My first ungrateful impulse was to get rid of the two cumbersome ladies
who had offered to be my companions. It was needless to call upon my
invention for an excuse; the truth, as I gladly perceived, would serve
my purpose. I had only to tell them that I had arranged to walk to the
farm.
Lean, wiry, and impetuous, Miss Jillgall received my excuse with
the sincerest approval of it, as a new idea. “Nothing could be more
agreeable to me,” she declared; “I have been a wonderful walker all my
life.” She turned to her friend. “We will go with him, my dear, won’t
we?”
Mrs. Tenbruggen’s reception of this proposal inspired me with hope; she
asked how far it was to the farm. “Five miles!” she repeated. “And five
miles back again, unless the farmer lends us a cart. My dear Selina, you
might as well ask me to walk to the North Pole. You have got rid of one
of us, Mr. Governor,” she added, pleasantly; “and the other, if you only
walk fast enough, you will leave behind you on the road. If I believed
in luck--which I don’t--I should call you a fortunate man.”
But companionable Selina would not hear of a separation. She asked,
in her most irresistible manner, if I objected to driving instead of
walking. Her heart’s dearest wish, she said, was to make her bosom
friend and myself better acquainted with each other. To conclude, she
reminded me that there was a cab-stand in the next street.
Perhaps I might have been influenced by my distrust of Mrs. Tenbruggen,
or perhaps by my anxiety to protect Eunice. It struck me that I might
warn the defenseless girl to be on her guard with Mrs. Tenbruggen to
better purpose, if Eunice was in a position to recognize her in any
future emergency that might occur. To my mind, this dangerous woman was
doubly formidable--and for a good reason; she was the bosom friend of
that innocent and unwary person, Miss Jillgall. So I amiably consented
to forego my walk, yielding to the superior attraction of Mrs.
Tenbruggen’s company. On that day the sunshine was tempered by a
delightful breeze. If we had been in the biggest and worst-governed city
on the civilised earth, we should have found no public vehicle, open to
the air, which could offer accommodation to three people. Being only in
a country town, we had a light four-wheeled chaise at our disposal, as a
matter of course.
No wise man expects to be mercifully treated, when he is shut into a
carriage with a mature single lady, inflamed by curiosity. I was not
unprepared for Miss Jillgall when she alluded, for the second time, to
the sad events which had happened in the house on the previous day--and
especially to the destruction by Mr. Gracedieu of the portrait of his
wife.
“Why didn’t he destroy something else?” she pleaded, piteously. “It
is such a disappointment to Me. I never liked that picture myself.
Of course I ought to have admired the portrait of the wife of my
benefactor. But no--that disagreeable painted face was too much for me.
I should have felt inexpressibly relieved, if I could have shown it to
Elizabeth, and heard her say that she agreed with me.”
“Perhaps I saw it when I called on you,” Mrs. Tenbruggen suggested.
“Where did the picture hang?”
“My dear! I received you in the dining-room, and the portrait hung in
Mr. Gracedieu’s study.”
What they said to each other next escaped my attention. Quite
unconsciously, Miss Jillgall had revealed to me a danger which
neither the Minister nor I had discovered, though it had conspicuously
threatened us both on the wall of the study. The act of mad destruction
which, if I had possessed the means of safely interfering, I should
certainly have endeavored to prevent, now assumed a new and startling
aspect. If Mrs. Tenbruggen really had some motive of her own for
endeavoring to identify the adopted child, the preservation of the
picture must have led her straight to the end in view. The most casual
opportunity of comparing Helena with the portrait of Mrs. Gracedieu
would have revealed the likeness between mother and daughter--and, that
result attained, the identification of Eunice with the infant whom the
“Miss Chance” of those days had brought to the prison must inevitably
have followed. It was perhaps natural that Mr. Gracedieu’s infatuated
devotion to the memory of his wife should have blinded him to the
betrayal of Helena’s parentage, which met his eyes every time he entered
his study. But that I should have been too stupid to discover what he
had failed to see, was a wound dealt to my self-esteem which I was vain
enough to feel acutely.
Mrs. Tenbruggen’s voice, cheery and humorous, broke in on my
reflections, with an odd question:
“Mr. Governor, do you ever condescend to read novels?”
“It’s not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to the writers
of novels.”
“Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confess--do I blush?--that I
never thought of feeling grateful till you mentioned it. Selina and I
don’t complain of your preferring your own reflections to our company.
On the contrary, you have reminded us agreeably of the heroes of
fiction, when the author describes them as being ‘absorbed in thought.’
For some minutes, Mr. Governor, you have been a hero; absorbed, as I
venture to guess, in unpleasant remembrances of the time when I was
a single lady. You have not forgotten how badly I behaved, and what
shocking things I said, in those bygone days. Am I right?”
“You are entirely wrong.”
It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply. Anyway,
faithful Selina interceded for her friend. “Oh, dear sir, don’t be hard
on Elizabeth! She always means well.” Mrs. Tenbruggen, as facetious as
ever, made a grateful return for a small compliment. She chucked Miss
Jillgall under the chin, with the air of an amorous old gentleman
expressing his approval of a pretty servant-girl. It was impossible to
look at the two, in their relative situations, without laughing. But
Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to cheat me into altering my opinion of her.
Innocent Miss Jillgall clapped her ugly hands, and said: “Isn’t she good
company?”
Mrs. Tenbruggen’s social resources were not exhausted yet. She suddenly
shifted to the serious side of her character.
“Perhaps I have improved a little,” she said, “as I have advanced in
years. The sorrows of an unhappy married life may have had a purifying
influence on my nature. My husband and I began badly. Mr. Tenbruggen
thought I had money; and I thought Mr. Tenbruggen had money. He was
taken in by me; and I was taken in by him. When he repeated the words
of the marriage service (most impressively read by your friend the
Chaplain): ‘With all my worldly goods I thee endow’--his eloquent voice
suggested one of the largest incomes in Europe. When I promised and
vowed, in my turn, the delightful prospect of squandering my rich
husband’s money made quite a new woman of me. I declare solemnly, when I
said I would love, honor, and obey Mr. T., I looked as if I really
meant it. Wherever he is now, poor dear, he is cheating somebody. Such
a handsome, gentleman-like man, Selina! And, oh, Mr. Governor, such a
blackguard!”
Having described her husband in those terms, she got tired of the
subject. We were now favored with another view of this many-sided woman.
She appeared in her professional character.
“Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the country!” she
said. “Will you excuse me if I take off my gloves? I want to air my
hands.” She held up her hands to the breeze; firm, muscular, deadly
white hands. “In my professional occupation,” she explained, “I am
always rubbing, tickling, squeezing, tapping, kneading, rolling,
striking the muscles of patients. Selina, do you know the movements of
your own joints? Flexion, extension, abduction, adduction, rotation,
circumduction, pronation, supination, and the lateral movements. Be
proud of those accomplishments, my dear, but beware of attempting
to become a Masseuse. There are drawbacks in that vocation--and I am
conscious of one of them at this moment.” She lifted her hands to
her nose. “Pah! my hands smell of other people’s flesh. The delicious
country air will blow it away--the luxury of purification!” Her fingers
twisted and quivered, and got crooked at one moment and straight again
at another, and showed themselves in succession singly, and flew into
each other fiercely interlaced, and then spread out again like the
sticks of a fan, until it really made me giddy to look at them. As for
Miss Jillgall, she lifted her poor little sunken eyes rapturously to the
sky, as if she called the homiest sunlight to witness that this was the
most lovable woman on the face of the earth.
But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain to
the rough animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs. Tenbruggen’s motives had
established itself firmly in my mind. Why had the Popular Masseuse
abandoned her brilliant career in London, and plunged into the obscurity
of a country town? An opportunity of clearing up the doubt thus
suggested seemed to have presented itself now. “Is it indiscreet to
ask,” I said, “if you are here in your professional capacity?”
Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me. “Do you
wish to be one of my patients yourself?”
“That is, unfortunately, impossible,” I replied “I have arranged to
return to London.”
“Immediately?”
“To-morrow at the latest.”
Artful as she was, Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to conceal a momentary
expression of relief which betrayed itself, partly in her manner, partly
in her face. She had ascertained, to her own complete satisfaction, that
my speedy departure was an event which might be relied on.
“But I have not yet answered you,” she resumed. “To tell the truth, I am
eager to try my hands on you. Massage, as I practice it, would lighten
your weight, and restore your figure; I may even say would lengthen
your life. You will think of me, one of these days, won’t you? In
the meanwhile--yes! I am here in my professional capacity. Several
interesting cases; and one very remarkable person, brought to death’s
door by the doctors; a rich man who is liberal in paying his fees. There
is my quarrel with London and Londoners. Some of their papers, medical
newspapers, of course, declare that my fees are exorbitant; and there
is a tendency among the patients--I mean the patients who are rolling in
riches--to follow the lead of the newspapers. I am no worm to be trodden
on, in that way. The London people shall wait for me, until they miss
me--and, when I do go back, they will find the fees increased. _My_
fingers and thumbs, Mr. Governor, are not to be insulted with impunity.”
Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod. “Admire my
spirited friend,” was the interpretation I put on it.
At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs. Tenbruggen’s
reply was too perfectly satisfactory, viewed as an explanation. My
suspicions were by no means set at rest; and I was resolved not to let
the subject drop yet. “Speaking of Mr. Gracedieu, and of the chances of
his partial recovery,” I said, “do you think the Minister would benefit
by Massage?”
“I haven’t a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor.”
“You think he would be an obstacle in the way?”
“There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to the general
rule; and he may be one of them,” Mrs. Tenbruggen admitted. “Don’t be
too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to the most tyrannical trades-union
in existence. May I make a personal remark?”
“Certainly.”
“I find something in your manner--pray don’t suppose that I am
angry--which looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of me.”
Miss Jillgall’s ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: “Oh, no,
Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed you are wrong now.
Look at my distinguished friend. I remember my copy book, when I was
a small creature learning to write, in England. There were first lines
that we copied, in big letters, and one of them said, ‘Distrust Is
Mean.’ I know a young person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass
of meanness. But”--excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a
gesture of triumph--“no meanness there!”
Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully insensible
to Miss Jillgall’s well-meant interruption.
“You are not altogether mistaken,” I told her. “I can’t say that my mind
is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me.”
“How, if you please?”
“May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr.
Gracedieu’s house-door? You saw that I failed to recognize you, and
you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it. A few days
afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid Miss Jillgall to
mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss to understand it.”
Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of the
farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain what had
puzzled me, at the first opportunity. “If it escapes my memory,” she
said, “pray remind me of it.”
I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her to tell
me the truth, might be quite another thing.