CHAPTER XXI
Early on the day following Arthur's departure from Isleworth, LadyBellamy received a note from George requesting her, if convenient, tocome and see him that morning, as he had something rather important totalk to her about.
"John," she said to her husband at breakfast, "do you want thebrougham this morning?"
"No. Why?"
"Because I am going over to Isleworth."
"Hadn't you better take the luggage-cart too, and your luggage in it,and live there altogether? It would save trouble, sending backwardsand forwards," suggested her husband, with severe sarcasm.
Lady Bellamy cut the top off an egg with a single clean stroke--allher movements were decisive--before she answered.
"I thought," she said, "that we had done with that sort of nonsensesome years ago; are you going to begin it again?"
"Yes, Lady Bellamy, I am. I am not going to stand being bullied andjeered at by that damned scoundrel Caresfoot any more. I am not goingto stand your eternal visits to him."
"You have stood them for twenty years; rather late in the day toobject now, isn't it?" she remarked, coolly, beginning her egg.
"It is never too late to mend; it is not too late for you to stopquietly at home and do your duty by your husband."
"Most men would think that I had done my duty by him pretty well.Twenty years ago you were nobody, and had, comparatively speaking,nothing. Now you have a title and between three and four thousand ayear. Who have you to thank for that? Certainly not yourself."
"Curse the title and the money! I had rather be a poor devil of anattorney with a large family, and five hundred a year to keep them on,than live the life I do between you and that vulgar beast Caresfoot.It's a dog's life, not a man's;" and poor Bellamy was so overcome athis real or imaginary wrongs that the tears actually rolled down hispuffy little face.
His wife surveyed him with some amusement.
"I think," she said, "that you are a miserable creature."
"Perhaps I am, Anne; but I tell you what it is, even a miserablecreature can be driven too far. It may perhaps be worth your while tobe a little careful."
She cast one swift look at him, a look not without apprehension in it,for there was a ring about his voice that she did not like, but hisappearance was so ludicrously wretched that it reassured her. Shefinished her egg, and then, slowly driving the spoon through theshell, she said,
"Don't threaten, John; it is a bad habit, and shows an un-Christianstate of mind; besides, it might force me to cr-r-rush you, in self-defence, you know;" and John and the egg-shell having finallycollapsed together, Lady Bellamy ordered the brougham.
Having thus sufficiently scourged her husband, she departed in duecourse to visit her own taskmaster, little guessing what awaited herat his hands. After all, there is a deal of poetic justice in theworld. Little Smith, fresh from his mother's apron-strings, issavagely beaten by the cock of the school, Jones, and to him Jones isan all-powerful, cruel devil, placed above all possibility ofretribution. If, however, little Smith could see the omnipotent Jonesbeing mentally ploughed and harrowed by his papa the clergyman, incelebration of the double event of his having missed a scholarship andtaken too much sherry, it is probable that his wounded feelings wouldbe greatly soothed. Nor does it stop there. Robinson, the squire ofthe parish, takes it out of the Reverend Jones, and speaks ill of himto the bishop, a Low Churchman, on the matter of vestments, and veryshortly afterwards Sir Buster Brown, the Chairman of the QuarterSessions, expresses his opinion pretty freely of Robinson in hismagisterial capacity, only in his turn to receive a most unexampledwigging from Her Majesty's judge, Baron Muddlebone, for not showinghim that respect he was accustomed to receive from the High Sheriff ofthe county. And even over the august person of the judge himself therehangs the fear of the only thing that he cannot commit for contempt,public opinion. Justice! why, the world is full of it, only it ismostly built upon a foundation of wrong.
Lady Bellamy found George sitting in the dining-room beside the safethat had so greatly interested her husband. It was open, and he wasreading a selection from the bundle of letters which the reader mayremember having seen in his hands before.
"How do, Anne?" he said, without rising. "You look very handsome thismorning. I never saw a woman wear better."
She vouchsafed no reply to his greeting, but turned as pale as death.
"What!" she said, huskily, pointing with her finger to the letters inhis hand, "what are you doing with those letters?"
"Bravo, Anne; quite tragic. What a Lady Macbeth you would make! Comequote, 'All the perfumes of Araby will not sweeten this little hand.Oh, oh, oh!' Go on."
"What are you doing with those letters?"
"Have you never broken a dog by showing him the whip, Anne? I have gotsomething to ask of you, and I wish to get you into a generous frameof mind first. Listen now, I am going to read you a few extracts froma past that is so vividly recorded here."
She sank into a chair, hid her face in her hands, and groaned. George,whose own features betrayed a certain nervousness, took a yellow sheetof paper, and began to read.
"'Do you know how old I am to-day? Nineteen, and I have been married ayear and a half. Ah! what a happy lass I was before I married; howthey worshipped me in my old home! "Queen Anne," they always calledme. Well, they are dead now, and pray God they sleep so sound thatthey can neither hear nor see. Yes, a year and a half--a year ofhappiness, half a year of hell; happiness whilst I did not know you,hell since I saw your face. What secret spring of wickedness did youtouch in my heart? I never had a thought of wrong before you came. Butwhen I first set eyes upon your face, I felt some strange change comeover me: I recognized my evil destiny. How you discovered myfascination, how you led me on to evil, you best know. I am no coward,I do not wish to excuse myself, but sometimes I think that you havemuch to answer for, George. Hark, I hear my baby crying, my beautifulboy with his father's eyes. Do you know, I believe that the child hasgrown afraid of me: it beats at me with its tiny hands. I think thatmy very dog dislikes me now. They know me as I am; Nature tells them;everybody knows me except _him_. He will come in presently fromvisiting his sick and poor, and kiss me and call me his sweet wife,and I shall act the living lie. Oh! God, I cannot bear it muchlonger----'
"There is more of the same sort," remarked George, coolly. "It affordsa most interesting study of mental anatomy, but I have no time to readmore of it. We will pass on to another."
Lady Bellamy did not move; she sat trembling a little, her face buriedin her hands.
He took up a second letter and began to read a marked passage.
"'The die is cast, I will come; I can no longer resist your influence;it grows stronger every day, and now it makes me a murderess, for theshock will kill him. And yet I am tired of the sameness and smallnessof my life; my mind is too big to be cramped in such narrow fetters.'
"That extract is really very funny," said George, critically. "Butdon't look depressed, Anne, I am only going to trouble you with onemore dated a year or so later. Listen.
"'I have several times seen the man you sent me; he is a fool andcontemptible in appearance, and, worst of all, shows signs of fallingin love with me; but, if you wish it, I will go through the marriageceremony with him, poor little dupe! You will not marry me yourself,and I would do more than that to keep near you; indeed, I have nochoice, I _must_ keep near you. I went to the Zoological Gardens theother day and saw a rattlesnake fed upon a live rabbit; the poor thinghad ample room to run away in, but could not, it was fascinated, andsat still and screamed. At last the snake struck it, and I thoughtthat its eyes looked like yours. I am as helpless as that poor animal,and you are much more cruel than the snake. And yet my mind isinfinitely stronger than your own in every way. I cannot understandit. What is the source of your power over me? But I am quite recklessnow, so what does it matter? I will do anything that does not put mewithin reach of the law. You know that my husband is dead. I _knew_that he would d
ie; he expired with my name upon his lips. The child,too, I hear, died in a fit of croup; the nurse had gone out, and therewas no one to look after it. Upon my word, I may well be reckless, forthere is no forgiveness for such as you and I. As for little B----, asI think I told you, I will lead him on and marry him: at any rate, Iwill make his fortune for him: I _must_ devote myself to something,and ambition is more absorbing than anything else--at least, I shallrise to something great. Good-night; I don't know which aches most, myhead or my heart.'
"Now that extract would be interesting reading to Bellamy, would itnot?"
Here she suddenly sprang forward and snatched at the letter. ButGeorge was too quick for her; he flung it into the safe by his side,and swung the heavy lid to.
"No, no, my dear Anne, that property is too valuable to be parted withexcept for a consideration."
Her attempt frustrated, she dropped back into her chair.
"What are you torturing me for?" she asked, hoarsely. "Have you anyobject in dragging up the ghost of that dead past, or is it merely foramusement."
"Did I not tell you that I had a favour to ask of you, and wished toget you into a proper frame of mind first?"
"A favour. You mean that you have some wickedness in hand that you aretoo great a coward to execute yourself. Out with it; I know you toowell to be shocked."
"Oh, very well. You saw Angela Caresfoot, Philip's daughter, hereyesterday."
"Yes, I saw her."
"Very good. I mean to marry her, and you must manage it for me."
Lady Bellamy sat quite still, and made no answer.
"You will now," continued George, relieved to find that he had notprovoked the outburst he had expected, "understand why I read youthose extracts. I am thoroughly determined upon marrying that girl atwhatever cost, and I see very clearly that I shall not be able to doso without your help. With your help, the matter will be easy; for noobstacle, except the death of the girl herself, can prevail againstyour iron determination and unbounded fertility of resource."
"And if I refuse?"
"I must have read those extracts to very little purpose for you totalk about refusing. If you refuse, the pangs of conscience willovercome me, and I shall feel obliged to place these letters, and moreespecially those referring to himself, in the hands of your husband.Of course it will, for my own sake, be unpleasant to me to have to doso, but I can easily travel for a year or two till the talk has blownover. For you it will be different. Bellamy has no cause to love younow; judge what he will feel when he knows all the truth. He willscarcely keep the story to himself, and, even were he to do so, itcould easily be set about in other ways, and, in either case, you willbe a ruined woman, and all that you have toiled and schemed for fortwenty years will be snatched from you in an instant. If, on the otherhand, you do not refuse, and I cannot believe that you will, I will onmy wedding-day burn these uncomfortable records before your eyes, or,if you prefer it, you shall burn them yourself."
"You have only seen this girl once; is it possible that you are inearnest in wishing to marry her?"
"Do you think that I should go through this scene by way of a joke? Inever was so much in earnest in my life before. I am in love with her,I tell you, as much in love as though I had known her for years. Whathappened to you with reference to me has happened to me with referenceto her, or something very like it, and marry her I must and will."
Lady Bellamy, as she heard these words, rose from her chair and flungherself on the ground before him, clasping his knees with her hands.
"Oh, George, George!" she cried, in a broken voice, "have some littlepity; do not force me to do this unnatural thing. Is your heart astone, or are you altogether a devil, that by such cruel threats youcan drive me into becoming the instrument of my own shame? I know whatI am, none better: but for whose sake did I become so? Surely, George,I have some claim on your compassion, if I have none on your love.Think again, George; and, if you will not give her up, choose someother means to compass this poor girl's ruin."
"Get up, Anne, and don't talk sentimental rubbish. Not but what," headded, with a sneer, "it is rather amusing to hear you pitying yoursuccessful rival."
She sprang to her feet, all the softness and entreaty gone from herface, which was instead now spread with her darkest and mostvindictive look.
"_I_ pity her!" she said. "I hate her. Look you, if I have to do this,my only consolation will be in knowing that what I do will drag mysuccessor down below my own level. I suffer; she shall suffer more; Iknow you a fiend, she shall find a whole hell with you; she is purerand better than I have ever been; soon you shall make her worse than Ihave dreamt of being. Her purity shall be dishonoured, her lovebetrayed, her life reduced to such chaos that she shall cease tobelieve even in her God, and in return for these things I will giveher--_you_. Your new plaything shall pass through my mill, GeorgeCaresfoot, before ever she comes to yours; and on her I will repaywith interest all that I have suffered at your hands;" and, exhaustedwith the fierceness of her own invective and the violence ofconflicting passions, she sank back into her chair.
"Bravo, Anne! quite in your old style. I daresay that the young ladywill require a little moulding, and she could not be in better hands;but mind, no tricks--I am not going to be cheated out of my bride."
"You need not fear, George; I shall not murder her. I do not believein violence; it is the last resort of fools. If I did, you would notbe alive now."
George laughed a little uneasily.
"Well, we are good friends again, so there is no need to talk of suchthings," he said. "The campaign will not be by any means an easy one--there are many obstacles in the way, and I don't think that myintended has taken a particular fancy to me. You will have to work foryour letters, Anne; but first of all take a day or two to think itover, and make a plan of the campaign. And now good-by; I have got abad headache, and am going to lie down."
She rose, and went without another word; but all necessity for settingabout her shameful task was soon postponed by news that reached herthe next morning, to the effect that George Caresfoot was seriouslyill.