In Lady Mary's Boudoir.
The red sunset had faded into darkness as M. Varbarriere descended from
his carriage at the door-steps of Marlowe. The dressing-bell had not yet
rung. Everyone was quite well, the solemn butler informed him
graciously, as if _he_ had kept them in health expressly to oblige M.
Varbarriere. That gentleman's dark countenance, however, was not
specially illuminated on the occasion. The intelligence he really wanted
referred to old Lady Alice, to whom the inexcusable folly and perfidy of
Guy had betrayed his name.
Upon this point he had grown indescribably uncomfortable as he drew near
to the house. Had the old woman been conjecturing and tattling? Had she
called in Sir Jekyl himself to counsel? How was he, Varbarriere, to meet
Sir Jekyl? He must learn from Lady Alice's lips how the land lay.
"And Lady Alice," he murmured with a lowering countenance, "pretty well,
I hope? Down-stairs to-day, eh?"
The butler had not during his entire visit heard the "foreign chap" talk
so much English before.
"Lady Halice was well in 'ealth."
"In the drawing-room?"
"No, sir, in Lady Mary's boudoir."
"And Sir Jekyl?"
"In 'is hown room, sir."
"Show me to the boudoir, please; I have a word for Lady Alice."
A few moments more and he knocked at the door of that apartment, and was
invited to enter with a querulous drawl that recalled the association of
the wild cat with which in an irreverent moment he had once connected
that august old lady.
So Varbarriere entered and bowed and stood darkly in the door-frame,
reminding her again of the portrait of a fat and cruel burgomaster. "Oh!
it's you? come back again, Monsieur Varbarriere? Oh!--I'm very glad to
see you."
"Very grateful--very much flattered; and your ladyship, how are _you_?"
"Pretty well--ailing--always ailing--delicate health and _cruelly_
tortured in mind. What else can I expect, sir, but sickness?"
"I hope your mind has not been troubled, Lady Alice, since I had the
honour of last seeing you."
"Now, _do_ you really hope that? Is it _possible_ you _can_ hope that my
mind, in the state in which you left it has been one minute at ease
since I saw you? Beside, sir, I have heard something that for reasons
quite inexplicable _you_ have chosen to conceal from me."
"May I ask what it is? I shall be happy to explain."
"Yes, the name of that young man--it is _not_ Strangways, that was a
falsehood; his name, sir, is Guy Deverell!"
And saying this Lady Alice, after her wont, wept passionately.
"That is perfectly true, Lady Alice; but I don't see what value that
information can have, apart from the explanatory particulars I promised
to tell you; but not for a few days. If, however, you desire it, I shall
postpone the disclosure no longer. You will, I am sure, first be so good
as to tell me, though, whether anyone but you knows that the foolish
young man's name is Deverell?"
"No; no one, except Beatrix, not a creature. She was present, but has
been, at my request, perfectly silent," answered Lady Alice, eagerly,
and gaped darkly at Varbarriere, expecting his revelation.
M. Varbarriere thought, under the untoward circumstances, that a
disclosure so imperfect as had been made to Lady Alice was a good deal
more dangerous than one a little fuller. He therefore took that lady's
hand very reverentially, and looking with his full solemn eyes in her
face, said--
"It is not only true, madam, that his name is Guy Deverell, but equally
true that he is the lawful son, as well as the namesake, of that Guy
Deverell, your _son_, who perished by the hand of Sir Jekyl Marlowe in a
duel. Shot down foully, as that Mr. Strangways avers who was his
companion, and who was present when the fatal event took place."
"Gracious Heaven, sir! My son married?"
"Yes, madam, _married_ more than a year before his death. All the proofs
are extant, and at this moment in England."
"Married! my boy married, and never told his mother! Oh, Guy, Guy, _Guy_
is it credible?"
"It is not a question, madam, but an absolute certainty, as I will show
you whenever I get the papers to Wardlock."
"And to whom, sir, pray, was my son married?" demanded Lady Alice, after
a long pause.
"To my sister, madam."
Lady Alice gaped at him in astonishment.
"Was she a person at all his equal in life?--a person of--of any
education, I mean?" inquired Lady Alice, with a gasp, sublimely
unconscious of her impertinence.
"As good a lady as you are," replied Varbarriere, with a swarthy flush
upon his forehead.
"I should like to _know_ she was a _lady_, at all events."
"She was a lady, madam, of pure blood, incapable of a mean thought,
incapable, too, of anything low-bred or impertinent."
His sarcasm sped through and through Lady Alice without producing any
effect, as a bullet passes through a ghost.
"It is a great surprise, sir, but _that_ will be satisfactory. I suppose
you can show it?"
Varbarriere smiled sardonically and answered nothing.
"My son married to a Frenchwoman! Dear, dear, _dear!_ Married! You can
feel for me, monsieur, knowing as I do nothing of the person or family
with whom he connected himself."
Lady Alice pressed her lean fingers over her heart, and swept the wall
opposite, with dismal eyes, sighing at intervals, and gasping
dolorously.
The old woman's egotism and impertinence did not vex him long or much.
But the pretence of being absolutely above irritation from the feminine
gender, in any extant sage, philosopher, or saint, is a despicable
affectation. Man and woman were created with inflexible relations; each
with the power in large measure or in infinitesimal doses, according to
opportunity, to infuse the cup of the other's life with sweet or
bitter--with nectar or with poison. Therefore great men and wise men
have winced and will wince under the insults of small and even of old
women.
"A year, you say, before my poor boy's death?"
"Yes, about that; a little more."
"Mademoiselle Varbarriere! H'm," mused Lady Alice.
"I did not say Varbarriere was the name," sneered he, with a deep-toned
drawl.
"Why, you said, sir, did not you, that the Frenchwoman he married was
your sister?"
"I said the lady who accepted him was my sister. I never said her name
was Varbarriere, or that she was a Frenchwoman."
"Is not your name Varbarriere, sir?" exclaimed Lady Alice, opening her
eyes very wide.
"Certainly, madam. A _nom de guerre_, as we say in France, a name which
I assumed with the purchase of an estate, about six years ago, when I
became what you call a naturalised French subject."
"And pray, sir, what _is_ your name?"
"_Varbarriere_, madam. I did bear an English name, being of English
birth and family. May I presume to inquire particularly whether you have
divulged the name of my nephew to anyone?"
"No, to no one; neither has Beatrix, I am certain."
"You now know, madam, that the young man is your own grandson, and
therefore entitled to at least as much consideration from you as from
me; and I again venture to impress upon you this fact, that if
prematurely his name be disclosed, it may, and indeed _must_ embarrass
my endeavours to reinstate him in his rights."
As he said this Varbarriere made a profound and solemn bow; and before
Lady Alice could resume her catechism, that dark gentleman had left the
room.
As he emerged from the door he glanced down the broad oak stair, at the
foot of which he heard voices. They were those of Sir Jekyl and his
daughter. The Baronet's eye detected the dark form on the first platform
above him.
"Ha! Monsieur Varbarriere--very welcome, monsieur--when did you arrive?"
cried his host in his accustomed French.
"Ten minutes ago."
"Quite well, I hope."
"Perfectly; many thanks--and Mademoiselle Beatrix?"
The large and sombre figure was descending the stairs all this time, and
an awful shadow, as he did so, seemed to overcast the face and form of
the young lady, to whom, with a dark smile, he extended his hand.
"Quite well, Beatrix, too--_all_ quite well--even Lady Alice in her
usual health," said Sir Jekyl.
"_Better_--I'm glad to hear," said Varbarriere.
"Better! Oh dear, no--that would never do. But her temper is just as
lively, and all her ailments flourishing. By-the-bye, your nephew had to
leave us suddenly."
"Yes--business," said Varbarriere, interrupting.
Beatrix, he was glad to observe, had gone away to the drawing-room.
"He'll be back, I hope, immediately?" continued the Baronet. "He's a
fine young fellow. Egad, he's about as good-looking a young fellow as I
know. I should be devilish proud of him if I were you. When does he come
back to us?"
"Immediately, I hope; business, you know; but nothing very long. We are
both, I fear, a very tedious pair of guests; but you have been so
pressing, so hospitable----"
"Say rather, so selfish, monsieur," answered Sir Jekyl, laughing. "Our
whist and cigars have languished ever since you left."
M. Varbarriere laughed a double-bass accompaniment to the Baronet's
chuckle, and the dressing-bell ringing at that moment, Sir Jekyl and he
parted agreeably.