CHAPTER XXVI.
ANNOUNCED!
The man twiddled his hat round and round between his hands, as if hesought inspiration from its brim. I sat and watched him. He was a poorkind of scamp. He was so easily nonplussed.
"My name, madam? Yes." He struck himself with the palm of his hand uponhis chest, affably, as it were. "My name is Trevannion--StewartTrevannion."
"Have you ever heard of Mr. Reginald Townsend?"
Mr. Trevannion went all of a heap. He looked at me like a startledrabbit. He turned, as if to obey an impulse which suggested that heshould make a rush from the room. But he thought better of it. Instead,he put his hand up to his chin, appearing, all at once, to be plungedinto a sea of contemplation.
"Townsend? Townsend? No! I don't seem to remember the name." He glancedat me out of the corner of his eye. He saw that it would not do. "Stay.I had a client of the name of Townsend--he was a merchant in the WestIndies--but his name was John."
"You won't get that fifty pounds."
Again he drew himself up, with an attempt at that air of dignity whichhe seemed so anxious to assume.
"I haven't the honour, madam, of being acquainted with yourname--excuse me, you must permit me to conclude--but I have to assureyou that you appear to altogether misunderstand my character."
After all, Mr. Trevannion was amusing. I laughed at him.
"I should be sorry to do that. In proof of it, if you could manage totell the truth, just once in a way, should it not be too great a strainupon your constitution, I shall be happy to add twenty guineas of myown to Mr. Haines's fifty."
He appeared to be more startled than ever. This time his amazementseemed to be of a pleasurable kind.
"How much?"
"Twenty guineas."
"Honour?"
"Straight."
He adjusted his coat upon his shoulders.
"I'll do it. Hanged if I won't. Why shouldn't I? I'm not afraid of him!He's nothing to me! What is it that you desire to know, madam--for yourtwenty guineas?"
"Have you heard of Mr. Reginald Townsend?"
"I have."
"I thought you had. What relation is he to you?"
"Relation?" He sought for inspiration from the ceiling. "Cousin."
"Cousin? I see. You're sure he's not your father?"
"Father? No, certainly not! Absolutely not! There's not the slightestground for any presumption of the kind."
"You won't get the twenty guineas."
"Madam!"
"Lied again."
"I will be candid with you, madam. I will tell you the truth. Whyshould I conceal it?" Mr. Trevannion shot his cuffs. They were a triflesoiled. "The fact is that, for reasons of his own--what they are I havenot the slightest notion! I think it possible that they may not bewholly to his credit! Mr. Reginald Townsend does not appear anxious toadvertise the particular degree of consanguinity which binds us to eachother--or, rather, which ought to bind us to each other--because, as amatter of fact, so far as he is concerned, with me affection neverdies! I never can forget that the same heart nourished us both!--thebinding is merely theoretical I'm his brother--his elder brother--and,as such, qualified to take my place beside him in all the salons of theland."
He looked his brother. I had guessed he was a sort of Corsican brotherfrom the first. He was like a caricature--all alive, oh!--of my friendthe gentleman; reminding me of nothing so much as a picture I once sawin "Cassell's Popular Educator." It was called "The Child: What shallbecome of Him?" On the top line they showed you portraits of the childat various periods of his life, as he advanced towards honoured age.While, on the bottom line, were portraits of the child, also at variousperiods of his life, as he advanced towards the other kind of age. Mr.Trevannion recalled the portraits of the child advanced towards theother kind of age.
While he still continued in the pose which he had done his best tostrike, and before either of us had spoken again, Mr. Haines came in.
Mr. Haines made short work of this brother whose affection did not die.He counted nine five-pound notes and five separate sovereigns on thetable.
"There are fifty pounds. You mark it?"
"I certainly do observe that there appear to be fifty pounds."
"Appear to be! There are!"
Mr. Haines raised his voice to a roar, which made Mr. Trevannion jump.
"Exactly--as you say--there are."
"You can have that fifty pounds on the understanding that you undertaketo place me in communication with my girl within fourteen days. If youdon't, next time I find myself in communication with you I'll havevalue for my fifty pounds. You hear?"
"While you continue, Mr. Haines, to speak so loudly, I can hardly failto hear."
Mr. Haines covered the money with his hand.
"Swear that you will find my girl for me within fourteen days."
I had noticed Mr. Trevannion's eyes begin to glisten directly the moneyappeared. He seemed to fear that he might find such an oath a littledifficult of digestion. Still he swallowed it.
"I swear."
Mr. Haines turned to me.
"You hear? He says he swears." He removed his hand. "Take the money. Ifyou're lying to me again, when next we meet there'll one of us havefits."
Mr. Trevannion took the money in rather a hurry, as if he feared that,after all, Mr. Haines might change his mind.
"I may truly say, Mr. Haines, that I never saw a father's love whichequalled yours. It is a rare, noble spectacle. It will be my pride, aswell as my pleasure, to restore, in the shortest possible space oftime, your child to her father's arms."
"Mind you do."
Mr. Trevannion had disposed of the money. He turned to me.
"Eh, madam, might I have the pleasure of saying one word to you inprivate?"
"Certainly not."
He seemed surprised.
"With reference to that little matter----"
I interrupted him.
"Mr. Haines, if you are finished with this person might I ask you torelieve me of his society?"
Jack Haines chose to fly into a rage.
"What the devil, sir, do you mean by wanting to speak in private to alady who's a friend of mine! Outside!"
Mr. Trevannion went outside, Mr. Haines accompanying him to the door tosee him go.
The very next day the Corsican brother obliged me with a call--myfriend, the gentleman. He came accompanied by a friend--none other thanthat Lord Archibald Beaupre, of whom he had spoken.
My lord was long and thin and a little weedy. His hair was sandy, andparted, with mathematical exactness, precisely in the middle. It wouldnot be many years before he went bald. His eyes were light blue--thekind of eyes which not only suggest a bad temper, but a senselesstemper too. It is excusable--though foolish--to fly into a fury aboutsomething. But people with those sort of eyes are apt, when they feelthat way disposed, to get into a rage about nothing at all, and to goblind with passion when they are at it. Milord's manner was very well.Only he struck me as being the least bit condescending--as if he wasconscious of what a well-born man he was.
It was very kind of Mr. Townsend to bring him, and so I told him.
By the way, all the time I was looking at Mr. Townsend, I could nothelp my thoughts travelling to Mr. Stewart Trevannion. How alike theywere, and yet how different. How came the two lives to be lived on suchdifferent roads? Sometime it might be worth my while to improve myacquaintance with Mr. Trevannion. One might acquire from them a scrapor two of gossip which might prove useful by and by. Could this manever be like that man? I doubted it. This had what the other hadnot--the courage of Old Nick. He would never crouch, whatever else hedid.
But, as I was saying, it was very kind of Mr. Townsend to bring hisfriend. Although there was something about the fashion of hisintroduction which, instinctively, put my back up. I wondered what hehad said to milord before he came. Nothing could exceed Mr. Townsend'scourtesy, but I had a kind of suspicion that he
was seeking torecommend his friend to my notice as a substitute, as it were, forhimself. I almost felt as if he were throwing us, with all the delicacyand grace conceivable, at each other's heads. I could have sworn thathe told milord, before he brought him on the scene, that I was a richAmerican widow, and that he had dropped, perhaps, something strongerthan a hint that I was just the sort of woman whom it might be worthhis lordship's while to marry.
If he had, he had thrown his hint away. He was trying to travel alongthe wrong line of rails. That bird would not fight. There was only oneman's wife I meant to be, and he was himself that man.
They went away together. When they had gone, somehow or other I felt atrifle sore. I was beginning to get into a funny frame of mind. I washalf disposed to feel that I should be willing to get my friend thegentleman--to get just him, and nothing more. I had never thought thatI should fool like that for any man; or that I could. It puzzled me.
Things went on worse and worse for Tommy. At the close of his nextexamination before the magistrates, he looked as much like hanging asany man cared to do. As I read, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Istared and I stared. I almost began myself to believe that he must beguilty--that I must be dead. It just showed that things are not alwayswhat they quite seem.
A new witness went into the box. He said his name was Taunton. I soonsaw that if Tommy was to be hanged it would be Mr. Taunton who wouldhang him.
It was Mr. Taunton, after all, who had given the police the office. Itwas he who had delivered Tommy into their hands. He had travelled inthe same train with Tommy from Brighton. He had been in the nextcompartment. He had heard all the argument. And, from what he said, hemust have been listening for all that he was worth.
But there! When I read all that was in the paper, I gasped for breath.In imagination I already saw the rope round Tommy's neck.
Who would have thought that it ever would have come to that?
Two or three days afterwards I received a shock. I was looking throughthe morning paper when I came upon a paragraph which sent all the bloodrunning out of my finger-ends--or it seemed to. It was in the column ofdaily gossip. Here it is:--
"An engagement is announced between Mr. Reginald Townsend, one of thebest known and most popular society figures, and Dora, daughter andonly child of Sir Haselton Jardine. We understand that the marriagewill take place very shortly. This announcement will be received withthe wider public interest in view of the position of counsel for theCrown which Sir Haselton Jardine will occupy, should Mr. Thomas Tennanthave to stand his trial for the Three Bridges murder. It is understoodthat the trial will be set down for the next Lewes Assizes. In thatcase the judge will be Mr. Justice Hunter."
When first I saw the thing all that struck me was the bold fact of theengagement--that it was announced. On a re-perusal, it began to occurto me that the announcement was rather oddly worded. It might almosthave been done with malicious intent. Beginning with marriage, it endedwith murder.
A comfortable juxtaposition!
What was more, there seemed to be more murder in it than marriage. Thestress seemed to be laid upon the murder. Certainly the impressionlikely to be left upon the imagination of the average reader was acombination of blood with orange blossoms.
I wondered who had inspired the paragraph in that peculiar form, andwhat would be my friend the gentleman's sensations if, as I had done,he should chance to happen on it unexpectedly.
But, still, the engagement was announced.
That thing was sure!
The more I thought of it, the more I went all hot and cold. No wonder Ihad hated her directly he had told me that such a creature was in theworld. Her name was Dora! What a name! It sounded Dolly. It must be hermoney he was after. He could not care for a woman with a name likethat. She must be brainless!
Well, other women had money; and brains as well.
So the newspaper man had been given to understand that the marriage wasgoing to take place very shortly. Was it? A marriage was going to takeplace very shortly. But not that one. We should see!
I pranced about the room; I worked myself into a rage. I felt that Imust have it out with some one.
And I had. I had it out with Tommy's wife!
It was all that paragraph.
The day before a servant had offered herself as a candidate to fill theplace of the one I had dismissed. She referred me for her character toher late mistress. When she told me who her late mistress was I stared.It was Mrs. Tennant. It occurred to me, very forcibly, that one ofTommy's servants would hardly do for me. Things might get about, andtales be told. I gave her application scant consideration.
Now, in the middle of my rage, it struck me that here was anopportunity to get rid of some of it--on some one else's head. I mightbait Mrs. Tennant. I could pretend to go and ask about the servant'scharacter, and give the servant's mistress one, just by the way. I wentand put my hat on, and made myself look as nice as I knew how, and offI trotted there and then.
I thought it more than possible that I should not be admitted--in herposition some people would have declined to see strangers on businessof any sort or kind. But I was. At the door they asked my name and whatI wanted. When I said I had come about a servant's character, I wasshown into a sitting-room. And presently in came Tommy's wife.
Directly I saw her I knew I had made a big mistake. I perceived at aglance that she was not anybody in particular--I mean that she was nota lady, or much to look at. She was just a woman. But, all the same, Iknew that if I tried to close with her the odds were that I should geta fall.
She was just that kind!
She waited for me to begin. So I began--quite a thrill going through mewhen I realised that I was actually talking to Tommy's wife.
"I have called about a servant named Jane Parsons." She moved herhead--the motion was scarcely equivalent to a bow. "She tells me thatshe was in your service. She has referred me to you for a character."
"I have nothing to say against the way in which Jane Parsons performedher duties."
Her voice was of that peculiar kind which you never hear issuingfrom between the lips of any but an Englishwoman, and from but few ofthem. Sweet, soft, gentle, yet incisive and clear. It may seemridiculous--one can only speak of one's own experience--but I havenever known it to be a possession of any but a good woman. It is apt,when I hear it, to have a most absurd effect upon me--for some occultreason, which I do not pretend to understand, it makes me go ashamedall over.
"May I ask why she left you?"
She flushed, though very slightly; and, perhaps unconsciously, she drewherself up straighter. I saw that, unwittingly, I had rubbed against araw.
"Did she not tell you?"
Jane Parsons had not told me. I said so, though I did not think itnecessary to explain that I had got rid of her before she had had achance to get as far.
She hesitated, as if mentally selecting the fittest words.
"Jane Parsons left me because I was in trouble."
At once I perceived my opportunity. I saw what it was she meant, thoughI pretended innocence.
"In trouble? Indeed? Was there illness in the house?"
"There was worse than illness. To do Jane justice, I do not think shewould have left me merely because there was illness in the house."
"I am afraid I do not understand."
Mrs. Tennant smiled--very faintly, and not with joy.
"It is immaterial. The point is, I did not discharge the girl. She leftme of her own accord. I should have been glad to have kept her. She issober, clean, honest, and industrious. As good a servant as I shouldwish to have."
I pretended to look at a little memorandum book which I took from mypurse.
"Your name is Tennant--Mrs. Tennant?"
She nodded her head, still faintly smiling.
"My name is Tennant."
"I perceive that the names are similar; but I take it that, in spite ofthe similarity, you are in no way connected with the Three Bridgesmurderer?"
The s
hot sped straight home. She went red all over, then white as asheet. Her lips trembled. I thought for a moment that she was going tocry. But she didn't.
"I don't know what it matters to you or how it concerns a servant'scharacter; but I am the wife of the Mr. Thomas Tennant who is beingwrongfully accused of murder, but who is wholly innocent of any crime."Then, with what was very like a hysterical outburst, she added, "He isthe dearest and the best husband in the world."
"Dear me!" I rose from my seat. I went to the door. "I had no notionthat you were in any way connected with that dreadful creature, or Icertainly should not have troubled you. To think that you can be thewife of such a man! Of course it is altogether out of the question thatI could knowingly engage a servant who had lived in such a house asthis!"
Without waiting for her to summon a servant to escort me to the door, Ishowed myself out into the street.
I had given her one. But now that I had done it I was not by any meansproud of the gift I had bestowed. Indeed, when I got indoors I couldhave bit and slapped and scratched and pinched myself--and worse. Womenare cats. There is no doubt of it. Especially to each other! I know it,to my sorrow, of my own experience. If there was one thing on which Ihad always prided myself, it was that--at any rate, in that respect, Iwas not like other women. Whatever else I was, I was not a cat.
And now I had been the cat of all the cats!
And all because of that stupid paragraph in that stupid paper.
When I thought of that pale-faced woman, with her sweet, true mouth,and brown eyes, and of all the trouble she had to bear, and of how Ihad gone out of my way to add to the bitterness of it all, and to rubit in, I could have banged my head against the wall.
But there! the thing was done. And when a thing is done--especially athing like that--it is not the least use being sorry. One may as wellpretend that one is glad. And, after all, the engagement was announced.And why did they announce it, if they did not want to drive me into arage?
Poor Tommy! He bade fair to have the most to suffer. After his nextexamination before the magistrates, they committed him for trial.According to the newspapers, it would take place almost immediately.Things were moving fast. It was time that I should move as well. It wastime that I should come to an understanding with my friend thegentleman.
So I wrote to him to come and see me, putting a touch or two into mynote which I knew would bring him.
And he came.