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Agatha Christie - "The Mysterious Affair at Styles"

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Gertrude Atherton - "Rezanov, by Gertrude Atherton"

Sir Walter Scott - "Ivanhoe, by Sir Walter Scott"

The Legacy of Cain

W >> Wilkie Collins >> The Legacy of Cain





CHAPTER XLVI.

THE CUMBERSOME LADIES.


I CANNOT prevail upon myself to dwell at any length on the events
that followed.

We secured my unhappy friend, and carried him to his bed. It was
necessary to have men in attendance who could perform the duty of
watching him. The doctor sent for them, while I went downstairs
to make the best I could of the miserable news which it was
impossible entirely to conceal.

All that I could do to spare Miss Jillgall, I did. I was obliged
to acknowledge that there had been an outbreak of violence, and
that the portrait of the Minister's wife had been destroyed by
the Minister himself. Of Helena's revenge on me I said nothing.
It had led to consequences which even her merciless malice could
not have contemplated. There were no obstacles in the way of
keeping secret the attempt on my life. But I was compelled to own
that Mr. Gracedieu had taken a dislike to me, which rendered it
necessary that my visit should be brought to an end. I hastened
to add that I should go to the hotel, and should wait there until
the next day, in the hope of hearing better news.

Of the multitude of questions with which poor Miss Jillgall
overwhelmed me--of the wild words of sorrow and alarm that
escaped her--of the desperate manner in which she held by my arm,
and implored me not to go away, when I must see for myself that
"she was a person entirely destitute of presence of mind"--I
shall say nothing. The undeserved suffering that is inflicted on
innocent persons by the sins of others demands silent sympathy;
and, to that extent at least, I can say that I honestly felt for
my quaint and pleasant little friend.

In the evening the doctor called on me at the hotel. The medical
treatment of his patient had succeeded in calming the maddened
brain under the influence of sleep. If the night passed quietly,
better news might be hoped for in the morning.

On the next day I had arranged to drive to the farm, being
resolved not to disappoint Eunice. But I shrank from the prospect
of having to distress her as I had already distressed Miss
Jillgall. The only alternative left was to repeat the sad story
in writing, subject to the concealments which I had already
observed. This I did, and sent the letter by messenger,
overnight, so that Eunice might know when to expect me.

The medical report, in the morning, justified some hope. Mr.
Gracedieu had slept well, and there had been no reappearance of
insane violence on his waking. But the doctor's opinion was far
from encouraging when we spoke of the future. He did not
anticipate the cruel necessity of placing the Minister under
restraint--unless some new provocation led to a new outbreak. The
misfortune to be feared was imbecility.

I was just leaving the hotel to keep my appointment with Eunice,
when the waiter announced the arrival of a young lady who wished
to speak with me. Before I could ask if she had mentioned her
name, the young lady herself walked in--Helena Gracedieu.

She explained her object in calling on me, with the exasperating
composure which was peculiarly her own. No parallel to it occurs
to me in my official experience of shameless women.

"I don't wish to speak of what happened yesterday, so far as I
know anything about it," she began. "It is quite enough for me
that you have been obliged to leave the house and to take refuge
in this hotel. I have come to say a word about the future. Are
you honoring me with your attention?"

I signed to her to go on. If I had answered in words, I should
have told her to leave the room.

"At first," she resumed, "I thought of writing; but it occurred
to me that you might keep my letter, and show it to Philip, by
way of lowering me in his good opinion, as you have lowered me in
the good opinion of his father. My object in coming here is to
give you a word of warning. If you attempt to make mischief next
between Philip and myself, I shall hear of it--and you know what
to expect, when you have Me for an enemy. It is not worth while
to say any more. We understand each other, I hope?"

She was determined to have a reply--and she got it.

"Not quite yet," I said. "I have been hitherto, as becomes a
gentleman, always mindful of a woman's claims to forbearance. You
will do well not to tempt me into forgetting that _you_ are a
woman, by prolonging your visit. Now, Miss Helena Gracedieu, we
understand each other." She made me a low curtsey, and answered
in her finest tone of irony: "I only desire to wish you a
pleasant journey home."

I rang for the waiter. "Show this lady out," I said.

Even this failed to have the slightest effect on her. She
sauntered to the door, as perfectly at her ease as if the room
had been hers--not mine.

I had thought of driving to the farm. Shall I confess it? My
temper was so completely upset that active movement of some kind
offered the one means of relief in which I could find refuge. The
farm was not more than five miles distant, and I had been a good
walker all my life. After making the needful inquiries, I set
forth to visit Eunice on foot.

My way through the town led me past the, Minister's house. I had
left the door some fifty yards behin d me, when I saw two ladies
approaching. They were walking, in the friendliest manner, arm in
arm. As they came nearer, I discovered Miss Jillgall. Her
companion was the middle-aged lady who had declined to give her
name, when we met accidentally at Mr. Gracedieu's door.

Hysterically impulsive, Miss Jillgall seized both my hands, and
overwhelmed me with entreaties that I would go back with her to
the house. I listened rather absently. The middle-aged lady
happened to be nearer to me now than on either of the former
occasions on which I had seen her. There was something in the
expression of her eyes which seemed to be familiar to me. But the
effort of my memory was not helped by what I observed in the
other parts of her face. The iron-gray hair, the baggy lower
eyelids, the fat cheeks, the coarse complexion, and the double
chin, were features, and very disagreeable features, too, which I
had never seen at any former time.

"Do pray come back with us," Miss Jillgall pleaded. "We were just
talking of you. I and my friend--" There she stopped, evidently
on the point of blurting out the name which she had been
forbidden to utter in my hearing.

The lady smiled; her provokingly familiar eyes rested on me with
a humorous enjoyment of the scene.

"My dear," she said to Miss Jillgall, "caution ceases to be a
virtue when it ceases to be of any use. The Governor is beginning
to remember me, and the inevitable recognition--with _his_
quickness of perception--is likely to be a matter of minutes
now." She turned to me. "In more ways than one, sir, women are
hardly used by Nature. As they advance in years they lose more in
personal appearance than the men do. You are white-haired, and
(pray excuse me) you are too fat; and (allow me to take another
liberty) you stoop at the shoulders--but you have not entirely
lost your good looks. _I_ am no longer recognizable. Allow me to
prompt you, as they say on the stage. I am Mrs. Tenbruggen."

As a man of the world, I ought to have been capable of concealing
my astonishment and dismay. She struck me dumb.

Mrs. Tenbruggen in the town! The one woman whose appearance Mr.
Gracedieu had dreaded, and justly dreaded, stood before me--free,
as a friend of his kinswoman, to enter his house, at the very
time when he was a helpless man, guarded by watchers at his
bedside. My first clear idea was to get away from both the women,
and consider what was to be done next. I bowed--and begged to be
excused--and said I was in a hurry, all in a breath.

Hearing this, the best of genial old maids was unable to restrain
her curiosity. "Where are you going?" she asked.

Too confused to think of an excuse, I said I was going to the
farm.

"To see my dear Euneece?" Miss Jillgall burst out. "Oh, we will
go with you!" Mrs. Tenbruggen's politeness added immediately,
"With the greatest pleasure."


CHAPTER XLVII.

THE JOURNEY TO THE FARM.


MY first ungrateful impulse was to get rid of the two cumbersome
ladies who had offered to be my companions. It was needless to
call upon my invention for an excuse; the truth, as I gladly
perceived, would serve my purpose. I had only to tell them that I
had arranged to walk to the farm.

Lean, wiry, and impetuous, Miss Jillgall received my excuse with
the sincerest approval of it, as a new idea. "Nothing could be
more agreeable to me," she declared; "I have been a wonderful
walker all my life." She turned to her friend. "We will go with
him, my dear, won't we?"

Mrs. Tenbruggen's reception of this proposal inspired me with
hope; she asked how far it was to the farm. "Five miles!" she
repeated. "And five miles back again, unless the farmer lends us
a cart. My dear Selina, you might as well ask me to walk to the
North Pole. You have got rid of one of us, Mr. Governor," she
added, pleasantly; "and the other, if you only walk fast enough,
you will leave behind you on the road. If I believed in
luck--which I don't--I should call you a fortunate man."

But companionable Selina would not hear of a separation. She
asked, in her most irresistible manner, if I objected to driving
instead of walking. Her heart's dearest wish, she said, was to
make her bosom friend and myself better acquainted with each
other. To conclude, she reminded me that there was a cab-stand in
the next street.

Perhaps I might have been influenced by my distrust of Mrs.
Tenbruggen, or perhaps by my anxiety to protect Eunice. It struck
me that I might warn the defenseless girl to be on her guard with
Mrs. Tenbruggen to better purpose, if Eunice was in a position to
recognize her in any future emergency that might occur. To my
mind, this dangerous woman was doubly formidable--and for a good
reason; she was the bosom friend of that innocent and unwary
person, Miss Jillgall.

So I amiably consented to forego my walk, yielding to the
superior attraction of Mrs. Tenbruggen's company. On that day the
sunshine was tempered by a delightful breeze. If we had been in
the biggest and worst-governed city on the civilised earth, we
should have found no public vehicle, open to the air, which could
offer accommodation to three people. Being only in a country
town, we had a light four-wheeled chaise at our disposal, as a
matter of course.

No wise man expects to be mercifully treated, when he is shut
into a carriage with a mature single lady, inflamed by curiosity.
I was not unprepared for Miss Jillgall when she alluded, for the
second time, to the sad events which had happened in the house on
the previous day--and especially to the destruction by Mr.
Gracedieu of the portrait of his wife.

"Why didn't he destroy something else?" she pleaded, piteously.
"It is such a disappointment to Me. I never liked that picture
myself. Of course I ought to have admired the portrait of the
wife of my benefactor. But no--that disagreeable painted face was
too much for me. I should have felt inexpressibly relieved, if I
could have shown it to Elizabeth, and heard her say that she
agreed with me."

"Perhaps I saw it when I called on you," Mrs. Tenbruggen
suggested. "Where did the picture hang?"

"My dear! I received you in the dining-room, and the portrait
hung in Mr. Gracedieu's study."

What they said to each other next escaped my attention. Quite
unconsciously, Miss Jillgall had revealed to me a danger which
neither the Minister nor I had discovered, though it had
conspicuously threatened us both on the wall of the study. The
act of mad destruction which, if I had possessed the means of
safely interfering, I should certainly have endeavored to
prevent, now assumed a new and startling aspect. If Mrs.
Tenbruggen really had some motive of her own for endeavoring to
identify the adopted child, the preservation of the picture must
have led her straight to the end in view. The most casual
opportunity of comparing Helena with the portrait of Mrs.
Gracedieu would have revealed the likeness between mother and
daughter--and, that result attained, the identification of Eunice
with the infant whom the "Miss Chance" of those days had brought
to the prison must inevitably have followed. It was perhaps
natural that Mr. Gracedieu's infatuated devotion to the memory of
his wife should have blinded him to the betrayal of Helena's
parentage, which met his eyes every time he entered his study.
But that I should have been too stupid to discover what he had
failed to see, was a wound dealt to my self-esteem which I was
vain enough to feel acutely.

Mrs. Tenbruggen's voice, cheery and humorous, broke in on my
reflections, with an odd question:

"Mr. Governor, do you ever condescend to read novels?"

"It's not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to the
writers of novels."

"Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confess--do I
blush?--that I never thought of feeling grateful till you
mentioned it. Selina and I don't complain of your preferring your
own reflections to our company. On the contrary, you have
reminded us agreeably of the heroes of fiction, when the author
describes them as being 'absorbed in thought.' For some minutes,
Mr. Governor, you have been a hero; absorbed, as I venture to
guess, in unpleasant remembrances of the time when I was a single
lady. You have not forg otten how badly I behaved, and what
shocking things I said, in those bygone days. Am I right?"

"You are entirely wrong."

It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply.
Anyway, faithful Selina interceded for her friend. "Oh, dear sir,
don't be hard on Elizabeth! She always means well." Mrs.
Tenbruggen, as facetious as ever, made a grateful return for a
small compliment. She chucked Miss Jillgall under the chin, with
the air of an amorous old gentleman expressing his approval of a
pretty servant-girl. It was impossible to look at the two, in
their relative situations, without laughing. But Mrs. Tenbruggen
failed to cheat me into altering my opinion of her. Innocent Miss
Jillgall clapped her ugly hands, and said: "Isn't she good
company?"

Mrs. Tenbruggen's social resources were not exhausted yet. She
suddenly shifted to the serious side of her character.

"Perhaps I have improved a little," she said, "as I have advanced
in years. The sorrows of an unhappy married life may have had a
purifying influence on my nature. My husband and I began badly.
Mr. Tenbruggen thought I had money; and I thought Mr. Tenbruggen
had money. He was taken in by me; and I was taken in by him. When
he repeated the words of the marriage service (most impressively
read by your friend the Chaplain): 'With all my worldly goods I
thee endow'--his eloquent voice suggested one of the largest
incomes in Europe. When I promised and vowed, in my turn, the
delightful prospect of squandering my rich husband's money made
quite a new woman of me. I declare solemnly, when I said I would
love, honor, and obey Mr. T., I looked as if I really meant it.
Wherever he is now, poor dear, he is cheating somebody. Such a
handsome, gentleman-like man, Selina! And, oh, Mr. Governor, such
a blackguard!"

Having described her husband in those terms, she got tired of the
subject. We were now favored with another view of this many-sided
woman. She appeared in her professional character.

"Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the
country!" she said. "Will you excuse me if I take off my gloves?
I want to air my hands." She held up her hands to the breeze;
firm, muscular, deadly white hands. "In my professional
occupation," she explained, "I am always rubbing, tickling,
squeezing, tapping, kneading, rolling, striking the muscles of
patients. Selina, do you know the movements of your own joints?
Flexion, extension, abduction, adduction, rotation,
circumduction, pronation, supination, and the lateral movements.
Be proud of those accomplishments, my dear, but beware of
attempting to become a Masseuse. There are drawbacks in that
vocation--and I am conscious of one of them at this moment." She
lifted her hands to her nose. "Pah! my hands smell of other
people's flesh. The delicious country air will blow it away--the
luxury of purification!" Her fingers twisted and quivered, and
got crooked at one moment and straight again at another, and
showed themselves in succession singly, and flew into each other
fiercely interlaced, and then spread out again like the sticks of
a fan, until it really made me giddy to look at them. As for Miss
Jillgall, she lifted her poor little sunken eyes rapturously to
the sky, as if she called the homiest sunlight to witness that
this was the most lovable woman on the face of the earth.

But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain to
the rough animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs. Tenbruggen's motives had
established itself firmly in my mind. Why had the Popular
Masseuse abandoned her brilliant career in London, and plunged
into the obscurity of a country town? An opportunity of clearing
up the doubt thus suggested seemed to have presented itself now.
"Is it indiscreet to ask," I said, "if you are here in your
professional capacity?"

Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me.
"Do you wish to be one of my patients yourself?"

"That is, unfortunately, impossible," I replied "I have arranged
to return to London."

"Immediately?"

"To-morrow at the latest."

Artful as she was, Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to conceal a momentary
expression of relief which betrayed itself, partly in her manner,
partly in her face. She had ascertained, to her own complete
satisfaction, that my speedy departure was an event which might
be relied on.

"But I have not yet answered you," she resumed. "To tell the
truth, I am eager to try my hands on you. Massage, as I practice
it, would lighten your weight, and restore your figure; I may
even say would lengthen your life. You will think of me, one of
these days, won't you? In the meanwhile--yes! I am here in my
professional capacity. Several interesting cases; and one very
remarkable person, brought to death's door by the doctors; a rich
man who is liberal in paying his fees. There is my quarrel with
London and Londoners. Some of their papers, medical newspapers,
of course, declare that my fees are exorbitant; and there is a
tendency among the patients--I mean the patients who are rolling
in riches--to follow the lead of the newspapers. I am no worm to
be trodden on, in that way. The London people shall wait for me,
until they miss me--and, when I do go back, they will find the
fees increased. _My_ fingers and thumbs, Mr. Governor, are not to
be insulted with impunity."

Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod.
"Admire my spirited friend," was the interpretation I put on it.

At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs.
Tenbruggen's reply was too perfectly satisfactory, viewed as an
explanation. My suspicions were by no means set at rest; and I
was resolved not to let the subject drop yet. "Speaking of Mr.
Gracedieu, and of the chances of his partial recovery," I said,
"do you think the Minister would benefit by Massage?"

"I haven't a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor."

"You think he would be an obstacle in the way?"

"There are some medical men who are honorable exceptions to the
general rule; and he may be one of them," Mrs. Tenbruggen
admitted. "Don't be too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to the
most tyrannical trades-union in existence. May I make a personal
remark?"

"Certainly."

"I find something in your manner--pray don't suppose that I am
angry--which looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of Me."

Miss Jillgall's ever ready kindness interfered in my defense:
"Oh, no, Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed you
are wrong now. Look at my distinguished friend. I remember my
copy book, when I was a small creature learning to write, in
England. There were first lines that we copied, in big letters,
and one of them said, 'Distrust Is Mean.' I know a young person,
whose name begins with H, who is one mass of meanness.
But"--excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture
of triumph--"no meanness there!"

Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully
insensible to Miss Jillgall's well-meant interruption.

"You are not altogether mistaken," I told her. "I can't say that
my mind is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me."

"How, if you please?"

"May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr.
Gracedieu's house-door? You saw that I failed to recognize you,
and you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it.
A few days afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid
Miss Jillgall to mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss
to understand it."

Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of the
farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain what had
puzzled me, at the first opportunity. "If it escapes my memory,"
she said, "pray remind me of it."

I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her
to tell me the truth, might be quite another thing.



CHAPTER XLVIII

THE DECISION OF EUNICE.


EUNICE ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly
folded in Miss Jillgall's arms. On her release, she came to me,
eager for news of her father's health. When I had communicated
all that I thought it right to tell her of the doctor's last
report, she noticed Mrs. Tenbruggen. The appearance of a stranger
seemed to embarrass h er. I left Miss Jillgall to introduce them
to each other.

"Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen's name, I am sure?
Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters
to you."

"I hope she will be _my_ sweet girl, when we know each other a
little better. May I kiss you, dear? You have lovely eyes; but I
am sorry to see that they don't look like happy eyes. You want
Mamma Tenbruggen to cheer you. What a charming old house!"

She put her arm round Eunice's waist and led her to the house
door. Her enjoyment of the creepers that twined their way up the
pillars of the porch was simply perfection as a piece of acting.
When the farmer's wife presented herself, Mrs. Tenbruggen was so
irresistibly amiable, and took such flattering notice of the
children, that the harmless British matron actually blushed with
pleasure. "I'm sure, ma'am, you must have children of your own,"
she said. Mrs. Tenbruggen cast her eyes on the floor, and sighed
with pathetic resignation. A sweet little family, and all cruelly
swept away by death. If the performance meant anything, it did
most assuredly mean that.

"What wonderful self-possession!" somebody whispered in my ear.
The children in the room were healthy, well-behaved little
creatures--but the name of the innocent one among them was
Selina.

Before dinner we were shown over the farm.

The good woman of the house led the way, and Miss Jillgall and I
accompanied her. The children ran on in front of us. Still
keeping possession of Eunice, Mrs. Tenbruggen followed at some
distance behind. I looked back, after no very long interval, and
saw that a separation had taken place. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed me,
not looking so pleasantly as usual, joined the children, and
walked with two of them, hand in hand, a pattern of maternal
amiability. I dropped back a little, and gave Eunice an
opportunity of joining me; having purposely left her to form her
own opinion, without any adverse influence exercised on my part.

"Is that lady a friend of yours?" she asked. "No; only an
acquaintance. What do you think of her?"

"I thought I should like her at first; she was so kind, and
seemed to take such an interest in me. But she said such strange
things--asked if I was reckoned like my mother, and which of us
was the eldest, my sister or myself, and whether we were my
father's only two children, and if one of us was more his
favorite than the other. What I could tell her, I did tell. But
when I said I didn't know which of us was the oldest, she gave me
an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, 'I don't believe you,
child,' and left me. How can Selina be so fond of her? Don't
mention it to any one else; I hope I shall never see her again."

"I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine. I
entirely agree with you."

"You agree with me in disliking her?"

"Heartily."

We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance were
waiting for us. We joined them at once.

If I had felt any doubt of the purpose which had really induced
Mrs. Tenbruggen to leave London, all further uncertainty on my
part was at an end. She had some vile interest of her own to
serve by identifying Mr. Gracedieu's adopted child--but what the
nature of that interest might be, it was impossible to guess. The
future, when I thought of it now, filled me with dismay. A more
utterly helpless position than mine it was not easy to conceive.
To warn the Minister, in his present critical state of health,
was simply impossible. My relations with Helena forbade me even
to approach her. And, as for Selina, she was little less than a
mere tool in the hands of her well-beloved friend. What, in God's
name, was I to do?

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