MRS. VIMPANY'S FAREWELL
THE doctor's wife followed Miss Henley out of the room, as far as the
landing--and waited there.
She had her reasons for placing this restraint on herself. The position
of the landing concealed her from the view of a person in the hall. If
she only listened for the sound of voices she might safely discover
whether Lord Harry was, or was not, still in the house. In the first
event, it would be easy to interrupt his interview with Iris, before
the talk could lead to disclosures which Mrs. Vimpany had every reason
to dread. In the second event, there would be no need to show herself.
Meanwhile, Iris opened the dining-room door and looked in.
Nobody was there. The one other room on the ground floor, situated at
the back of the building, was the doctor's consulting-room. She knocked
at the door. Mr. Vimpany's voice answered: "Come in." There he was
alone, drinking brandy and water, and smoking his big black cigar.
"Where is Lord Harry?" she said.
"In Ireland, I suppose," Mr. Vimpany answered quietly.
Iris wasted no time in making useless inquiries. She closed the door
again, and left him. He, too, was undoubtedly in the conspiracy to keep
her deceived. How had it been done? Where was the wild lord, at that
moment?
Whilst she was pursuing these reflections in the hall, Rhoda came up
from the servants' tea-table in the kitchen. Her mistress gave her the
necessary instructions for packing, and promised to help her before
long. Mrs. Vimpany's audacious resolution to dispute the evidence of
her own senses, still dwelt on Miss Henley's mind. Too angry to think
of the embarrassment which an interview with Lord Harry would produce,
after they had said their farewell words in Ireland, she was determined
to prevent the doctor's wife from speaking to him first, and claiming
him as an accomplice in her impudent denial of the truth. If he had
been, by any chance, deluded into leaving the house, he would sooner or
later discover the trick that had been played on him, and would
certainly return. Iris took a chair in the hall.
* * * * * * *
It is due to the doctor to relate that he had indeed justified his
wife's confidence in him.
The diamond pin, undergoing valuation in London, still represented a
present terror in his mind. The money, the money--he was the most
attentive husband in England when he thought of the money! At the time
when Lord Harry's carriage stopped at his house-door, he was in the
dining-room, taking a bottle of brandy from the cellaret in the
sideboard. Looking instantly out of the window, he discovered who the
visitor was, and decided on consulting his instructions in the
pocket-diary. The attempt was rendered useless, as soon as he had
opened the book, by the unlucky activity of the servant in answering
the door. Her master stopped her in the hall. He was pleasantly
conscious of the recovery of his cunning. But his memory (far from
active under the most favourable circumstances) was slower than ever at
helping him now. On the spur of the moment he could only call to mind
that he had been ordered to prevent a meeting between Lord Harry and
Iris. "Show the gentleman into my consulting-room," he said.
Lord Harry found the doctor enthroned on his professional chair,
surprised and delighted to see his distinguished friend. The impetuous
Irishman at once asked for Miss Henley.
"Gone," Mr. Vimpany answered
"Gone--where?" the wild lord wanted to know next.
"To London."
"By herself?"
"No; with Mr. Hugh Mountjoy."
Lord Harry seized the doctor by the shoulders, and shook him: "You
don't mean to tell me Mountjoy is going to marry her?"
Mr. Vimpany feared nothing but the loss of money. The weaker and the
older man of the two, he nevertheless followed the young lord's
example, and shook him with right good-will. "Let's see how you like it
in your turn," he said. "As for Mountjoy, I don't know whether he is
married or single--and don't care."
"The devil take your obstinacy! When did they start?"
"The devil take your questions! They started not long since."
"Might I catch them at the station?"
"Yes; if you go at once."
So the desperate doctor carried out his wife's instructions--without
remembering the conditions which had accompanied them.
The way to the station took Lord Harry past the inn. He saw Hugh
Mountjoy through the open house door paying his bill at the bar. In an
instant the carriage was stopped, and the two men (never on friendly
terms) were formally bowing to each other.
"I was told I should find you," Lord Harry said, "with Miss Henley, at
the station."
"Who gave you your information?"
"Vimpany--the doctor."
"He ought to know that the train isn't due at the station for an hour
yet."
"Has the blackguard deceived me? One word more, Mr. Mountjoy. Is Miss
Henley at the inn?"
"No."
"Are you going with her to London?"
"I must leave Miss Henley to answer that."
"Where is she, sir?"
"There is an end to everything, my lord, in the world we live in. You
have reached the end of my readiness to answer questions." The
Englishman and the Irishman looked at each other: the Anglo-Saxon was
impenetrably cool; the Celt was flushed and angry. They might have been
on the brink of a quarrel, but for Lord Harry's native quickness of
perception, and his exercise of it at that moment. When he had called
at Mr. Vimpany's house, and had asked for Iris, the doctor had got rid
of him by means of a lie. After this discovery, at what conclusion
could he arrive? The doctor was certainly keeping Iris out of his way.
Reasoning in this rapid manner, Lord Harry let one offence pass, in his
headlong eagerness to resent another. He instantly left Mountjoy. Again
the carriage rattled back along the street; but it was stopped before
it reached Mr. Vimpany's door.
Lord Harry knew the people whom he had to deal with, and took measures
to approach the house silently, on foot. The coachman received orders
to look out for a signal, which should tell him when he was wanted
again.
Mr. Vimpany's ears, vigilantly on the watch for suspicious events,
detected no sound of carriage wheels and no noisy use of the knocker.
Still on his guard, however, a ring at the house-bell disturbed him in
his consulting-room. Peeping into the hall, he saw Iris opening the
door, and stole back to his room. "The devil take her!" he said,
alluding to Miss Henley, and thinking of the enviable proprietor of the
diamond pin.
At the unexpected appearance of Iris, Lord Harry forgot every
consideration which ought to have been present to his mind, at that
critical moment.
He advanced to her with both hands held out in cordial greeting. She
signed to him contemptuously to stand back--and spoke in tones
cautiously lowered, after a glance at the door of the consulting-room.
"My only reason for consenting to see you," she said, "is to protect
myself from further deception. Your disgraceful conduct is known to me.
Go now," she continued, pointing to the stairs, "and consult with your
spy, as soon as you like." The Irish lord listened--guiltily conscious
of having deserved what she had said to him--without attempting to
utter a word in excuse.
Still posted at the head of the stairs, the doctor's wife heard Iris
speaking; but the tone was not loud enough to make the words
intelligible at that distance; neither was any other voice audible in
reply. Vaguely suspicions of some act of domestic treachery, Mrs.
Vimpany began to descend the stairs. At the turning which gave her a
view of the hall, she stopped; thunderstruck by the discovery of Lord
Harry and Miss Henley, together.
The presence of a third person seemed, in some degree, to relieve Lord
Harry. He ran upstairs to salute Mrs. Vimpany, and was met again by a
cold reception and a hostile look.
Strongly and strangely contrasted, the two confronted each other on the
stairs. The faded woman, wan and ghastly under cruel stress of mental
suffering, stood face to face with a fine, tall, lithe man, in the
prime of his health and strength. Here were the bright blue eyes, the
winning smile, and the natural grace of movement, which find their own
way to favour in the estimation of the gentler sex. This irreclaimable
wanderer among the perilous by-ways of the earth--christened "Irish
blackguard," among respectable members of society, when they spoke of
him behind his back--attracted attention, even among the men. Looking
at his daring, finely-formed face, they noticed (as an exception to a
general rule, in these days) the total suppression, by the razor, of
whiskers, moustache, and beard. Strangers wondered whether Lord Harry
was an actor or a Roman Catholic priest. Among chance acquaintances,
those few favourites of Nature who are possessed of active brains,
guessed that his life of adventure might well have rendered disguise
necessary to his safety, in more than one part of the world. Sometimes
they boldly put the question to him. The hot temper of an Irishman, in
moments of excitement, is not infrequently a sweet temper in moments of
calm. What they called Lord Harry's good-nature owned readily that he
had been indebted, on certain occasions, to the protection of a false
beard, And perhaps a colouring of his face and hair to match. The same
easy disposition now asserted itself, under the merciless enmity of
Mrs. Vimpany's eyes. "If I have done anything to offend you," he said,
with an air of puzzled humility, "I'm sure I am sorry for it. Don't be
angry, Arabella, with an old friend. Why won't you shake hands?"
"I have kept your secret, and done your dirty work," Mrs. Vimpany
replied. "And what is my reward? Miss Henley can tell you how your
Irish blundering has ruined me in a lady's estimation. Shake hands,
indeed! You will never shake hands with Me again as long as you live!"
She said those words without looking at him; her eyes were resting on
Iris now. From the moment when she had seen the two together, she knew
that it was all over; further denial in the face of plain proofs would
be useless indeed! Submission was the one alternative left.
"Miss Henley," she said, "if you can feel pity for another woman's
sorrow and shame, let me have a last word with you--out of this man's
hearing."
There was nothing artificial in her tones or her looks; no acting could
have imitated the sad sincerity with which she spoke. Touched by that
change, Iris accompanied her as she ascended the stairs. After a little
hesitation, Lord Harry followed them. Mrs. Vimpany turned on him when
they reached the drawing-room landing. "Must I shut the door in your
face?" she asked.
He was as pleasantly patient as ever:
"You needn't take the trouble to do that, my dear; I'll only ask your
leave to sit down and wait on the stairs. When you have done with Miss
Henley, just call me in. And, by the way, don't be alarmed in case of a
little noise--say a heavy man tumbling downstairs. If the blackguard
it's your misfortune to be married to happens to show himself, I shall
be under the necessity of kicking him. That's all."
Mrs. Vimpany closed the door. She spoke to Iris respectfully, as she
might have addressed a stranger occupying a higher rank in life than
herself.
"There is an end, madam, to one short acquaintance; and, as we both
know, an end to it for ever. When we first met--let me tell the truth
at last!--I felt a malicious pleasure in deceiving you. After that
time, I was surprised to find that you grew on my liking, Can you
understand the wickedness that tried to resist you? It was useless;
your good influence has been too strong for me. Strange, isn't it? I
have lived a life of deceit, among bad people. What could you expect of
me, after that? I heaped lies on lies--I would have denied that the sun
was in the heavens--rather than find myself degraded in your opinion.
Well! that is all over--useless, quite useless now. Pray don't mistake
me. I am not attempting to excuse myself; a confession was due to you;
the confession is made. It is too late to hope that you will forgive
me. If you will permit it, I have only one favour to ask. Forget me."
She turned away with a last hopeless look, who said as plainly as if in
words: "I am not worth a reply."
Generous Iris insisted on speaking to her.
"I believe you are truly sorry for what you have done," she said; "I
can never forget that--I can never forget You." She held out her
pitying hand. Mrs. Vimpany was too bitterly conscious of the past to
touch it. Even a spy is not beneath the universal reach of the
heartache. There were tears in the miserable woman's eyes when she had
looked her last at Iris Henley.