JULIAN happened to be standing nearest to Mercy. He was the first at her
side when she fell.
In the cry of alarm which burst from him, as he raised her for a
moment in his arms, in the expression of his eyes when he looked at her
death-like face, there escaped the plain--too plain--confession of the
interest which he felt in her, of the admiration which she had aroused
in him. Horace detected it. There was the quick suspicion of jealousy in
the movement by which he joined Julian; there was the ready resentment
of jealousy in the tone in which he pronounced the words, “Leave her to
me.” Julian resigned her in silence. A faint flush appeared on his pale
face as he drew back while Horace carried her to the sofa. His eyes sunk
to the ground; he seemed to be meditating self-reproachfully on the tone
in which his friend had spoken to him. After having been the first to
take an active part in meeting the calamity that had happened, he was
now, to all appearance, insensible to everything that was passing in the
room.
A touch on his shoulder roused him.
He turned and looked round. The woman who had done the mischief--the
stranger in the poor black garments--was standing behind him. She
pointed to the prostrate figure on the sofa, with a merciless smile.
“You wanted a proof just now,” she said. “There it is!”
Horace heard her. He suddenly left the sofa and joined Julian. His face,
naturally ruddy, was pale with suppressed fury.
“Take that wretch away!” he said. “Instantly! or I won’t answer for what
I may do.”
Those words recalled Julian to himself. He looked round the room. Lady
Janet and the housekeeper were together, in attendance on the swooning
woman. The startled servants were congregated in the library doorway.
One of them offered to run to the nearest doctor; another asked if he
should fetch the police. Julian silenced them by a gesture, and turned
to Horace. “Compose yourself,” he said. “Leave me to remove her quietly
from the house.” He took Grace by the hand as he spoke. She hesitated,
and tried to release herself. Julian pointed to the group at the sofa,
and to the servants looking on. “You have made an enemy of every one in
this room,” he said, “and you have not a friend in London. Do you wish
to make an enemy of _me?_ Her head drooped; she made no reply; she
waited, dumbly obedient to the firmer will than her own. Julian ordered
the servants crowding together in the doorway to withdraw. He followed
them into the library, leading Grace after him by the hand. Before
closing the door he paused, and looked back into the dining-room.
“Is she recovering?” he asked, after a moment’s hesitation.
Lady Janet’s voice answered him. “Not yet.”
“Shall I send for the nearest doctor?”
Horace interposed. He declined to let Julian associate himself, even in
that indirect manner, with Mercy’s recovery.
“If the doctor is wanted,” he said, “I will go for him myself.”
Julian closed the library door. He absently released Grace; he
mechanically pointed to a chair. She sat down in silent surprise,
following him with her eyes as he walked slowly to and fro in the room.
For the moment his mind was far away from her, and from all that had
happened since her appearance in the house. It was impossible that a
man of his fineness of perception could mistake the meaning of Horace’s
conduct toward him. He was questioning his own heart, on the subject of
Mercy, sternly and unreservedly as it was his habit to do. “After only
once seeing her,” he thought, “has she produced such an impression on me
that Horace can discover it, before I have even suspected it myself?
Can the time have come already when I owe it to my friend to see her no
more?” He stopped irritably in his walk. As a man devoted to a serious
calling in life, there was something that wounded his self-respect in
the bare suspicion that he could be guilty of the purely sentimental
extravagance called “love at first sight.”
He had paused exactly opposite to the chair in which Grace was seated.
Weary of the silence, she seized the opportunity of speaking to him.
“I have come here with you as you wished,” she said. “Are you going to
help me? Am I to count on you as my friend?”
He looked at her vacantly. It cost him an effort before he could give
her the attention that she had claimed.
“You have been hard on me,” Grace went on. “But you showed me some
kindness at first; you tried to make them give me a fair hearing. I ask
you, as a just man, do you doubt now that the woman on the sofa in
the next room is an impostor who has taken my place? Can there be any
plainer confession that she is Mercy Merrick than the confession she has
made? _You_ saw it; _they_ saw it. She fainted at the sight of me.”
Julian crossed the room--still without answering her--and rang the bell.
When the servant appeared, he told the man to fetch a cab.
Grace rose from her chair. “What is the cab for?” she asked, sharply.
“For you and for me,” Julian replied. “I am going to take you back to
your lodgings.”
“I refuse to go. My place is in this house. Neither Lady Janet nor you
can get over the plain facts. All I asked was to be confronted with
her. And what did she do when she came into the room? She fainted at the
sight of me.”
Reiterating her one triumphant assertion, she fixed her eyes on Julian
with a look which said plainly: Answer that if you can. In mercy to her,
Julian answered it on the spot.
“As far as I understand,” he said, “you appear to take it for granted
that no innocent woman would have fainted on first seeing you. I have
something to tell you which will alter your opinion. On her arrival
in England this lady informed my aunt that she had met with you
accidentally on the French frontier, and that she had seen you (so far
as she knew) struck dead at her side by a shell. Remember that, and
recall what happened just now. Without a word to warn her of your
restoration to life, she finds herself suddenly face to face with you,
a living woman--and this at a time when it is easy for any one who looks
at her to see that she is in delicate health. What is there wonderful,
what is there unaccountable, in her fainting under such circumstances as
these?”
The question was plainly put. Where was the answer to it?
There was no answer to it. Mercy’s wisely candid statement of the manner
in which she had first met with Grace, and of the accident which
had followed had served Mercy’s purpose but too well. It was simply
impossible for persons acquainted with that statement to attach a guilty
meaning to the swoon. The false Grace Roseberry was still as far beyond
the reach of suspicion as ever, and the true Grace was quick enough to
see it. She sank into the chair from which she had risen; her hands fell
in hopeless despair on her lap.
“Everything is against me,” she said. “The truth itself turns liar, and
takes _her_ side.” She paused, and rallied her sinking courage. “No!”
she cried, resolutely, “I won’t submit to have my name and my place
taken from me by a vile adventuress! Say what you like, I insist on
exposing her; I won’t leave the house!”
The servant entered the room, and announced that the cab was at the
door.
Grace turned to Julian with a defiant wave of her hand. “Don’t let me
detain you,” she said. “I see I have neither advice nor help to expect
from Mr. Julian Gray.”
Julian beckoned to the servant to follow him into a corner of the room.
“Do you know if the doctor has been sent for?” he asked.
“I believe not, sir. It is said in the servants’ hall that the doctor is
not wanted.”
Julian was too anxious to be satisfied with a report from the servants’
hall. He hastily wrote on a slip of paper: “Has she recovered?” and gave
the note to the man, with directions to take it to Lady Janet.
“Did you hear what I said?” Grace inquired, while the messenger was
absent in the dining room.
“I will answer you directly,” said Julian.
The servant appeared again as he spoke, with some lines in pencil
written by Lady Janet on the back of Julian’s note. “Thank God, we have
revived her. In a few minutes we hope to be able to take her to her
room.”
The nearest way to Mercy’s room was through the library. Grace’s
immediate removal had now become a necessity which was not to be trifled
with. Julian addressed himself to meeting the difficulty the instant he
was left alone with Grace.
“Listen to me,” he said. “The cab is waiting, and I have my last words
to say to you. You are now (thanks to the consul’s recommendation) in my
care. Decide at once whether you will remain under my charge, or whether
you will transfer yourself to the charge of the police.”
Grace started. “What do you mean?” she asked, angrily.
“If you wish to remain under my charge,” Julian proceeded, “you will
accompany me at once to the cab. In that case I will undertake to give
you an opportunity of telling your story to my own lawyer. He will be a
fitter person to advise you than I am. Nothing will induce we to believe
that the lady whom you have accused has committed, or is capable of
committing, such a fraud as you charge her with. You will hear what
the lawyer thinks, if you come with me. If you refuse, I shall have no
choice but to send into the next room, and tell them that you are still
here. The result will be that you will find yourself in charge of the
police. Take which course you like: I will give you a minute to decide
in. And remember this--if I appear to express myself harshly, it is your
conduct which forces me to speak out. I mean kindly toward you; I am
advising you honestly for your good.”
He took out his watch to count the minute.
Grace stole one furtive glance at his steady, resolute face. She was
perfectly unmoved by the manly consideration for her which Julian’s last
words had expressed. All she understood was that he was not a man to be
trifled with. Future opportunities would offer themselves of returning
secretly to the house. She determined to yield--and deceive him.
“I am ready to go,” she said, rising with dogged submission. “Your turn
now,” she muttered to herself, as she turned to the looking-glass to
arrange her shawl. “My turn will come.”
Julian advanced toward her, as if to offer her his arm, and checked
himself. Firmly persuaded as he was that her mind was deranged--readily
as he admitted that she claimed, in virtue of her affliction, every
indulgence that he could extend to her--there was something repellent
to him at that moment in the bare idea of touching her. The image of the
beautiful creature who was the object of her monstrous accusation--the
image of Mercy as she lay helpless for a moment in his arms--was vivid
in his mind while he opened the door that led into the hall, and drew
back to let Grace pass out before him. He left the servant to help her
into the cab. The man respectfully addressed him as he took his seat
opposite to Grace.
“I am ordered to say that your room is ready, sir, and that her ladyship
expects you to dinner.”
Absorbed in the events which had followed his aunt’s invitation, Julian
had forgotten his engagement to stay at Mablethorpe House. Could he
return, knowing his own heart as he now knew it? Could he honorably
remain, perhaps for weeks together, in Mercy’s society, conscious as
he now was of the impression which she had produced on him? No. The
one honorable course that he could take was to find an excuse for
withdrawing from his engagement. “Beg her ladyship not to wait dinner
for me,” he said. “I will write and make my apologies.” The cab drove
off. The wondering servant waited on the doorstep, looking after it. “I
wouldn’t stand in Mr. Julian’s shoes for something,” he thought, with
his mind running on the difficulties of the young clergyman’s position.
“There she is along with him in the cab. What is he going to do with her
after that?”
Julian himself, if it had been put to him at the moment, could not have
answered the question.
*****
Lady Janet’s anxiety was far from being relieved when Mercy had been
restored to her senses and conducted to her own room.
Mercy’s mind remained in a condition of unreasoning alarm, which it was
impossible to remove. Over and over again she was told that the woman
who had terrified her had left the house, and would never be permitted
to enter it more; over and over again she was assured that the
stranger’s frantic assertions were regarded by everybody about her as
unworthy of a moment’s serious attention. She persisted in doubting
whether they were telling her the truth. A shocking distrust of her
friends seemed to possess her. She shrunk when Lady Janet approached the
bedside. She shuddered when Lady Janet kissed her. She flatly refused to
let Horace see her. She asked the strangest questions about Julian Gray,
and shook her head suspiciously when they told her that he was absent
from the house. At intervals she hid her face in the bedclothes and
murmured to herself piteously, “Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?”
At other times her one petition was to be left alone. “I want nobody in
my room”--that was her sullen cry--“nobody in my room.”
The evening advanced, and brought with it no change for the better. Lady
Janet, by the advice of Horace, sent for her own medical adviser.
The doctor shook his head. The symptoms, he said, indicated a serious
shock to the nervous system. He wrote a sedative prescription; and he
gave (with a happy choice of language) some sound and safe advice. It
amounted briefly to this: “Take her away, and try the sea-side.”
Lady Janet’s customary energy acted on the advice, without a moment’s
needless delay. She gave the necessary directions for packing the trunks
overnight, and decided on leaving Mablethorpe House with Mercy the next
morning.
Shortly after the doctor had taken his departure a letter from Julian,
addressed to Lady Janet, was delivered by private messenger.
Beginning with the necessary apologies for the writer’s absence, the
letter proceeded in these terms:
“Before I permitted my companion to see the lawyer, I felt the necessity
of consulting him as to my present position toward her first.
“I told him--what I think it only right to repeat to you--that I do not
feel justified in acting on my own opinion that her mind is deranged.
In the case of this friendless woman I want medical authority, and, more
even than that, I want some positive proof, to satisfy my conscience as
well as to confirm my view.
“Finding me obstinate on this point, the lawyer undertook to consult a
physician accustomed to the treatment of the insane, on my behalf.
“After sending a message and receiving the answer, he said, ‘Bring
the lady here--in half an hour; she shall tell her story to the doctor
instead of telling it to me.’ The proposal rather staggered me; I asked
how it was possible to induce her to do that. He laughed, and answered,
‘I shall present the doctor as my senior partner; my senior partner will
be the very man to advise her.’ You know that I hate all deception, even
where the end in view appears to justify it. On this occasion, however,
there was no other alternative than to let the lawyer take his own
course, or to run the risk of a delay which might be followed by serious
results.
“I waited in a room by myself (feeling very uneasy, I own) until the
doctor joined me, after the interview was over.
“His opinion is, briefly, this:
“After careful examination of the unfortunate creature, he thinks that
there are unmistakably symptoms of mental aberration. But how far the
mischief has gone, and whether her case is, or is not, sufficiently
grave to render actual restraint necessary, he cannot positively say, in
our present state of ignorance as to facts.
“‘Thus far,’ he observed, ‘we know nothing of that part of her delusion
which relates to Mercy Merrick. The solution of the difficulty, in this
case, is to be found there. I entirely agree with the lady that the
inquiries of the consul at Mannheim are far from being conclusive.
Furnish me with satisfactory evidence either that there is, or is not,
such a person really in existence as Mercy Merrick, and I will give you
a positive opinion on the case whenever you choose to ask for it.’
“Those words have decided me on starting for the Continent and renewing
the search for Mercy Merrick.
“My friend the lawyer wonders jocosely whether _I_ am in my right
senses. His advice is that I should apply to the nearest magistrate, and
relieve you and myself of all further trouble in that way.
“Perhaps you agree with him? My dear aunt (as you have often said), I
do nothing like other people. I am interested in this case. I cannot
abandon a forlorn woman who has been confided to me to the tender
mercies of strangers, so long as there is any hope of my making
discoveries which may be instrumental in restoring her to
herself--perhaps, also, in restoring her to her friends.
“I start by the mail-train of to-night. My plan is to go first to
Mannheim and consult with the consul and the hospital doctors; then to
find my way to the German surgeon and to question _him_; and, that done,
to make the last and hardest effort of all--the effort to trace the
French ambulance and to penetrate the mystery of Mercy Merrick.
“Immediately on my return I will wait on you, and tell you what I have
accomplished, or how I have failed.
“In the meanwhile, pray be under no alarm about the reappearance of this
unhappy woman at your house. She is fully occupied in writing (at my
suggestion) to her friends in Canada; and she is under the care of the
landlady at her lodgings--an experienced and trustworthy person, who
has satisfied the doctor as well as myself of her fitness for the charge
that she has undertaken.
“Pray mention this to Miss Roseberry (whenever you think it desirable),
with the respectful expression of my sympathy, and of my best wishes for
her speedy restoration to health. And once more forgive me for failing,
under stress of necessity, to enjoy the hospitality of Mablethorpe
House.”
Lady Janet closed Julian’s letter, feeling far from satisfied with it.
She sat for a while, pondering over what her nephew had written to her.
“One of two things,” thought the quick-witted old lady. “Either the
lawyer is right, and Julian is a fit companion for the madwoman whom he
has taken under his charge, or he has some second motive for this absurd
journey of his which he has carefully abstained from mentioning in his
letter. What can the motive be?”
At intervals during the night that question recurred to her ladyship
again and again. The utmost exercise of her ingenuity failing to answer
it, her one resource left was to wait patiently for Julian’s return,
and, in her own favorite phrase, to “have it out of him” then.
The next morning Lady Janet and her adopted daughter left Mablethorpe
House for Brighton; Horace (who had begged to be allowed to accompany
them) being sentenced to remain in London by Mercy’s express desire.
Why--nobody could guess; and Mercy refused to say.