The Law and the Lady Page 6

  CHAPTER VI. MY OWN DISCOVERY.

  FORTUNATELY for me, the landlord did not open the door when I rang. Astupid maid-of-all-work, who never thought of asking me for my name, letme in. Mrs. Macallan was at home, and had no visitors with her. Givingme this information, the maid led the way upstairs, and showed me intothe drawing-room without a word of announcement.

  My mother-in-law was sitting alone, near a work-table, knitting. Themoment I appeared in the doorway she laid aside her work, and, rising,signed to me with a commanding gesture of her hand to let her speakfirst.

  "I know what you have come here for," she said. "You have come here toask questions. Spare yourself, and spare me. I warn you beforehand thatI will not answer any questions relating to my son."

  It was firmly, but not harshly said. I spoke firmly in my turn.

  "I have not come here, madam, to ask questions about your son," Ianswered. "I have come, if you will excuse me, to ask you a questionabout yourself."

  She started, and looked at me keenly over her spectacles. I hadevidently taken her by surprise.

  "What is the question?" she inquired.

  "I now know for the first time, madam, that your name is Macallan," Isaid. "Your son has married me under the name of Woodville. The onlyhonorable explanation of this circumstance, so far as I know, is that myhusband is your son by a first marriage. The happiness of my life is atstake. Will you kindly consider my position? Will you let me ask you ifyou have been twice married, and if the name of your first husband wasWoodville?"

  She considered a little before she replied.

  "The question is a perfectly natural one in your position," she said."But I think I had better not answer it."

  "May I as k why?"

  "Certainly. If I answered you, I should only lead to other questions,and I should be obliged to decline replying to them. I am sorry todisappoint you. I repeat what I said on the beach--I have no otherfeeling than a feeling of sympathy toward _you._ If you had consulted mebefore your marriage, I should willingly have admitted you to my fullestconfidence. It is now too late. You are married. I recommend you to makethe best of your position, and to rest satisfied with things as theyare."

  "Pardon me, madam," I remonstrated. "As things are, I don't know that I_am_ married. All I know, unless you enlighten me, is that your son hasmarried me under a name that is not his own. How can I be sure whether Iam or am not his lawful wife?"

  "I believe there can be no doubt that you are lawfully my son's wife,"Mrs. Macallan answered. "At any rate it is easy to take a legal opinionon the subject. If the opinion is that you are _not_ lawfully married,my son (whatever his faults and failings may be) is a gentleman. He isincapable of willfully deceiving a woman who loves and trusts him. Hewill do you justice. On my side, I will do you justice, too. If thelegal opinion is adverse to your rightful claims, I will promise toanswer any questions which you may choose to put to me. As it is, Ibelieve you to be lawfully my son's wife; and I say again, make the bestof your position. Be satisfied with your husband's affectionate devotionto you. If you value your peace of mind and the happiness of your lifeto come, abstain from attempting to know more than you know now."

  She sat down again with the air of a woman who had said her last word.

  Further remonstrance would be useless; I could see it in her face; Icould hear it in her voice. I turned round to open the drawing-roomdoor.

  "You are hard on me, madam," I said at parting. "I am at your mercy, andI must submit."

  She suddenly looked up, and answered me with a flush on her kind andhandsome old face.

  "As God is my witness, child, I pity you from the bottom of my heart!"

  After that extraordinary outburst of feeling, she took up her work withone hand, and signed to me with the other to leave her.

  I bowed to her in silence, and went out.

  I had entered the house far from feeling sure of the course I oughtto take in the future. I left the house positively resolved, come whatmight of it, to discover the secret which the mother and son were hidingfrom me. As to the question of the name, I saw it now in the light inwhich I ought to have seen it from the first. If Mrs. Macallan _had_been twice married (as I had rashly chosen to suppose), she wouldcertainly have shown some signs of recognition when she heard meaddressed by her first husband's name. Where all else was mystery,there was no mystery here. Whatever his reasons might be, Eustace hadassuredly married me under an assumed name.

  Approaching the door of our lodgings, I saw my husband walking backwardand forward before it, evidently waiting for my return. If he asked methe question, I decided to tell him frankly where I had been, and whathad passed between his mother and myself.

  He hurried to meet me with signs of disturbance in his face and manner.

  "I have a favor to ask of you, Valeria," he said. "Do you mind returningwith me to London by the next train?"

  I looked at him. In the popular phrase, I could hardly believe my ownears.

  "It's a matter of business," he went on, "of no interest to any one butmyself, and it requires my presence in London. You don't wish to sailjust yet, as I understand? I can't leave you here by yourself. Have youany objection to going to London for a day or two?"

  I made no objection. I too was eager to go back.

  In London I could obtain the legal opinion which would tell me whetherI were lawfully married to Eustace or not. In London I should be withinreach of the help and advice of my father's faithful old clerk. I couldconfide in Benjamin as I could confide in no one else. Dearly as Iloved my uncle Starkweather, I shrank from communicating with him in mypresent need. His wife had told me that I made a bad beginning when Isigned the wrong name in the marriage register. Shall I own it? My prideshrank from acknowledging, before the honeymoon was over, that his wifewas right.

  In two hours more we were on the railway again. Ah, what a contrast thatsecond journey presented to the first! On our way to Ramsgate everybodycould see that we were a newly wedded couple. On our way to Londonnobody noticed us; nobody would have doubted that we had been marriedfor years.

  We went to a private hotel in the neighborhood of Portland Place.

  After breakfast the next morning Eustace announced that he must leave meto attend to his business. I had previously mentioned to him that I hadsome purchases to make in London. He was quite willing to let me go outalone, on the condition that I should take a carriage provided by thehotel.

  My heart was heavy that morning: I felt the unacknowledged estrangementthat had grown up between us very keenly. My husband opened the doorto go out, and came back to kiss me before he left me by myself. Thatlittle after-thought of tenderness touched me. Acting on the impulse ofthe moment, I put my arm round his neck, and held him to me gently.

  "My darling," I said, "give me all your confidence. I know that you loveme. Show that you can trust me too."

  He sighed bitterly, and drew back from me--in sorrow, not in anger.

  "I thought we had agreed, Valeria, not to return to that subject again,"he said. "You only distress yourself and distress me."

  He left the room abruptly, as if he dare not trust himself to say more.It is better not to dwell on what I felt after this last repulse. Iordered the carriage at once. I was eager to find a refuge from my ownthoughts in movement and change.

  I drove to the shops first, and made the purchases which I had mentionedto Eustace by way of giving a reason for going out. Then I devotedmyself to the object which I really had at heart. I went to oldBenjamin's little villa, in the by-ways of St. John's Wood.

  As soon as he had got over the first surprise of seeing me, he noticedthat I looked pale and care-worn. I confessed at once that I was introuble. We sat down together by the bright fireside in his littlelibrary (Benjamin, as far as his means would allow, was a greatcollector of books), and there I told my old friend, frankly and truly,all that I have told here.

  He was too distressed to say much. He fervently pressed my hand; hefervently thanked God that my
father had not lived to hear what hehad heard. Then, after a pause, he repeated my mother-in-law's name tohimself in a doubting, questioning tone. "Macallan?" he said. "Macallan?Where have I heard that name? Why does it sound as if it wasn't strangeto me?"

  He gave up pursuing the lost recollection, and asked, very earnestly,what he could do for me. I answered that he could help me, in the firstplace, to put an end to the doubt--an unendurable doubt to _me_--whetherI were lawfully married or not. His energy of the old days when he hadconducted my father's business showed itself again the moment I saidthose words.

  "Your carriage is at the door, my dear," he answered. "Come with me tomy own lawyer, without wasting another moment."

  We drove to Lincoln's Inn Fields.

  At my request Benjamin put my case to the lawyer as the case of a friendin whom I was interested. The answer was given without hesitation. I hadmarried, honestly believing my husband's name to be the name under whichI had known him. The witnesses to my marriage--my uncle, my aunt, andBenjamin--had acted, as I had acted, in perfect good faith. Under thosecircumstances, there was no doubt about the law. I was legally married.Macallan or Woodville, I was his wife.

  This decisive answer relieved me of a heavy anxiety. I accepted my oldfriend's invitation to return with him to St. John's Wood, and to makemy luncheon at his early dinner.

  On our way back I reverted to the one other subject which was nowuppermost in my mind. I reiterated my resolution to discover why Eustacehad not married me under the name that was really his own.

  My companion shook his head, and entreated me to consider wellbeforehand what I proposed doing. His advice to me--so strangely doextremes meet!--was my mother-in-law's advice, repeated almost word forword. "Leave things as they are, my dear. In the interest of your ownpeace of mind be satisfied with your husband's affection. You knowthat you are his wife, and you know that he loves you. Surely that isenough?"

  I had but one answer to this. Life, on such conditions as my good friendhad just stated, would be simply unendurable to me. Nothing could altermy resolution--for this plain reason, that nothing could reconcile me toliving with my husband on the terms on which we were living now. It onlyrested with Benjamin to say whether he would give a helping hand to hismaster's daughter or not.

  The old man's answer was thoroughly characteristic of him.

  "Mention what you want of me, my dear," was all he said.

  We were then passing a street in the neighborhood of Portman Square. Iwas on the point of speaking again, when the words were suspended on mylips. I saw my husband.

  He was just descending the steps of a house--as if leaving it after avisit. His eyes were on the ground: he did not look up when the-carriagepassed. As the servant closed the door behind him, I noticed that thenumber of the house was Sixteen. At the next corner I saw the name ofthe street. It was Vivian Place.

  "Do you happen to know who lives at Number Sixteen Vivian Place?" Iinquired of my companion.

  Benjamin started. My question was certainly a strange one, after what hehad just said to me.

  "No," he replied. "Why do you ask?"

  "I have just seen Eustace leaving that house."

  "Well, my dear, and what of that?"

  "My mind is in a bad way, Benjamin. Everything my husband does that Idon't understand rouses my suspicion now."

  Benjamin lifted his withered old hands, and let them drop on his kneesagain in mute lamentation over me.

  "I tell you again," I went on, "my life is unendurable to me. I won'tanswer for what I may do if I am left much longer to live in doubt ofthe one man on earth whom I love. You have had experience of the world.Suppose you were shut out from Eustace's confidence, as I am? Supposeyou were as fond of him as I am, and felt your position as bitterly as Ifeel it--what would you do?"

  The question was plain. Benjamin met it with a plain answer.

  "I think I should find my way, my dear, to some intimate friend of yourhusband's," he said, "and make a few discreet inquiries in that quarterfirst."

  Some intimate friend of my husband's? I considered with myself. Therewas but one friend of his whom I knew of--my uncle's correspondent,Major Fitz-David. My heart beat fast as the name recurred to my memory.Suppose I followed Benjamin's advice? Suppose I applied to MajorFitz-David? Even if he, too, refused to answer my questions, my positionwould not be more helpless than it was now. I determined to make theattempt. The only difficulty in the way, so far, was to discover theMajor's address. I had given back his letter to Doctor Starkweather,at my uncle's own request. I remembered that the address from which theMajor wrote was somewhere in London--and I remembered no more.

  "Thank you, old friend; you have given me an idea already," I said toBenjamin. "Have you got a Directory in your house?"

  "No, my dear," he rejoined, looking very much puzzled. "But I can easilysend out and borrow one."

  We returned to the villa. The servant was sent at once to the neareststationer's to borrow a Directory. She returned with the book just as wesat down to dinner. Searching for the Major's name under the letter F, Iwas startled by a new discovery.

  "Benjamin!" I said. "This is a strange coincidence. Look here!"

  He looked where I pointed. Major Fitz-David's address was Number SixteenVivian Place--the very house which I had seen my husband leaving as wepassed in the carriage!