IT was not till a few days after this that Meredith’s growing strength
permitted a reference to the circumstances of his “illness,” as they all
called it, which, of course, was not at all concerted, but occurred
quite unintentionally in the course of the conversation. One or two
things had been said before he took any part in the talk himself. At
length, rousing himself from a sort of reverie, he said.
“How was it, I wonder, that I was so lucky as to be knocked down at your
door? Whoever the man was, he did me a good turn there; but how was it
that I was found at your door? It was not in the evening, you say--which
would have explained itself.”
“It was about five o’clock,” said Julia, suddenly interposing. She had
treasured up all the details in her mind.
“About five o’clock!” said Meredith, looking round him with elevated
eyebrows. “Now, tell me, some one, what could I be doing at five o’clock
at this door?”
“And you were expected to dinner at half-past seven,” said Julia again.
“Evidently,” said Meredith, “she has entered into the mystery of the
situation. What was I doing at five o’clock, being expected at half-past
seven, at this door?”
“I have often thought of it,” said Gussy, “and wondered if you were
coming to say you could not come to dinner. You had clients who stopped
you several times before.”
He gave her a glance and laughed, but Gussy was quite unsuspicious, and
instanced the clients in perfect good faith.
“Poor clients!” he said; “they have been left to themselves for a long
time, but they don’t seem to have been clamoring for me. I don’t think
it could be that.”
“Perhaps you were going to call somewhere in the neighborhood,”
suggested Mrs. Harwood.
“I don’t think it could be that either--I don’t make many calls, and
none about here. Try again. I must find it out.”
Janet on this occasion was seated full in view. She had not been able to
change her position, as she generally did when he was brought in. She
did not look up or take any notice. But Janet was aware that her head
was bent stiffly, not naturally, over her work, and that in her whole
appearance there must be the rigor of an artificial pose. Her head was
bent lower than it need to have been; her needle stumbled in her work,
pricking her fingers; and her downcast face, in spite of her, was
covered with a hot and angry flush. And he could see her, plainly,
distinctly, near him as she had not allowed herself to be since before
“the accident” had occurred. He did not take any notice for a little
time, being apparently much engaged with his own thoughts; but presently
he looked up, and caught the expression of both form and face as she sat
in the full light of the window. Oh, that it should have so happened
to-day, instead of on any of the preceding days in which it would have
been of no consequence! Janet, through her drooping eyelashes, saw--as
she could have seen, somehow, had he been behind her--a slight start and
awakening in his face: and then he put up his hand to support his head,
and fixed his eyes upon her under that shield.
“You are tired, Charley!” she heard Miss Harwood saying.
“No, no; not tired a bit, only thinking.”
His thinking was done with his eyes fixed on Janet, reading (she was
sure) the dreadful consciousness which she felt to be in her. She
waited, trembling, for his next words.
“I think,” he said, “a light begins to dawn upon me. I had been at
Mimpriss’s, the library; I suppose on my usual quest for music.”
Janet did not know what might come next.
She had seen various glances directed towards her which made her think
he would not spare her. She had made it a principle to forestall
everything that could be said about herself.
“Oh, yes,” she said, hastily, “now I remember! I saw Mr. Meredith
there.”
“You never said so before, Janet.”
“I think I must have said so, the first evening. Since then nobody has
thought of such details.”
He looked at her doubtfully, with some vagueness.
“Now I begin to recollect,” he said; “I was at Mimpriss’s, and walked
along, because it was his way home, with--a man I met: and then--yes,
I’m beginning to remember. In a little time I shall have it all clear.”
He fixed his eyes upon her again under the shelter of his hand. How they
seemed to burn into her! She sat quite still, unnaturally still, with
her eyes fixed upon her work. Oh, how they burned, those eyes! they
seemed to make holes in her, to reach her heart. But this was as far as
he had gone as yet. He was beginning to see her in the shops, on the
pavement by his side--talking to him. Under the cover of his hand he
kept asking her,
“What more? What more?”
“You don’t remember with whom it was you were walking?” said Gussy
breathlessly.
“Hush, I’m thinking--it is coming, very vaguely, like a thing in the
dark.”
“Janet, perhaps you saw what sort of man it was with whom Mr. Meredith
was walking?”
“No,” said Janet. She was unable to form more than this one word: and
she never looked at him, but stumbled on at her work, steadying her
hands with a tremendous effort.
He saw well enough the perturbation in which she was, though none of the
others might remark it; and she saw how he looked at her. Now the smile
broke out again, more malicious than ever.
“No,” said Meredith, “I don’t suppose Miss Summerhayes would see him. I
must have met him some time after she saw me at the shop. But I begin to
get hold of it all. It was a dark night, and the lamps were lighted. My
friend must surely have left me----”
“I was about to say,” cried Gussy, “he could not have been with you
there, or he must have come in with you, and told us how it was.”
“There was nobody with me, then?”
“Nobody, except the man who picked you up and the policeman, who is
always coming back to say he’s on the track of the murderer.”
“The murderer! That gives one an uncomfortable conviction, as if one had
really been killed. I have a kind of vision of a face. When does this
policeman generally come? I should like to have a talk with him. He
might throw some light upon my very dim recollection.”
“Dolff is the one who sees him when he comes,” said Mrs. Harwood. “I did
not, myself, feel equal to it; and Dolff seemed the right person.”
“Ah, yes; and so kind of him,” said Meredith. “I have been surrounded
with true kindness. Dolff, please come and tell me--what does the
policeman say?”
“Not much,” said Dolff, from the dark corner in which he had established
himself.
Meredith turned half round towards him.
“Is the fellow any good?”
“No good at all,” cried Dolff. “He has always a new cock-and-bull story.
He is no good.”
“And none of you in the house saw anything?” Meredith said.
“Well, Charley, it was night. There was nobody at the window; and, had
there been, they could have seen nothing. We did not even hear much. It
must all have been done very quickly. My dears,” cried Mrs. Harwood,
with a shiver, “how can we be thankful enough! You might have been
killed, Charley. A minute more, and they say there would have been no
hope.”
Even Meredith was respectful enough to be silent for a moment. But he
resumed immediately,
“It is strange that no one should have seen anything. I should have
thought--And who opened the door? Did anyone ring to get in? How was it?
Perhaps that would help me to pull my thoughts together. Some one must
have rung the bell; some good Samaritan.”
“No. It was Vicars who heard something, and ran to see what it was,”
said Gussy. “Vicars is very quick-eared. He runs whenever there is any
commotion.”
“Ah!” said Meredith again.
He put up his hand once more to cover his eyes, and under his regard
Janet for the first time broke down. She got up hastily and threw her
work from her.
“Shall I make the tea, Mrs. Harwood?” she said, in a trembling voice.
“Poor Janet,” said Mrs. Harwood. “She has never quite got over it. It
made such an impression upon her nerves.”
“I think,” said Gussy, “it might have made more impression upon my
nerves than upon Janet’s.”
“Oh, please don’t think of my nerves,” said Janet. “If you will let me,
I will pour out the tea.”
Meredith said nothing. He was following out, with his brain still a
little confused, the clue he had got hold of. It was Janet, certainly it
was Janet. He read it in every line of her stiffened figure and
conscious countenance, and in the overwhelming agitation which had at
last triumphed over her self-control. Yes, he had met her in the
library, and it was with her he had walked towards the ambush laid for
him. What more? Was there anything more? He had in his mind a vague
reminiscence of something else which he had seen, which a little more
thinking would perhaps enable him to master. She must have seen what
happened if it was she who was with him, as he believed. She must be
aware, if not who it was that had assaulted him, at least how it was. He
kept on thinking while they talked round him, trying to quicken his own
feeble brain into action, and saying to himself that she must know. If
she knew, why was she silent? Then it occurred to Meredith what the
reason was.
He glanced at Gussy, sitting by him, and even upon his face there came a
certain uneasy color. Betray to Gussy his _rendezvous_ with Janet! Ah,
he understood now why Janet did not speak. She dared not. She must have
stolen indoors somehow, and concealed the fact that she had ever been
out. It would be her ruin to make her confess. Perhaps Meredith would
not have cared so very much for this, if it had not appeared to him that
he himself would cut but an indifferent figure--paying his addresses to
the daughter of the house, and intriguing with the governess? He went
over the same ground which Janet had already traversed, and he confessed
to himself that it would not do. But what was this consciousness in his
mind that he knew, or had known something more?
“Bring Charley his tea, Dolff,” said Mrs. Harwood. “I am sure he wants
his tea. It is a nice habit for a man, which I hope you will keep up,
Charley, when you are well. I always like to see a young man find
pleasure in his tea.”
Her soft voice ran on while Dolff very unwillingly, and with averted
face, carried the tea to Meredith. What was it that this dark, stormy,
half-averted face suggested to the sick man? Dolff leaned over him for a
moment, very unwillingly holding out the tea to him, offering him cake
and bread-and-butter, which simple dainties were now part of the
invalid’s regimen. Meredith caught that view of Dolff’s face with a
certain shock, with a quickened interest, almost anxiety. What did it
mean? There was something which he recollected, which he could not
recollect--some fact that might throw light upon everything. He was
startled beyond measure by the sight of Dolff’s face Dolff! there could
be nothing in him to excite anyone. Why was it that his heart began to
beat at the sight of Dolff? He could not make it out--it had something
to do with his accident. What was it. But presently Meredith felt his
head begin to ache and his brain to swim. He leaned back upon his
pillows with a sigh of impatience. Gussy was standing by his side in a
moment asking,
“Was he tired--did he feel giddy?”
Meredith answered with a disappointment and petulance, which in his weak
state nearly moved him to tears,
“I can’t think, that is the worst of it. I begin to remember a trifle
here and there. I have got the length of remembering who was with me,
and I know there is something more.”
“Don’t try to think any more--leave it till to-morrow. You know,” said
Gussy, “dear Charley, the doctors say it will come all right; but you
must do it justice, and not force it. There is no hurry, is there? You
are not obliged to begin working directly again.”
“No, I’m not obliged to begin working,” Meredith said.
It was not necessary to enter into explanations, and to tell her how his
mind was occupied. And, as a matter of fact, he remained very quiet all
next day _en attendant_ the great event and privilege of being allowed
to walk across the hall to the drawing-room, and disport himself from
chair to chair at his pleasure. From time to time during the day he did,
indeed, take up the broken thread where it had dropped from him and try
to tack it on to something. But he could not do it. He traced himself
along the road from Mimpriss’s with Janet on his arm, in the faint
lamplight; but at the door he found himself stopped short. One word more
would complete the task--one link and he would know all about it, as
Janet did, who would never say what it was: but upon that link he could
not get hold.
The event of the afternoon was accomplished with great success. He
walked unassisted, though feeling as if his legs did not quite belong to
him, into the drawing-room, the ladies rising to receive and admire him,
as if he had been a child taking its first walk.
“Why, he’s a perfect Hercules!” cried Mrs. Harwood. “He walks as well as
any of you. Thank God, my dear boy, that you have got on so well. I
think we may feel that you are out of the wood now.”
“Oh, don’t encourage him too much, mamma! He won’t be kept down. He is
too venturesome. Fancy, nurse tells me that he has been
thinking--actually thinking all day.”
“How very unguarded of him!” said Mrs. Harwood, with a laugh. And then
the usual circle was made round him, and the tea poured out to refresh
him after his exertion.
It was while the bread-and-butter was going round that Priscilla, the
parlor-maid, came into the room which was so pleasant with firelight and
smiling faces, and announced that the detective wanted to speak to the
gentleman--Dolff’s name was very well known since this inquiry had
begun, but it was still to “the gentleman” that this official asked to
speak.
“He thinks he has found out something now,” said Priscilla with a faint
sniff of scepticism.
Priscilla sensibly thought that a man who had been on this job for so
long and had discovered nothing was a poor creature indeed.
“Who is the gentleman that is wanted?” said Meredith. “It is Dolff, I
suppose, as the man of the house. But why should Dolff be bored with
this?--it is my business if ever any business was. Mrs. Harwood, may we
have him in here?”
“Certainly, Charley--if you are quite sure that you can stand it.”
“Why shouldn’t I stand it? I am quite well. I don’t even feel weak. Let
us have him in here.”
Mrs. Harwood looked at Gussy and Gussy looked at the patient.
“I am very much afraid it will try him, mamma. Still, as he would hear
the voices in the hall, which might excite him more----”
“Of course it would excite me more. Thanks, my kindest Gussy, though you
scold me, you are always on my side.”
Here Dolff spoke from the corner in which during these _séances_ he
always took shelter.
“This is a new man,” he said. “He’s always got a different thing to
suggest, and it’s very distracting--hadn’t I better see him this time?”
“I think Dolff is right,” said Mrs. Harwood.
“No,” said Meredith, “I want distraction. Let’s have him here.”
He did not omit to note the fact that Dolff retired further still into
his corner as the policeman came in.
The detective, who was in plain clothes, but not a lofty member of his
profession, made a sweeping bow all round, and looked a little
embarrassed as he found himself among a company of ladies. He looked
round for Dolff, whom he knew, and then at the stranger in the centre of
the group, whom he had never seen before, but who distinctly assumed the
principal place.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I don’t see the gentleman I’ve seen
before. Oh!--yes--I beg your pardon.”
He turned again to the corner, from which Dolff had emerged a little.
“You needn’t mind me,” said Dolff, “there is the gentleman who is most
interested, Mr. Meredith.”
Meredith had his eyes fixed on Dolff. The young man was like a
thunderstorm, dark, heavy, and lowering, his eyelids half covering his
eyes, his shoulders shrugged up, his head down between them. A vague
light was breaking upon the question. At this moment Dolff stooped down
to recover something he had dropped. Meredith uttered a quick, low cry.
“What is it? What is it? This is too much for you Charley,” said Gussy.
His eyes were fixed on Dolff in the corner. They were widening and
brightening, the iris dilating, the eyes almost projecting, or seeming
to project, with the intensity of his gaze.
“Ah!” he said, with a long-drawn breath.
He had found it at last--the thing which he had remembered yet could not
remember. Janet’s eyes, drawn to him with a sort of fascination, divined
what it meant, and her heart sank. Gussy, who had no such prescience,
thought only of excitement and fatigue to her patient.
“Oh, what is it? you are overdone?” she said. “You must do nothing more
to-day.”
When he turned to her he had a smile on his lips.
“I am not overdone,” he said, “on the contrary, I have made great
progress. I have got new light. I have got back my memory, and now I
remember everything. Pray, Dolff,” he said, quietly, “don’t go away. You
must help us with your experience.” And he laughed--a laugh full of
mockery, which somehow, to two at least of the persons present, seemed
like a death-knell.
Dolff, who had made a step or two towards the door, stopped with an
obedience too ready and complete. He saw the change in Meredith’s face,
and felt that the hour of vengeance which he had, he thought, eluded,
was now about to come. He cast a dull glance at Janet, half of appeal,
half of despair--and saw that she thought as he did, and was holding her
breath in intense attention. She understood, but did not sympathize. She
would not stand by him now, he felt instinctively, though she had stood
by him before.
“Well,” said Meredith, “excuse me, I have kept you too long waiting. You
are after the fellow who knocked me down, officer--have you got any
trace?”
“Well, sir,” said the policeman, “you might say nearly murdered you. I’m
glad to see you so well again.”
“Thanks,” said Meredith, “as I’m so well, we’ll say only knocked me
down: and if he hadn’t taken me at a disadvantage in coming up behind
me, I suppose I ought to have been able to give a good account of him.”
“Ah!” said the policeman, “one of those fellows he wouldn’t face a
gentleman like you. I’m sorry to say we’ve no trace of him--nothing as I
could act upon: but I’ve got the man as saw it from the other side of
the street, and he says he could pick out the man from any dozen. He
says he would know his face again wherever he saw him; he’s got a
notion, besides, of where the fellow’s to be found. I was thinking as
you might like to question him yourself; I have got him just round the
corner, waiting with one of my mates, if you’d like to see him
yourself.”
“Ah!” said Meredith, “it wouldn’t be a bad thing. What do you say,
Dolff? Don’t you think we might have this man--who could recognize the
cad who hit me behind my back, here?”
Dolff’s tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. He stood in his corner,
and glanced at the speaker, but did not answer a word.
“I could have him here in a moment,” the policeman said.
“It would be interesting,” said Mrs. Harwood, “but a little exciting;
and, if he saw him so well, why didn’t he secure him there and then?”
“His attention, ma’am, was called off by the gentleman as he thought was
dying; but I don’t think as it is too late.”
Did the detective glance into the corner too, at Dolff standing in dark
shadow against the wall?
“I am only afraid it will be too much for you in your weak state,” said
Gussy, looking anxiously at her patient.
“We’ll let Dolff decide,” said Meredith, with once more that dreadful
laugh. “Come, give us your advice, as you have had all the previous
information. Shall we have this man in who can identify--the murderer,
Dolff?”
There was a pause, which even to the unsuspecting ladies had something
dreadful in it. Dolff cleared his throat and moistened his parched lips.
“You can have him--if you wish it, I suppose?” he said.
The crisis, however, passed off for the moment in an unexpected way--for
Meredith’s strength suddenly forsook him, and he had to be taken back to
his room in something very like a faint.