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.