A MATCH FOR MRS. VENABLES
That was absolutely all that happened at the Uniackes' garden-party.
There was no scene, no scandal, no incident whatsoever beyond an
apparently mutual recognition between Mrs. Steel and Mr. Justice Gibson.
Of this there were not half-a-dozen witnesses, all of whom were given
immediate reason to suppose that either they or the pair in question had
made a mistake; for nothing could have surpassed the presence of mind
and the kindness of heart with which Sir Baldwin Gibson chatted to the
woman whom he had tried for her life within the year. And his charity
continued behind her back.
"Odd thing," said Sir Baldwin to his hostess, at the earliest
opportunity, "but for the moment I could have sworn that woman was some
one else. May I ask who she is exactly?"
"Sure, Sir Baldwin," replied Mrs. Uniacke, "and that's what I thought we
were to hear at last. It's who she is we none of us know. And what does
it matter? She's pretty and nice, and I'm just in love with her; but
then nobody knows any more about her husband, and so we talk."
A few more questions satisfied the judge that he could not possibly have
been mistaken, and he hesitated a moment, for he was a pious man; but
Rachel's face, combined with her nerve, had deepended an impression
which was now nearly a year old, and the superfluous proximity of an
angular and aquiline lady, to whom Sir Baldwin had not been introduced,
but who was openly hanging upon his words, drove the good man's last
scruple to the winds.
"Very deceptive, these likenesses," said he, raising his voice for the
interloper's benefit; "in future I shall beware of them. I needn't tell
you, Mrs. Uniacke, that I never before set eyes upon the lady whom I
fear I embarrassed by behaving as though I had."
Rachel was not less fortunate in her companion of the moment which had
so nearly witnessed her undoing. Ox-eyed Hugh Woodgate saw nothing
inexplicable in Mrs. Steel's behavior upon her introduction to Sir
Baldwin Gibson, and anything he did see he attributed to an inconvenient
sense of that dignitary's greatness. He did not think the matter worth
mentioning to his wife, when the Steels had dropped them at the
Vicarage gate, after a pleasant but somewhat silent drive. Neither did
Rachel see fit to speak of it to her husband. There was a certain
unworthy satisfaction in her keeping something from him. But again she
underrated his uncanny powers of observation, and yet again he turned
the tables upon her by a sudden display of the very knowledge which she
was painfully keeping to herself.
"Of course you recognized the judge?" said Steel, following his wife for
once into her own apartments, where he immediately shut a door behind
him and another in front of Rachel, who stood at bay before the glitter
in his eyes.
"Of course," she admitted, with irritating nonchalance.
"And he you?"
"I thought he did at first; afterwards I was not so sure."
"But I am!" exclaimed Steel through his teeth.
Rachel's face was a mixture of surprise and incredulity.
"How can you know?" she asked coldly. "You were at least a hundred yards
away at the time, for I saw you with Morna Woodgate."
"And do you think my sight is not good for a hundred yards," retorted
Steel, "when you are at the end of them? I saw the whole thing--his
confusion and yours--but then I did not know who he was. He must have
been in the house when we arrived; otherwise I should have taken good
care that you never met. I saw enough, however, to bring me up in time
to see and hear more. I heard the way he was talking to you then; that
was his damned good-nature, and he has us at his mercy all the same."
Rachel had never seen her husband in such a passion; indeed, she had
never before known him in a state of mind to justify the use of such a
word. He was paler than his wont, his eyes brighter, his lips more
bloodless. Rachel experienced a strange sense of advantage, at once
unprecedented and unforeseen, and with it an irresistible temptation to
the sort of revenge which she knew to be petty at the time. But he had
made her suffer; for once it was her turn. He could be cold as ice when
she was not, could deny her his confidence when she all but fell upon
her knees before him; he should learn what it was to be treated as he
had treated her.
"I'm well aware of it," said Rachel, with a harsh, dry laugh, "though in
point of fact I don't for a moment believe that he'll give me away. But
really I don't think it matters if he does."
Steel stared; it was wonderful to her to see his face.
"It doesn't matter?" he repeated in angry astonishment.
"Not to me," rejoined Rachel, bitterly. "You tell me nothing. What can
matter to me? When you can tell me why you felt compelled to marry
me--when you have the courage to tell me that--other things may begin to
matter again!"
Steel stared harder than before; he did not flinch, but his eyes seemed
to hedge together as he stared, and the glittering light in them to
concentrate in one baleful gleam. Yet it was not a cruel look; it was
the look of a man who has sealed his lips upon one point for ever, and
who views any questioning on that point as an attempt upon his treasury.
There was more of self-defence than of actual hostility in the
compressed lips, the bloodless face, the glaring eyes. Then, with a
shrug, the look, the resentment, and the passion were shaken off, and
Steel stepped briskly to the inner door, which he had shut in Rachel's
path. Opening it, he bowed her through with a ceremony conspicuous even
in their ceremonious relations.
But Rachel nursed her contrariety, even to the extent of a perverse
satisfaction at her encounter with the judge, and a fierce enjoyment of
its still possible consequences. The mood was neither logical nor
generous, and yet it was human enough in the actual circumstances of the
case. At last she had made him feel! It had taken her the better part of
a year, but here at last was something that he really felt. And it had
to do with her; it was impending disaster to herself which had brought
about this change in her husband; she knew him too well not to acquit
him of purely selfish solicitude for his own good name and comfortable
status in a society for which he had no real regard. There was never a
man less dependent upon the good opinion of other men. In absolute
independence of character, as in sheer strength of personality, Steel
stood by himself in the estimation of his wife. But he had deceived her
unnecessarily for weeks and months. He had lied to her. He had refused
her his whole confidence when she begged him for it, and when he knew
how he could trust her. There was some deep mystery underlying their
marriage, he could not deny it, yet he would not tell her what it was.
He had made her suffer needless pain; it was his turn. And yet, with all
her resentment against him, and all her grim savoring of the scandal
which he seemed to fear so much, there ran a golden thread of
unacknowledged contentment in the conviction that those fears were all
for her.
Outwardly she was callous to the last degree, reckless as on the day she
made this marriage, and as light-hearted as it was possible to appear;
but the excitement of the coming dinner-party was no small help to
Rachel in the maintenance of this attitude. It was to be a very large
dinner-party, and Rachel's first in her own house; in any case she must
have been upon her mettle. Two dozen had accepted. The Upthorpe party
was coming in force; if anybody knew anything, it would be Mrs.
Venables. What would she do or say? Mrs. Venables was capable of doing
or of saying anything. And what might not happen before the day was out?
It was a stimulating situation for one so curiously compact of courage
and of nerves as the present mistress of Normanthorpe House; and for
once she really was mistress, inspecting the silver with her own eyes,
arranging the flowers with her own hands, and, what was more difficult,
the order in which the people were to sit. She was thus engaged, in her
own sanctum, when Mrs. Venables did the one thing which Rachel had not
dreamt of her doing.
She called at three in the afternoon, and sent her name upstairs.
Rachel's heart made itself felt; but she was not afraid. Something was
coming earlier than she had thought; she was chiefly curious to know
what. Her first impulse was to have Mrs. Venables brought upstairs, and
to invoke her aid in the arrangement of the table before that lady could
open fire. Rachel disliked the great cold drawing-room, and felt that
she must be at a disadvantage in any interview there. On the other hand,
if this was a hostile visit, the visitor could not be treated with too
much consideration. And so the servant was dismissed with word that her
mistress would not be a moment; nor was Rachel very many. She glanced in
a glass, but that was all; she might have been tidier, but not easily
more animated, confident, and alert. She had reached the landing when
she returned and collected all the cards which she had been trying to
arrange; they made quite a pack; and Rachel laughed as she took them
downstairs with her.
Mrs. Venables sat in solitary stiffness on the highest chair she had
been able to find; neither Sybil nor Vera was in attendance; a tableful
of light literature was at her elbow, but Mrs. Venables sat with folded
hands.
"This is too good of you!" cried Rachel, greeting her in a manner
redeemed from hypocrisy by a touch of irresistible irony. "You know my
inexperience, and you have come to tell me things, have you not? You
could not have come at a better time. How _do_ you fit in twenty-six
people at one table? I wanted to have two at each end, and it can't be
done!"
Mrs. Venables suppressed a smile suggestive of some unconscious humor in
these remarks, but sat more upright than ever in her chair, with a hard
light in the bright brown eyes that stared serenely into Rachel's own.
"I cannot say I came to offer you my assistance, Mrs. Steel. I only take
liberties with very intimate friends."
"Then I wonder what can have brought you!"
And Rachel returned both the smile and the stare with irritating
self-control.
"I will tell you," said Mrs. Venables, weightily. "There is a certain
thing being said of you, Mrs. Steel; and I wish to know from your own
lips whether there is any truth in it or none."
Rachel held up her hands as quick as thought.
"My dear Mrs. Venables, you can't mean that you are bringing me a piece
of unpleasant gossip on the very afternoon of my first dinner-party?"
"It remains with you," said Mrs. Venables, changing color at this hit,
"to say whether it is mere gossip or not. You must know, Mrs. Steel,
though we were all quite charmed with your husband from the moment he
came among us, we none of us had the least idea where he came from nor
have we yet."
"You are speaking for the neighborhood?" inquired Rachel, sweetly.
"I am," said Mrs. Venables.
"Town _and_ county," murmured Rachel. "And you mean that nobody in the
district knew anything at all about my husband?"
"Not a thing," said Mrs. Venables.
"And yet you called on him; and yet you took pity on him, poor lonely
bachelor that he was!"
This shaft also left its momentary mark upon the visitor's complexion.
"The same applies to you," she went on the more severely. "We had no
idea who you were, either!"
"And now?" said Rachel, still mistress of the situation, for she knew so
well what was coming.
"And now we hear, and I wish to know whether it is true or not. Were
you, or were you not, the Mrs. Minchin who was tried last winter for her
husband's murder?"
Rachel looked steadily into the hard brown eyes, until a certain
hardness came into her own.
"I don't quite know what right you think you have to ask me such a
question, Mrs. Venables. Is it the usual thing to question people who
have made a second marriage--supposing I am one--about their first? I
fancied myself that it was considered bad form; but then I am still very
ignorant of the manners and customs in this part of the world. Since you
ask it, however, you shall have your answer." And Rachel's voice rang
out through the room, as she rose majestically from the chair which she
had drawn opposite that of the visitor. "Yes, Mrs. Venables, I am that
unhappy woman. And what then?"
"No wonder you were silent about yourself," said Mrs. Venables, in a
vindictive murmur. "No wonder we never even heard--"
"And what then?" repeated Rachel, with a quiet and compelling scorn.
"Does it put one outside the local pale to keep to oneself any painful
incident in one's own career? Is an accusation down here the same thing
as a conviction? Is there nothing to choose between 'guilty' and 'not
guilty'?"
"You must be aware," proceeded Mrs. Venables, without taking any notice
of these questions--"indeed, you cannot fail to be perfectly well
aware--that a large proportion of the public was dissatisfied with the
verdict in your case."
"Your husband, for one!" Rachel agreed, with a scornful laugh. "He would
have come to see me hanged; he told me so at his own table."
"You never would have been at his table," retorted Mrs. Venables, with
some effect, "if he or I had dreamt who you were; but now that we know,
you may be quite sure that none of us will sit at yours."
And Mrs. Venables rose up in all her might and spite, her brown eyes
flashing, her handsome head thrown back.
"Are you still speaking for the district?" inquired Rachel, conquering a
recreant lip to put the question, and putting it with her finest scorn.
"I am speaking for Mr. Venables, my daughters, and myself," rejoined the
lady with great dignity; "others will speak for themselves; and you will
soon learn in what light you are regarded by ordinary people. It is a
merciful chance that we have found you out--a merciful chance! That you
should dare--you, about whom there are not two opinions among sensible
people--that you should dare to come among us as you have done and to
speak to me as you have spoken! But one thing is certain--it is for the
last time."
With that Mrs. Venables sailed to the door by which she was to make her
triumphant exit, but she stopped before reaching it. Steel stood before
her on the threshold, and as he stood he closed the door behind him, and
as he closed it he turned and took out the key. There was the other door
that led through the conservatory into the garden. Without a word he
crossed the room, shut that door also, locked it, and put the two keys
in his pocket. Then at last he turned to the imprisoned lady.
"You are quite right, Mrs. Venables. It is the last conversation we are
likely to have together. The greater the pity to cut it short!"
"Will you have the goodness to let me go?" the visitor demanded, white
and trembling, but not yet unimpressive in her tremendous indignation.
"With the greatest alacrity," replied Steel, "when you have apologized
to my wife."
Rachel stood by without a word.
"For what?" cried Mrs. Venables. "For telling her what the whole world
thinks of her? Never; and you will unlock that door this instant, unless
you wish my husband to--to--horsewhip you within an inch of your life!"
Steel merely smiled; he could well afford to do so, lithe and supple as
he still was, with flabby Mr. Venables in his mind's eye.
"I might have known what to expect in this house," continued Mrs.
Venables, in a voice hoarse with suppressed passion, "what unmanly and
ungentlemanly behavior, what cowardly insults! I might have known!"
And she glanced from the windows to the bells.
"It is no use ringing," said Steel, with a shake of his snowy head, "or
doing anything else of the sort. I am the only person on the premises
who can let you out; your footman could not get in if he tried; but if
you like I shall shout to him to try. As for insults, you have insulted
my wife most cruelly and gratuitously, for I happen to have heard more
than you evidently imagine. In fact, 'insult' is hardly the word for
what even I have heard you say; let me warn you, madam, that you have
sailed pretty close to the wind already in the way of indictable
slander. You seem to forget that my wife was tried and acquitted by
twelve of her fellow-countrymen. You will at least apologize for that
forgetfulness before you leave this room."
"Never!"
Steel looked at his watch and sat down. "I begin to fear you are no
judge of character, Mrs. Venables; otherwise you would have seen ere
this which of us will have to give in sooner or later. I can only tell
you which of us never will!"
And Rachel still stood by without a word.