ACCUSER AND ACCUSED.
There had been solemn council in the house of Netherglen. Mrs. Luttrell
and Mr. Colquhoun had held long interviews; letters and papers of all
sorts had been produced and compared; the dressing-room door was closed
against all comers, and even Angela was excluded. Hugo was once
summoned, and came away from the conference with the air of a desperate
man at once baffled and fierce. He lurked about the dark corners of the
house, as if he were afraid to appear in the light of the day; but he
took no one into his confidence. Fortune, character, life itself,
perhaps, seemed to him to be hanging on a thread. For, if Dino Vasari
remembered his treachery and exposed it, he knew that he should be
ruined and disgraced. And he was resolved not to survive any such public
exposure. He would die by his own hand rather than stand in the dock as
a would-be murderer.
Even if things were not so bad as that, he did not see how he was to
exonerate himself from another charge; a minor one, indeed, but one
which might make him look very black in some people's eyes. He had known
of Dino's claims for many weeks, as well as of Brian's existence. Why
had he told no one of his discoveries? What if Dino spoke of the tissue
of lies which he had concocted, the forgery of Brian's handwriting, in
the interview which they had had in Tarragon-street? Fortunately, Dino
had burned the letter, and there had been no auditor of the
conversation. Of course, he must deny that he had known anything of the
matter. Dino could prove nothing against him; he could only make
assertions. But assertions were awkward things sometimes.
So Hugo skulked and frowned and listened, and was told nothing definite;
but saw by the light of previous knowledge that there was great
excitement in the bosoms of his aunt and the family lawyer. There were
letters and telegrams sent off, and Hugo was disgusted to find that he
could not catch sight of their addresses, much less of their contents.
Mr. Colquhoun looked gloomy; Mrs. Luttrell sternly exultant. What was
going on? Was Brian coming home; or was Dino to be recognised in Brian's
place?
Hugo knew nothing. But one fine autumn morning, as he was standing in
the garden at Netherglen, he saw a dog-cart turn in at the gate, a
dog-cart in which four men had with some difficulty squeezed
themselves--the driver, Mr. Colquhoun, Dino Vasari, and a red-faced man,
whom Hugo recognised, after a minute's hesitation, as the well-known
solicitor, Mr. Brett.
Hugo drew back into the shrubbery and waited. He dared not show himself.
He was trembling in every limb. The hour of his disgrace was drawing
near.
Should he take advantage of the moment, and leave Netherglen at once, or
should he wait and face it out? After a little reflection he determined
to wait. From what he had seen of Dino Vasari he fancied that it would
not be easy to manage him. Yet he seemed to be a simple-minded youth,
fresh from the precincts of a monastery: he could surely by degrees be
cajoled or bullied into silence. If he did accuse Hugo of treachery, it
was better, perhaps, that the accused should be on the spot to justify
himself. If only Hugo could see him before the story had been told to
Mrs. Luttrell!
He loitered about the house for some time, then went to his own room,
and began to pack up various articles which he should wish to take away
with him, if Mrs. Luttrell expelled him from the house. At every sound
upon the stairs, he paused in his occupation and looked around
nervously. When the luncheon-bell rang he actually dared not go down to
the dining-room. He summoned a servant, and ordered brandy and water and
a biscuit, alleging I an attack of illness as an excuse for his
non-appearance. And, indeed, the suspense and anxiety which he was
enduring made him feel and look really ill. He was sick with the agony
of his dread.
The afternoon wore on. His window commanded a view of the drive: he was
sure that the guests had not yet left the house. It was four o'clock
when somebody at length approached his door, knocked, and then shook the
door-handle.
"Hugo! Are you there?" It was Mr. Colquhoun's voice. "Can't you open the
door?"
Hugo hesitated a moment: then turned the key, leaving Mr. Colquhoun to
enter if he pleased. He came in looking rather astonished at this mode
of admittance.
"So! It's sick, you are, is it? Well, I don't exactly wonder at that.
You've lost your chance of Netherglen, Mr. Hugo Luttrell."
Hugo's face grew livid. He looked to Mr. Colquhoun for explanation, but
did not speak.
"It's just the most remarkable coincidence I ever heard of," said Mr.
Colquhoun, seating himself in the least comfortable chair the room
afforded, and rubbing his forehead with a great, red silk-handkerchief.
"Brian alive, and meeting with the very man who had a claim to the
estate! Though, of course, if one thinks of it, it is only natural they
should meet, when Mrs. Luttrell, poor body, had been fool enough to send
Brian to San Stefano, the very place where the child was brought up. You
know the story?"
"No," said Hugo. His heart began to beat wildly. Had Dino kept silence
after all?
Mr. Colquhoun launched forth upon the whole history, to which Hugo
listened without a word of comment. He was leaning against the
window-frame, in a position from which he could still see the drive, and
his face was so white that Mr. Colquhoun at last was struck by its
pallor.
"Man alive, are you going to faint, Hugo? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I've had a headache. Then my aunt is satisfied as to the
genuineness of this claim?"
"Satisfied! She's more than satisfied," said the old lawyer, with a
groan. "I doubt myself whether the court will see the matter in the same
light. If Miss Murray, or if Brian Luttrell, would make a good fight, I
don't believe this Italian fellow would win the case. He might. Brett
says he would; But Brian--God bless him! he might have told me he was
living still--Brian has gone off to America, poor lad! and Elizabeth
Murray--well, I'll make her fight, if I can, but I doubt--I doubt."
"My aunt wants this fellow to have Strathleckie and Netherglen, too,
then?"
"Yes, she does; so you are cut out there, Hugo. Don't build on
Netherglen, if Margaret Luttrell's own son is living. I must be going:
Brett's to dine with me. I used to know him in London."
"Is Dino Vasari staying here, then?"
Mr. Colquhoun raised a warning finger. "You'll have to learn to call him
by another name, if he stays in this house, young man," he said. "He
declines to be called Brian--he has that much good sense--but it seems
that Dino is short for Bernardino, or some such mouthful, and we're to
call him Bernard to avoid confusion. Bernard Luttrell--humph!--I don't
know whether he will stay the night or not. We met Miss Murray on our
way up. The young man looked at her uncommonly hard, and asked who she
was. I think he was rather struck with her. Good-bye, Hugo; take care of
yourself, and don't be too downhearted. Poor Brian always told me to
look after you, and I will." But the assurance did not carry the
consolation to Hugo's mind which Mr. Colquhoun intended.
The two lawyers drove away to Dunmuir together. Hugo watched the red
lamps of the dog-cart down the road, and then turned away from the
window with a gnawing sense of anxiety, which grew more imperious every
moment. He felt that he must do something to relieve it. He knew where
the interview with Dino was taking place. Mrs. Luttrell had lately been
growing somewhat infirm: a slight stroke of paralysis, dangerous only in
that it was probably the precursor of other attacks, had rendered
locomotion particularly distasteful to her. She did not like to feel
that she was dependent upon others for aid, and, therefore, sat usually
in a wheeled chair in her dressing-room, and it was the most easily
accessible room from her sleeping apartment. She was in her
dressing-room now, and Dino Vasari was with her.
Hugo stole quietly through the passage until he reached the door of Mrs.
Luttrell's bed-room, which was ajar. He slipped into the room and looked
round. It was dimly lighted by the red glow of the fire, and by this dim
light he saw that the door into the dressing-room was also not quite
closed. He could hear the sound of voices. He paused a moment, and then
advanced. There was a high screen near the door, of which one fold was
so close to the wall that only a slight figure could slip behind it,
though, when once behind there, it would be entirely hidden. Hugo
measured it with his eye: he would have to pass the aperture of the door
to reach it, but a cautious glance from a distance assured him that both
Mrs. Luttrell and Dino had their backs to him and could not see. He
ensconced himself, therefore, between the screen and the wall: he could
see nothing, but every word fell distinctly upon his ear.
"Sit down beside me," Mrs. Luttrell was saying--how could her voice have
grown so tender?--"and tell me everything about your past life. I
knew--I always knew--that that other child was not my son. I have my own
Brian now. Call me mother: it is long since I have heard the word."
"Mother!" Dino's musical tones were tremulous. "My mother! I have
thought of her all my life."
"Ay, my poor son, and but for the wickedness of others, I might have
seen and known you years ago. I had an interloper in my house throughout
all those years, and he worked me the bitterest sorrow of my life."
"Do not speak so of Brian, mother," said Dino, gently. "He loved
you--and he loved Richard. His loss--his grief--has been greater even
than yours."
"How dare you say so to me?" said Mrs. Luttrell, with a momentary return
to her old, grim tones. Then, immediately softening them--"But you may
say anything you like. It is pleasure enough to hear your voice. You
must stay with me, Brian, and let me feast my eyes on you for a time. I
have no patience, no moderation left: 'my son was dead and is alive
again, he was lost and is found.'"
He raised his mother's hand and kissed it silently. The action would, of
course, have been lost upon Hugo, as he could not see the pair, but for
Mrs. Luttrell's next words.
"Nay," she said, "kiss me on the cheek, not on the hand, Brian. I let
Hugo Luttrell do it, because of his foreign blood; but you have only a
foreign training which you must forget. They said something about your
wearing a priest's dress: I am glad you did not wear it here, for you
would have been mobbed in Dunmuir. It's a sad pity that you're a Papist,
Brian; but we must set Mr. Drummond, our minister, to talk to you, and
he'll soon show you the error of your ways."
"I shall be very glad to hear what Mr. Drummond has to say," said Dino,
with all the courtesy which his monastic training had instilled; "but I
fear that he will have his labour thrown away. And I have one or two
things to tell you, mother, now that those gentlemen have gone. If I am
to disappoint you, let me do it at once, so that you may understand."
"Disappoint me? and how can you do that?" asked Mrs. Luttrell,
scornfully. "Perhaps you mean that you will winter in the South! If your
health requires it, do you think I would stand in the way? You have a
sickly air, but it makes you all the more like one whom I well
remember--your father's brother, who died of a decline in early youth.
No, go if you like; I will not tie you down. You can come back in the
summer, and then we will think about your settling down and marrying.
There are plenty of nice girls in the neighbourhood, though none so good
as Angela, nor perhaps so handsome as Elizabeth Murray."
"Mother, I shall never marry."
"Not marry? and why not?" cried Mrs. Luttrell, indignantly. "But you say
this to tease me only; being a Luttrell--the only Luttrell, indeed, save
Hugo, that remains--you must marry and continue the family."
"I shall never marry," said Dino, with a firmness which at last seemed
to make an impression upon Mrs. Luttrell, "because I am going to be a
monk."
Hugo could not stifle a quick catching of his breath. Did Dino mean what
he said? And what effect would this decision have upon the lives of the
many persons whose future seemed to be bound up with his? What would
Mrs. Luttrell say?
At first she said nothing. And then Dino's voice was heard again.
"Mother, my mother, do not look at me like that. I must follow my
vocation. I would have given myself years ago, but I was not allowed.
The Prior will receive me now. And nothing on earth will turn me from my
resolution. I have made up my mind."
"What!" said Mrs. Luttrell, very slowly. "You will desert me too, after
all these years!"
Dino answered by repeating in Latin the words--"He that loveth father or
mother more than Me, is not worthy of Me." But Mrs. Luttrell interrupted
him angrily.
"I want none of your Latin gibberish," she said. "I want plain
commonsense. If you go into a monastery, do you intend to give the
property to the monks? Perhaps you want to turn Netherglen into a
convent, and establish a priory at Strathleckie? Well, I cannot prevent
you. What fools we are to think that there is any happiness in this
world!"
"Mother!" said Dino, and his voice was very gentle, "let me speak to you
of another before we talk about the estates. Let me speak to you of
Brian."
"Brian!" Her voice had a checked tone for a moment; then she recovered
herself and spoke in her usual harsh way. "I know no one of that name
but you."
"I mean my friend whom you thought to be your son for so many years,
mother. Have you no tenderness for him? Do you not think of him with a
little love and pity? Let me tell you what he suffered. When he came to
us first at San Stefano he was nearly dying of grief. It was long before
we nursed him back to health. When I think how we all learnt to love
him, mother, I cannot but believe that you must love him, too."
"I never loved him," said Mrs. Luttrell. "He stood in your place. If you
had a spark of proper pride in you, you would know that he was your
enemy, and you will feel towards him as I do."
"He is an enemy that I have learned to love," answered Dino. "At any
rate, mother"--his voice always softened when he called her by that
name--"at any rate, you will try to love him now."
"Why now?" She asked the question sharply.
"Because I mean him to fill my place."
There was a little silence, in which the fall of a cinder from the grate
could be distinctly heard. Then Mrs. Luttrell uttered a long, low moan.
"Oh, my God!" she said. "What have I done that I should be tormented in
this way?"
"Mother, mother, do not say so," said Dino, evidently with deep emotion.
Then, in a lower and more earnest voice, he added--"Perhaps if you had
tried to love the child that Vincenza placed within your arms that day,
you would have felt joy and not sorrow now."
"Do you dare to rebuke your mother?" said Mrs. Luttrell, fiercely. "If I
had loved that child, I would never have acknowledged you to-day. Not
though all the witnesses in the world swore to your story."
"That perhaps would have been the better for me," said Dino, softly.
"Mother, I am going away from you for ever; let me leave you another
son. He has never grieved you willingly; forgive him for those
misfortunes which he could not help; love him instead of me."
"Never!"
"He has gone to the other side of the world, but I think he would come
back if he knew that you had need of him. Let me send him a line, a
word, from you: make him the master of Netherglen, and let me go in
peace."
"I will not hear his name, I will not tolerate his presence within these
walls," cried Mrs. Luttrell, passionately. "He was never dear to me,
never; and he is hateful to me now. He has robbed me of both my sons:
his hand struck Richard down, and for twenty-three years he usurped your
place. I will never see him again. I will never forgive him so long as
my tongue can speak."
"Then may God forgive you," said Dino, in a strangely solemn voice, "for
you are doing a worse injustice, a worse wrong, than that done by the
poor woman who tried to put her child in your son's place. Have you held
that child upon your knee, kissed his face, and seen him grow up to
manhood, without a particle of love for him in your heart? Did you send
him away from you with bitter reproaches, because of the accident which
he would have given his own life to prevent? You have spoilt his life,
and you do not care. Your heart is hard then, and God will not let that
hardness go unpunished. Mother, pray that his judgments may not descend
upon you for this."
"You have no right to talk to me in that way," said Mrs. Luttrell, with
a great effort. "I have not been unjust. You are ungrateful. If you go
away from me, I will leave all that I possess to Hugo, as I intended to
do. Brian, as you call him--Vincenza Vasari's son--shall have nothing."
"And Brian is to be disinherited in favour of Hugo Luttrell, is he?"
said Dino, in a still lower voice, but one which the listener felt
instinctively had a dangerous sound. "Do you know what manner of man
this Hugo Luttrell is, that you wish to enrich him with your wealth, and
make him the master of Netherglen?"
"I know no harm of him," she answered.
He paused a little, and turned his face--was it consciously or
unconsciously?--towards the open door, from which could be seen the
screen, behind which the unhappy listener crouched and quivered in agony
of fear. Willingly would Hugo have turned and fled, but flight was now
impossible. The fire was blazing brightly, and threw a red glow over all
the room. If he emerged from behind the screen, his figure would be
distinctly visible to Dino, whose face was turned in that direction.
What was he going to say?
"I know no harm of him," she answered.
"Then I will enlighten you. Hugo Luttrell knew that Brian was alive,
that I was in England, two months ago. A letter from the Prior of San
Stefano must have been in some way intercepted by him; he made use of
his knowledge, however he obtained it, to bring the messages from Brian
which were utterly false, to try and induce me to relinquish my claim on
you; he forged a letter from Brian for that purpose; and finally----"
Mrs. Luttrell's voice, harsh and strident with emotion, against which
she did her best to fight, broke the sudden silence.
"Do you call it fair and right," she said, "to accuse a man of such
faults as these behind his back? If you want to tell me anything against
Hugo, send for him and tell it to me in his presence. Then he can defend
himself."
"He will try to defend himself, no doubt," said Dino, with a note of
melancholy scorn in his grave, young voice. "But I will do nothing
behind his back. You wish him to be summoned?"
"Yes, I do. Ring the bell instantly!" cried Mrs. Luttrell, whose loving
ardour seemed to have given way to the most unmitigated resentment.
"Tell the servants to find him and bring him here."
"They would not have far to go," said Dino, coolly. "He is close to
hand. Hugo Luttrell, come here and answer for yourself."
"What do you mean? Where is he?" exclaimed Mrs. Luttrell, struck with
his tone of command. "He is not in this room!"
"No, but he is in the next, hiding behind that screen. He has been there
for the last half-hour. You need play the spy no longer, sir. Have the
goodness to step forward and show yourself."
The inexorable sternness of his voice struck the listeners with amaze.
Pale as a ghost, trembling like an aspen leaf, Hugo emerged from his
hiding-place, and confronted the mother and the son.