 21
III. A STRANGE AWAKENING 41
IV. ESCAPE 61
V. FIRST EXPERIENCES 80
VI. THE WISHING WELL 100
VII. THE LAST STRAW 120
VIII. FACE TO FACE 140
IX. PHIL OR TOR? 161
X. MR. AND MRS. BELASSIS 181
XI. MR. MEREDITH’S VIEW 202
XII. A MAN AND A BROTHER 219
XIII. LEWIS’S FATE 239
XIV. THE LOST WILL 259
XV. THE FALL OF BELASSIS 279
XVI. THE LAST 299
TORWOOD’S TRUST.
CHAPTER I.
DETECTED.
‘You have kept your appointment, Monsieur—that is well,’ said Mrs.
Belassis, in her measured tones. ‘I am convinced that we ought to
understand one another, that we have the same object in view. It would
facilitate matters if you would speak out more frankly, and tell me
what is the real object of your visit here.’
‘I came to see Mr. Meredith,’ answered the Italian, with irritating
caution.
Mrs. Belassis would not allow her impatience to betray itself.
‘Ostensibly, yes; but you know, and I know, that your real motive was
to watch Philip Debenham.’
The stranger smiled significantly.
‘To watch the present master of Ladywell—Madame is right.’
‘And the motive of this watching is, I presume, not friendship for him?’
The answer did not come so readily as she had expected, and it was
still ambiguous.
‘Not friendship—not enmity—simple curiosity.’
‘Simple curiosity!’ repeated Mrs. Belassis; ‘that is rather hard to
believe. Monsieur, you know you had a deeper motive than that. You
have admitted as much on two other occasions. You know that a great
injustice is being done.’
‘Madame may be right; but on what grounds does she bring so great an
accusation against her kinsman?’
‘Kinsman!’ she echoed wrathfully; ‘I claim no kin with him. He is a
traitor, a false friend, a treacherous foe. I wash my hands of him
altogether. He has behaved villainously to me and mine; I would ruin
him gladly if I could, and so would you.’
The Italian looked steadily into her flushed face.
‘I am not sure,’ he said slowly, ‘if I would.’
‘You would if you were a man,’ she said with some scorn. ‘Think of the
wrongs your friend is enduring!’
‘What friend?’
‘Mr. Torwood. Have you forgotten our conversation of only a few days
back? You know better than I do what the wrong is; but I know enough.’
‘What does Madame know?’
‘I know that he is keeping his friend hidden away somewhere, in a kind
of captivity (unless he has escaped, as I believe you assured me he
had), that he has gained possession of his money and the management
of his affairs. I have seen with my own eyes that he is spending Mr.
Torwood’s money as lavishly as his own. He is behaving scandalously,
there can be no doubt whatever of that. If you are a friend of the
injured man’s, can you not do something to put a stop to it?’
‘Why does not Mr. Torwood act for himself?’
‘How can I tell? Most likely he cannot. _His friend_ has contrived to
settle that point satisfactorily. He may be in a madhouse, for aught I
know.’
‘Madame does not _know_ anything, then?’
‘No, no facts; but I know quite well that evil is going on, and I mean
to check it. Monsieur, will you not help me? If you will but tell me
what you know, I will be the one to act; I will relieve you of all the
burden of responsibility.’
‘What does Madame wish to know?’
‘I wish to know where Mr. Torwood is.’
‘He is not far away from here.’
‘You mean he is in England?’
‘Yes, certainly.’
‘And near this place?’
‘Quite near.’
Mrs. Belassis looked eager and triumphant.
‘Monsieur is not jesting?’
‘By no means. I do but speak the truth.’
‘Can he be at Ladywell—in the village?’
‘Madame is right. He is at Ladywell; he has been there for some time.’
Mrs. Belassis stared at him.
‘At Ladywell? And I have never seen him!’
The Italian smiled significantly.
‘I never said Madame had not seen him.’
Mrs. Belassis began to grow excited.
‘Signor Pagliadini, are _you_ Mr. Torwood?’
He shook his head, and she looked disappointed.
‘I have not that honour.’
‘Where, and who is he, then? Monsieur, I entreat you, introduce me to
your friend.’
‘Madame needs no introduction. Madame is already well acquainted.’
A long silence ensued. Mrs. Belassis’ face had grown dark. She seemed
half afraid to offer another suggestion.
‘You must tell me more, Monsieur.’
But the eager look on the Italian’s face had given place to one of
hesitation. He looked like a man who has been led on to say more than
he at first intended.
‘I have said enough,’ he answered quickly; ‘Madame must not
misunderstand me.’
‘I begin to think I understand at last.’
Mrs. Belassis spoke very slowly, as if her mind was full of thought—too
full to admit of free speech. She pressed her hand to her head, and her
eyes seemed to darken and deepen.
‘Oh, if _that_ is it, what a villain, a scoundrel he has been! But the
law will lay a hand upon him. He shall not be allowed to escape.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the Italian, who looked somewhat uneasy.
‘I mean, Monsieur, that you have let out your secret at last. I know
now who and where Mr. Torwood is. Ah! why did I not think of it when
Sir Herbert Moncrieff identified him as Torwood—when we all said how
utterly unlike any Debenham he was? How could he? How dared he? But he
has reached the end of his tether. Now it is my turn.’
The Signor moved restlessly. He looked half interested, half annoyed.
He seemed eager, yet reluctant, to speak.
‘Madame must be careful and secret. Mr. Torwood is a good friend, but a
dangerous enemy.’
Mrs. Belassis pondered over this.
‘Where is Mr. Debenham?’ she asked suddenly.
‘At sea—on a sea-voyage for his health.’
‘Does he know of this? Can he have given Mr. Torwood powers to act?’
‘He has not done so. He is too ill to know anything about it.’
‘Could he not be brought back? He should prosecute at once.’
‘Perhaps he would decline to prosecute his friend.’
‘Friend!’ repeated Mrs. Belassis venomously. Then she added, with an
evil look, ‘We are Philip Debenham’s next-of-kin. _We_ will prosecute.’
Her eyes glowed with malicious triumph. She spoke with a relish that
was malignant.
‘Forgery, fraud, false pretences, gross treachery and wholesale
robbery—a very nice list against an English gentleman of honourable
name. Yes, Philip Debenham; a little quiet conversation with me will
open your eyes considerably. You will not look so bold at the close, as
you do at the commencement of our interview.’
But Signor Pagliadini did not seem inclined to allow the matter to slip
thus out of his own hands.
‘Madame is very confident; but it seems to me that she is too much so.
Mr. Torwood is a clever man. Most likely he knows what he is about, and
will be quite ready to meet and to fight Madame. Victory is not always
to the righteous. It is generally to the strong. Does not your proverb
say that possession is nine points of the law?’
‘You mean he would dispute the possession?’
Mrs. Belassis seemed to pause and reflect. That was a new and unwelcome
idea. She even wondered if the Italian could by any chance have tried
to put her upon a wrong tack, for he was anything but open with her.
Torrington Torwood—Philip Debenham; the names seemed to float as in a
mist before her, and she could not disentangle the one from the other.
She was convinced one moment that the present master of Ladywell _must_
be Philip Debenham—he could not otherwise assume such mastery; and
surely no one else would dare to play the part he was playing: it
would be too reckless, too dangerous. And yet a host of small doubts
and suspicions crowded upon her, one after the other, all pointing
to the strange conclusion that the man was an impostor, not Philip
Debenham at all, but merely someone who understood his affairs as well
as he did himself—in other words, Torrington Torwood.
Mrs. Belassis’ head seemed fairly to swim. If only the Italian would
speak out and ratify in actual words the hints he had thrown out. His
manner was so odd that she found herself inclined to doubt even such
statements as he had made. What if he were an enemy too, leading her on
to worse troubles than already beset her path?
Mrs. Belassis was thoroughly uncomfortable, devoured by curiosity and
uncertainty, yet too distrustful of her companion to press him with
further inquiries.
She made one last attempt to draw him out.
‘Whether or not he is the right man, I am convinced that he will
retain the place he has gained, be it by fair means or foul. He has
strength, wealth, determination, and this three months has enabled him
to settle himself firmly in possession. Philip Debenham had better look
to himself when he returns from sea. This man has all the property,
and will take care that he keeps it. He will dispute the possession by
every weapon in his power, and he will win.’
The Signor looked uneasy.
‘You think that?’
‘I am convinced of it. I have studied his character closely. He is
proud, and he is unscrupulous. He will never submit to be humiliated.
He will fight to the death. It is might, not right, that conquers in
such a struggle, and he has the power.’
Signor Pagliadini looked irresolute, like a man who half wishes, half
fears to speak.
‘Then you would not prosecute?’
‘I should have to think seriously before I did so. My husband would
be swayed in the matter by me. If we were absolutely convinced of
our cause, we might be inclined to do so; much would depend upon the
character and appearance of Philip Debenham when he appeared. We could
not act unless the whole case were frankly confided to us.’
She paused, but the Italian did not seem inclined to speak, so she
added impressively:
‘If you are concerned in this matter, Monsieur, and have the interests
of your friend really at heart, you cannot do better than confide in
me. I am anxious that justice should be done; but I cannot act in the
dark. Have you nothing more to tell me?’
There was a little hesitation before the answer came; but it was quite
decided then.
‘No, Madame; nothing more, I thank you.’
‘I hope you may not regret your decision when it is too late,’ said
Mrs. Belassis loftily, as she rose and turned away. ‘Good-morning,
Monsieur.’
Mrs. Belassis walked home in a state of mind bordering on distraction.
She would have given anything in the world to have been absolutely
certain that this supposed nephew of hers was an impostor. She hated
him so cordially, that no trouble would be too great to compass his
ruin, if only she could be sure of her position.
She had many grounds of suspicion; many incidents rose to her mind,
all pointing to the desired conclusion, and the Italian had certainly
told her that Torwood was at Ladywell, and Philip Debenham at sea.
But then came maddening doubts of the stranger’s truthfulness; and it
would be too humiliating to set on foot a charge which could not be
substantiated, especially such a serious one as this.
She reached home in a restless and perturbed state, and found that a
cloud seemed to hang over the atmosphere of Thornton House. Bertha was
pouting and kicking the leg of her chair, and Matilda’s eyes looked as
if they had been shedding tears. Her face was angry and discontented.
‘Is anything the matter?’ asked Mrs. Belassis, as she took her seat at
the luncheon-table.
Neither her husband nor her son were present, and the three ladies had
the room to themselves.
‘Nothing particular. I don’t suppose you will care. You never do
care for our interests, Matilda’s or mine. Only Phil’s engaged to be
married.’
‘Philip engaged! To whom, pray?’
‘To Roma Meredith, of all people in the world! We met old Mr. Meredith
out driving, and he told us. It is a shame! There’s nothing whatever in
her to make him care for her. It’s only because she’s had such chances.’
Mrs. Belassis made no reply. She fancied she might make capital out of
what she had just heard. She was convinced that the Italian was in love
with Roma, and jealousy is a powerful incentive to revenge.
‘It is too bad!’ cried Matilda, with a half-sob. ‘And Phil was so
nice and kind and attentive when he first came, and was always quite
friendly until people made it so horrid for him that he couldn’t come
any more. I do call it too bad!’
‘So do I,’ rejoined Bertha. ‘It’s a great shame. I’m sure we had as
good a chance as anyone, until mamma spoilt it by being so disagreeable
to him.’
Anger and disappointment robbed the two girls of their customary dread
of their mother.
‘The best match in the county,’ grumbled Matilda. ‘And we might have
taken our chance with anyone, if we’d only had fair play.’
‘Mamma, how can you sit there smiling in that aggravating way?’ burst
out Bertha spitefully. ‘You know it’s your fault. You’ve always set
yourself against our interests. I call it dreadful for anyone’s mother
to be so unkind. And now you don’t seem to care one bit!’
‘What should I care about, pray? Do be more explicit and less violent.’
Bertha turned away angrily.
Matilda answered sulkily enough:
‘One of us might have married him, if we’d had a fair chance.’
‘A good thing for you you have not; he is no fit match for one of my
daughters.’
‘Mamma! What do you mean?’
‘I mean that I shall look higher for you than that—cousin of yours.’
‘Mamma! He is master of Ladywell!’
‘_Is_ he master of Ladywell?’ responded Mrs. Belassis, with more
spitefulness than caution. ‘That remains to be proved.’
‘Mamma! What do you mean?’
‘That I hardly know. I have been hearing a very curious story to-day.’
‘Oh, what? Do tell us? About Phil?’
‘Well, to speak more accurately, I should say about the man we have
called Phil all this time.’
Bertha’s eyes were bright with excitement.
‘Oh, then there is a mystery after all! I always did think there was
something odd about Phil, ever since Sir Herbert Moncrieff was so
surprised that he was Mr. Debenham, not Mr. Torwood.’
Mrs. Belassis looked at her.
‘You suspected something odd then?’
‘Yes; what Sir Herbert said afterwards, when he saw Maud, was so funny.
I didn’t mean to tell anyone, and I promised Phil I wouldn’t; but if
he’s going to marry Roma, I don’t care about keeping his secret any
longer.’
‘Speak out, child. What secret? Did he confide in you, and ask you to
keep quiet? Just explain yourself,’ said Mrs. Belassis impatiently.
‘I will, if you’ll only give me time.’
Bertha, who liked to be important, was delighted to be able to impart
anything so interesting to her mother.
‘You heard how Sir Herbert greeted Phil as Mr. Torwood, and how
surprised he was when Phil told him his name was Debenham?’
‘Yes, yes; go on.’
‘Well, when we were walking about the gardens together, and he saw
Maud, he knew directly who she was, because he said she was so exactly
like the Philip Debenham he had met in America. When he remembered that
Tor had just said _he_ was Philip Debenham he got a little confused,
and evidently didn’t quite know what to say. However, I didn’t
pretend to notice particularly what he had said, and we dropped the
subject. But I didn’t forget it, and I told Phil about it one day soon
afterwards.’
‘Did you? What did he say? Was he put out?’ asked Mrs. Belassis eagerly.
‘No, not at all; at least, he didn’t seem so. He didn’t seem to care
a bit; and he laughed when I promised to say nothing about it, and
didn’t appear to mind at all. He made me think very little of it
myself.’
‘That was his cunning,’ said Mrs. Belassis viciously. ‘It is quite
in keeping with his cool audacity and daring all throughout. Bertha,
your evidence is of the greatest value at such a juncture. It is proof
positive of the suspicion I have been puzzling over for an hour or
more.’
‘Oh! what, mamma? Do tell us!’ urged Matilda.
‘I believe I know!’ cried Bertha, whose wits were the quickest. ‘Phil
is not Phil at all, but Mr. Torwood; and he has been pretending all the
while to be Phil. Isn’t that it, mamma?’
‘That is what I strongly suspect,’ said Mrs. Belassis, with more of her
usual deliberation; ‘but girls, no word of this is to be breathed until
I give you leave. A gross wrong has been committed, and a heartless
fraud perpetrated. We, as Philip Debenham’s next-of-kin, cannot suffer
things to go on unexposed and unpunished; but we shall defeat our own
ends if we go to work rashly, or show our hand too soon. You must be
silent as the grave until the time comes for the exposure.’
The girls looked excited.
‘But what will happen, mamma? Will Phil be sent to prison?’
‘I should hope so. I should expect a heavy sentence for so deliberate
and treacherous a crime. The penalty for forgery is a heavy one.’
A few days—nay, a few hours back, Matilda and Bertha would have been
filled with compassion for the unhappy criminal. Now, however, their
feelings had undergone a revolution, and their interest in him had
dwindled to a mere shadow. The excitement of a crime and prosecution
far outweighed any feeling of commiseration for the victim.
‘Oh, mamma, how dreadful! Will there be a trial? Shall we have to be
witnesses? What will Phil look like? Oh, how wicked he must be!’
‘And then there will be another Phil to come here!’ cried Matilda, with
animation. ‘Another Phil ten times as nice as this one, I dare say. I
wonder what he will be like, and what he will say to it all. Mamma,
where is the real Phil? Why didn’t he come? Why did he let Mr. Torwood
go on so?’
‘I believe he has been very ill, and entirely in Mr. Torwood’s power.
I do not yet know exactly where he is, or what is the matter with him;
but I shall find out all in due time, no doubt. It is evident that
he has not been a free agent during this crisis; and now he has been
sent on a sea-voyage to get him still farther out of the way, whilst
Mr. Torwood strengthens himself more and more in his position. I shall
make every effort to find Philip, and bring him over here. When we once
have the true heir in our keeping, the false one must abdicate. Maud’s
likeness to her brother will prove of inestimable value.’
‘And Maud is so fond of that dreadful Mr. Torwood,’ said Matilda.
‘Whatever _will_ she say!’
‘It has been the most disgraceful affair from first to last,’ said Mrs.
Belassis, with righteous indignation; ‘but it shall soon be brought to
an ignominious conclusion.’
‘And Phil, the real Phil, will be so fond of us!’ cried Bertha eagerly.
‘He will be so grateful to mamma—and to me too—for having found it
all out; and to papa and mamma for bringing him back, and helping him
against that wicked man he thought was his friend! Oh, it will all be
so different and so nice! There will be no more quarrels now. Phil will
quite seem to belong to us; and I’m sure he will always feel that he
can never be grateful enough, or do enough for us, for doing so much
for him. It will be altogether delightful!’
This was an eminently pleasing view of the matter, and the sisters
became enthusiastic.
‘Oh, mamma, how long will it be before something happens? Please tell
us what you are going to do!’
‘My first step,’ said Mrs. Belassis deliberately, ‘will be to have an
interview with this man who calls himself Philip Debenham. After that,
I shall know better on what ground we stand.’