SIR GILBERT AND GIOVANNA
Punctually at eleven o’clock next forenoon Captain Verinder,
accompanied by his niece, alighted from the fly which had conveyed them
from the railway station, at the foot of the flight of semi-circular
steps leading to the portico which sheltered the main entrance to the
mansion of Withington Chase.
So elated had the Captain been by the result of his interview with Sir
Gilbert, that, after detailing to his niece on his return all that had
passed between them, he had insisted that she, he and Luigi should all
dine together in a private room at a certain popular restaurant (of
course at Vanna’s expense), when he did not fail to toast Sir Gilbert
in a bumper of Clicquot. “Here’s to your grandsire, my boy,” he said to
Luigi as he drained his glass; then, having refilled it, he added: “And
here’s to the coming lord of Withington Chase, and may he never forget
all that his old uncle has done for him!”
A little later he remarked: “I don’t think it will be long, my boy,
before you come into your inheritance. The old man’s breaking up,
that’s plainly to be seen. I shouldn’t be surprised if the next winter
tries him severely. He coughed several times during our interview, and
a very hollow cough it was.”
“And when he is dead and gone, shall I be Sir Luigi Clare?” asked the
young man.
“Sir Luigi Clare!” echoed the Captain. “There’s a point, now, which I
had completely overlooked, while flattering myself that I had forgotten
nothing. You will come into the title of course on Sir Gilbert’s death.
But Sir Luigi Clare will never do. It’s altogether too outlandish. We
must re-christen you, and that at once.”
“Why not make English of the name by turning Luigi into Lewis?”
demanded Giovanna.
“The very thing!” replied the Captain. “Which goes to prove that two
heads are better than one—especially, my dear, when one of them happens
to belong to your sex. Now I come to think, among other inscriptions in
the little church at the Chase was one to the memory of a certain
Colonel Lewis Clare who fell in some battle or other a long time ago.
Now, what more natural,” he went on with a meaning look at Luigi, “than
that your _father_, instead of naming you after himself, should have
preferred to call you after his brave ancestor? Yes, Lewis Clare will
do very well indeed—Sir Lewis that will be later on.”
Although Giovanna’s only visible betrayal of the fact was by a touch of
unwonted pallor in her cheeks, she was the prey of a dozen conflicting
emotions as the doors of Withington Chase were flung wide and she and
her uncle crossed the threshold. “And this was my husband’s home when a
boy,” was her first thought as her gaze wandered round the entrance
hall. “How little I suspected such a thing! There must have been some
powerful motive at work to cause him to quit such a roof and to change
his name and marry an innkeeper’s daughter and seek a new home
thousands of miles away. What was that motive, I wonder?”
“Will you come this way, please,” said the trained voice of the man in
livery a second later, and with that they were presently shown into the
same morning-room into which the Captain had been ushered the day
before.
“And now, my dear, the crucial moment is at hand,” said the Captain to
Vanna as soon as they were alone. “I hope you have forgotten none of
the points in which I have so carefully coached you up.”
“I don’t think there is much fear of that. I never forget anything
which it is essential that I should remember.”
“One last caution, however. Take your time in answering Sir Gilbert’s
questions, and, above all things, don’t get flurried.”
“Did you ever know me to get flurried, Uncle Verinder?”
“No, ’pon my word, I don’t think I ever did. But then I have known you
such a very short while.”
At this juncture the door opened and Sir Gilbert entered the room.
The Captain and Vanna both rose as he came slowly forward, his eyes
fixed scrutinisingly on his daughter-in-law. Her stately presence and
the classic beauty of her features impressed him at the first glance,
and therewith came a sudden _bouleversement_ of all his preconceived
notions of what she would be like. On the spot he acknowledged to
himself that he had done her an injustice in his thoughts. After
favouring Verinder with a curt nod of recognition, he went up to
Giovanna and held out his hand with an air of old-fashioned courtesy.
“Am I to presume, madam, that I see before me the widow of my late son,
John Alexander Clare?”
“That was my husband’s full name, Sir Gilbert—the name he was married
in—although, for reasons of his own, he chose to be known to the world
simply as Mr. John Alexander.”
“To be sure—to be sure.” The rich full contralto of her voice sounded
pleasantly in his ears. “That was a fact well-known to me at the time.
But pray be seated.” A wave of his hand included Verinder in the
invitation.
He had dropped Giovanna’s hand, and there had been a sudden change in
his tone as he spoke the last words. The fact was that he had caught
the Captain smiling and rubbing one hand within the other with an air
of supreme satisfaction, although the other had certainly not intended
that he should do anything of the kind, and therewith he had chilled
under a sudden breath of suspicion. “What, after all, if I am being
victimised by a couple of schemers!” he said to himself. “And yet that
any woman with such a face as that should lend herself—— No, no—I
cannot believe it.”
Both the others could see that some change had come over him, but were
at a loss to guess the cause of it.
“And where was it, madam, if I may be allowed to ask, that you first
made the acquaintance of my son?”
“At Catanzaro, Sir Gilbert.”
“So—so. Alec’s long stay in that, to me, detestable hole of a place is
now explained.” This was said half to himself. “And where, madam, were
you and my son united in the bonds of matrimony?”
“We were married at Malta, at the English church there.”
“Ah, then you are a Protestant!”
Giovanna gravely inclined her head. “My father was a Roman Catholic,
but my mother was an Englishwoman and a Protestant. My only brother was
brought up in the faith of his father, I in that of my mother.”
“So much the better—so much the better,” ejaculated Sir Gilbert, quite
unaware that the words were spoken aloud.
It was a fact that Giovanna had been married at the English church at
Valetta, but a prior ceremony had been gone through at Catanzaro, at
which a Romish priest had been the celebrant, for Giuseppe Rispani was
too good a Catholic, or had the reputation of being one, not to insist
upon his daughter being married in accordance with the rites and
ceremonies of his own church. That being done, he had raised no
objection to accompanying the young couple as far as Malta (to him,
indeed, it was a pleasure trip with all expenses paid), there to give
away the bride when the ceremony was gone through for the second time.
After that Rispani had bidden his daughter goodbye and gone back home,
first, however, borrowing a couple of hundred pounds from his English
son-in-law in order, as he averred, that he might have the means of
carrying out certain much needed alterations and improvements in the
_osteria_ of the Golden Fig. It is to be feared, however, that the
amount in question never got any further than his own pocket.
After the departure of Rispani the newly-wedded couple had made the
best of their way to the United States.
To return.
“In that case, madam,” resumed the baronet after a brief pause, “you
have doubtless been at pains to preserve your marriage certificate.”
Giovanna had preserved it, had, in fact, brought it with her this
morning. She now produced it, a creased and faded-looking document,
from the satchel suspended from her waist-belt, opened it and handed it
to Sir Gilbert; who, having adjusted his _pince-nez_ and drawn his
chair up to the centre table, smoothed out the certificate upon it and
proceeded to read it slowly and carefully from beginning to end, his
lips shaping each word silently as he spoke it to himself. It purported
to be, and was a duly certified copy of the entry in the register of
the Protestant church at Valetta of the marriage solemnised on the date
specified between John Alexander Clare and Giovanna Rispani. It would
have been idle to dispute its genuineness, even had there been any
inclination, which was far from being the case, on Sir Gilbert’s part
to do so.
“Madam, the document seems to me in every respect satisfactory,” he
said gravely as he refolded it and handed it back to Giovanna with a
bow.
In return she put into his hands a framed photograph of herself and her
husband, taken within a few days of their marriage. “Possibly, Sir
Gilbert, this may not be without some interest for you,” she said in
her quiet, measured tones.
The old man took the photograph and carried it to the window. Scarcely
was his back turned before the Captain flashed a look at Vanna which
said, “Everything, so far, going on first-rate.”
One, two, three minutes were ticked off by the clock on the
chimney-piece before Sir Gilbert came back to his chair. His hand
trembled a little as he returned the photograph to Giovanna. “Yes, that
is Alec to the life,” he said. “Poor boy! poor boy!” A deep sigh broke
from him as he resumed his seat.
For a little space no one spoke.
It was Sir Gilbert who broke the silence. “Unless I am misinformed,
madam, you and your husband found your way to the United States no long
time after your marriage?”
“We did, Sir Gilbert. And here a little point occurs to me about which
it may be as well to enlighten you. Up to the morning of our marriage I
had never known my husband by any other name than John Alexander. The
only explanation proffered by him after the ceremony was over was, that
he had deemed it best, for certain private reasons, to temporarily drop
his surname. As to the nature of his reasons, he never enlightened me,
and, indeed, so little curious was I to learn them that, as far as I
now remember, the subject was never again broached between us, and
after our arrival in America we were known simply as Mr. and Mrs.
Alexander.”
“Quite right, quite right,” said Sir Gilbert. “My son, for family
reasons, chose, right up to the time of his death, to keep his surname
in abeyance. Well, and what happened after your arrival in the States?”
“We settled in a place called Barrytown in one of the Eastern States,
where John (I always called my husband John, Sir Gilbert) thought he
saw an opening for the profitable investment of his capital. But he had
had no training, and in all business relations was little better than a
child compared with the shrewd Yankees in whose midst he had chosen to
locate himself. The result was what might have been expected. Instead
of making money, at the end of two years he found himself about four
thousand pounds poorer than when he had started in business.”
“That was burning his fingers with a vengeance,” interpolated the
Captain, who had so far maintained a diplomatic silence.
Sir Gilbert glared at him for an instant and then turned his shoulder a
couple of inches more towards him. “Proceed, madam, pray proceed,” he
said blandly to Giovanna.
“By that time our child was born and my health had given way. The
doctors told John that the climate of the Eastern States was too
inclement for me, and that if I stayed there another winter he would
risk losing me. Thereupon he decided to break up our home and go
further inland in search at once of a climate that would be likely to
agree with me, and of an opening for what was left of his capital which
promised better results than his first venture had brought him.
Meanwhile I was to go back to Italy, of course taking my child with me,
and strive to recruit my health in my native air. As soon as he found
himself prospering and had settled where our new home was to be, he
would send for me, or fetch me to join him. Well, sir, we parted, my
husband seeing me on board ship at New York, little thinking that we
should never see each other again. Two letters from him reached me
after my arrival at home, in the second of which he told me that he was
going to penetrate still further west, or south, I forget which. After
that came a silence which has remained unbroken till the present day.”
As Giovanna ended, her head sank forward a little and, as if
involuntarily, the fingers of her right hand sought and pressed the
golden hoop which still graced the third finger of her left hand.
The Captain had been on thorns for the last few minutes for fear lest
she should trip, or contradict herself over some point of the narrative
which he had so carefully elaborated for her. Now he began to breathe
more freely. They were by no means out of the wood yet, but everything
had gone so smoothly up till now that it was surely not unreasonable to
hope their good fortune would attend them to the end.
“And you never made any effort to trace your husband?” said Sir Gilbert
after a pause.
“Sir Gilbert!” exclaimed Giovanna in a tone of genuine amazement.
“Please to consider the circumstances of the case. Month after month
went by, and every morning on opening my eyes, my first words were,
‘Surely I shall have a letter to-day.’ But none came. Not till a year
had gone by did I give up all hope. Whether my husband was alive or
dead, I knew not. What was I to do? America is a big country, and even
if I had gone back to New York, I altogether fail to see how it would
have been possible for me to trace him after the lapse of so long a
time.”
“You are quite right, madam. My question was a foolish one. When the
year had gone by, what then? Did you never make any attempt to seek out
your husband’s relatives?”
“Never, Sir Gilbert. It was a matter I did not feel myself at liberty
to pry into. Seeing that my husband had never spoken to me about his
friends and connections, a certain pride—shall I call it?—withheld me
from trying to penetrate a secret which he had not seen fit to share
with me.”
“At length, however, you saw cause to think differently.”
“I was about to explain, Sir Gilbert,” said Giovanna with a touch of
hauteur which became her well. “Time went on till my son was twelve
years old, and then my father died (I had lost my mother many years
before), after which event I determined to come to England, where my
only brother had been some time settled. I wanted my son to become
acquainted with his father’s country, and to train him up to become as
much like an Englishman as possible. Besides, as time went on it became
requisite that he should do something for his living, the whole of my
income not amounting to more than a hundred pounds of English money a
year. Not to weary you, Gilbert, I will merely add that my son is now,
and has been for some time past, earning his living in London as a
drawing-master.”
“As a drawing-master?” ejaculated Sir Gilbert as if to himself.
“It was quite by accident that my uncle here discovered that my late
husband was your eldest son, Sir Gilbert; but after the discovery had
been made it became a matter of anxious thought with us whether we
should, or should not, proceed any further in the affair. At length we
decided that, as a matter of simple justice to you, we were bound to
acquaint you with the fact that you had a grandson living of whose
existence you had heretofore been unaware, leaving it for you to make
whatever use of the knowledge you might deem best.”
“_Brava! bravissima!_” ejaculated the Captain under his breath as
Giovanna came to an end. “I could not have done it better myself. Not a
hitch nor a slip anywhere. What will the old boy do now?”
What the “old boy” did was to take a few silent turns about the room
with his hands behind his back, his eyes bent on the carpet, and his
head sunk between his shoulders. It was his invariable practice when
mentally puzzled or perturbed.
“Madam,” he said at length, coming to a halt and planting himself on
the hearthrug with his back towards the grate, “nothing could have been
more straightforward, or perspicacious than the narrative with which
you have just favoured me, and I have no hesitation in saying that to
me it seems to bear the stamp of absolute truth. Singularly enough, it
happens that I am in a position to enlighten you and set your mind at
rest for ever as to the fate of your husband. Poor Alec was killed by
the explosion of a steamboat at a date which, I doubt not, will prove
on investigation to have been within a few months of the parting
between you and him. No wonder, my dear lady, that you looked in vain
for any more letters from him.”
“Oh, Sir Gilbert,” ejaculated Giovanna, “what an awful fate was his! My
poor John! My poor husband!”
She covered her face with her hands and bent her head over the end of
the couch on which she was seated. Sir Gilbert turned his back and took
up first one ornament off the mantel-piece and then another. The
Captain tried to look sympathetic, but failed signally. No long time
passed before Giovanna sat up and quietly wiped her eyes. Sir Gilbert
had felt sure that she was not the kind of woman to make a scene, or go
into hysterics, and he secretly commended her good sense. He now turned
and cleared his voice. During the last minute or two he had made up his
mind to a certain course.
“My dear madam,” he began, “I trust you will do me the favour of
bringing your son to the Chase to-morrow forenoon and introducing him
to me.” He was careful not to say “my grandson.”
Giovanna’s heart went up with a bound. “I will do so with the greatest
pleasure, Sir Gilbert,” she replied in her usual composed tones, but
her cheeks flushed a little and a sudden light leapt to her eyes.
“There remains one point, however,” resumed Sir Gilbert, “about which
it may be as well to say a few words, so that, in time to come, no
misapprehension in the matter may exist on the part of anyone
concerned.” Again he cleared his voice. “When my son left England it
was by my request. He was deeply involved in debt—not for the first or
second time—and he applied to me, as he had done before, to extricate
him from his difficulties. This I agreed to do on condition that he
would go abroad and stay there till he should have my permission to
return. He agreed to the condition and went. At the end of two years he
wrote me to the effect that he was desirous of emigrating and pushing
his fortunes in the United States, and that if I would pay over to him
the sum of six thousand pounds he would sanction the cutting off of the
family entail. It was an offer which, after consideration, I decided to
accept. I had three other sons then living, and from what I knew of
Alec it seemed clear to me that after my death he would simply make
ducks and drakes of the property. Accordingly, I went out to Catanzaro,
taking my lawyer with me. The six thousand pounds was paid over to my
son, and in return he signed certain documents, by the provisions of
which he cut himself off from all succession to the family estates.
Now, I have only spoken of this fact at so much length because I wish
it to be clearly understood that no right of succession to the Clare
estates any longer exists, and that it is open to me to will every acre
of land and every shilling of which I may die possessed, to whomsoever
I may choose to constitute my heirs.”