SIR GILBERT’S GREAT SURPRISE
On leaving his wife John Clare engaged a hansom and was driven direct
to Gray’s Inn Square. His object was to find Kirby Griggs and hear
again from his lips the story which had already been told him by
Everard Lisle. The lawyer’s clerk was on the point of going out for his
midday meal, so John secured him, and, taking him to a restaurant at
which it was possible to engage a private room, he treated him to what
Griggs later termed to his wife “a sumptuous repast,” and did not let
him go till he had drawn from him every scrap of information which bore
in any way on the facts he was bent on investigating.
With the aid of the light which his wife’s narrative had thrown on the
affair, the mystery which had heretofore enshrouded the proceedings and
conduct of Martha Griggs was in a great measure dispelled. There could
be no doubt that when her mistress was seized with fever and taken to
the hospital, the temptation to decamp with the latter’s money and
luggage had proved too potent for the woman’s ill-balanced mind. Having
once crossed the narrow boundary which divides honesty from its
opposite, it was characteristic of her flighty disposition, surcharged
with feminine vanity, that she should masquerade in her mistress’s
gowns and jewellery and pass herself off under a preposterous name
culled from one of her favourite penny romances. What had been her
intentions with regard to the disposal of the child after she should
have reached England could not even be surmised. Her death, so sudden
and unforeseen, had put an end to everything as far as she was
concerned.
It would be a difficult matter to analyse John Clare’s thoughts and
feelings as he journeyed homeward after parting from Kirby Griggs. That
which had been no more than a supposition when he left the Chase a few
hours before, had now been converted into an indisputable fact. He was
going back home to greet his new-found daughter, and that daughter was
none other than she who had hitherto been known to the world as Ethel
Thursby!
Now did he understand how it happened that from the first he had felt
himself so unaccountably drawn towards her. He had read something in
her face which had at once puzzled and attracted him; it had been to
him like one of those faces which sometimes confront one in dreams,
which one seems to know vaguely, but which utterly sets at defiance all
one’s efforts to endue it with a personality. But surmise and
conjecture were at an end. She was his child—his own! He had proved it
beyond the possibility of a doubt. So strange, so bewildering, and yet
so wonderfully sweet did it seem, that for the time he was as a man
walking in a phantasy.
Everard Lisle, on reaching London, had found Luigi Rispani and had
obtained from him the address he subsequently gave John Clare, which
enabled the latter to go direct to the boarding-house where his wife
was staying.
Luigi was in doleful dumps. The bill for one hundred and twenty pounds,
which bore the joint signatures of himself and his uncle, had fallen
due, and the sum total which the pair of them could scrape together
towards meeting it did not amount to much over thirty pounds. To make
matters worse for the younger man, for the last few days Captain
Verinder had been missing both from his lodgings and his usual haunts,
nor did anyone seem to know what had become of him. But pity in such
cases is but cold comfort, and he did not content himself with that.
Before parting from Luigi he put into his hand a cheque for the full
amount of the promissory note.
Everard Lisle’s capital did not amount to much more than three hundred
pounds in all, and was made up of a small legacy bequeathed him by a
relative, supplemented by his own savings, for he had no extravagances
and was of a thrifty disposition. To finish with this incident, it may
be recorded that about a fortnight later John Clare asked Everard to be
the bearer of a cheque for a hundred and twenty pounds from him to
Luigi Rispani. He had been reading over for the second time the notes
of the interview between Luigi and Sir Gilbert, after the former’s
release from the strong room, as transcribed by Everard from his
shorthand memoranda, after which he had gone to his father and made
certain representations to him, the outcome of which was the cheque in
question.
Great was John Clare’s surprise when told that the promissory note had
already been met and by whom. He made no attempt to press the cheque on
Everard, but quietly put it back into his pocket. He would not spoil
the aroma of a fine action by bringing it down to a cash level.
To return.
When Everard got back from London, bringing with him Mrs. Clare’s
address, he found that in the course of the afternoon Mrs. Forester had
driven over from the Shrublands—the house at which Lady Pell had been
visiting previous to coming to the Chase—and had insisted upon carrying
Lady Pell and Miss Thursby back with her, with the understanding that
they were not to return to Withington till the morrow.
Although he had not seen Ethel for a week, not since he had parted from
her before setting out on that journey to America which had been
stopped short at Liverpool, it was yet a secret relief to him to learn
that, at the earliest, they could not meet for another day. And in
twenty-four hours much might happen.
Everard Lisle was too clear-sighted not to perceive in what direction,
when duly sifted, the evidence bearing on Ethel’s parentage, which he
had been enabled to bring together, all tended. As yet there was one
big gap which required to be filled up, but it might well be that Mr.
John Clare’s investigations on the morrow would prove successful in
bridging over the hiatus, or, in other words, in forging the last link
in a chain of evidence which would then be complete and perfect in
every part. Well, and what then? he asked himself. Should the
foreshadowed end come to pass, ought he to be anything but glad,
jubilant, happy? Certainly he ought to be all that and more, because in
that case into his darling’s life there would come a happiness greater
and richer than her dreams had ever pictured.
And yet!—and yet!—There are two sides to every question, and when
Everard thought of the other side to this one his heart grew faint
within him. “I trust that I shall at least know how to do my duty,” he
said to himself with proud bitterness.
After his interview with Kirby Griggs, John Clare got back to the Chase
in ample time for dinner. On leaving home in the morning he had merely
told his father that a pressing matter of business would take him to
London for a few hours, and Sir Gilbert had asked no questions. This
evening father and son dined alone. A note from Lady Pell had come to
hand in the course of the afternoon, stating that she had been
persuaded into staying another day at The Shrublands, but that she and
Miss Thursby would be back at the Chase without fail on the morrow.
John Clare kept his news to himself till dinner was over, and Trant had
finally shut the dining-room door, leaving the two gentlemen over their
dessert. John would not tell it before, fearing lest his father’s
mental excitement on hearing it might take away his appetite for the
time, which, in view of all he had gone through of late, was not a
desirable thing to do.
“Father, you would hardly guess where I have been to-day,” he began, in
as indifferent a tone as he could assume as he cracked and began to
peel a walnut.
“I am a poor hand at guessing, Alec.”
“I have been to London and have had a long interview with my wife.”
“So!—Only some very strong motive, I should imagine, would have
impelled you to seek such an interview.”
“It would have been next to impossible to find a stronger motive—as you
shall hear.”
He finished peeling his walnut before he resumed.
“As the result of a vile conspiracy you had been led to believe that
Luigi Rispani was your grandson. In the anonymous letter written by me,
which was the first thing to open your eyes, you were informed that
your grandchild was a girl and that she had died in infancy. Only the
day before yesterday certain facts were brought to my knowledge which
led me to doubt whether my daughter really had died when only a few
months old, as I had been induced to believe, and whether, in point of
fact, she might not still be living. It was the determination to get at
the truth of the matter which led me to seek an interview with my
wife.”
He had spoken in studiously quiet tones, but already Sir Gilbert’s
hands were twitching with nervous excitement.
“Yes, Alec, yes. And the result of your interview?”
“Was to satisfy myself that my long-lost daughter is indeed still
alive!”
For a little space Sir Gilbert sat staring straight before him in
speechless astonishment. Not all in a moment could his mind take in and
assimilate the amazing news which had just been told him.
“Have you fully assured yourself, Alec, of the truth of this?” he said
at length. “That woman—— But I do not wish to speak further of her.
Only, you know how she imposed upon me; may she not have done the same
by you?”
John shook his head. “There is nothing to apprehend on that score. Not
the least singular part of the affair is that till to-day she herself
neither knew the whereabouts of the child, nor whether it was alive or
dead.”
“You surprise me more and more.” He drew a deep breath. “Oh! Alec, does
it, can it mean a daughter for you, and a granddaughter for me?”
“That is what it means, father.”
“And where is she? when shall I see her?”
“She will arrive at the Chase in the course of to-morrow.”
“Arrive here to-morrow? So soon! Already my heart goes out to meet her.
I long to see her, to embrace her.”
“She is no stranger to you. You know her already.”
“Alec, you trifle with me. I am an old man, and—and——
“Father, I am not trifling with you. On such a subject I would not for
the world. What I said just now is the truth. Your granddaughter, under
the name of Ethel Thursby, is known and liked by you already.”
“Ethel Thursby my granddaughter!”
“There cannot be a shadow of doubt about it.”
As before, Sir Gilbert sat in speechless amazement, but this time, if
such a thing were possible, his amazement was intensified a
hundredfold.
“It is indeed a ‘strange eventful history’ that I have to narrate to
you,” resumed John Clare. “Would you rather that I put off telling it
you till to-morrow, or——”
“Certainly not. There’s no time like the time present. Now that you
have told me so much you must tell me all. I shall not sleep a wink
to-night unless you do.”
Thus adjured, John Clare began the narrative with which the reader is
acquainted.
Lady Pell and Ethel did not reach the Chase till after luncheon next
day.
Over breakfast father and son agreed that it would be best to entrust
her ladyship with the task of breaking to Ethel the news of her
surprising change of fortune, whom they would see later on.
“It seems to me,” said Sir Gilbert, “that we owe this discovery, in the
first place, entirely to the efforts of young Lisle.”
“That is undoubtedly so,” replied John. “Had he not first moved in the
affair, the chances are, nay, it is almost a certainty, that the truth
would never have been brought to light.”
“We owe him an immense debt of gratitude. In what way can we best
contrive to repay at least a part of it?”
“As I understand the affair, he and Ethel are engaged to each other.”
“True. For the moment the fact had escaped my memory. And yet it was
only the other day that I congratulated the pair of them.”
The two looked at each other for a few moments in silence.
“But the heiress of the House of Clare! One has a right to expect that
she should make a very different match.” It was Sir Gilbert who spoke.
“Very true. Still, it may be as well to bear in mind that but for
Everard Lisle, the House of Clare would never have known that it had an
heiress.”
“Yes, yes; of course one can’t forget that. As I remarked before, the
debt is an immense one. But as regards this engagement, what do you
advise?”
“Simply that for the present you and I do nothing at all in the affair,
but wait and see how matters work themselves out between the young
people.”
“Um—um. One can pretty well guess the result of that.”
“If Lisle is the man I take him to be, when he finds Ethel acknowledged
as your granddaughter, one of his first acts will be to offer to
release her from her engagement.”
“Do you think so? Indeed, I shouldn’t wonder if you are right. Lisle’s
a gentleman through and through, or else I was never more mistaken in
my life. But in that case, what about the girl?”
John Clare smiled. “Being of the sex she is, who can foretell what she
may choose to do, or not to do? But in any case, it appears to me that
you and I must abide by the result, whatever it may be.”
“I agree to that. Yes, yes, whatever the dear girl may choose to do
shall be fully endorsed by us.”
It seemed to John Clare, although he did not say so, that what Ethel
would choose to do in such a contingency admitted of very little doubt.
He felt intensely grateful to Everard Lisle, and he had already made up
his mind that it should be owing to no fault of his if the young folk
were not made happy.
Everard was not at the Chase this morning, it being his day for
collecting the rents of sundry outlying farms, but he might be expected
there in the course of the afternoon.