THE ATTACK.
‘Have you ever examined the securities of Maud’s trust-money?’ asked
Miss Marjory of Tor. ‘Do you know how it is invested, or what interest
has been accumulating? The interest, even of the five thousand only,
will have mounted up in eighteen years. Have you ever made inquiries
into the question?’
‘I have made a few inquiries; but I have not elicited much information.
Mr. Belassis—as guardian, trustee, and executor—has had full power
over the money all this time, and has seen fit to resent any kind of
questioning from me.’
‘That looks bad,’ said Miss Marjory. ‘That man is a rogue, Philip.’
‘I am aware of it.’
‘A pretty sort of trustee! How could Mr. Debenham have trusted him?’
‘I believe he did not do so. I believe he made a later will. I believe
this one was a mere blind——’
‘A later will!’ cried Miss Marjory exultantly. ‘Why, of course he
did—that would explain it all. I could not conceive how a sane man——But
where _is_ the later will, then? Why is it not produced? Why does this
one stand?’
Tor shook his head.
‘We are afraid it fell into the hands of Belassis, as the mass of
papers did. You know as well as I, what its fate would be then.’
‘You think he has destroyed it?’
‘I do.’
Miss Marjory paused, with her head on one side. By-and-by she said:
‘So do not I.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because he is so unequivocally anxious for Maud’s marriage with his
son. Maud would only bring in a dowry of five thousand, as matters
stand now—a mere pittance for a young lady of refined and expensive
tastes. But if he suspects the existence of a later will, his anxiety
is explained. When Maud is his son’s wife, he could snap his fingers at
any discovery.’
Tor’s eyes brightened.
‘There is a great deal in what you say, Miss Marjory. I have not been
blind to the strangeness of Mr. Belassis’ eagerness for the marriage. I
taxed him with it once, and asked point-blank for his motive. You may
guess whether he told it.’
‘We must find that will!’ cried Miss Marjory, with energy. ‘It must be
hidden away somewhere. But where can it be?’
‘I am much afraid it must have perished. The house Mr. Debenham lived
in has been pulled down and rebuilt, and the furniture sold. You may be
sure Belassis would have made an exhaustive search, if his suspicions
had been excited, as is likely enough.’
‘If his were not, his wife’s would be,’ said Miss Marjory decidedly.
‘Those two Belassis’, husband and wife, are as big a pair of knaves as
ever walked the earth.’
The door opened, and the servant announced: ‘Mrs. Belassis.’
‘Talk of——’ began Miss Marjory.
‘Show her in,’ said Tor aloud; adding, in a low voice, ‘What can she
have come for?’
‘Mischief,’ answered Miss Marjory, her eyes sparkling. ‘May I stay?’
‘By all means.’
‘If she is too disagreeable. I shall put in my word. I can silence her
if needful.’
There was no time for more, for Mrs. Belassis was at the door.
Tor rose to receive her; but his greeting was somewhat cold. After
their last passage-at-arms, Mrs. Belassis had not disguised her
unfriendly feelings.
Miss Marjory merely bowed slightly; and the keen brightness and
alertness of her gaze did not altogether please the visitor.
‘I have come to see you on business,’ said she, as she seated herself
and looked at Tor.
‘I shall be happy to give your business all possible consideration,’ he
answered politely.
‘It is not _my_ business,’ said Mrs. Belassis, with significance. ‘But
it is of a private nature;’ and here she looked at Miss Marjory, who
did not stir.
‘Does the privacy of its nature concern you or me?’ questioned Tor.
‘You, of course. Do you imagine I should discuss my private affairs
with _you_?’
‘And yet,’ remarked Tor, with a smile, ‘you expect me, it would seem,
to discuss my private affairs with you.’
‘I shall give you no option,’ said Mrs. Belassis, with acrimony; ‘but
remember they are private.’
Again she looked at Miss Marjory, who merely smiled, not altogether
without malice.
‘I have a taste for dabbling in other people’s private affairs,’ she
said audaciously. ‘I think you would be surprised if you knew some of
the things I know about the lives of people almost unknown to me.’
Mrs. Belassis made no reply, but felt vaguely uneasy. Tor said quietly:
‘Miss Marjory Descartes is my very good friend. If what you have to say
relates only to me and my affairs, she is welcome to hear it.’
‘Oh, very well,’ answered Mrs. Belassis viciously. ‘If you have no
sense of shame yourself, I’m sure I do not wish to spare you. All the
world may know what I know, for aught I care. Indeed, they soon will
do, and you will see then how far your precious popularity will carry
you. You will find yourself in a felon’s dock before the next assize
is over, if you do not play a very different game from the one you are
doing now.’
Tor listened with a coolness which was a little disconcerting to the
excited woman before him. Forewarned was forearmed in his case, and he
evinced nothing but an amused incredulity in face or voice.
‘Indeed! this is most interesting. I had no idea such greatness loomed
before me. Pray go on; it is like a chapter from Wilkie Collins. Isn’t
it exciting, Miss Marjory?’
‘Very. It always amuses me to see people make egregious blunders,’
answered Miss Marjory affably. ‘I hope Mrs. Belassis has a great deal
more to tell us.’
Mrs. Belassis felt her face grow pale with rage. She had never before
had any statement of hers treated with anything so like ridicule.
‘I have a good deal more to tell you,’ she answered, with suppressed
savageness; ‘and you may thank me for great consideration that you
hear it first through me, and not through a lawyer.’
‘I am ready to thank you even for a fancied consideration,’ answered
Tor quietly; ‘but let me tell you that I would much rather hear
anything you may have to say from a lawyer than from you. I know how to
deal with a man, and with a libel; but to a lady and a relative, and in
my own house, it is difficult to find any suitable reply to whatever
charges she may see fit to bring.’
‘I am not a relative; and you are not in your own house—you know that
as well as I.’
Miss Marjory lifted her eyebrows, shrugged her shoulders, and smiled a
smile that was truly exasperating, as she glanced at Tor. The look said
as plainly as words could do, ‘Is she mad?’
Mrs. Belassis, strong though she felt her cause, began to wish she had
waited for a few proofs before making an attack. The ground under her
feet was not secure enough to warrant an encounter with two such foes
as she now saw before her.
‘I am quite ready to repudiate our relationship, now that I find it
is as unwelcome to you as it is to me,’ said Tor coolly; ‘but I repeat
once more, that in my own house I cannot answer in fitting terms a lady
who chooses to insult me. If it is all the same to you, Mrs. Belassis,
I would rather you let me hear whatever you have to say through your
husband, or through a lawyer. If you have any charge to bring against
me, as your words seem to imply, you had better have your case made out
in the usual way.’
Mrs. Belassis knew that as matters stood at present she had no case;
and the cool scorn of her adversary’s tone stung her to the quick.
She _knew_ he was an impostor, yet she had no real evidence to bring
forward. But she was not going to be silenced so easily.
‘I shall act as I choose, and speak as I choose, and when I choose,’
she answered angrily. ‘Bold and wicked as you are, I have my hand on
the clue which will in the end bring shame and ruin upon you. Where is
_your friend_, Torrington Torwood?’
‘At sea, on a voyage for his health.’
‘He is not. He is in England. He is at Ladywell. He is in this very
house?’
‘Indeed! If you are so well informed as to my friend’s movements, why
come to me?’
‘Your friend!’ she echoed scornfully; ‘friend, indeed! Why do you even
try to keep up the deception when all is known? You are Torrington
Torwood yourself!’
‘How very interesting! Well, I have played the part often enough to
feel quite at home in it. Produce your “Philip Debenham,” and I will
gladly abdicate in his favour. It will not be the first time we have
changed names and situations.’
Mrs. Belassis grew more and more excited. It is very aggravating when
we know we have got hold of the truth, not to have power to make it
recognised and admitted by others.
‘Do you mean to say that you are prepared to _swear_,’ she began, with
great emphasis—‘to swear that you are Philip Debenham?’
‘I am prepared to swear a good deal in the right place and at the right
time,’ answered Tor, with a steady look at Mrs. Belassis out of his
great grey eyes, which was not agreeable to her. ‘But to you I shall
certainly decline to swear anything at all. You have thought fit to
accuse and insult me in my own house, being fully aware that under
the circumstances you could do so with impunity. You have, however,
reached the extreme limit; and for your own sake I should advise you
to be content with the answers you have already received. As I have
said before, if you have any charge against me, you had better send it
through the right channel—that of the law.’
Miss Marjory nodded her head approvingly; she admired Tor’s high-handed
way of carrying things, and could see that it quite took his enemy by
surprise, and disquieted her somewhat; at the same time, she thought a
little more diplomatic questioning would have been advisable before a
declaration of open defiance had been made. They were quite ignorant
as to the strength of the adversary’s cause, and it was hardly
politic, perhaps, to court the intervention of the law, although it
was probably, in the present position of affairs, something of an idle
threat.
She was not altogether sorry that at this crisis of the conversation,
Tor was called suddenly away. He was not sorry, neither was Mrs.
Belassis, for the interruption. She had no intention of leaving without
another attempt to elicit the truth, bringing forward at the same time
her evidence, such as it was, which would most likely produce some
effect; and she was glad of a pause, which would enable her to think
over what she meant to say.
Miss Marjory, however, did not leave her long in peace. The door had
hardly closed behind Tor before she began briskly:
‘Really, Mrs. Belassis, I am intensely interested in all you say. It
is quite like a romance, this doubt you have cast upon my friend’s
identity. Do tell me some more. What can have made you think such a
thing?’
‘Everybody can see that this man is not a Debenham, and people who
met him abroad all know him as Torwood. Signor Pagliadini, though not
willing to take an active share in the accusation, knows perfectly well
that this man is Torwood, and that Philip Debenham is at sea. And,
moreover, the real Philip Debenham is strikingly like Maud, who has, as
you see, no resemblance at all to this impostor.’
‘Really, how very interesting! You surprise me. That point about
the likeness is very remarkable. You are perhaps aware that I was
intimately acquainted with Mr. Torwood’s father; and when I happened
to see a photograph of Mr. Debenham’s friend, I was much struck by the
very strong likeness it bore to Guy Torwood, whom I once knew so well.
Curious how likenesses strike different persons, is it not? Signor
Pagliadini thinks him like Maud. I think him like my old friend. Odd,
is it not? There is no accounting for such things.’
Mrs. Belassis looked floored. Miss Marjory spoke so easily and
naturally that it was hard to imagine she was playing a part; yet, if
what she said was true, one great fraction of her evidence was all but
demolished.
‘You knew—Mr. Torwood’s father,’ she stammered. ‘And the photograph
this—this man showed you, as Mr. Torwood’s, was like his father?’
‘Strikingly so. I recognised it at once from its likeness. I must see
now if I can trace in it any likeness to Maud.’
‘Sir Herbert Moncrieff, who met Maud at a party, was much struck by it;
and he called this Philip Debenham, Torwood,’ said Mrs. Belassis.
Miss Marjory seemed to consider.
‘Well, Mrs. Belassis, the whole question seems rather a puzzling one;
but I cannot think it likely, from what I know of our friend, that he
would run his head into a noose for nothing. In all probability things
are as he says; but, if not, you may be quite sure he is acting as his
friend’s agent, with his friend’s consent—probably at his request.
Those two men have been devoted friends for eighteen years—is it
likely one would suddenly take a mania—for robbing and defrauding the
other? Whatever is being done is, you may be certain, done by mutual
agreement; and you would find yourself in a very awkward position if
you took my young friend’s hint, and went to law, only to find yourself
the laughing-stock of the nephew, whose cause you thought you were
promoting. I believe, too, that no one could prosecute but the injured
party. I leave you to judge whether this is probable.’
But Mrs. Belassis, though somewhat taken aback, was not to be so easily
suppressed.
‘My nephew is ill, and unable to act for himself. I have reason to
believe that his mind is temporarily affected. He is quite in his
friend’s power, and most unscrupulous use is being made of this power.
We, as next-of-kin, are bound to protect him, and we will do so at all
risk. Let Torrington Torwood look to himself!’ the last words were
added with such animus that Miss Marjory’s lip curled.
‘You are very generous, certainly, towards this mythical nephew of
yours, whose existence you have presupposed. Do you not think you are
actuated in reality by your curious and incomprehensible dislike to—my
Mr. Debenham? If so, you may soon find yourself in a very awkward
position.’
‘Incomprehensible!’ echoed Mrs. Belassis. ‘He has done nothing but
insult and oppose us ever since he came back. He has a smooth tongue,
but he is our enemy at heart, and he will do us an ill-turn when he
can. He knows that, and I believe you know it too.’
‘I do not know it. What I do know is that he has been wonderfully
considerate towards you; and although he is acquainted with facts
which must seriously affect your peace of mind, and might bring you
the greatest unhappiness a woman can suffer, he has refrained from
letting fall one syllable which could injure you, in spite of all the
provocation you have given him. I advise you, however, not to go too
far. A man’s patience is not supposed to be a very elastic article. If
you do not take care, you may find the tables turned upon yourself.’
Mrs. Belassis looked uneasy.
‘What can you know about my affairs? Has this Philip, as he calls
himself, told you more than he tells me?’
‘Perhaps he has; but in this instance it was I who told him.’
‘What did you tell him?’
Miss Marjory looked at her without answering.
‘What did you tell him?’ repeated Mrs. Belassis.
‘Do you really wish to know? It will not be pleasant news.’
‘I do wish to know.’
‘I suppose you are not aware that your husband was married in 1843?’
‘Married!’ gasped Mrs. Belassis.
‘Married, in Whitbury Minster, to a girl named Nelly Roberts, who had
been in my service as lady’s-maid. He deserted her two months after the
marriage, and, so far as I know, never heard of her again.’
Mrs. Belassis sat like one turned to stone.
‘What became of her?’ she asked, when she could find voice.
‘She lived for some time in Whitbury, and then her health failed, and
she went away. Eventually she died; but I lost sight of her before
then.’
‘When did she die?’
‘Not long after February, 1850; but I do not know the exact date.’
‘I was married in the May of that year,’ said Mrs. Belassis.
‘I know; and I hope—I hope—at any rate, inquiries are being made, and
we shall soon learn the truth; but I do not for a moment believe your
husband knows anything about the matter. I believe he lost sight of her
utterly.’
Mrs. Belassis said nothing for awhile. Then she asked:
‘My nephew knows this?’
‘He does.’
‘Why did he not tell me?’
‘I believe he wished to spare you.’
‘Then why do you tell me now?’
‘Because I wish to warn you. It seems to me that you are taking a very
unwise course; and I think it fair you should know to what it may lead
you, if you too far provoke your nephew.’
Mrs. Belassis, however, was not long subdued. Her heart certainly
misgave her; but she would not show it; and she had a lingering hope
that perhaps Belassis did know more of the history of his first wife
than Miss Marjory supposed. She had no great opinion of his moral
character or ability; but she doubted whether he would dare to commit a
crime like bigamy.
‘I shall do as I think right,’ she said, with a loftiness of manner
which was well assumed, though only an assumption. ‘Justice must be
done, at all costs. I may have been wronged, but I will not permit
wrong to go unpunished.’
Vials of wrath were being stored up to be poured upon the head of
Belassis; but here matters must be carried with a high hand.
‘Please yourself,’ answered Miss Marjory pleasantly. ‘You seem to me
very anxious to court defeat and ridicule, but that is certainly your
business, not mine.’
Mrs. Belassis felt that the interview had lasted long enough, and she
rose to go.
‘Mr. Torwood does not seem inclined to hurry back,’ she said, ‘so I
will not intrude upon you longer. Tell him, with my compliments, that
if he declines to listen to me, he will soon be forced to listen to
Signor Pagliadini.’
Mrs. Belassis walked rapidly from the house, her mind in a tumult of
angry feeling and horrible uneasiness as regards her own position. So
engrossed was she, that she did not perceive, until close upon him, the
Italian, who was walking up to Ladywell to pay the promised visit. When
face to face, she stopped short and said:
‘They will dispute it. He means to keep the name and position he has
assumed. Try your power, if you will; but his mind is made up.’
Then, without waiting for a reply, she resumed her rapid pace.
Signor Pagliadini was strangely preoccupied that first evening at
Ladywell. Make what effort he would, it was plain to all that he had
something on his mind. It did not, then, surprise Tor overmuch when, as
the household was preparing to disperse that night, he said:
‘Can I speak with you a few moments in private?’
‘Certainly, Signor,’ said Tor readily.
‘I am anxious not to be interrupted,’ continued the Italian, with
something of nervous constraint in his manner. ‘Would it be asking too
much that you should join me in my room, when your leisure permits it?’
‘I will be with you in ten minutes,’ said Tor. ‘I have to go round the
house, as usual. I will not keep you waiting long.’
‘Do not hurry, Signor,’ said the Italian courteously. ‘I will await
your convenience.’
He went upstairs with his candle.
‘It is coming now,’ said Tor to Miss Marjory, as he handed her hers.
‘Whatever it is, I shall hear it now.’
‘Put on a bold face, then,’ advised Miss Marjory, ‘as you did this
afternoon. Never say die! You will pull through yet.’
‘Perhaps; but something tells me that this man is a very different kind
of adversary from Mrs. Belassis.’
Miss Marjory was privately of the same opinion, but she would not
betray her uneasiness.
‘I wish I could be present to support you again, but that would hardly
do. Be bold, and admit nothing. You have my best wishes; and come what
may, I will stand by you.’
‘I believe it, and am grateful,’ said Tor; and then they shook hands
warmly, and after the nightly prowl round the house, Tor, with rather a
sinking heart, mounted to Signor Pagliadini’s room.