ANONYMOUS
Lord Bearwarden finds himself very constantly on guard just at
present. Her ladyship is of opinion that he earns his pay more
thoroughly than any day-labourer his wages. I do not myself consider
that helmet, cuirass, and leather breeches form the appropriate
appliances of a hero, when terminating in a pair of red morocco
slippers. Nevertheless, in all representations purporting to be
life-like, effect must be subservient to correctness of detail; and
such was the costume in which his lordship, on duty at the Horse
Guards, received a dispatch that seemed to cause him considerable
surprise and vexation.
The guard coming off was mustering below. The relief coming on was
already moving gallantly down Regent Street, to the admiration of all
beholders. Armed was his lordship to the teeth, though not to
the toes, for his bâtman waited respectfully with a pair of high
jack-boots in his hand, and still his officer read, and frowned, and
pulled his moustache, and swore, as the saying is, like a trooper,
which, if he had only drawn on his boots, would not have been so much
out of character at the time.
Once again he read it from end to end ere he crumpled the note in
under his cuirass for future consideration. It ran as follows--
My Lord,
"Your lordship's manly and generous character has obtained for you
many well-wishers. Of these the writer is one of the most sincere. It
grieves and angers him to see your lordship's honest nature deceived,
your domestic happiness destroyed, your noble confidence abused. The
writer, my lord, is your true friend. Though too late for rescue, it
is not too late for redress; and he has no power of communicating to
your lordship suspicions which now amount to certainty but by the
means at present employed. Anonymous letters are usually the resource
of a liar and slanderer; but there is no rule without exception; and
the writer can bring _proof_ of every syllable he asserts. If your
lordship will use your own eyes, watch and wait. She has deceived
others; why not _you_? Berners Street, Oxford Street, is no crowded
thoroughfare. Why should your lordship abstain from walking there any
afternoon between four and five? Be wary. Watch and wait."
* * * * *
"Blast his impudence!" muttered Lord Bearwarden, now booted to the
thigh, and clattering down-stairs to take command of his guard.
With zealous subalterns, an experienced corporal-major, well-drilled
men, and horses that knew their way home, it required little military
skill to move his handful of cavalry back to barracks, so Lord
Bearwarden came off duty without creating scandal or ridicule in the
regiment; but I doubt if he knew exactly what he was doing, till he
arrived in plain clothes within a few paces of his own door. Here he
paused for a few minutes' reflection before entering his house, and
was surprised to see at the street corner a lady extremely like his
wife in earnest conversation with a man in rags who had the appearance
of a professional beggar. The lady, as far as he could judge at that
distance, seemed to be offering money, which the man by his actions
obviously refused. Lord Bearwarden walked briskly towards them, a good
deal puzzled, and glad to have his attention distracted from his own
affairs.
It was a long street, and the couple separated before he reached
them, the man disappearing round the corner, while the lady advanced
steadily towards himself. When within a few paces she lifted a thick
double veil, and he found he had not been mistaken.
Maud was pale and calm as usual, but to those who knew her well recent
agitation would have been betrayed by the lowering of her eyebrows,
and an unusual compression of the lines about her mouth.
He knew her better than she thought, and did not fail to remark these
signs of a recent storm, but, as usual, refrained from asking for the
confidence it was his right to receive.
"You're out early, my lady," said he, in a careless tone. "Been for an
appetite against luncheon-time, eh? That beggar just now didn't seem
hungry, at any rate. It looked to me as if you were offering him
money, and he wouldn't take it. That's quite a new trick in the
trade."
She glanced quickly in his face with something almost of reproach.
It was a hateful life this, and even now, she thought, if he would
question her kindly, she could find it in her heart perhaps to tell
him all. All! How she had deceived him, and promised herself to
another, and to get rid of that other, only for a time, had rendered
herself amenable to the law--had been guilty of actual crime--had sunk
to feel the very slave of a felon, the lowest refuse of society. How
she, Lady Bearwarden, had within the last ten minutes been threatened
by this ruffian, been compelled to submit to his insolence, to make
terms with his authority, and to promise him another interview that
very afternoon. How every hour of her life was darkened by terror of
his presence and dread of his revenge. It was unheard-of! unbearable!
She would make a clean breast of it on the first opportunity.
"Let's go in, dear," she said, with more of softness and affection
than was her habit when addressing her husband. "Luncheon is almost
ready. I'm so glad you got away early from barracks. I see so little
of you now. Never mind. It will be all right next week. We shall have
two more captains back from leave to help us. You see I'm beginning to
know the roster almost as well as the Adjutant himself."
It pleased him that she should show an interest in these professional
details. He liked to hear such military terms of the orderly room from
those pretty lips, and he would have replied with something unusually
affectionate, and therefore exceedingly precious, but that, as husband
and wife reached their own door, they found standing there to greet
them the pale wasted face and attenuated figure of Tom Ryfe.
He saluted Lady Bearwarden gravely, but with perfect confidence, and
she was obliged to give him her hand, though she felt as if she could
have strangled him with pleasure, then and there, by the scraper. Her
husband clapped him heartily on the back. "Glad to see you, Tom," said
he; "I heard you were ill and called to inquire, but they wouldn't let
me disturb you. Been devilish seedy, haven't you? Don't look _quite_
in form yet. Come in and have some luncheon. Doctors all tell one to
keep up the system now-a-days."
Poor Lady Bearwarden! Here was another of her avengers, risen, as
it seemed, from the dead, and she must speak kind words, find false
smiles, bid him to her table, and treat him as an honoured guest.
Whatever happened, too, she could not endure to leave him alone with
Bearwarden. Who could tell what disclosures might come out? She was
walking on a mine, so she backed her husband's invitation, and herself
led the way into the dining-room where luncheon was ready, not daring
even to go up-stairs and take her bonnet off before she sat down.
Mr. Ryfe was less communicative than usual about himself, and spoke as
little to her ladyship as seemed compatible with the ordinary forms of
politeness. His object was to lull her suspicions and put her off her
guard. Nevertheless, with painful attention she watched every glance
of his eye, every turn of his features, hanging eagerly, nervously, on
every word he said.
Tom had laid his plan of attack, and now called on the lately-married
couple, that he might reconnoitre his ground before bringing up his
forces. It is not to be supposed that a man of Mr. Ryfe's resources
would long remain in ignorance of the real truth, after detecting, as
he believed at the time, Lady Bearwarden and Dick Stanmore side by
side in a hansom cab.
Ere twenty-four hours had elapsed he had learned the exact state of
the case, and had satisfied himself of the extraordinary resemblance
between Miss Algernon and the woman he had resolved to persecute
without remorse. In this resemblance he saw an engine with which he
hoped to work her ladyship's utter destruction, and then (Tom's heart
leapt within him even now at the thought), ruined, lonely, desolate,
when the whole world turned from her, she might learn to appreciate
his devotion, might take shelter at last with the only heart open to
receive her in her shame.
It is hard to say whether Tom's feelings for the woman he so admired
were of love or hate.
He saw through Lord Bearwarden's nature thoroughly, for of him, too,
he had made it his business to inquire into all the tendencies, all
the antecedents. A high fastidious spirit, jealous, because sensitive,
yet far too proud to admit, much less indulge that jealousy, seemed of
all others the easiest to deceive. The hide of the rhinoceros is no
contemptible gift, and a certain bluntness, I might say coarseness
of character, enables a man to go through the world comfortably and
happily, unvexed by those petty stings and bites and irritations that
worry thinner skins to death. With Lord Bearwarden to suspect was to
fret and ponder and conceal, hating and despising himself the while.
He had other points, besides his taste for soldiering, in common with
Othello.
On such a man an anonymous letter acted like a blister, clinging,
drawing, inflaming all round the affected part. Nobody in theory so
utterly despised these productions. For nobody in practice did they
produce so disastrous an effect. And then he had been deceived once
before. He had lost his trust, not so much in the other sex (for
all men think every woman false but one) as in himself. He had been
outraged, hurt, humbled, and the bold confidence, the _dash_ with
which such games should be played were gone. There is a buoyancy
gradually lost as we cross the country of life, which is perhaps worth
more than all the gains of experience. And in the real pursuit, as
in the mimic hurry of the chase, it is wise to avoid too hazardous a
venture. The hunter that has once been overhead in a brook never faces
water very heartily again.
Tom could see that his charm was working, that the letter he had
written produced all the effect he desired. His host was obviously
preoccupied, absent in manner, and even flurried, at least for _him_.
Moreover, he drank brown sherry out of a claret-glass, which looked
like being uncomfortable somewhere inside. Lady Bearwarden, grave and
unusually silent, watched her husband with a sad, wistful air, that
goaded Tom to madness. How he had loved that pale, proud face, and it
was paler and prouder and lovelier than ever to-day!
"I've seen some furniture you'd like to look at, my lord," said Tom,
in his old, underbred manner. "There's a chair I'd buy directly if I'd
a house to put it in, or a lady to sit on it; and a carved ebony frame
it's worth going all the distance to see. If you'd nothing to do this
afternoon, I'll be proud to show them you. Twenty minutes' drive from
here in a hansom."
"Will you come?" asked Lord Bearwarden, kindly, of his wife. "You
might take us in the barouche."
She seemed strangely agitated by so natural a proposal, and neither
gentleman failed to remark her disorder.
"I shall like it very much," she stammered. "At least I should. But I
can't this afternoon. I--I've got an engagement at the other end of
the town."
"Which _is_ the other end of the town?" said Lord Bearwarden,
laughing. "You've not told us _your_ end yet, Tom;" but seeing his
wife's colour fade more and more, he purposely filled Tom's glass to
distract his attention.
Her engagement was indeed of no pleasant nature. It was to hold
another interview with "Gentleman Jim," in which she hoped to prevail
on him to leave the country by offering the largest sum of money
she could raise from all her resources. Once released from his
persecutions, she thought she could breathe a little, and face Tom
Ryfe well enough single-handed, should he try to poison her husband's
mind against her--an attempt she thought him likely enough to make. It
was Jim she feared--Jim, whom drink and crime, and an infatuation of
which she was herself the cause, had driven almost mad--she could see
it in his eye--who was reckless of her character as of his own--who
insisted on her giving him these meetings two or three times a week,
and was capable of any folly, any outrage, if she disappointed
him. Well, to-day should end it! On that she was determined. If he
persisted in refusing her bribe, she would throw herself on Lord
Bearwarden's mercy and tell him the whole truth.
Maud had more self-command than most women, and could hold her own
even in so false a position as this.
"I must get another gown," she said, after a moment's pause, ignoring
Tom's presence altogether as she addressed her husband across the
table. "I've nothing to wear at the Den, if it's cold when we go down
next week, so I _must_ call at Stripe and Rainbow's to-day, and I
won't keep you waiting in the carriage all the time I'm shopping."
He seemed quite satisfied. "Then I'll take Ryfe to my sulking-room,"
said he, "and wish you good-bye till dinner-time. Tom, you shall have
the best cigar in England--I've kept them five years, and they're
strong enough to blow your head off now."
So Tom, with a formal bow to Lady Bearwarden, followed his host into a
snug but dark apartment at the back, devoted, as was at once detected
by its smell, to the consumption of tobacco.
While he lit a cigar, he could not help thinking of the days, not so
long ago, when Maud would have followed him, at least with her eyes,
out of the room, but consoled himself by the reflection that his
turn was coming now, and so smoked quietly on with a firm, cruel
determination to do his worst.
Thus it came to pass that, before they had finished their cigars,
these gentlemen heard the roll of her ladyship's carriage as it took
her away; also that a few minutes later, passing Stripe and Rainbow's
in a hansom cab, they saw the same carriage, standing empty at the
door of that gorgeous and magnificent emporium.
"Don't get out, Tom," said his, lordship, stopping the hansom, "I only
want to ask a question--I sha'n't be a minute;" and in two strides he
was across the pavement and within the folding-doors of the shop.
Perhaps the question he meant to ask was of his own common-sense, and
its answer seemed hard to accept philosophically. Perhaps he never
expected to find what he meant to look for, yet was weak enough to
feel disappointed all the same--for he had turned very pale when he
re-entered the cab, and he lit another cigar without speaking.
Though her carriage stood at the door, he had searched the whole of
Stripe and Rainbow's shop for Lady Bearwarden in vain.
Tom Ryfe was not without a certain mother-wit, sharpened by his
professional education. He suspected the truth, recalling the
'agitated manner of his hostess at luncheon, when her afternoon's
employment came under notice. Will it be believed that he experienced
an actual pang, to think she should have some assignation, some secret
of which his lordship must be kept in ignorance--that he should have
felt more jealous of this unknown, this possible rival, than of her
lawful husband now sitting by his side! He was no bad engineer,
however, and having laid his train, waited patiently for the mine to
explode at its proper time.
"What an outlandish part of the town we are getting to," observed Lord
Bearwarden, after several minutes' silence; "your furniture-man seems
to live at the other end of the world."
"If you want to buy things at first hand you must go into Oxford
Street," answered Tom. "Let's get out and walk, my lord; it's so
crowded here, we shall make better way."
So they paid their hansom, and threading the swarms of passengers on
the footway, turned into Berners Street arm-in-arm.
Tom walked very slowly for reasons of his own, but made himself
pleasant enough, talking on a variety of subjects, and boasting his
own good taste in matters of curiosity, especially old furniture.
"I wish you could have induced the viscountess to come with us," said
Tom, "we should have been all the better for her help. But ladies have
so many engagements in the afternoon we know nothing about, that it's
impossible to secure their company without several days' notice. I'll
be bound her ladyship is in Stripe and Rainbow's still."
There was something in the casual remark that jarred on Lord
Bearwarden, more than Tom's absurd habit of thus bestowing her full
title on his wife in common conversation, though even that provoked
him a little too; something to set him thinking, to rouse all the
pride and all the suspicion of his nature. "The viscountess," as Tom
called her, was _not_ in Stripe and Rainbow's, of that he had made
himself perfectly certain less than half-an-hour ago; then where
_could_ she be? Why this secrecy, this mystery, this reserve, that had
been growing up between them day by day ever since their marriage?
What conclusion was a man likely to arrive at who had lived in the
world of London from boyhood, and been already once so cruelly
deceived? His blood boiled; and Tom, whose hand rested on his arm,
felt the muscles swell and quiver beneath his touch.
Mr. Ryfe had timed his observation well; the two gentlemen were now
proceeding slowly up Berners Street, and had arrived nearly opposite
the house that contained Simon's painting-room, its hard-working
artist, its frequent visitor, its beautiful sitter, and its Fairy
Queen. Since his first visit there Tom Ryfe, in person or through
his emissaries, had watched the place strictly enough to have become
familiar with the habits of its inmates.
Mr. Stanmore's trial trip with Miss Algernon proved so satisfactory,
that the journey had been repeated on the same terms every day: this
arrangement, very gratifying to the persons involved, originated
indeed with Simon, who now went regularly after work to pass a few
hours with his sick friend. Thus, to see these two young people
bowling down Berners Street in a hansom cab, about five o'clock,
looking supremely happy the while, was as good a certainty as to meet
the local pot-boy, or the postman.
Tom Ryfe manoeuvred skilfully enough to bring his man on the ground
precisely at the right moment.
Still harping on old furniture, he was in the act of remarking that
"he should know the shop again, though he had forgotten the number,
and that it must be a few doors higher up," when his companion
started, uttered a tremendous execration, and struggling to free
himself from Tom's arm, holloaed at an unconscious cab-driver to stop.
"What's the matter? are you ill, my lord?" exclaimed his companion,
holding on to him with all his weight, while affecting great anxiety
and alarm.
"D--n you! let me go!" exclaimed Lord Bearwarden, nearly flinging Tom
to the pavement as he shook himself free and tore wildly down the
street in vain pursuit.
He returned in a minute or two, white, scared, and breathless. Pulling
his moustache fiercely, he made a gallant effort to compose himself;
but when he spoke, his voice was so changed, Tom looked with surprise
in his face.
"You saw it too, Tom!" he said at last, in a hoarse whisper.
"Saw it!--saw what?" repeated Tom, with an admirable assumption of
ignorance, innocence, and dismay.
"Saw Lady Bearwarden in that cab with Dick Stanmore!" answered his
lordship, steadying himself bravely like a good ship in a breeze, and
growing cooler and cooler, as was his nature in an emergency.
"Are you sure of it?--did you see her face? I fancied so myself, but
thought I must be mistaken. It was Mr. Stanmore, no doubt, but it
cannot possibly have been the viscountess."
Tom spoke with an air of gravity, reflection, and profound concern.
"I may settle with _him_, at any rate!" said Lord Bearwarden. "Tom,
you're a true friend; I can trust you like myself. It's a comfort to
have a friend, Tom, when a fellow's smashed up like this. I shall bear
it well enough presently; but it's an awful facer, old boy. I'd have
done anything for that woman--I tell you, anything! I'd have cut off
my right hand to please her. And now!--It's not because she doesn't
care for me--I've known that all along; but to think that she's
like--like those poor painted devils we met just now. Like
them!--she's a million times worse! O, it's hard to bear! Damnation! I
_won't_ bear it! Somebody will have to give an account for this!"
"You have my sympathy," said Tom, in a low respectful voice, for he
knew his man thoroughly; "these things won't stand talking about; but
you shall have my assistance too, in any and every way you require.
I'm not a swell, my lord, but I'll stick by you through thick and
thin."
The other pressed his arm. "We must do something at once," said he.
"I will go up to barracks now: call for me there in an hour's time; I
shall have decided on everything by then."
So Lord Bearwarden carried a sore heart back once more to the old
familiar scenes--through the well-known gate, past the stalwart
sentry, amongst all the sights and sounds of the profession by which
he set such store. What a mockery it seemed!--how hard, how cruel, and
how unjust!
But this time at least, he felt, he should not be obliged to sit down
and brood over his injuries without reprisals or redress.