Old Lady Alice talks with Guy.
As Varbarriere, followed by Doocey and Guy, entered the hall, they saw
Dives cross hurriedly to the library and shut the door. Varbarriere
followed and knocked. Dives, very pallid, opened it, and looked
hesitatingly in his face for a moment, and then said--
"Come in, come in, pray, and shut the door. You'll be--you'll be
shocked, sir. He's gone--gone. Poor Jekyl! It's a terrible thing. He's
gone, sir, quite suddenly."
His puffy, bilious hand was on Varbarriere's arm with a shifting
pressure, and Varbarriere made no answer, but looked in his face sternly
and earnestly.
"There's that poor girl, you know--my niece. And--and all so unexpected.
It's awful, sir."
"I'm very much shocked, sir. I had not an idea there was any danger. I
thought him looking very far from actual danger. I'm _very_ much
shocked."
"And--and things a good deal at sixes and sevens, I'm afraid," said
Dives--"law business, you know."
"Perhaps it would be well to detain Mr. Pelter, who is, I believe, still
here," suggested Varbarriere.
"Yes, certainly; thank you," answered Dives, eagerly ringing the bell.
"And I've a chaise at the door," said Varbarriere, appropriating Guy's
vehicle. "A melancholy parting, sir; but in circumstances so sad, the
only kindness we can show is to withdraw the restraint of our presence,
and to respect the sanctity of affliction."
With which little speech, in the artificial style which he had
contracted in France, he made his solemn bow, and, for the last time for
a good while, shook the Rev. Dives, now Sir Dives Marlowe, by the hand.
When our friend the butler entered, it was a comfort to see one
countenance on which was no trace of flurry. _Nil admirari_--his manner
was a philosophy, and the convivial undertaker had acquired a grave
suavity of demeanour and countenance, which answered all
occasions--imperturbable during the comic stories of an after-dinner
sederunt--imperturbable now on hearing the other sort of story, known
already, which the Rev. Dives Marlowe recounted, and offered, with a
respectful inclination, his deferential but very short condolences.
Varbarriere in the meanwhile looked through the hall vestibule and from
the steps, in vain, for his nephew! He encountered Jacques, however, but
he had not seen Guy, which when Varbarriere, who was in one of his
deep-seated fusses, heard, he made a few _sotto voce_ ejaculations.
"Tell that fellow--he's in the stable-yard, I dare say--who drove Mr.
Guy from Slowton, to bring his chaise round this moment; we shall
return. If his horses want rest, they can have it in the town, Marlowe,
close by; I shall send a carriage up for you; and you follow, with all
our things, immediately for Slowton."
So Jacques departed, and Varbarriere did not care to go up-stairs to his
room. He did not like meeting people; he did not like the chance of
hearing Beatrix cry again; he wished to be away, and his temper was
savage. He could have struck his nephew over the head with his cane for
detaining him.
But Guy had been summoned elsewhere. As he walked listlessly before the
house, a sudden knocking from the great window of Lady Mary's boudoir
caused him to raise his eyes, and he saw the grim apparition of old Lady
Alice beckoning to him. As he raised his hat, she nodded at him, pale,
scowling like an evil genius, and beckoned him fiercely up with her
crooked fingers.
Another bow, and he entered the house, ascended the great stair, and
knocked at the door of the boudoir. Old Lady Alice's thin hand opened
it. She nodded in the same inauspicious way, pointed to a seat, and shut
the door before she spoke.
Then, he still standing, she took his hand, and said, in tones
unexpectedly soft and fond--
"Well, dear, how have you been? It seems a long time, although it's
really nothing. Quite well, I hope?"
Guy answered, and inquired according to usage; and the old lady said--
"Don't ask for me; never ask. I'm _never_ well--always the same, dear,
and I hate to think of myself. You've heard the dreadful
intelligence--the frightful event. What _will_ become of my poor niece?
Everything in distraction. But Heaven's will be done. I shan't last long
if this sort of thing is to continue--quite impossible. There--don't
speak to me for a moment. I wanted to tell you, you must come to me; I
have a great deal to say," she resumed, having smelt a little at her
vinaigrette; "but not just now. I'm not equal to all this. You know how
I've been tried and shattered."
Guy was too well accustomed to be more than politely alarmed by those
preparations for swooning which Lady Alice occasionally saw fit to make;
and in a little while she resumed--
"Sir Jekyl has been taken from us--he's gone--awfully suddenly. I wish
he had had a little time for preparation. Ho, dear! _poor_ Jekyl! Awful!
But we all bow to the will of Providence. I fear there has been some
dreadful mismanagement. I always said and knew that Pratt was a
quack--positive infatuation. But there's no good in looking to secondary
causes, Won't you sit down?"
Guy preferred standing. The hysterical ramblings of this selfish old
woman did not weary or disgust him. Quite the contrary; he would have
prolonged them. Was she not related to Beatrix, and did not this kindred
soften, beautify, glorify that shrivelled relic of another generation,
and make him listen to her in a second-hand fascination?
"You're to come to me--d'ye see?--but not immediately. There's
a--there's some one there at present, and I possibly shan't be at home.
I must remain with poor dear Beatrix a little. She'll probably go to
Dartbroke, you know; yes, _that_ would not be a bad plan, and I of
course must consider her, poor thing. When you grow a little older
you'll find you must often sacrifice yourself, my dear. I've served a
long apprenticeship to that kind of thing. You must come to Wardlock, to
my house; I have a great deal to say and tell you, and you can spend a
week or so there very pleasantly. There are some pictures and books, and
some walks, and everybody looks at the monuments in the church. There
are two of them--the Chief Justice of Chester and Hugo de Redcliffe--in
the "Gentleman's Magazine." I'll show it to you when you come, and you
can have the carriage, provided you don't tire the horses; but you must
come. I'm your kinswoman--I'm your relation--I've found it all out--very
near--your poor dear father."
Here Lady Alice dried her eyes.
"Well, it's time enough. You see how shattered I am, and so pray don't
urge me to talk any more just now. I'll write to you, perhaps, if I find
myself able; and _you_ write to _me_, mind, directly, and address to
Wardlock Manor, Wardlock. Write it in your pocket-book or you'll forget
it, and put "to be forwarded" on it. Old Donica will see to it. She's
very careful, I _think_; and you promise you'll come?"
Guy did promise; so she said--
"Well, dear, till we meet, good-bye; _there_, God bless you, dear."
And she drew his hand toward her, and he felt the loose soft leather of
her old cheek on his as she kissed him, and her dark old eyes looked for
a moment in his, and then she dismissed him with--
"There, dear, I can't talk any more at present; there, farewell. God
bless you."
Down through that changed, mysterious house, through which people now
trod softly, and looked demure, and spoke little on stair or lobby, and
that in whispers, went Guy Deverell, and glanced upward, involuntarily,
as he descended, hoping that he might see the beloved shadow of Beatrix
on the wall, or even the hem of her garment; but all was silent and
empty, and in a few seconds more he was again in the chaise, sitting by
old Varbarriere, who was taciturn and ill-tempered all the way to
Slowton.
By that evening all the visitors but the Rev. Dives Marlowe and old Lady
Alice, who remained with Beatrix, had taken flight. Even Pelter, after a
brief consultation with Dives, had fled Londonwards, and the shadow and
silence of the chamber of death stole out under the door and pervaded
all the mansion.
That evening Lady Alice recovered sufficient strength to write a note to
Lady Jane, telling her that in consequence of the death of Sir Jekyl, it
became her duty to remain with her niece for the present at Marlowe. It
superadded many religious reflections thereupon; and offering to her
visitor at Wardlock the use of that asylum, and the society and
attendance of Donica Gwynn, it concluded with many wholesome wishes for
the spiritual improvement of Lady Jane Lennox.
Strangely enough, these did not produce the soothing and elevating
effect that might have been expected; for when Lady Jane read the letter
she tore it into strips and then into small squares, and stamped upon
the fragments more like her fierce old self than she had appeared for
the previous four-and-twenty hours.
"Come, Donica, you write to say I leave this to-morrow, and that you
come with me. You said you'd wish it--you must not draw back. You would
not desert me?"
I fancy her measures were not quite so precipitate, for some
arrangements were indispensable before starting for a long sojourn on
the Continent. Lady Jane remained at Wardlock, I believe, for more than
a week; and Donica, who took matters more peaceably in her dry way,
obtained, without a row, the permission of Lady Alice to accompany the
forlorn young wife on her journey.