"My Child Is the Heiress of Heathdale!"
Mrs. Farnum looked frightened at Virgie's startling threat, and she
realized at once that she had underrated the character of the woman with
whom she had to deal.
She saw that she was capable of great decision and prompt action; that
beneath her gracious sweetness, and gentle, winning manner, there lay a
reserve force and strength upon which she had not reckoned, and which
would have to be overcome—if overcome at all—by strategy and deception.
It would never do for the young wife to set out for England, at least if
there was any power to prevent it, for it would destroy all their
carefully laid plans, and their hopes for the future.
It had never occurred to Mrs, Farnum that she would contemplate such a
proceeding.
She knew that she was a stranger and absolutely friendless in the city;
there would be no one on whom she could rely to fight her battles. She had
imagined her to be weak and yielding, and that she would sink helplessly
beneath the terrible blows that she had dealt her, that all life and
spirit would be crushed out of her, and she would be only too willing to
fly from every one whom she knew, and hide herself and her child, with
their supposed shame, in some remote corner of the earth, and that would
be the last of them.
Then when Sir William should search for her, as of course she knew he
would do, and fail to find her, he could easily be made to believe that
she had been untrue, and fled from him; a divorce could be readily
obtained to set him free, and thus Sadie, if she played her cards aright,
might yet become the mistress of Heathdale.
But the injured wife's project of going to face her recreant husband, and
demanding to be acknowledged as the lawful mistress of Heathdale, must be
defeated at any cost, and the wily woman immediately set about
accomplishing her object.
"Ah, my poor child!" she began, assuming a sympathetic tone, "one cannot
blame you for just indignation at having been so deeply wronged. I never
would have believed Sir William capable of such dishonor. But surely you
will never think of subjecting yourself to an ordeal so terrible as that
you have just proposed."
"Why should I not? Why should I shrink from anything that will right this
wrong? Nothing can hurt me more than I have been hurt to-day," Virgie
answered, spiritedly, yet with inconceivable bitterness.
"But think of Sir William's family. They are exceedingly sensitive and
proud spirited, and they would never tolerate your claim for an instant;
no shadow of dishonor has ever touched them in any way, and they would not
endure the scandal."
"Think of Sir William's family! Why should I consider them? Madam, it is
myself of whom I have to think—myself and my innocent little one; and do
you suppose I will tolerate the indignity which has been offered me? Is
not my good name and that of my child as much at stake, and of as much
value as the name of Heath?" Virgie cried, her proud spirit blazing forth
in righteous indignation.
"But Sir William is a peer of the realm."
"A peer!"
Mrs. Farnum actually cringed beneath the scorn that rang out in the young
wife's tone as she repeated these words:
"And are peers of the realm exempt from all dishonor when they violate
every law, both human and divine?" she continued, with stinging sarcasm.
"Does the code of your nobility provide that young and innocent girls, who
are basely betrayed, shall sit tamely down and meekly bear their injuries,
so that your peers of the realm can go unscathed? If so, thank heaven that
your laws do not prevail in this country. You are yourself a mother—you
are proud of your beautiful daughter; but think you if she stood in my
place you would advise her to consider the feelings of Sir William's
family, to ignore her rights, and shut her eyes to her own injuries, lest
she cast a shadow of dishonor upon their proud escutcheon? And do you
think that I am less of a woman than she—that I am devoid of fine
sensibilities, of pride and self-respect?"
Mrs. Farnum had winced as under a lash during all this spirited speech.
Its scorn and sarcasm stung her keenly, and made her very angry. She
longed to revenge herself upon the proud girl who had presumed to rank
herself along with her daughter, by proclaiming the secret regarding her
life, which she had so cunningly learned in San Francisco.
But she feared to arouse her further. She realized that she must seek to
conciliate her, and try to persuade her not to take the mad journey to
England which she seemed so bent upon.
"Oh, no, my poor child," she began, soothingly; "you do not realize what
you are saying. Of course, I know it is all very wrong to deceive a girl
in any such way, be she high or low, rich or poor. But just consider how
you are situated. You say that your hus—that Sir William has your
marriage certificate, and you have nothing to prove your statements with,
even if you should present yourself at Heathdale. How do you suppose you
would be received there if you should burst in upon them claiming to be
Sir William's wife and the mistress of Heathdale if you could not
substantiate your statements? My dear, it would be the blindest folly."
"But I have his letters!" cried Virgie, eagerly.
"True, you have his letters, and no doubt his handwriting would be
instantly recognized by his family, But they could not prove your
position, especially if they are all written after the style of the one
which you allowed me to read this afternoon, for in all those pages not
once does he speak of you as his wife. You must have something more
tangible and conclusive than those," Mrs. Farnum asserted, confidently.
All the light died out of Virgie's face as she began to see that there
were terrible difficulties in the way of proving that she was a lawfully
wedded wife.
"I have my ring," she said, weakly, and holding up the white, delicate
hand on which the heavy circlet gleamed, guarded by a brilliant diamond,
but which trembled like a reed shaken by the wind.
"Is it marked with the date of your marriage?" inquired Mrs. Farnum, an
anxious gleam in her eye as it rested upon that symbol of wifehood.
"N-o; it was thoughtlessly neglected at the time, because there were so
many other things to be attended to, and—and I could not bear to have it
taken off to rectify the oversight, after it was once put upon my hand,"
Virgie confessed, growing white again even to her lips.
"That was unwise, not to say foolish of you," said Mrs. Farnum,
deprecatingly, but with a throb of exultation.
"But," added Virgie, after thinking a moment, "he brought me here as his
wife. The proprietor of this hotel will tell you so. Dr. Knox, my
physician, will tell you so also, as I was introduced to him by my husband
as Mrs. Heath; and there are other people in the house who know it."
Mrs. Farnum smiled pitifully.
"My dear," she said, gravely, "how many of these people do you think would
be willing to swear that you are Sir William Heath's wife, if you should
ask them to do so? How many would put their names to a paper certifying
their honest conviction that you are, if told the title and position he
occupies in his own country and <i>your history</i> in this?"
Virgie started at these words, and would have asked the woman what she
knew of her history, but she went on as if she had not remarked her
emotion:
"If Sir William had brought you here as <i>Lady Heath,</i> registered himself
in his own proper character, and taken you into society thus, there would
have been no room for doubt. But instead, what <i>has</i> he done? It is very
strange that your own suspicions have not been aroused by his actions. He
has registered everywhere as plain 'William Heath and lady.' Instead of
going to the public table, as most of the guests are in the habit of
doing, he has paid extra rates to have your meals served in your own
rooms, and kept you secluded from almost every one. What construction do
you suppose would be put upon these facts, if they were submitted to
people generally, if——"
"But, Mrs. Farnum, all this was done out of regard for my feelings. I told
you that we did not wish to be conspicuous while traveling, so my husband
dropped his title. I could not go into society here, and I did not like
to go to the public table where I should be—obliged to meet so many
strangers," Virgie interrupted, a hot flush rising to her brow, while
there was a weary, hunted look, in her eyes as the cunning woman continued
to weave her tangled web about her.
"Of course, <i>I</i> can understand all that," replied Mrs. Farnum,
indulgently, "but how would it appear as evidence if brought up in
connection with your efforts to prove yourself a lawful wife?"
Virgie's heart sank.
Turned which way she would, everything, as argued and distorted by her
companion, appeared against her, and for a moment it seemed as if her
spirit was crushed within her.
But at that instant a little cry from the adjoining room fell upon her
ears, and immediately all her natural pride and energy returned to her
aid.
She straightened herself and lifted her head proudly a look of firm
resolve settling upon her face and gleaming in her eyes.
"There are proofs," she said, in a low, firm tone, "even though I have not
my marriage certificate and though some people may doubt the truth of what
I assert, and—I will yet have them. My father, who would have been my
strongest helper, is dead, but there are three other witnesses living who
can swear that I am a lawful wife. There must be records also, and, madam,
I will move heaven and earth to establish my rightful position in life."
Mrs. Farnum trembled before this indomitable resolution.
"And would you be willing to occupy it, even if you could establish it?"
she asked, with a covert sneer, "would you force yourself into a position
which, appearances go to prove, was never intended to be given to you?
Would you force yourself upon a man who had subjected you to the indignity
of repudiating you as a wife and put another in your place?"
Virgie's head reeled beneath the force of these cruel questions, and she
swayed dizzily, as if about to fall, for a moment.
Then again with a mighty effort she recovered herself.
"No," she cried, her beautiful lips curling with, scorn, every pulse in
her body throbbing with contempt "the chosen mistress of Heathdale may
keep her position after I have proven my right to it, if she prizes it
enough to pay the price of her own dishonor; but my child is also the
lawful child of Sir William Heath—she is the heiress to all his
possessions and she shall yet occupy the place in the world that
rightfully belongs to her, no matter who else may stand in her path. It
may take time to accomplish all this, but, mark me, Mrs. Farnum, and tell
your 'proud, unimpeachable family' at Heathdale so, if you choose, it
shall be accomplished."
"Then of course you will not be able to sail immediately for England as
you at first proposed to do," returned Mrs. Farnum, her heart leaping with
joy as Virgie's words told her that she had changed her mind regarding her
first threat.
"No, I can see, now I come to consider the matter, that it would be folly
for me to attempt to gain my rights without being armed with positive
proof of what I assert. It exists, however, though it will necessitate
much trouble and expense to secure it. Three months hence, however, I
shall hope to have it in my hands, then, let your 'peer of the realm' and
his 'honored family' take warning, for a righteous judgment will surely
overtake them for the wrong which I suffer to-day. Now go—leave me if you
please; you may have meant well in telling me what you have, but, oh! you
have ruined my life and all my hopes," Virgie concluded, with a moan and
gesture full of despair.
Her strength was failing her; the bitterness of death was upon her and she
longed to be alone, for she could not endure that any one should witness
her cruel humiliation.
Her last words had galled Mrs. Farnum almost beyond endurance; no doubt
because she realized that there was so much truth in them, while her
threat regarding a righteous judgment overtaking the family at Heathdale
caused her heart to sink with a sudden dread of disgraceful punishment for
herself if ever her complicity in this foul plot should be discovered.
She arose, cold and stern.
"<i>I</i> ruin your life, indeed!" she answered, haughtily. "I think you have
no one to thank for that but yourself, for having lent a too willing ear
to the flattering tongue of a strange young man."
She swept from the room with a firm step and uplifted head, while Virgie
sank prostrate upon the floor, feeling as if her heart had been ruthlessly
trampled upon and all the life and hope crushed out of it.