'Thank you,' she said; 'I shall be very well presently; the shock was a little too much for me. To have one's faith in such a man's character rudely shaken, is-- But I will not add to your distress2, Monsieur Martin, by any observations of mine. You are going this way? Then let us walk together. After a little reflection, I shall be better able to comprehend the full nature of the disclosure you have been good enough to make to me.'
Martin bowed. And they set off walking towards the village, both silent and buried in their own thoughts.
Pauline had indeed need for a little quiet, in which she might turn over in her mind the news which she had just heard, and calculate its bearing on her future. Mr. Calverley, under the assumed name of Claxton, was living with this woman at Hendon; and of course was in the habit of visiting her, when he pretended that he was away on business, inspecting the ironworks in the North. Pauline saw that at once, and half smiled as she allowed to herself that Mrs. Calverley's hatred3 of the Swartmoor ironworks was not without cause. And as for the reverend's story that the woman had been betrayed by a false marriage--bah! that was to be taken for what it was worth.
What a strange old man, this Calverley! How rusé, how cunning! He had deceived even her. So quiet and staid and long-suffering as he seemed! It was not difficult to understand now why Mr. Claxton had never been formally presented to the household at Great Walpole-street. She
was--stay, though! the link connecting her with Tom Durham, that was still wanting, and must be found. Could the reverend help her to it? She would try.
'Tell me, Monsieur Martin, is this the first time you have seen this poor creature who has been so cruelly deceived?'
When Martin Gurwood raised his face, his cheeks were flushed at the imputation4 which he conceived Pauline's question to convey. ''This is the first time I have seen the lady,' he said, in a grave tone, 'and it is only lately that I have known of her existence.'
'Indeed,' said Pauline. 'And from whom did you hear of her
existence--not from Madame Calverley?'
'Good Heavens, no!' cried Martin. It is of the utmost importance, for more reasons than one, that my mother should know nothing of this sad affair.'
'Exactly,' said Pauline, looking at him narrowly; 'I perfectly5 agree with you. Then from whom did you have the information? You will pardon me, Monsieur Martin,' she added in a soft voice, 'but I take such an interest in this sad affair.'
'From Mr. Broadbent, the doctor residing in this village. He happened to be with Doctor Haughton when the body was found, and recognised it as that of the gentleman whom he had known as Mr. Claxton.'
'O, indeed! how sadly interesting!' she said. 'This reverend knows nothing about this pale-faced woman,' she thought to herself, 'and cannot help me in any way respecting her. Why my husband left me, where he is now, that tormenting6 mystery of my life, is still--save that I know that he and this woman are not now together--as far from solution as ever. That knowledge is, however, a point gained, and possessed7 as I am of this secret, I think I shall be enabled not merely to prevent their coming together again, but to have my revenge on her for what she has done already. And now let us see how the land lies, and how this reverend intends to proceed in the matter. His plumes9 were rather ruffled10, I thought, just now; I must set them straight again.'
She turned to Martin Gurwood, who, with his eyes still downcast, was striding by her side, and said, 'I have been thinking over what you told me, Monsieur Martin, and I do not remember ever to have heard a sadder story. Ah, Monsieur Martin, it is lucky that it is into your hands that this poor young woman has fallen--you whose life has been so pure and blameless--'
'Madame Du Tertre,' he interrupted hurriedly, 'I must beg of you--'
'I repeat, Monsieur Martin, you whose life has been so pure and blameless--have I not heard of it from your mother? have I not watched it for some time myself?--can feel true Christian11 pity for this girl so cruelly betrayed. You are right, too, in keeping the mere8 fact of her existence secret from Madame Calverley. She would be furious, that good lady, and not without cause. She would be furious; and when she is furious she loses her head, and would bring trouble and scandal upon the family. Do you know what I have been thinking about during our walk, Monsieur Martin? I have been thinking that you will require my assistance in this matter.'
'Your assistance, Madame Du Tertre?'
'Mine, Monsieur Martin. You who can see things so clearly will not require to be told that I have great influence with Madame Calverley; that influence shall be exercised in your behalf. I will enter into a compact with you to help you in aiding this unhappy woman, of whom you take so compassionate12 a view, by every means in my power, provided you do not interfere13 with any plans of mine as regards your mother.'
'I--I must first know what those plans are before I can agree to your proposition, madame,' said Martin, with hesitation14.
'Are you in a position to make terms?' asked Pauline, with a short, hard laugh. 'I do not know myself what those plans are at
present--nothing to hurt you or any one, you may be sure; but you see I am in possession of your secret, and can work for or against you as I choose. There, don't look so scared, Monsieur Martin; I meant no harm. You will find me a trusty ally; a woman can do more in these cases than any man, however well-intentioned; and we may perhaps keep the truth of her real position from this poor creature for a time. And whenever it must be told, you may depend upon it I should break it to her better than you would.'
Martin glanced hurriedly at her as he comprehended the full force of what she said--as the exact position in which they stood to each other dawned upon him. He had been taken unawares, when his nervous system, always highly strung, was at its extreme point of tension after the interview with Alice, and scarce thinking what he was saying, he blurted15 out the secret which should never have passed his lips, and the revelation of which involved such dire16 consequences. What would Humphrey Statham say when he knew what had happened, as know it he must? He, cool, far-seeing, and methodical, would be sure to reproach his friend with having acted on headstrong impulse. Martin blamed his own rashness; but what was said could not be unsaid. Madame Du Tertre, as she had remarked, was in possession of the facts, and the only way to treat her now was to make her a friend instead of an enemy, and to give in to her as far as was compatible with the plan already laid. down. Her tendency was at present undoubtedly17 amiable18, Martin thought, and it was best to encourage that spirit. He knew that in her assertion of her power over Mrs. Calverley she spoke19 truth, and it was all-important that that power should be exercised in their favour. His mother was splenetic and stubborn; once raised to a sense of her injuries, she would leave nothing undone20 to sweep this wretched woman from her path, and to crush her altogether. For Alice's sake, it was most important that the knowledge of her real position should be withheld21 from her as long as possible, and that when the announcement had to be made, it should be made with due delicacy22. He had been wrong in taking any outsider into his confidence, but under existing circumstances it was clear that Madame Du Tertre should be won over to their side, and treated with the respect which she seemed inclined to exact.
So, his mind filled with these thoughts, Martin Gurwood turned
to her and said: 'You are perfectly right, Madame Du Tertre; your
co-operation will be most valuable to me; and as to the terms which you propose, I am quite willing to accept them, recognising the rectitude of the principles by which you are governed.'
Recollecting24 his warlike declaration at the commencement of their interview, Pauline was more than half inclined to smile at this utterance25, but she checked herself, and said: 'Then it is understood, Monsieur Martin, that our alliance commences from this moment. To prove my interest in it, I should be glad if you would tell me what immediate26 steps you propose taking in reference to this poor lady. Very much will depend upon your present action; and I am anxious to know what it is.'
'Well,' replied Martin, rather taken aback by her prompt decision, 'the fact is that you will probably be called upon to exert your powers of diplomacy27 at once.'
'Such powers,' said Pauline, 'unless ready on an emergency, are but little worth. This poor creature does not know her position; under what circumstances have you left her?'
'I had a long and most heart-rending interview with her,' said Martin, 'part of which it appears you saw. I had to break to her that the man whom she supposed to be her husband, and whom she loved with all the strength and fidelity28 of her girlish nature, was dead--that was enough for once. I had not the heart--I had not the courage even to tell her that he was not her husband, but her betrayer; a being whose memory should be loathed29 and abhorred30, rather than worshipped.'
'There was no necessity for that just now,' said Pauline; 'that announcement can be made later on, and then can be made more quietly and delicately. What else did you say?'
'I told her when I left her that I would return and take her to London, to-night.'
'To London! To what part of London?'
'To Mrs. Calverley's house, where I was compelled to tell her--her husband's body was lying. Of course she had heard of Mr. Calverley as her husband's partner, and with this explanation she seemed content.'
'Ah, poor creature!' cried Pauline, 'She does not know, then, that the body has already been buried?'
'No, I did not tell her that, and fortunately she did not ask me the date of the death.'
'And when you made this promise, may I ask what plan was in your mind?'
'My idea was,' said Martin, blushing somewhat as the vagueness of this same idea dawned upon him; 'my idea was, to go to a friend of mine named Statham, a very clever man, kind-hearted, and with a vast knowledge of the world, who has already helped me in this business, and indeed has seen Mrs.--the young woman I mean--and first gave me the notion that she was not what one might have imagined she would have been.'
'O, indeed,' said Pauline, eyeing him closely, 'this Mr. Statham has seen the poor lady, and finds her thus?'
'Exactly,' replied Martin. 'Well, I thought I would go to Statham and tell him what I had done, and get him to come down with me here this afternoon, and then I thought that between us both we might tell
her--tell her--all!'
'I can imagine how much of the narration31 would fall to Mr. Statham's share,' said Pauline, with a quiet smile. 'Now, I don't know Mr. Statham, and cannot therefore judge of his method of treating the subject, but I think I have a better plan to propose, and as it is one in which I assign the principal part to myself, I am perhaps qualified32 to speak about it.'
'I am sure,' said Martin, jumping at the idea of any relief for himself or his friend, 'that we shall be delighted to enter into it, provided of course that it is consonant33, as I know it will be, with our idea of sparing Mrs.--this lady's feelings as much as possible.'
'For that,' said Pauline, 'you may depend upon me, understanding that is the mainspring of my motive35 in offering my services to you. As I have told you before, in such matters as these, a woman's delicacy is of course required, and I am convinced that I shall be enabled to do more with her than Mr. Statham, even with all the honesty and astuteness36 for which you give him credit. My idea is, that you should not return to this place. Your natural candour and straightforwardness37 prevent your being much of a diplomatist, Monsieur Martin, and it is due to your sacred office that you should be mixed up as little as possible in an affair of this kind. I have but little doubt that the successful commencement of the work is due to your kindness and consideration; but I think its carrying out should now be left to other hands.'
'And those hands are?'
'For the present, mine. Instead of your going to Rose Cottage this evening, as you have arranged, I propose you should send me as your representative.'
'But you are not known to this poor girl--she will refuse to see you.'
'Not if I bring proper credentials39 from you. A letter, for instance.'
'A letter; to what effect?'
'Telling her that you are unable to come, and that you have sent me in your place.'
'In my place, repeated Martin. 'But, as I have told you before, I had arranged with her that she should go to London with me.'
'That arrangement can continue, only the letter should say that she could go with me instead of with you.'
'And what on earth will you do with her when you get her to town?'
'I do not intend taking her to town at all.'
'My dear Madame Du Tertre,' said Martin, looking up, with a shade of annoyance40 in his face, 'we are evidently playing at cross purposes, and I shall be glad if you will explain yourself to me.'
'My dear Monsieur Martin, as I told you before, you are too honest and straightforward38, not merely to practise diplomacy, but, as I find now, to comprehend it. Armed with this letter from you, I shall go and see this young lady--she will be most anxious to start off at once with me, and I shall make no opposition41. On the contrary, I shall express my extreme readiness, but shall suggest that, as she is weak and unnerved by the events of the day, she had better take some restorative. Now, among other odd varieties in my life, I have been a garde-malade, and I know quite sufficient of medicine to enable me to administer to our young friend, with perfect safety and without the remotest chance of doing her any harm, a draught42, which, instead of being a restorative, will be a powerful soporific.'
'Soporific!' cried Martin, aghast.
'How wrong of me to have used that word!' said Pauline, who could not refrain from smiling at the horror-struck expression of his face; 'It fills your mind with thoughts of castles and spectres and bleeding nuns43; it is in truth the language of romance. I should have said an anodyne44, which means exactly the same thing, but being a medical term is more proper for use.
'Well, but,' said Martin, very little relieved by the explanation, 'the effect will be still the same. This draught, by whatever name you may choose to call it, which you propose to give her, will send her into a deep sleep.'
'Unquestionably.'
'And what is the object of that?'
'The object of that,' cried Pauline, beginning to lose patience, 'the object of that, my dear sir, is to prevent this lady from leaving her house, to give us twenty-four or thirty-six hours, as the case may be, to turn ourselves round in, and see what is best to be done.'
'I do not like it, I confess,' said Martin, hesitating; 'it appears to me a strong proceeding45.'
'My good Monsieur Martin, is not the whole affair one which necessitates46 a strong proceeding, as you call it? The matter seems to me to stand thus: You have told this young woman that her husband's body is lying at the house in Great Walpole-street; you have promised that you will take her there this evening. If you do not arrive at
the time appointed, she will become suspicious, and go off by
herself--with what result we can imagine. If you go there, and decline to take her, making what excuse may occur to you, she, having probably had enough of such excuses already, will go off just the same--she knows the address--with the same result. Suppose you go there determined47 to reveal the truth; suppose you tell her that the man whom she worshipped was a villain48, that his name was not Claxton, but Calverley, and that she was not his wife; what do you arrive at? So far as we are concerned, at exactly the same result. There is a dreadful scene; she refuses to believe anything you say; she insists upon going off to Mrs. Calverley; and there is, to use your charming English expression, all the fat in the fire. You will not accuse me of exaggeration Monsieur Martin; I am representing things exactly as they will happen, am I not?'
'Upon my word, I believe you are,' said Martin Gurwood; it is a most unfortunate state of affairs, most unfortunate, and I really do not see what we are to do.'
'Wait,' said Pauline, 'until you have heard the result of my proposition, which you condemned49 so quickly as dangerous. And first, as to the danger. I will guarantee that she shall not suffer in the smallest degree; but even if you thought the effects of the draught were strong, and it were necessary to call in Doctor Broadbent, we need not object to that, as he would be certain, not to betray us. If I am allowed to have my own way, I shall so regulate the strength of the draught that she does not return wholly and entirely50 to consciousness until after forty-eight hours; then the story can be told to her of the sudden manner in which she was seized by illness, and she can be informed that while she was in a state of unconsciousness the funeral had taken place. There is nothing extraordinary in these circumstances, which are simple and coherent, and there is no reason to think that her suspicions will be aroused.'
But, though perhaps with less hesitation than before, Martin Gurwood still shook his head. 'I do not like it,' he said; 'it is such an underhand proceeding.'
'What have all your proceedings51 been since you first found the position in which you were placed with regard to this woman?' asked Pauline. 'This is one of those matters which it is not possible to treat by ordinary means. Bah, Monsieur Martin, let us have no more of this childishness. Will the plan which I propose get you out of the mess in which you are involved?'
'Yes--it seems so--I should think it would--'
'Then leave it to me to carry out.'
'I think I had better consult Mr. Statham in the matter, Madame Du Tertre, if you have no objection,' said Martin. 'You see I have taken his advice already--and could see more--'
'My good monsieur,' said Pauline impatiently, 'I have no objection to your consulting Mr. Statham, or any one for the matter of that, but do you see that time presses? We are already in the afternoon, and it is this evening that action must be taken. I confess I do not see how Mr. Statham can improve upon my proposition.'
'No,' said Martin, 'I do not know that he could.' His yielding nature was no match for this woman's determination. 'Then the best thing I can do is, I suppose, to get back to London?'
'Yes,' said Pauline, with a smile; 'but I must trouble you to take me with you. I have sent away my cabman, and I must see Mrs. Calverley, and make up some story to account to her for the two or three days during which I must necessarily be absent from her. Ah, Monsieur Martin, what a world of deceit it is!'
'Did you say that you were coming back in my cab, Madame Du Tertre?' said Martin, looking rather blank.
'Yes,' she said with a laugh, 'I must. I have no other means of getting back to town. But don't fear, Monsieur Martin; I will bring no disgrace upon you--you shall set me down as soon as we reach the outskirts52 of town, and I will go to Great Walpole-street by myself. When you get there you must write me the letter to this poor girl; you can give it to me as I come downstairs after my explanation with Mrs. Calverley.'
When Madame Du Tertre walked into the drawing-room in Great
Walpole-street, she saw from the expression of Mrs. Calverley's face that that sainted woman was considerably53 out of temper. Mrs. Calverley kept her eyes rigidly54 fixed55 on her work, and took no notice of Pauline's entrance.
'Ah, behold56 a pleasant woman,' muttered the Frenchwoman between her teeth. 'It is well that I have something to look forward to in the future; for the position here is not a particularly pleasant one, and is sufficiently57 hardly earned.--And how are you this evening, my kind friend?' she said at last, gliding58 into a chair by Mrs. Calverley's side.
'If you call me your kind friend, I am sorry I cannot return the compliment, Madame Du Tertre,' hissed59 Mrs. Calverley spitefully. 'I thought the arrangement between us was, that you were to be my companion, and endeavour to cheer me up with some of the liveliness of your nation, at least I know that was suggested by Mr. Calverley when he made the engagement; and instead of that, here I have been left by myself the whole day, without one creature to come and say a word to me.'
'Ah, my kind friend,' said Pauline--'for so you have always proved yourself to me--it is only in a matter of necessity that I would ask to be absent from your side. My poor cousin--she that I spoke about to you--is lying ill at a poor lodging60. She has no friend in this wide London, does not know one creature beside myself; she has no money, she cannot speak your language, and is utterly61 helpless. I am the sole person on whom she can rely. I have been with her all day; it is from my hand alone that she will take her medicine and her drink; and I have come to ask you to excuse me for yet a little while longer, until she has reached the crisis of her malady62.'
'Ah, no; she is poitrinaire--consumptive, as you call it. I have been talking to her about you, telling her how nobly you have borne your present sorrow, and she is interested about you, my dear friend. She asked permission, when she recovers, to come and see you.'
The coarse compliment acted as was intended, and Pauline received Mrs. Calverley's gracious permission to absent herself for as long as was requisite64.
As she came down the stairs she saw Martin Gurwood standing34 at the study-door. He stepped forward, and without a word placed a letter, addressed to Mrs. Claxton, into her hands.
Then Pauline went to her bedroom, and descending65 therefrom with a small bag in her hand, hailed a hansom, and for a second time that day was conveyed to Hendon.
In the dusk of the evening, Alice, long since attired66 in her bonnet67 and shawl, and waiting eagerly for Martin Gurwood, saw a woman alight at her door. Little Bell, who had been playing about in the garden, saw her too, and running up to Alice, cried, 'O mamma, you recollect23 what I told you about the dark lady? She has come again. Here she is at the gate.'
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1
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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imputation
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| n.归罪，责难 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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tormenting
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| 使痛苦的，使苦恼的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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9
plumes
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| 羽毛( plume的名词复数 )； 羽毛饰； 羽毛状物； 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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undone
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| a.未做完的，未完成的 | |
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withheld
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delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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recollecting
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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narration
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| n.讲述，叙述；故事；记叙体 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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consonant
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| n.辅音；adj.[音]符合的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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astuteness
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| n.敏锐；精明；机敏 | |
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straightforwardness
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| n.坦白，率直 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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credentials
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| n.证明，资格，证明书，证件 | |
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40
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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41
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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42
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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anodyne
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| n.解除痛苦的东西，止痛剂 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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necessitates
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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requisite
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| adj.需要的，必不可少的；n.必需品 | |
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descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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