WHO'S THAT CALLING?
I do believe, if we'd been alone, he would have struck me. As it was,
I'm sure he would have liked to. That I should dare to speak to him
like that--him so big, and me so small, and him a great gentleman, and
me just nothing and nobody--it did put his back up. He glared as if he
would have liked to eat me. And yet, all the while, I knew that
somewhere inside of him he was afraid of me. It mayn't sound sense, I
own; but I know what I mean if I can't just say it.
The elder lady came and put her hand upon his arm.
'Douglas, why do you look at her like that? She's only a child.'
He spoke, as it might be, between his gritted teeth.
'Since Mrs. Merrett won't come to my room, I'm afraid I must ask you
two to leave this; to enable me to speak a few plain truths to her in
private.'
'She's only anxious for her husband. Why should you be angry with her
on that account? She says that you first saw him on the day on which
you first saw Twickenham.'
He shot round at her with quite as savage a look as he had given me.
'Who told you that?'
'She was telling us just before you came.'
'It strikes me she's tarred with the same brush as her scoundrelly
husband.'
It did make me wild to hear him! It always does when people say things
against James. And especially him!
'How dare you stand there and speak of him like that before my
face--when, for all I know, his blood's upon your hands!'
I didn't mean it; not at the time I didn't. I just said it because I
was in a rage. But if I had meant it ever so much it couldn't have
affected him more. He shrank back from me as if I were some dreadful
thing; his jaw dropped open; he stared as if his eyes would start out
of his head. It was horrid to see. The young lady came stalking up to
me. She spoke that cold and haughty as if I was the dirt under her
feet; which perhaps she thought I was.
'Aren't you forgetting yourself, my good woman, in using such
language? Or are you, as I thought at first, a little mad?' Having
given me one, she gave him one too. 'And pray, Douglas, why should you
behave in such an extraordinary fashion merely because this person
talks as if she were insane?'
He did not reply at once. Instead, he turned his back and walked away
from us across the room. When I saw his face again he looked more like
he ought to. He stood before the fireplace, and, in his turn, set up
to be haughty. But it didn't sit so well on him as it did upon his
sister. I should say that it came to her by nature--while he had to
practise how to do it.
'I am placed in a difficult position.'
'I don't see it. Why don't you answer her question?'
'Because I have no answer to give her.'
'You mean that you don't know what has become of her husband?'
'Absolutely nothing.'
The young lady turned to me.
'You hear what my brother says.'
'I hear; but you must excuse my saying, miss, I mean my lady, that I
don't believe him.'
'Why should you doubt my brother's word?'
'Don't you--after what you've just now seen?'
She bit her lip.
'Impertinent creature!' she said, as she turned away. But I knew she
doubted too.
I put a question on my own.
'Mr. Howarth, sir, why did you give Mr. FitzHoward a five-pound note
to make you known to my husband under a false name?'
'Pure curiosity. Your husband gave a rather remarkable exhibition. As
the person you allude to seemed to think that I ought to have some
sort of a name I gave the first which occurred to me. By the way, your
husband himself seems to have had what you call a false name.'
'Yes, sir, but that's different; as you know very well. Although he is
a gentleman, he's not in the position you are. And what was it you
wanted to say to him that Sunday morning at the York Hotel?'
He put his shoulders up, and smiled as if, at least, my question did
amuse him.
'All sorts of things, my dear Mrs. Merrett. I'm afraid I'm not able,
at this distance of time, to furnish you with a particular catalogue.
I found your husband a somewhat interesting person; and as interesting
persons are rare we sharpened our wits together on a variety of
topics. I did not suppose that I should have to pay so severe a
penalty for having found his society amusing. Now that matters appear
to stand on a somewhat more agreeable footing, let me ask you a
question or two in my turn. Do I understand you to say that your
husband has--what shall I call it--disappeared?'
'I have not seen him since that Sunday morning; as you know very
well.'
'As I know? Not only do I not know anything of the kind, but I am
curious to know on what grounds you credit me with the possession of
such knowledge. It is not as though I were the last person who spoke
to him. A waiter came into his room as I was going out of it. I
understood that he was going to have his dinner. Didn't he have his
dinner? The landlord will be able to tell you. Probably you will be
able to find a dozen persons who saw and spoke to him after I had
gone. So little did I know of your husband, or--you will excuse my
saying so--care to know, that I was not aware that his name was
Merrett; that he had a wife; or, indeed, that he had any home save the
place in which he certainly seemed to me to be entirely at home.'
When he had finished I had my say. Somehow, the more affable he grew,
the surer I knew that he was false.
'Mr. Howarth, sir, you can make things seem very plain and simple, and
quite all right, now that you've had time to think them over. But how
was it that when you were spoken to unexpectedly yesterday you almost
tumbled down in the street when you were asked what you had done with
my husband?'
'I have many worries of my own, Mrs. Merrett. Mr. FitzHoward took me
unawares, as you admit. My thoughts were far away, and, as the result
of his sudden intervention, I found that my nerves were more unstrung
even than I had supposed. I don't know what is the matter with me
lately. My health must have run down. I seem unhinged by the slightest
thing.'
'You must be in a very bad state, sir, when you almost tumble down in
the street because you're asked a simple question.'
'As you say, I suppose I must be.'
'You must. There's such a thing as a bad conscience, as well as bad
health. And I take leave to tell you that I'm quite sure there's more
behind your words than you want me to think.'
He laughed--though not so heartily as I dare say he would have wished.
'Mrs. Merrett, you're incorrigible. Is it because you are so young
that you're so difficult to convince? My dear Edith,' he turned to the
elder lady--somehow I'd felt all along that he was quite as anxious to
convince her as me, and that half what he was saying was meant for her
address--'I will tell you the whole true tale of the beginning and the
end of my connection with the individual who Mrs. Merrett now informs
us is her husband. I saw him, for the first time, under very
extraordinary circumstances.'
'You saw Twickenham for the first time under very extraordinary
circumstances.'
I did not know what she meant, but his face went black again.
'What do you mean?'
'I was merely commenting on the coincidence.'
'Coincidence!' I could see that angry words rose to his lips, but he
choked them back again. He managed, with difficulty, to smile. 'My
dear Edith, I'm afraid you allow yourself to sympathise so warmly with
Mrs. Merrett's misfortune, that you confuse the issues. What has my
seeing the one man to do with my seeing the other?'
'I didn't say it had anything.'
'Then why drag it in?'
'Hadn't you better go on with your story?'
She smiled; and there was something about her smile which seemed to
sting him as if she had cut him across the face with a whip. I believe
he trembled; though whether it was with rage or not I could not say.
When he spoke again all his affability had vanished. His voice was dry
and hard.
'We will postpone the continuation of my story, as you call it, to a
further occasion. Are there any other questions, Mrs. Merrett, which
you would like to ask me? Pray ask them. Whether they do or do not
impugn my veracity is not of the slightest consequence. I am in the
box. Nor does it matter that I have a rather pressing engagement. That
I should suffer for your--may I say, erratic husband? Well, at any
rate, his erratic proceeding is, I presume, only poetic justice.
Though I don't myself see where the justice quite comes in.'
I could be just as proud as him, in my way; and I let him see it. I
tried to make myself as stiff as he was; though I don't suppose I came
within a mile of it.
'Thank you, Mr. Howarth, sir, but I've got no more questions just now
which I want to put to you. You know what you do know, and perhaps one
of these days I'll know it. Until then I can only say that I'm sorry
to have troubled you.'
With that I opened the door and went out into the passage, none of
them moving from where they were, or speaking a word as I went. When I
got into the passage there came a pull at the front door bell, and a
rat-tat-tat at the knocker.
'That's Mr. FitzHoward,' I said to myself.
As I felt convinced of it I made no bones about opening the front
door, which I did do, and sure enough it was he. There he was,
standing on the door-step. When he saw it was me that had opened the
door he seemed surprised.
'Hello! Is that you?' he said. 'Well, I've come at last.'
'So I perceive--and as I'm just going, we can go together.'
'Has he answered that question?'
I felt a kind of want on me to keep on being haughty. If I hadn't, I
believe I should have broken down. So I put my head up in the air, and
I replied:
'You'll excuse me, Mr. FitzHoward, if I remark that whether he has or
has not is my affair and not yours.'
He looked at me sharply.
'Oh, that's the time of day, is it? Then if that's the case I've half
a mind to go in and put the question on my own account. I'll soon size
him up.'
'As to that, you are of course quite at liberty to do exactly what
you please; only, if that is what you are going to do I'll wish you
good-day.'
I went off down the street. He let me go a little way, and then came
hurrying after me.
'What's become of Babbacombe?'
'If you don't mind my saying so, Mr. FitzHoward I don't want to talk
to you about nothing whatever till I'm in my own home.'
'Then, if that's how you feel, the sooner we get to your own home the
better.'
And he called another hansom cab. I did think of the expense, two
hansom cabs in one day, but in the state of mind in which I was I
didn't feel as if I could get into an omnibus, and sit straight up in
it, with the people staring at me all the way. It only wanted a very
little to make me behave like a silly. I don't believe I spoke a dozen
words the whole way. Mr. FitzHoward kept trying to make me. He was the
most persevering man I ever met. But I wouldn't. So, as soon as we got
in he said sarcastically:
'Well, we have had a nice little talk! You're about the most talkative
woman I've had the pleasure of knowing. You can be silent in one
language, at any rate.'
'Mr. FitzHoward, how much do I owe you for that hansom cab?'
'Owe me? Nothing. The cab was mine.'
'You paid going, and I'll pay coming back. You gave the cabman
eighteenpence--because I saw you. There's the money. I'll be beholden
to no man except my husband.'
I put a shilling and a sixpence on the table. He looked at the coins,
and then he looked at me. Then he took them up.
'Oh, all right. I'm willing. Money's always welcome. It doesn't look
as if I was going to make much out of your husband, so I don't see why
I should lose on you. Besides, I can buy something with it for those
two little kids of yours. I don't suppose you can prevent my doing
that. Now, Mrs. Merrett, let's understand each other, you and I. What
did Mr. John Smith say when you put that question?'
'Nothing.'
'Nothing! You don't mean that! You don't mean that you didn't get an
answer out of him after all! Then hang me if I don't go right straight
back.'
'I mean that he knows nothing. At least that's what he says.'
'And do you believe him?'
Then I was just the silly I expected. I sat down at the table and
cried as if I'd nothing else to do. Presently I felt a hand upon my
shoulder. It was Mr. FitzHoward.
'Now then, none of that! Do you hear? Stop it! It's only my nonsense.
I exaggerate; it's a professional habit I've got into. It's a kind of
second nature; so that people who don't know me think that I mean more
than I really do. I believe your husband's as sound and well at this
moment as I am.'
'I don't know what to believe.'
'But I do; don't I tell you that he's as sound and well as I am?'
'First you say one thing, and then you say another.'
'That's me; that's my character; you've hit it off exactly; you've got
to believe what I say last. That's where I'm truthful; at the end.
This is the end; I tell you that there's no more the matter with your
husband than there is with me. As for Mr. John Smith, he gave me a
touch of the needle yesterday, so I thought I'd let him have a touch
of it in his turn; that's the solid fact. As for your husband--if
you'll kindly give me your attention when you've finished, Mrs.
Merrett--who's the most remarkable man I ever had the pleasure of
meeting, the marvel of the age--though I say it to his wife--I have an
inner conviction here!'--I could hear him beating his hand against his
side--'that he's as sound as a bell, in the enjoyment of perfect
health, and that he's simply gone on one of those periodical little
jaunts you were telling me of. Now, Mrs. Merrett, where are those kids
of yours?'
'They're with Mrs. Ordish--at No. 17.'
'Then I'll go to No. 17, and fetch them from Mrs. Ordish.'
'I should be much obliged to you if you would.'
'I am now going to fetch them. There's only one remark I have to make,
and that is that I do hope that you're not going to wring the feelings
of those tenderhearted infants by letting them see their mother with a
red nose.'
When he went, I hurried upstairs, and I took my hat and jacket off,
and washed my face, and made myself stop. Luckily he didn't come back
with them directly, so that I had a chance of trying to look decent.
And when they did come the children were laden with sweets, and cakes,
and toys which he'd been buying them. They came rushing to me with
their new belongings, looking that sweet and pretty--the darlings!
'Now, Mrs. Merrett, Miss Merrett and Master Merrett have asked me to
come to tea. I don't know if you endorse their invitation, but I
appeal to them in your presence. Haven't you asked me to come to tea?'
They burst out both together in a chorus of exclamations.
'Yes! yes! Oh, mother, can't he come to tea?'
So he came to tea. You would never have thought he was the same man,
to listen to the jokes he made. He kept them laughing all the time.
And sometimes I had to smile. And after tea the games he played with
them! I never did meet any one who knew such a number of games. And
just the very ones for children.
Of course, I knew what he was doing it for; and when he was going I
told him so.
'I thank you very much, Mr. FitzHoward, for being so kind to the
children, and to me.'
'Kind!' he said. 'Oh, yes, there's a lot of kindness about a man of my
professional experience. Hard as nails that kind of thing makes you;
hard as nails. I tell you what it is, Mrs. Merrett; you've the two
cleverest and sweetest and prettiest children I've ever come across,
bar none. Not that I wonder at it with such a mother as they've got. I
envy you; and I envy them. But there--some people have all the luck.'
What he meant I can't say; some nonsense, I've no doubt. But whatever
it was it seemed to do me good. As I put the children to bed I felt
more cheerful than I had done all day. Until all at once Jimmy asked
me when Daddy was coming home. Before I knew it the tears were in my
eyes. It's strange how close they sometimes are; and that, in a manner
of speaking, without your suspecting they're within a mile. Especially
when you're weak and silly. I caught him in my arms, and said:
'Jimmy, you must ask God to send him soon.'
'But, mother, I'm always asking God to send him soon.'
That finished me. I was that stupid. I dare say I should have cried
myself ill if it hadn't been that I found that I was frightening the
children. They tried to comfort me; and when they found they couldn't,
they started crying too. So then, because I couldn't bear to see them
crying, I stopped. And we all knelt down by their bedside, and prayed
God send home Daddy soon.
When I had put them into bed--and as soon as they were between the
sheets they were asleep, the dears!--down I went upon my knees
again and prayed God send me James. When I was a girl and went to
Sunday-school, I remember hearing teacher talk about wrestling with
God in prayer. I never knew what she meant until that night. If ever a
poor, ignorant, helpless woman wrestled with her Maker that He might
be merciful, and send back to her her man, I was that woman then. I'd
been wicked; I knew that I'd been wicked; but it wasn't for want of
trying to be good, and oh! I felt if He'd only send me James I would
be good.
Cry! It wore me out. I cried till I thought that there wouldn't be
anything left of me. I was so tired. And yet when I got into bed it
was ever so long before I could sleep. And as soon as I did I started
to dream. Oh, dear, such dreams! They came crowding on me, one after
another: I couldn't get away from them. And all at once I thought I
heard James call to me. It was as clear as clear could be.
I woke with a start, and sat up in bed and listened. Was it in the
house, or was it in the street? I was sure it was his voice. I should
know it among ten thousand. It came again through the night.
'Mary! Mary!'
Where was he? What did it mean? Where could it be? It seemed to come
from afar off. I got from between the sheets, and stood upon the bed,
trembling so that I could hardly stand. It came again.
'Mary! Mary!'
What was I to do? I couldn't think. What did he want? I knew he wanted
something, but what? I tried to collect my senses. They were all in a
whirl. What did he mean by calling me, like that, in the night, from
afar? The dreadful part was that I couldn't move; now that I stood
there I couldn't move. What did it mean? What was there wrong?
He called again. And this time there was in his voice such fear, such
pleading, and such pain, that my heart seemed to turn to ice inside
me.
'Mary! Mary!'
'James! James!' I cried. 'I'm coming to you, James? Where are you? Oh,
tell me where you are, that I can come.'