The Legacy of Cain Read online

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 forgotten 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 her. 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?

  At dinner-time we found the master of the house waiting to bid us welcome.


  Personally speaking, he presented a remarkable contrast to the typical British

  farmer. He was neither big nor burly; he spoke English as well as I did; and

  there was nothing in his dress which would have made him a fit subject for a

  picture of rustic life. When he spoke, he was able to talk on subjects

  unconnected with agricultural pursuits; nor did I hear him grumble about the

  weather and the crops. It was pleasant to see that his wife was proud of him,

  and that he was, what all fathers ought to be, his children's best and dearest

  friend. Why do I dwell on these details, relating to a man whom I was not

  destined to see again? Only because I had reason to feel grateful to him. When

  my spirits were depressed by anxiety, he made my mind easy about Eunice, as long

  as she remained in his house.

  The social arrangements, when our meal was over, fell of themselves into the

  right train.

  Miss Jillgall went upstairs, with the mother and the children, to see the

  nursery and the bedrooms. Mrs. Tenbruggen discovered a bond of union between the

  farmer and herself; they were both skilled players at backgammon, and they sat

  down to try conclusions at their favorite game. Without any wearisome necessity

  for excuses or stratagems, Eunice took my arm and led me to the welcome

  retirement of her own sitting-room.

  I could honestly congratulate her, when I heard that she was established at the

  farm as a member of the family. While she was governess to the children, she was

  safe from dangers that might have threatened her, if she had been compelled by

  circumstances to return to the Minister's house.

  The entry in her Journal, which she was anxious that I should read, was placed

  before me next.

  I followed the poor child's account of the fearful night that she had passed,

  with an interest that held me breathless to the end. A terrible dream, which had

  impressed a sense of its reality on the sleeper by reaching its climax in

  somnambulism--this was the obvious explanation, no doubt; and a rational mind

  would not hesitate to accept it. But a rational mind is not a universal gift,

  even in a country which prides itself on the idol-worship of Fact. Those good

  friends who are always better acquainted with our faults, failings, and

  weaknesses than we can pretend to be ourselves, had long since discovered that

  my nature was superstitious, and my imagination likely to mislead me in the

  presence of events which encouraged it. Well! I was weak enough to recoil from

  the purely rational view of all that Eunice had suffered, and heard, and seen,

  on the fateful night recorded in her Journal. Good and Evil walk the ways of

  this unintelligible world, on the same free conditions. If we cling, as many of

  us do, to the comforting belief that departed spirits can minister to earthly

  creatures for good--can be felt moving in us, in a train of thought, and seen as

  visible manifestations, in a dream--with what pretense of reason can we deny

  that the same freedom of supernatural influence which is conceded to the

  departed spirit, working for good, is also permitted to the departed spirit,

  working for evil? If the grave cannot wholly part mother and child, when the

  mother's life has been good, does eternal annihilation separate them, when the

  mother's life has been wicked? No! If the departed spirit can bring with it a

  blessing, the departed spirit can bring with it a curse. I dared not confess to

  Eunice that the influence of her murderess-mother might, as I thought possible,

  have been supernaturally present when she heard temptation whispering in her

  ear; but I dared not deny it to myself. All that I could say to satisfy and

  sustain her, I did say. And when I declared--with my whole heart declared--that

  the noble passion which had elevated her whole being, and had triumphed over the

  sorest trials that desertion could inflict, would still triumph to the end, I

  saw hope, in that brave and true heart, showing its bright promise for the

  future in Eunice's eyes.