At dinner Jack announced his intention of paying a visit to Richard
Foster.
"You are not fit to deal with the fellow," he said; "you may be sharp
enough upon your own black sheep in Guernsey, but you know nothing of
the breed here. Now, if I see him, I will squeeze out of him every
mortal thing he knows about Olivia. Where did those papers come from?"
"There was no place given," I answered.
"But there would be a post-mark on the envelop," he replied; "I will
make him show me the envelop they were in."
"Jack," I said, "you do not suppose he has any doubt of her death?"
"I can't say," he answered. "You see he has married again, and if she
were not dead that would be bigamy--an ugly sort of crime. But are you
sure they are married?"
"How can I be sure?" I asked fretfully, for grief as often makes men
fretful as illness. "I did not ask for their marriage-certificate."
"Well, well! I will go," he answered.
I awaited his return with impatience. With this doubt insinuated by
Jack, it began to seem almost incredible that Olivia's exquisitely
healthy frame should have succumbed suddenly under a malady to which she
had no predisposition whatever. Moreover, her original soundness of
constitution had been strengthened by ten months' residence in the pure,
bracing air of Sark. Yet what was I to think in face of those undated
documents, and of her own short letter to her husband? The one I knew
was genuine; why should I suppose the others to be forged? And if
forgeries, who had been guilty of such a cruel and crafty artifice, and
for what purpose?
I had not found any satisfactory answer to these queries before Jack
returned, his face kindled with excitement. He caught my hand, and
grasped it heartily.
"I no more believe she is dead than I am," were his first words. "You
recollect me telling you of a drunken brawl in a street off the Strand,
where a fellow, as drunk as a lord, was for claiming a pretty girl as
his wife; only I had followed her out of Ridley's agency-office, and was
just in time to protect her from him--a girl I could have fallen in love
with myself. You recollect?"
"Yes, yes," I said, almost breathless.
"He was the man, and Olivia was the girl!" exclaimed Jack.
"No!" I cried.
"Yes!" continued Jack, with an affectionate lunge at me; "at any rate I
can swear he is the man; and I would bet a thousand to one that the girl
was Olivia."
"But when was it?" I asked.
"Since he married again," he answered; "they were married on the 2d of
October, and this was early in November. I had gone to Ridley's after a
place for a poor fellow as an assistant to a druggist; and I saw the
girl distinctly. She gave the name of Ellen Martineau. Those letters
about her death are all forgeries."
"Olivia's is not," I said; "I know her handwriting too well."
"Well, then," observed Jack, "there is only one explanation. She has
sent them herself to throw Foster off the scent; she thinks she will be
safe if he believes her dead."
"No," I answered, hotly, "she would never have done such a thing as
that."
"Who else is benefited by it?" he asked, gravely. "It does not put
Foster into possession of any of her property; or that would have been a
motive for him to do it. But he gains nothing by it; and he is so
convinced of her death that he has married a second wife."
It was difficult to hit upon any other explanation; yet I could not
credit this one. I felt firmly convinced that Olivia could not be guilty
of an artifice so cunning. I was deceived in her indeed if she would
descend to any fraud so cruel. But I could not discuss the question even
with Jack Senior. Tardif was the only person who knew Olivia well enough
to make his opinion of any value. Besides, my mind was not as clear as
Jack's that she was the girl he had seen in November. Yet the doubt of
her death was full of hope; it made the earth more habitable, and life
more endurable.
"What can I do now?" I said, speaking aloud, though I was thinking to
myself.
"Martin," he replied, gravely, "isn't it wisest to leave the matter as
it stands? If you find Olivia, what then? she is as much separated from
you as she can be by death. So long as Foster lives, it is worse than
useless to be thinking of her. There is no misery like that of hanging
about a woman you have no right to love."
"I only wish to satisfy myself that she is alive," I answered. "Just
think of it, Jack, not to know whether she is living or dead! You must
help me to satisfy myself. Foster has got the only valuable thing she
had in her possession, and if she is living she may be in absolute want.
I cannot be contented with that dread on my mind. There can be no harm
in my taking some care of her at a distance. This mystery would be
intolerable to me."
"You're right, old fellow," he said, cordially; "we will go to Ridley's
together to-morrow morning."
We were there soon after the doors were open. There were not many
clients present, and the clerks were enjoying a slack time. Jack had
recalled to his mind the exact date of his former visit; and thus the
sole difficulty was overcome. The clerk found the name of Ellen
Martineau entered under that date in his book.
"Yes," he said, "Miss Ellen Martineau, English teacher in a French
school; premium to be paid, about 10 Pounds; no salary; reference, Mrs.
Wilkinson, No. 19 Bellringer Street."
"No. 19 Bellringer Street!" we repeated in one breath.
"Yes, gentlemen, that is the address," said the clerk, closing the book.
"Shall I write it down for you? Mrs. Wilkinson was the party who should
have paid our commission; as you perceive, a premium was required
instead of a salary given. We feel pretty sure the young lady went to
the school, but Mrs. Wilkinson denies it, and it is not worth our while
to pursue our claim in law."
"Can you describe the young lady?" I inquired.
"Well, no. We have such hosts of young ladies here. But she was pretty,
decidedly pretty; she made that impression upon me, at least. We are too
busy to take particular notice; but I should know her again if she came
in. I think she would have been here again, before this, if she had not
got that engagement."
"Do you know where the school is?" I asked.
"No. Mrs. Wilkinson was the party," he said. "We had nothing to do with
it, except send any ladies to her who thought it worth their while. That
was all."
As we could obtain no further information, we went away, and paced up
and down the tolerably quiet street, deep in consultation. That we
should have need for great caution, and as much craftiness as we both
possessed, in pursuing our inquiries at No. 19 Bellringer Street, was
quite evident. Who could be this unknown Mrs. Wilkinson? Was it possible
that she might prove to be Mrs. Foster herself? At any rate, it would
not do for either of us to present ourselves there in quest of Miss
Ellen Martineau. It was finally settled between us that Johanna should
be intrusted with the diplomatic enterprise. There was not much chance
that Mrs. Foster would know her by sight, though she had been in
Guernsey; and it would excite less notice for a lady to be inquiring
after Olivia. We immediately turned our steps toward Hanover Street,
where we found her and Julia seated at some fancy-work in their sombre
drawing-room.
Julia received me with a little embarrassment, but conquered it
sufficiently to give me a warm pressure of the hand, and to whisper in
my ear that Johanna had told her every thing. Unluckily, Johanna herself
knew nothing of our discovery the night before. I kept Julia's hand in
mine, and looked steadily into her eyes.
"My dear Julia," I said, "we bring strange news. We have reason to
believe that Olivia is not dead, but that something underhand is going
on, which we cannot yet make out."
Julia's face grew crimson, but I would not let her draw her hand away
from my clasp. I held it the more firmly; and, as Jack was busy talking
to Johanna, I continued speaking to her in a lowered tone.
"My dear," I said, "you have been as true, and faithful, and generous a
friend as any man ever had. But this must not go on, for your own sake.
You fancied you loved me, because every one about us wished it to be so;
but I cannot let you waste your life on me. Speak to me exactly as your
brother. Do you believe you could be really happy with Captain Carey?"
"Arthur is so good," she murmured, "and he is so fond of me."
I had never heard her call him Arthur before. The elder members of our
Guernsey circle called him by his Christian name, but to us younger ones
he had always been Captain Carey. Julia's use of it was more eloquent
than many phrases. She had grown into the habit of calling him
familiarly by it.
"Then, Julia," I said, "what folly it would be for you to sacrifice
yourself to a false notion of faithfulness! I could not accept such a
sacrifice. Think no more of me or my happiness."
"But my poor aunt was so anxious for you to have a home of your own,"
she said, sobbing, "and I do love you dearly. Now you will never marry.
I know you will not, if you can have neither Olivia nor me for your
wife."
"Very likely," I answered, trying to laugh away her agitation; "I shall
be in love with two married women instead. How shocking that will sound
in Guernsey! But I'm not afraid that Captain Carey will forbid me his
house."
"How little we thought!" exclaimed Julia. I knew very well what her mind
had gone back to--the days when she and I and my mother were furnishing
and settling the house that would now become Captain Carey's home.
"Then it is all settled," I said, "and I shall write to him by
to-night's post, inviting him back again--that is, if he really left you
last night."
"Yes," she replied; "he would not stay a day longer."
Her face had grown calm as we talked together. A scarcely perceptible
smile was lurking about her lips, as if she rejoiced that her suspense
was over. There was something very like a pang in the idea of some one
else filling the place I had once fully occupied in her heart; but the
pain was unworthy of me. I drove it away by throwing myself heart and
soul into the mystery which hung over the fate of Olivia.
"We have hit upon a splendid plan," said Jack: "Miss Carey will take
Simmons's cab to Bellringer Street, and reach the house about the same
time as I visit Foster. That is for me to be at hand if she should need
any protection, you know. I shall stay up-stairs with Foster till I
hear the cab drive off again, and it will wait for me at the corner of
Dawson Street. Then we will come direct here, and tell you every thing
at once. Of course, Miss Dobrée will wish to hear it all."
"Cannot I go with Johanna?" she asked.
"No," I said, hastily; "it is very probable Mrs. Foster knows you by
sight, though she is less likely to know Johanna. I fancy Mrs. Wilkinson
will turn out to be Mrs. Foster herself. Yet why they should spirit
Olivia away into a French school, and pretend that she is dead, I cannot
see."
Nor could any one of the others see the reason. But as the morning was
fast waning away, and both Jack and I were busy, we were compelled to
close the discussion, and, with our minds preoccupied to a frightful
extent, make those calls upon our patients which were supposed to be in
each case full of anxious and particular thought for the ailments we
were attempting to alleviate.
Upon meeting again for a few minutes at luncheon, we made a slight
change in our plan; for we found a note from Foster awaiting me, in
which he requested me to visit him in the future, instead of Dr. John
Senior, as he felt more confidence in my knowledge of his malady.