SOUNDINGS.
Captain Derinzy did not experience so much satisfaction as he had
anticipated from Mr. George Wainwright's visit to the Tower. On the
first night of his arrival, his guest had listened to him with the
greatest patience and apparent delight. The Captain had told all
his old stories, repeated his _bon mots_--which were very brilliant
some dozen years before, but had lost a little of their glitter and
piquancy--and had aired the two subjects on which he was strongest--his
delight in London life, and his disgust at the place in which he was
then compelled to vegetate--to his own entire satisfaction.
He had hoped for frequent renewals of these pleasant confabulations
during George Wainwright's stay; but the next morning Paul told his
father that he and his friend had matters of business to talk over; and
although George seemed willing, and even anxious, to give up portions
of his time occasionally to his host, he was so much in requisition
by Paul, by Annette, and even by Mrs. Stothard, that the poor Captain
found himself left as much as usual to his own devices, and wandered
about the beach and the cliffs, cursing his fate and his exile as
loudly as ever. But while he was thus excluded from the general
councils, a series of explanations seemed to be going on among the
other members of the household.
"I want to speak to you, Martha," said Mrs. Derinzy, on the afternoon
of the day after the conversation last recorded had taken place. "I
have been thinking over what you said this morning, and I want you to
be more explicit about it."
"About what portion of it?" asked Mrs. Stothard.
"Well, about all; but more particularly what you said about my only
having chosen to give you half confidences. What did you mean by that?"
"Exactly what I said. You're a clever woman, Mrs. Derinzy, but you
have made a great mistake in imagining that you could make me a
fellow-conspirator with you in a plot----"
"Conspirator! plot!" cried Mrs. Derinzy, interrupting.
"Exactly. A fellow-conspirator in a plot," said Mrs. Stothard
calmly--"I use the words advisedly--and yet only tell me a portion of
your intentions."
"Will you be good enough to explain yourself, Mrs. Stothard?" said
Mrs. Derinzy, seating herself, and thereby asserting her superiority
in the only way possible over her servant, who knew so much, and was
apparently inclined to make a dangerous use of her knowledge.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Stothard. "I am the only person in this place,
besides you and your husband, who knows that your niece Annette Derinzy
is subject to fits of lunacy. I say who _knows_ it; it may be suspected
more or less, though I don't think it is much. But I know it. The
fact is kept sedulously by you from all who are likely to be brought
in contact save the one physician who attends, and his visits are
accounted for by a pretext that you, and not Annette, are his patient.
If that is not a plot in which we are fellow-conspirators, I should
like to know what is."
"Go on," said Mrs. Derinzy, in a low voice.
"I am going on," said Mrs. Stothard, pitilessly. "The reason for your
concealing the fact that this girl is an occasional lunatic is, that
she is the heiress of a very large fortune, and that since the day on
which you first heard of her inheritance you determined that she should
marry your only son. For my discovery of this portion of the plot, I am
not indebted to you. It was the work entirely of my own observation.
You can say whether I am right in my conjecture or not."
"Suppose you are, what then?"
"Suppose I am! What is the use of beating about the bush in this absurd
way any longer? You know I am right. Now that you see the difficulty of
blinding your son any longer to his cousin's condition, and that he is
not weak enough to have been played upon to any extent, had it not been
for the influence which this newly-arrived friend has over him, you
find that you require my aid, and want my advice."
Perhaps for the first time in her long scheming anxious life, Mrs.
Derinzy felt herself thoroughly prostrate. She hid her face in her
hands, and when she raised it, tears were streaming down her cheeks.
She made no further attempt at concealment of her feelings, but
murmured piteously, "What are we to do Martha--what are we to do?"
Mrs. Stothard's hard face softened for a moment as she stepped towards
her, and touched her gently with her hand.
"What are you to do!" she cried. "Not to give way like this, and throw
up all chance of winning the battle after so long and desperate a
fight. Let us think it over quietly, see exactly how matters stand, and
determine what can be done for the best."
"He must never know it, Martha--he must never know it!" murmured Mrs.
Derinzy.
"Who must never know what?" asked Mrs. Stothard, shortly.
"Paul must never know that Annette is mad. If he finds it out, of
course all hope of his marrying her is at an end. And what will he
think of me for having deceived him?--of me, his mother, who did it all
for his good."
"You must be rational, or it will be impossible to decide upon
anything," said Mrs. Stothard, who had relapsed into her grim state.
"As to Paul's not knowing, that is sheer nonsense. I told you long ago,
it was very unadvisable to have him down here at all. But he is not
very observant, and with proper care might have been easily gulled.
The girl was getting better, too--that is to say, there was a longer
interval between her attacks, and the matter might possibly have been
arranged. Now that Mr. George Wainwright has seen her, and is an inmate
of the same house with her, that hope is entirely at an end."
"You think so, Martha?"
"I am certain of it."
"Then all my self-sacrifice, all my anxieties and schemings have been
thrown away, and I have no further care for life," said Mrs. Derinzy,
again bursting into tears.
"You are relapsing into silliness again. Suppose Paul were told of his
cousin's illness, do you think he would definitely refuse to marry her?"
"Instantly and for ever," said Mrs. Derinzy.
"What! if the fact were notified by George Wainwright, who at the same
time hinted that though Annette had been insane, her disease was much
decreased in violence and frequency during the last few years, and in
the next few might possibly cease altogether? Would Paul, hearing all
this, and urged on by you, give up his notion of the fortune he would
enjoy with his wife--Paul, who is, as I have heard say, so fond of
pleasure and enjoyment, so imbued with a passion for spending money?"
She paused, and Mrs. Derinzy looked at her in astonishment, then said:
"Paul is weak and frivolous, but is no fool; he will not believe it."
"Not if it is told him by his friend who has such influence over him,
and on whose integrity he relies so thoroughly?--not if it is told him
by Dr. Wainwright's son?"
"He might if it were told him by Dr. Wainwright himself," said Mrs.
Derinzy, hesitating.
"And don't you think that George Wainwright has sufficient influence
with his father to make him do as he wishes?" asked Mrs. Stothard.
"Has anyone sufficient influence with George Wainwright to make him
help in our scheme?"
"Time will show," said Mrs. Stothard. "Now that we understand each
other, I think you had better leave this affair wholly in my hands. You
know me well enough to be certain that I shall do my best to serve you."
"That was the best way to settle it," said Mrs. Stothard to herself as
she walked towards her own room. "It was necessary to face it out--it
would have been impossible to make her believe that Paul could have
been kept in ignorance of the secret. And yet she is weak enough to
think a man like George Wainwright would suffer himself to take part
in such a wretched scheme as this, and compromise his own honour and
his friend's happiness! However, it will amuse her, and give me time
to mature my own plans. I rather think the notion that I hit on this
morning will be the best one to work out after all; the best one, that
is to say, for all I care--for Fanny and myself. Ah, who is this coming
in from the garden? 'Tis Mr. Wainwright. I wonder what he thinks of
me; his look last night was anything but flattering; now we shall see.
Goodmorning, sir."
"Goodmorning to you, nurse; how is your charge this morning?"
"My charge? Oh, you mean Miss Annette. She's very well indeed; I think
she seems to have benefited very much by the change which the arrival
of company has brought to the house."
"Company! Mr. Paul can scarcely be considered company in his own home,
and I fear I am not much company."
"It doesn't sound very flattering, Mr. Wainwright; but the mere sight
of a fresh face does us good in this dull place. I always tell Mrs.
Derinzy that my young lady wants rousing; and I am sure I am right, for
it is a long time since I have seen her look so bright as she does this
morning."
"I am sure you are not sufficiently selfish as to keep all her
brightness to yourself, nurse," said George; "but I do not think Miss
Derinzy has yet left her room."
"I am going to her now," said Mrs. Stothard, "to persuade her to take
a turn in the grounds before luncheon; if I may say you will accompany
her, Mr. Wainwright, I am sure she will come at once."
"You may say that I will do so with the very greatest pleasure," said
George; and then, after Mrs. Stothard had left him, "A clever woman
that, and, if my ideas are correct, just the sort of person for that
place. What a wonderful position for them all down here, and how
extraordinarily well the secret has been preserved! The girl has a
singular charm about her, and yet Paul will be delighted at getting--as
I have very little doubt he will get--his release. Fancy wishing to be
released from---- What can have made that woman so civil to me this
morning? I thought I came down here for quiet, and I find that I must
not move or speak without previously exercising the most tremendous
caution. Ah, here is Miss Annette; how pretty and fresh she looks!"
She did look wonderfully pretty in her tight-fitting violet-cashmere
dress, made high round her throat, with a small neat white collar and
cuffs, and with a violet ribbon in her hair. Her eyes were bright,
and her manner was frank and free as she walked straight up to George
Wainwright, and holding out her hand, gave him goodmorning.
"Goodmorning, Miss Derinzy," said George; "you are late in coming
among us. I was just asking your servant what had become of you."
"My servant! Oh, you mean Mrs. Stothard. Have you been talking to that
horrid woman? What has she been saying to you?
"You mustn't call her a horrid woman; she has been speaking very nicely
of you, and said she would send you to take a turn in the grounds with
me; so I don't think her a horrid woman, of course."
"She is a horrid woman, all the same," said Annette, "and I hate her;
though I shall like taking a turn in the grounds with you. Let us come
out at once. What a lovely morning!"
"Yes," said George, as they stood on the steps, "but not lovely enough
for you to come out without a hat; the air is anything but warm."
"It strikes cold to you Londoners," said Annette, laughing; and as she
laughed, her eyes sparkled and her colour came, and George could not
help thinking how remarkably pretty she looked; "but I do not feel it
one bit too fresh; I hate having anything on my head."
"Do you never wear a hat?"
"Only when I go into the village with Mrs. Derinzy, never here in the
grounds. I hate anything that weighs on my head or gives me any sense
of oppression there; always when I feel my head hot I think I am going
to be ill."
"Ay, I was sorry to hear that you were so frequently an invalid," said
George.
"Yes," said the girl, "I often think the house, instead of the Tower,
should be called the Hospital. Mrs. Derinzy, you know, is very often
ill; so ill sometimes, that Dr. Wainwright has to come from London to
see her."
"So I have heard," said George. "Do you know my father?"
"I have seen him very often when he has been down here to visit my
aunt."
"He has never attended you, I suppose, Miss Derinzy?" asked George,
looking at her closely.
"Dr. Wainwright attend me! Oh dear, no," said Annette; "there was never
any occasion for his doing so."
"Like most unselfish people, you make light of your own troubles," said
George, "and exaggerate those of other people."
"No, indeed," said Annette; "my ailments are trifles compared with
those of Mrs. Derinzy."
"How do you feel when you are ill?" asked George.
"What a curious man you are? what curious questions you ask! Why do you
take any interest in me and my ailments?"
"In you, because--well, I can only say that I find you very
interesting," said George, with a smile; "and in your illness because
I am a doctor's son, you know, and understand something of a doctor's
work."
"Well, I can scarcely call mine illnesses," said the girl; "for such
as they are, I and Mrs. Stothard--the woman you were just talking
to--manage them between us. I feel a sort of heavy burning sensation
in my brain, a buzzing in my ears, and a dimness of sight, and then I
faint away, and I know of nothing that happens, how the time goes by,
or what is said or done around me, until I come to myself, and feel,
oh, so horribly weak and tired!"
"I told you you spoke too lightly of your own ailments, Miss Derinzy,"
said George, with an earnest, passionate look; "and this account of
what you suffer seems to give me the idea that you require more skilled
treatment than can be afforded by Mrs. Stothard, kind though she may
be."
"I didn't say she was kind," said the girl sullenly; "I hate her!"
"Has my father never prescribed for you in one of these attacks?"
"Never; and never shall!"
"I hope you don't hate him too?" asked George with a smile.
"I--I don't like him."
"May I ask why not?"
"I--I can't tell; but his prescribing for me would be of no use, he
could do me no good."
"How can you tell that?"
"Because he has happened to come down here by chance to see my aunt
when I have been ill, and of course if he could have cured me, they
would have asked him to do so."
"Of course," said George. He looked at her steadily, but could glean
nothing from the expression on her face, and he changed the subject.
"You haven't seen Paul this morning?"
"No, I see very little of him. Before he came down, my aunt talked
so much to me about his visit, and said he was so amusing and so
delightful, and that I should be so much pleased with him."
"Well?"
"Now you are asking me questions again. I intended to make you tell me
all about London and what the people do there; and we have been out
here for half an hour, and talked about nothing but myself. What did
you mean by 'Well'?" she added laughing.
George laughed too.
"I meant, and you found all Mrs. Derinzy's anticipations realised?"
"Not the least in the world. I don't find my cousin amusing, and I am
sure he doesn't talk much; he walks about smoking a pipe and smoothing
his moustache with his fingers; and whenever one speaks to him, his
thoughts seem to be a long way off, and he has to call them back before
he answers you. I told my aunt he was like those people you read of in
books, who are in love."
"What did she say to that?"
"She smiled, and said she had noticed the same since Paul had been down
here, and that very likely that might be the reason."
"You must not be hard on Paul," said George Wainwright, at the same
time frowning slightly; "if you knew him as well as I do, you would
think him the best fellow in the world."
"I find that that is what is always said of people whom I don't care
about," said Annette, quietly.
"My father, for instance," said George, with a laugh, "and Mrs.
Stothard."
"Of Dr. Wainwright, certainly," said Annette. "My aunt and uncle are
never tired of proclaiming his praises; and my aunt has reasons, for
I believe it is to his skill that my aunt owes her life; but I never
heard anyone say anything good of Mrs. Stothard."
"Poor Mrs. Stothard," said George. "She will most likely---- Ah, here
is the Captain."
The gentleman strolling up the little white path which led over the
cliff to the sea was indeed Captain Derinzy, limping along and slashing
at the bushes with his cane in his usual military manner. He looked
very much astonished at seeing Annette walking with his guest, and did
not disguise his surprise.
"Hallo!" he said, "you out here! Seldom you come out into the open air,
isn't it?--Be much better for her if she came out oftener, wouldn't
it, Wainwright? This is the stuff that they talk about in this country
life. Why, in London a girl goes out and rides in the Row twice a-day,
and walks and rides in Bond Street, and all that kind of thing, and
get's plenty of exercise, don't you know? Whereas in the country it is
so infernally dirty, and the roads are all so shamefully bad, and there
are such a set of roughs about--tramps and that kind of people--that
girls don't like going out; and yet they tell you that the country is
more healthy than London! All dam stuff!"
"Well, Miss Derinzy's looks certainly do credit to the country, though
I regret to hear that they are not thoroughly to be relied on. She has
been telling me she suffers a great deal from illness."
"Oh, has she?" said the Captain, looking up nervously; "the deuce she
has! Look here, Netty, don't you think you had better go in and dress
yourself for dinner, and that kind of thing? It is quite cold now,
and you haven't got any hat, and your aunt might make a row--I mean,
mightn't like it, you know. Run in, there's a good girl; we shall all
be in soon.-- Don't you go, Wainwright; I want to show you a view from
the top of that hill--the Beacon Hill, they call it; it's about the
only thing worth seeing in the whole infernal place."
When Captain Derinzy went in to dress for dinner, he said to his wife:
"It is a deuced good thing that I am a long-headed fellow and have
my wits about me, and all that kind of thing. I found this young
Wainwright walking with Annette, and he told me she had been telling
him about her illness and all that. So I thought it best to separate
'em at once; and I sent her off into the house, and took him away to
the Beacon Hill, though he seemed to me to be wanting to go after her
all the time."