Man and Wife Page 2

  "Yes."

  "Have I any right to advise on it?"

  "You have the right of an old friend."

  "Then, why not tell me frankly what it is?"

  There was another moment of embarrassment on Mr. Vanborough's

  part.

  "It will come better," he answered, "from a third person, whom I

  expect here every minute. He is in possession of all the

  facts--and he is better able to state them than I am."

  "Who is the person?"

  "My friend, Delamayn."

  "Your lawyer?"

  "Yes--the junior partner in the firm of Delamayn, Hawke, and

  Delamayn. Do you know him?"

  "I am acquainted with him. His wife's family were friends of mine

  before he married. I don't like him."

  "You're rather hard to please to-day! Delamayn is a rising man,

  if ever there was one yet. A man with a career before him, and

  with courage enough to pursue it. He is going to leave the Firm,

  and try his luck at the Bar. Every body says he will do great

  things. What's your objection to him?"

  "I have no objection whatever. We meet with people occasionally

  whom we dislike without knowing why. Without knowing why, I

  dislike Mr. Delamayn."

  "Whatever you do you must put up with him this evening. He will

  be here directly."

  He was there at that moment. The servant opened the door, and

  announced--"Mr. Delamayn."

  III.

  Externally speaking, the rising solicitor, who was going to try

  his luck at the Bar, looked like a man who was going to succeed.

  His hard, hairless face, his watchful gray eyes, his thin,

  resolute lips, said plainly, in so many words, "I mean to get on

  in the world; and, if you are in my way, I mean to get on at your

  expense." Mr. Delamayn was habitually polite to every body--but

  he had never been known to say one unnecessary word to his

  dearest friend. A man of rare ability; a man of unblemished honor

  (as the code of the world goes); but not a man to be taken

  familiarly by the hand. You would never have borrowed money of

  him--but you would have trusted him with untold gold. Involved in

  private and personal troubles, you would have hesitated at asking

  him to help you. Involved in public and producible troubles, you

  would have said, Here is my man. Sure to push his way--nobody

  could look at him and doubt it--sure to push his way.

  "Kendrew is an old friend of mine," said Mr. Vanborough,

  addressing himself to the lawyer. "Whatever you have to say to

  _me_ you may say before _him._ Will you have some wine?"

  "No--thank you."

  "Have you brought any news?"

  "Yes."

  "Have you got the written opinions of the two barristers?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "'Because nothing of the sort is necessary. If the facts of the

  case are correctly stated there is not the slightest doubt about

  the law."

  With that reply Mr. Delamayn took a written paper from his

  pocket, and spread it out on the table before him.

  "What is that?" asked Mr. Vanborough.

  "The case relating to your marriage."

  Mr. Kendrew started, and showed the first tokens of interest in

  the proceedings which had escaped him yet. Mr. Delamayn looked at

  him for a moment, and went on.

  "The case," he resumed, "as originally stated by you, and taken

  down in writing by our head-clerk."

  Mr. Vanborough's temper began to show itself again.

  "What have we got to do with that now?" he asked. "You have made

  your inquiries to prove the correctness of my statement--haven't

  you?"

  "Yes."

  "And you have found out that I am right?"

  "I have found out that you are right--if the case is right. I

  wish to be sure that no mistake has occurred between you and the

  clerk. This is a very important matter. I am going to take the

  responsibility of giving an opinion which may be followed by

  serious consequences; and I mean to assure myself that the

  opinion is given on a sound basis, first. I have some questions

  to ask you. Don't be impatient, if you please. They won't take

  long."

  He referred to the manuscript, and put the first question.

  "You were married at Inchmallock, in Ireland, Mr. Vanborough,

  thirteen years since?"

  "Yes."

  "Your wife--then Miss Anne Silvester--was a Roman Catholic?"

  "Yes."

  "Her father and mother were Roman Catholics?"

  "They were."

  "_Your_ father and mother were Protestants? and _you_ were

  baptized and brought up in the Church of England?"

  "All right!"

  "Miss Anne Silvester felt, and expressed, a strong repugnance to

  marrying you, because you and she belonged to different religious

  communities?"

  "She did."

  "You got over her objection by consenting to become n Roman

  Catholic, like herself?"

  "It was the shortest way with her and it didn't matter to _me_."

  "You were formally received into the Roman Catholic Church?"

  "I went through the whole ceremony."

  "Abroad or at home?"

  "Abroad."

  "How long was it before the date of your marriage?"

  "Six weeks before I was married."

  Referring perpetually to the paper in his hand, Mr. Delamayn was

  especially careful in comparing that last answer with the answer

  given to the head-clerk.

  "Quite right," he said, and went on with his questions.

  "The priest who married you was one Ambrose Redman--a young man

  recently appointed to his clerical duties?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he ask if you were both Roman Catholics?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he ask any thing more?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure he never inquired whether you had both been

  Catholics _for more than one year before you came to him to be

  married?_"

  "I am certain of it."

  "He must have forgotten that part of his duty--or being only a

  beginner, he may well have been ignorant of it altogether. Did

  neither you nor the lady think of informing him on the point?"

  "Neither I nor the lady knew there was any necessity for

  informing him."

  Mr. Delamayn folded up the manuscript, and put it back in his

  pocket.

  "Right," he said, "in every particular."

  Mr. Vanborough's swarthy complexion slowly turned pale. He cast

  one furtive glance at Mr. Kendrew, and turned away again.

  "Well," he said to the lawyer, "now for your opinion! What is the

  law?"

  "The law," answered Mr. Delamayn, "is beyond all doubt or

  dispute. Your marriage with Miss Anne Silvester is no marriage at

  all."

  Mr. Kendrew started to his feet.

  "What do you mean?" he asked, sternly.

  The rising solicitor lifted his eyebrows in polite surprise. If

  Mr. Kendrew wanted information, why should Mr. Kendrew ask for it

  in that way? "Do you wish me to go into the law of the case?" he

  inquired.

  "I do."

  Mr. Delamayn stated the law, as that law still stands--to the

  disgrace o
f the English Legislature and the English Nation.

  "By the Irish Statute of George the Second," he said, "every

  marriage celebrated by a Popish priest between two Protestants,

  or between a Papist and any person who has been a Protestant

  within twelve months before the marriage, is declared null and

  void. And by two other Acts of the same reign such a celebration

  of marriage is made a felony on the part of the priest. The

  clergy in Ireland of other religious denominations have been

  relieved from this law. But it still remains in force so far as

  the Roman Catholic priesthood is concerned."

  "Is such a state of things possible in the age we live in!"

  exclaimed Mr. Kendrew.

  Mr. Delamayn smiled. He had outgrown the customary illusions as

  to the age we live in.

  "There are other instances in which the Irish marriage-law

  presents some curious anomalies of its own," he went on. "It is

  felony, as I have just told you, for a Roman Catholic priest to

  celebrate a marriage which may be lawfully celebrated by a

  parochial clergyman, a Presbyterian mini ster, and a

  Non-conformist minister. It is also felony (by another law) on

  the part of a parochial clergyman to celebrate a marriage that

  may be lawfully celebrated by a Roman Catholic priest. And it is

  again felony (by yet another law) for a Presbyterian minister and

  a Non-conformist minister to celebrate a marriage which may be

  lawfully celebrated by a clergyman of the Established Church. An

  odd state of things. Foreigners might possibly think it a

  scandalous state of things. In this country we don't appear to

  mind it. Returning to the present case, the results stand thus:

  Mr. Vanborough is a single man; Mrs. Vanborough is a single

  woman; their child is illegitimate, and the priest, Ambrose

  Redman, is liable to be tried, and punished, as a felon, for

  marrying them."

  "An infamous law!" said Mr. Kendrew.

  "It _is_ the law," returned Mr. Delamayn, as a sufficient answer

  to him.

  Thus far not a word had escaped the master of the house. He sat

  with his lips fast closed and his eyes riveted on the table,

  thinking.

  Mr. Kendrew turned to him, and broke the silence.

  "Am I to understand," he asked, "that the advice you wanted from

  me related to _this?_"

  "Yes."

  "You mean to tell me that, foreseeing the present interview and

  the result to which it might lead, you felt any doubt as to the

  course you were bound to take? Am I really to understand that you

  hesitate to set this dreadful mistake right, and to make the

  woman who is your wife in the sight of Heaven your wife in the

  sight of the law?"

  "If you choose to put it in that light," said Mr. Vanborough; "if

  you won't consider--"

  "I want a plain answer to my question--'yes, or no.' "

  "Let me speak, will you! A man has a right to explain himself, I

  suppose?"

  Mr. Kendrew stopped him by a gesture of disgust.

  "I won't trouble you to explain yourself," he said. "I prefer to

  leave the house. You have given me a lesson, Sir, which I shall

  not forget. I find that one man may have known another from the

  days when they were both boys, and may have seen nothing but the

  false surface of him in all that time. I am ashamed of having

  ever been your friend. You are a stranger to me from this

  moment."

  With those words he left the room.

  "That is a curiously hot-headed man," remarked Mr. Delamayn. "If

  you will allow me, I think I'll change my mind. I'll have a glass

  of wine."

  Mr. Vanborough rose to his feet without replying, and took a turn

  in the room impatiently. Scoundrel as he was--in intention, if

  not yet in act--the loss of the oldest friend he had in the world

  staggered him for the moment.

  "This is an awkward business, Delamayn," he said. "What would you

  advise me to do?"

  Mr. Delamayn shook his head, and sipped his claret.

  "I decline to advise you," he answered. "I take no

  responsibility, beyond the responsibility of stating the law as

  it stands, in your case."

  Mr. Vanborough sat down again at the table, to consider the

  alternative of asserting or not asserting his freedom from the

  marriage tie. He had not had much time thus far for turning the

  matter over in his mind. But for his residence on the Continent

  the question of the flaw in his marriage might no doubt have been

  raised long since. As things were, the question had only taken

  its rise in a chance conversation with Mr. Delamayn in the summer

  of that year.

  For some minutes the lawyer sat silent, sipping his wine, and the

  husband sat silent, thinking his own thoughts. The first change

  that came over the scene was produced by the appearance of a

  servant in the dining-room.

  Mr. Vanborough looked up at the man with a sudden outbreak of

  anger.

  "What do you want here?"

  The man was a well-bred English servant. In other words, a human

  machine, doing its duty impenetrably when it was once wound up.

  He had his words to speak, and he spoke them.

  "There is a lady at the door, Sir, who wishes to see the house."

  "The house is not to be seen at this time of the evening."

  The machine had a message to deliver, and delivered it.

  "The lady desired me to present her apologies, Sir. I was to tell

  you she was much pressed for time. This was the last house on the

  house agent's list, and her coachman is stupid about finding his

  way in strange places."

  "Hold your tongue, and tell the lady to go to the devil!"

  Mr. Delamayn interfered--partly in the interests of his client,

  partly in the interests of propriety.

  "You attach some importance, I think, to letting this house as

  soon as possible?" he said.

  "Of course I do!"

  "Is it wise--on account of a momentary annoyance--to lose an

  opportunity of laying your hand on a tenant?"

  "Wise or not, it's an infernal nuisance to be disturbed by a

  stranger."

  "Just as you please. I don't wish to interfere. I only wish to

  say--in case you are thinking of my convenience as your

  guest--that it will be no nuisance to _me._"

  The servant impenetrably waited. Mr. Vanborough impatiently gave

  way.

  "Very well. Let her in. Mind, if she comes here, she's only to

  look into the room, and go out again. If she wants to ask

  questions, she must go to the agent."

  Mr. Delamayn interfered once more, in the interests, this time,

  of the lady of the house.

  "Might it not be desirable," he suggested, to consult Mrs.

  Vanborough before you quite decide?"

  "Where's your mistress?"

  "In the garden, or the paddock, Sir--I am not sure which."

  "We can't send all over the grounds in search of her. Tell the

  house-maid, and show the lady in."

  The servant withdrew. Mr. Delamayn helped himself to a second

  glass of wine.

  "Excellent claret," he said. "Do you get it
direct from

  Bordeaux?"

  There was no answer. Mr. Vanborough had returned to the

  contemplation of the alternative between freeing himself or not

  freeing himself from the marriage tie. One of his elbows was on

  the table, he bit fiercely at his finger-nails. He muttered

  between his teeth, "What am I to do?"

  A sound of rustling silk made itself gently audible in the

  passage outside. The door opened, and the lady who had come to

  see the house appeared in the dining-room.

  IV.

  She was tall and elegant; beautifully dressed, in the happiest

  combination of simplicity and splendor. A light summer veil hung

  over her face. She lifted it, and made her apologies for

  disturbing the gentlemen over their wine, with the unaffected

  ease and grace of a highly-bred woman.

  "Pray accept my excuses for this intrusion. I am ashamed to

  disturb you. One look at the room will be quite enough."

  Thus far she had addressed Mr. Delamayn, who happened to be

  nearest to her. Looking round the room her eye fell on Mr.

  Vanborough. She started, with a loud exclamation of astonishment.

  _"You!"_ she said. "Good Heavens! who would have thought of

  meeting _you_ here?"

  Mr. Vanborough, on his side, stood petrified.

  "Lady Jane!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible?"

  He barely looked at her while she spoke. His eyes wandered

  guiltily toward the window which led into the garden. The

  situation was a terrible one--equally terrible if his wife

  discovered Lady Jane, or if Lady Jane discovered his wife. For

  the moment nobody was visible on the lawn. There was time, if the

  chance only offered--there was time for him to get the visitor

  out of the house. The visitor, innocent of all knowledge of the

  truth, gayly offered him her hand.

  "I believe in mesmerism for the first time," she said. "This is

  an instance of magnetic sympathy, Mr. Vanborough. An invalid

  friend of mine wants a furnished house at Hampstead. I undertake

  to find one for her, and the day _I_ select to make the discovery

  is the day _you_ select for dining with a friend. A last house at

  Hampstead is left on my list--and in that house I meet you.

  Astonishing!" She turned to Mr. Delamayn. "I presume I am

  addressing the owner of the house?" Before a word could be said

  by either of the gentlemen she noticed the garden. "What pretty

  grounds! Do I see a lady in the garden? I hope I have not driven

  her away." She looked round, and appealed to Mr. Vanborough.

  "Your friend's wife?" she asked, and, on this occasion, waited

  for a reply.

  In Mr. Vanborough's situation what reply was possible?

  Mrs. Vanborough was not only visible--but audible--in the garden;

  giving her orders to one of the out-of-door servants with the

  tone and manner which proclaimed the mistress of the house.

  Suppose he said, "She is _not_ my friend's wife?" Female

  curiosity would inevitably put the next question, "Who is she?"

  Suppose he invented an explanation? The explanation would take

  time, and time would give his wife an opportunity of discovering

  Lady Jane. Seeing all these considerations in one breathless

  moment, Mr. Vanborough took the shortest and the boldest way out

  of the difficulty. He answered silently by an affirmative

  inclination of the head, which dextrously turned Mrs. Vanborough

  into to Mrs. Delamayn without allowing Mr. Delamayn the

  opportunity of hearing it.

  But the lawyer's eye was habitually watchful, and the lawyer saw

  him.

  Mastering in a moment his first natural astonishment at the

  liberty taken with him, Mr. Delamayn drew the inevitable

  conclusion that there was something wrong, and that there was an

  attempt (not to be permitted for a moment) to mix him up in it.

  He advanced, resolute to contradict his client, to his client's