The rest of the winter I was able to devote myself to Sibella, who
grew more beautiful in my eyes every day. She was bewitchingly
decadent, and her decadence was independent of extraneous aids to
beauty. I was careful not to be seen too frequently with her in
public, and permitted Sir Anthony Cross to do all the drudgery. Lionel
was quite unsuspecting, and inasmuch as I never omitted an opportunity
of obliging him I verily believe that the poor fool believed me to be
attached to him.
I well remember how one evening, when Grahame was present, Lionel
became quite sentimental over our school days, and talked as if we had
all three been the greatest of chums. A smile played round Grahame’s
dignified mouth as his brother-in-law meandered on about “those dear
old days.”
“Do you remember when I was training for the mile, and had that
accident?” Lionel asked.
We both of us nodded.
“That was a very mysterious affair,” he went on. “I could have sworn
as I went down that I tripped over something which struck me across
the leg.”
“Imagination,” suggested Grahame.
“I don’t know, but it has always seemed to me most mysterious.”
“I don’t think it’s possible to account for sensations at such a
moment as that,” I said, indifferently.
Lionel went on with his reminiscences. He recalled the first day he
had ever been to the Hallwards’, which, considering that he must have
remembered how badly he and Sibella behaved to me on that day, was not
a brilliant exhibition of tact. At last he concluded:
“And now Sibella and I are married, and we are all jolly together.”
Coming from anyone else the remark might have sounded jovial; coming
from Lionel it sounded foolish.
“Yes,” I said drily, “we are all jolly together.”
For one moment Grahame looked at me curiously, but shrewdly suspecting
that my liking for Lionel had not grown much with years, put down the
emphasis in my voice to that fact.
I was angry with myself for having made such a slip.
Lionel was soon in the throes of an election struggle, a sudden death
having removed a well-known party hack to a greater majority than it
had ever been his lot to be numbered with on earth.
As much to his own astonishment as to that of the wire-pullers of his
party Lionel was elected. It was a political surprise, for the seat
was hardly likely to have been wasted on a nonentity had a victory
been probable. Lionel took all credit to himself, and the cheers of
approval as he was introduced to the House made him quite delirious
with vanity. His old father, who was dying by inches, was so delighted
that he immediately handed to his son a large slice of the wealth for
which he was greedily waiting. The infatuated young man was somewhat
sobered by the reception of his maiden speech, which was such as not
even the most self-satisfied of beings could have assured himself was
flattering. Sibella somewhat annoyed me. She was for the time quite
impressed by her husband’s meretricious triumph. I believe she thought
that she had underestimated him, and that he really was a person of
great intellectual attainments. She began to talk to me of conscience,
of remembering her duty, and indulged in all the usual female
preliminaries to a retreat; but long before she was ready to make an
effort, and show me the door, I had managed to demonstrate to her that
her husband had gone as far as he was likely to go. In fact, Lionel
himself was incapable of playing a serious part for long, and
associated himself with the heir to a dukedom whose election to the
House of Commons had been an insult, and who was prepared to hobnob
with a stable-boy in default of the society from which he had become
somewhat of an outcast. His friends had hoped that a political career
might whitewash him, and were now only too anxious for him to lose his
seat before some irretrievable scandal occurred. Lionel was quite
content with his friend’s exalted position, and imagined that he was
the companion of the very cream of the popular House, a delusion in
which I encouraged him on every possible occasion.
Familiarity with political life likewise disillusioned Sibella, and
she was too acute not to learn very speedily that to be the wife of a
Member of Parliament need not necessarily carry with it social
advantages of any kind.
I fancy Lord Gascoyne had been a little surprised at Miss Gascoyne
engaging herself to me, for to his aristocratic prejudices a Jew was a
Jew, however charming he might be. He was perfectly prepared to be
quite civil to the race, and would have denied it nothing but an
entrance into the blood circle. I was, however, indirectly a member of
his family, and when it dawned upon him that should he and his heir
die I was, after Mr. Gascoyne, the heir, he was compelled to change
his attitude. I think he determined, if possible, to bar me out by a
family of stalwart sons and daughters. Luckily, so far, Lady Gascoyne
showed no signs of increasing the obstacles in my path.
I spent the remainder of the winter thinking out the completion of my
design. Of course, the Earl would have to go first. It would leave me
several years to deal with his heir, and in the vicissitudes of a
boy’s life there must be innumerable occasions when death may
accidentally step in and claim him.
There was at this time a talk of sending Lord Gascoyne to a large
dependency as Governor. The rumour threw me into a state of the
greatest anxiety. If he betook himself and his family to the other end
of the world he might have half a dozen children round him before I
could interfere.
Luckily the project fell through for the time being, but his abilities
and personal dignity marked him out as a man to whom the offer was
certain to be made again.
Lionel Holland had a great ambition to know Lord and Lady Gascoyne.
Lord Gascoyne, at all events, was born a freeman of that inner ring
which, for all his fine acquaintances, had so far held Lionel at bay.
Some of them had been civil to Sibella, for she, like Grahame, had a
natural distinction which people were impelled to admit. When,
however, it became a question of accepting Lionel also—and he was by
no means the person to stand aloof—they drew off. His vanity refused
to admit that he had been snubbed, but inwardly he was conscious that
there was something wrong.
He had therefore fixed on the Gascoynes as people who would be able to
secure him an introduction to the highest circle of the social heaven.
It was in vain that I assured him quite frankly that I was not on
terms of intimacy with them or any of their friends, that, so far, I
was not married to Miss Gascoyne, and that my Jewish blood made me
more or less of an outsider in the family. He looked upon this as
affectation.
“Why, you might be Lord Gascoyne! You’re as good as any of them.”
“I shall be when I am Lord Gascoyne, but so far I am only plain Israel
Rank. No, I won’t call myself plain, for that would indeed be
affectation.”
“You’ve been to their house.”
“Once or twice.”
“You’ve dined there.”
“Once only.”
“People of that kind don’t ask a man to dinner unless they look upon
him as one of themselves.”
“Except for political motives,” I murmured.
He was too dense to see the point, and persisted.
“An acquaintance like that wants nursing,” he said patronisingly, much
as an old hand might have done to a young man just starting in
business.
As a matter of fact, he was exactly suggesting what I was doing, but
my methods were superior to his, and I should never have thought of
describing them with such a lack of taste. His inability to see this
was the secret of his non-success with the particular class he was
anxious to cultivate.
I heard from Miss Gascoyne constantly, and my letters in reply to her
high-souled, dignified, yet tender epistles were masterpieces in
diplomacy—an unkind critic might have said in hypocrisy.
I cannot help wondering as I sit here writing these memoirs what her
feelings are at the present moment. I am afraid that she is one of
those extraordinary characters who literally cannot love where they do
not respect. She will have the pleasure, however, of glancing over her
letters written to me at this time, for I have left her the task of
examining my papers and destroying such as I thought fit to keep.
Sibella’s letters I always destroyed. This is an act of justice to any
woman with whom one is conducting an intrigue which should not be
neglected. Not that Sibella had written many letters. As I have
pointed out, there was a curious vein of caution in the Hallward
family. In fact, much as I know she must be suffering, she has not
made the least sign since the law took charge of my affairs. I believe
that she still has faith that I shall extricate myself somehow. Poor
child! Jack Sheppard himself could not do much inside the condemned
cell of a modern prison. I have given the matter of escape thought,
but considering how easy it is to cage a human being, it is somewhat
surprising that there should ever have been an age in which the escape
of criminals was comparatively frequent. I have also wondered whether,
if a murderer were to display signs of madness between conviction and
execution, the law would carry out the penalty. It might be worth the
while of a smaller criminal to make the attempt. In my case I cannot
help thinking it would be somewhat undignified to linger in the public
mind as an individual who was mouthing through the remainder of his
existence with straws in his hair. Besides, it would be a satisfaction
for the public—who have been made uncomfortable by such wholesale
murdering—to be able to say, “Poor creature! he was mad.” On the
whole, I would sooner live as the wicked Lord Gascoyne than with a
reputation for insanity. Moreover, my simulation might not be
effective, and if a report got abroad that I had made myself
ridiculous by feigning madness it would be intolerable.