CHAPTER IX. THE DEFEAT OF THE MAJOR.
MAJOR FITZ-DAVID'S visitor proved to be a plump, round-eyed overdressedgirl, with a florid complexion and straw colored hair. After firstfixing on me a broad stare of astonishment, she pointedly addressed herapologies for intruding on us to the Major alone. The creature evidentlybelieved me to be the last new object of the old gentleman's idolatry;and she took no pains to disguise her jealous resentment on discoveringus together. Major Fitz-David set matters right in his own irresistibleway. He kissed the hand of the overdressed girl as devotedly as he hadkissed mine; he told her she was looking charmingly. Then he led her,with his happy mixture of admiration and respect, back to the door bywhich she had entered--a second door communicating directly with thehall.
"No apology is necessary, my dear," he said. "This lady is with me ona matter of business. You will find your singing-master waiting for youupstairs. Begin your lesson; and I will join you in a few minutes. _Aurevoir_, my charming pupil--_au revoir._"
The young lady answered this polite little speech in a whisper--with herround eyes fixed distrustfully on me while she spoke. The door closed onher. Major Fitz-David was a t liberty to set matters right with me, inmy turn.
"I call that young person one of my happy discoveries;" said the oldgentleman, complacently. "She possesses, I don't hesitate to say, thefinest soprano voice in Europe. Would you believe it, I met with her atthe railway station. She was behind the counter in a refreshment-room,poor innocent, rinsing wine-glasses, and singing over her work. GoodHeavens, such singing! Her upper notes electrified me. I said to myself;'Here is a born prima donna--I will bring her out!' She is the thirdI have brought out in my time. I shall take her to Italy when hereducation is sufficiently advanced, and perfect her at Milan. In thatunsophisticated girl, my dear lady, you see one of the future Queens ofSong. Listen! She is beginning her scales. What a voice! Brava! Brava!Bravissima!"
The high soprano notes of the future Queen of Song rang through thehouse as he spoke. Of the loudness of the young lady's voice there couldbe no sort of doubt. The sweetness and the purity of it admitted, in myopinion, of considerable dispute.
Having said the polite words which the occasion rendered necessary, Iventured to recall Major Fitz-David to the subject in discussion betweenus when his visitor had entered the room. The Major was very unwillingto return to the perilous topic on which we had just touched when theinterruption occurred. He beat time with his forefinger to the singingupstairs; he asked me about _my_ voice, and whether I sang; he remarkedthat life would be intolerable to him without Love and Art. A man in myplace would have lost all patience, and would have given up the strugglein disgust. Being a woman, and having my end in view, my resolution wasinvincible. I fairly wore out the Major's resistance, and compelled himto surrender at discretion. It is only justice to add that, when he didmake up his mind to speak to me again of Eustace, he spoke frankly, andspoke to the point.
"I have known your husband," he began, "since the time when he was aboy. At a certain period of his past life a terrible misfortune fellupon him. The secret of that misfortune is known to his friends, andis religiously kept by his friends. It is the secret that he is keepingfrom You. He will never tell it to you as long as he lives. And he hasbound _me_ not to tell it, under a promise given on my word of honor.You wished, dear Mrs. Woodville, to be made acquainted with my positiontoward Eustace. There it is!"
"You persist in calling me Mrs. Woodville," I said.
"Your husband wishes me to persist," the Major answered. "He assumed thename of Woodville, fearing to give his own name, when he first calledat your uncle's house. He will now acknowledge no other. Remonstranceis useless. You must do what we do--you must give way to an unreasonableman. The best fellow in the world in other respects: in this one matteras obstinate and self-willed as he can be. If you ask me my opinion, Itell you honestly that I think he was wrong in courting and marryingyou under his false name. He trusted his honor and his happiness to yourkeeping in making you his--wife. Why should he not trust the story ofhis troubles to you as well? His mother quite shares my opinion inthis matter. You must not blame her for refusing to admit you intoher confidence after your marriage: it was then too late. Before yourmarriage she did all she could do--without betraying secrets which, asa good mother, she was bound to respect--to induce her son to act justlytoward you. I commit no indiscretion when I tell you that she refusedto sanction your marriage mainly for the reason that Eustace refused tofollow her advice, and to tell you what his position really was. On mypart I did all I could to support Mrs. Macallan in the course that shetook. When Eustace wrote to tell me that he had engaged himself to marrya niece of my good friend Doctor Starkweather, and that he had mentionedme as his reference, I wrote back to warn him that I would have nothingto do with the affair unless he revealed the whole truth about himselfto his future wife. He refused to listen to me, as he had refused tolisten to his mother; and he held me at the same time to my promise tokeep his secret. When Starkweather wrote to me, I had no choice but toinvolve myself in a deception of which I thoroughly disapproved, or toanswer in a tone so guarded and so brief as to stop the correspondenceat the outset. I chose the last alternative; and I fear I have offendedmy good old friend. You now see the painful position in which I amplaced. To add to the difficulties of that situation, Eustace came herethis very day to warn me to be on my guard, in case of your addressingto me the very request which you have just made! He told me that you hadmet with his mother, by an unlucky accident, and that you had discoveredthe family name. He declared that he had traveled to London for theexpress purpose of speaking to me personally on this serious subject.'I know your weakness,' he said, 'where women are concerned. Valeria isaware that you are my old friend. She will certainly write to you; shemay even be bold enough to make her way into your house. Renew yourpromise to keep the great calamity of my life a secret, on your honorand on your oath. 'Those were his words, as nearly as I can rememberthem. I tried to treat the thing lightly; I ridiculed the absurdlytheatrical notion of 'renewing my promise,' and all the rest of it.Quite useless! He refused to leave me; he reminded me of his unmeritedsufferings, poor fellow, in the past time. It ended in his bursting intotears. You love him, and so do I. Can you wonder that I let him have hisway? The result is that I am doubly bound to tell you nothing, by themost sacred promise that a man can give. My dear lady, I cordially sidewith you in this matter; I long to relieve your anxieties. But what canI do?"
He stopped, and waited--gravely waited--to hear my reply.
I had listened from beginning to end without interrupting him. Theextraordinary change in his manner, and in his way of expressinghimself, while he was speaking of Eustace, alarmed me as nothing hadalarmed me yet. How terrible (I thought to myself) must this untoldstory be, if the mere act of referring to it makes light-hearted MajorFitz-David speak seriously and sadly, never smiling, never paying me acompliment, never even noticing the singing upstairs! My heart sank inme as I drew that startling conclusion. For the first time since I hadentered the house I was at the end of my resources; I knew neither whatto say nor what to do next.
And yet I kept my seat. Never had the resolution to discover what myhusband was hiding from me been more firmly rooted in my mind than itwas at that moment! I cannot account for the extraordinary inconsistencyin my character which this confession implies. I can only describe thefacts as they really were.
The singing went on upstairs. Major Fitz-David still waited impenetrablyto hear what I had to say--to know what I resolved on doing next.
Before I had decided what to say or what to do, another domesticincident happened. In plain words, another knocking announced a newvisitor at the house door. On this occasion there was no rustling of awoman's dress in the hall. On this occasion only the old servantentered the room, carrying a magnificent nosegay in his hand. "With LadyClarinda's kind regards. To remind Major Fitz-David of his appointment."Another lady! This time a lady with a title. A great lady who se
nther flowers and her messages without condescending to concealment. TheMajor--first apologizing to me--wrote a few lines of acknowledgment,and sent them out to the messenger. When the door was closed again hecarefully selected one of the choicest flowers in the nosegay. "May Iask," he said, presenting the flower to me with his best grace, "whetheryou now understand the delicate position in which I am placed betweenyour husband and yourself?"
The little interruption caused by the appearance of the nosegay hadgiven a new impulse to my thoughts, and had thus helped, in some degree,to restore me to myself. I was able at last to satisfy Major Fitz-Davidthat his considerate and courteous explanation had not been thrown awayupon me.
"I thank you, most sincerely, Major," I said "You have convinced me thatI must not ask you to forget, on my account, the promise which you havegiven to my husband. It is a sacred promise, which I too am bound torespect--I quite understand that."
The Major drew a long breath of relief, and patted me on the shoulder inhigh approval of what I had said to him.
"Admirably expressed!" he rejoined, recovering his light-hearted looksand his lover-like ways all in a moment. "My dear lady, you have thegift of sympathy; you see exactly how I am situated. Do you know, youremind me of my charming Lady Clarinda. _She_ has the gift of sympathy,and sees exactly how I am situated. I should so enjoy introducing youto each other," said the Major, plunging his long nose ecstatically intoLady Clarinda's flowers.
I had my end still to gain; and, being (as you will have discovered bythis time) the most obstinate of living women, I still kept that end inview.
"I shall be delighted to meet Lady Clarinda," I replied. "In themeantime--"
"I will get up a little dinner," proceeded the Major, with a burst ofenthusiasm. "You and I and Lady Clarinda. Our young prima donna shallcome in the evening, and sing to us. Suppose we draw out the _menu?_ Mysweet friend, what is your favorite autumn soup?"
"In the meantime," I persisted, "to return to what we were speaking ofjust now--"
The Major's smile vanished; the Major's hand dropped the pen destined toimmortalize the name of my favorite autumn soup.
"_Must_ we return to that?" he asked, piteously.
"Only for a moment," I said.
"You remind me," pursued Major Fitz-David, shaking his head sadly, "ofanother charming friend of mine--a French friend--Madame Mirliflore. Youare a person of prodigious tenacity of purpose. Madame Mirliflore is aperson of prodigious tenacity of purpose. She happens to be in London.Shall we have her at our little dinner?" The Major brightened at theidea, and took up the pen again. "Do tell me," he said, "what _is_ yourfavorite autumn soup?"
"Pardon me," I began, "we were speaking just now--"
"Oh, dear me!" cried Major Fitz-David. "Is this the other subject?"
"Yes--this is the other subject."
The Major put down his pen for the second time, and regretfullydismissed from his mind Madame Mirliflore and the autumn soup.
"Yes?" he said, with a patient bow and a submissive smile. "You weregoing to say--"
"I was going to say," I rejoined, "that your promise only pledges younot to tell the secret which my husband is keeping from me. You havegiven no promise not to answer me if I venture to ask you one or twoquestions."
Major Fitz-David held up his hand warningly, and cast a sly look at meout of his bright little gray eyes.
"Stop!" he said. "My sweet friend, stop there! I know where yourquestions will lead me, and what the result will be if I once beginto answer them. When your husband was here to-day he took occasion toremind me that I was as weak as water in the hands of a pretty woman.He is quite right. I _am_ as weak as water; I can refuse nothing to apretty woman. Dear and admirable lady, don't abuse your influence! don'tmake an old soldier false to his word of honor!"
I tried to say something here in defense of my motives. The Majorclasped his hands entreatingly, and looked at me with a pleadingsimplicity wonderful to see.
"Why press it?" he asked. "I offer no resistance. I am a lamb--whysacrifice me? I acknowledge your power; I throw myself on your mercy.All the misfortunes of my youth and my manhood have come to me throughwomen. I am not a bit better in my age--I am just as fond of the womenand just as ready to be misled by them as ever, with one foot in thegrave. Shocking, isn't it? But how true! Look at this mark!" He lifteda curl of his beautiful brown wig, and showed me a terrible scar at theside of his head. "That wound (supposed to be mortal at the time) wasmade by a pistol bullet," he proceeded. "Not received in the service ofmy country--oh dear, no! Received in the service of a much-injured lady,at the hands of her scoundrel of a husband, in a duel abroad. Well, shewas worth it." He kissed his hand affectionately to the memory of thedead or absent lady, and pointed to a water-color drawing of a prettycountry-house hanging on the opposite wall. "That fine estate," heproceeded, "once belonged to me. It was sold years and years since. Andwho had the money? The women--God bless them all!--the women. I don'tregret it. If I had another estate, I have no doubt it would go the sameway. Your adorable sex has made its pretty playthings of my life, mytime, and my money--and welcome! The one thing I have kept to myselfis my honor. And now _that_ is in danger. Yes, if you put your cleverlittle questions, with those lovely eyes and with that gentle voice, Iknow what will happen. You will deprive me of the last and best of allmy possessions. Have I deserved to be treated in that way, and by you,my charming friend?--by you, of all people in the world? Oh, fie! fie!"
He paused and looked at me as before--the picture of artless entreaty,with his head a little on one side. I made another attempt to speakof the matter in dispute between us, from my own point of view. MajorFitz-David instantly threw himself prostrate on my mercy more innocentlythan ever.
"Ask of me anything else in the wide world," he said; "but don't ask meto be false to my friend. Spare me _that_--and there is nothing I willnot do to satisfy you. I mean what I say, mind!" he went on, bendingcloser to me, and speaking more seriously than he had spoken yet "Ithink you are very hardly used. It is monstrous to expect that a woman,placed in your situation, will consent to be left for the rest of herlife in the dark. No! no! if I saw you, at this moment, on the pointof finding out for yourself what Eustace persists in hiding from you, Ishould remember that my promise, like all other promises, has itslimits and reserves. I should consider myself bound in honor not to helpyou--but I would not lift a finger to prevent you from discovering thetruth for yourself."
At last he was speaking in good earnest: he laid a strong emphasis onhis closing words. I laid a stronger emphasis on them still by suddenlyleaving my chair. The impulse to spring to my feet was irresistible.Major Fitz-David had started a new idea in my mind.
"Now we understand each other!" I said. "I will accept your own terms,Major. I will ask nothing of you but what you have just offered to me ofyour own accord."
"What have I offered?" he inquired, looking a little alarmed.
"Nothing that you need repent of," I answered; "nothing which is noteasy for you to grant. May I ask a bold question? Suppose this house wasmine instead of yours?"
"Consider it yours," cried the gallant old gentleman. "From the garretto the kitchen, consider it yours!"
"A thousand thanks, Major; I will consider it mine for the moment.You know--everybody knows--that one of a woman's many weaknesses iscuriosity. Suppose my curiosity led me to examine everything in my newhouse?"
"Yes?"
"Suppose I went from room to room, and searched everything, and peepedin everywhere? Do you think there would be any chance--"
The quick-witted Major anticipated the nature of my question. Hefollowed my example; he too started to his feet, with a new idea in hismind.
"Would there be any chance," I went on, "of my finding my own way tomy husband's secret in this house? One word of reply, Major Fitz-David!Only one word--Yes or No?"
"Don't excite yourself!" cried the Major.
"Yes or No?" I repeated, more vehemently than ever.
"Yes,"
said the Major, after a moment's consideration.
It was the reply I had asked for; but it was not explicit enough, nowI had got it, to satisfy me. I felt the necessity of leading him (ifpossible) into details.
"Does 'Yes' mean that there is some sort of clew to the mystery?" Iasked. "Something, for instance, which my eyes might see and my handsmight touch if I could only find it?"
He considered again. I saw that I had succeeded in interesting him insome way unknown to myself; and I waited patiently until he was preparedto answer me.
"The thing you mention," he said, "the clew (as you call it), might beseen and might be touched--supposing you could find it."
"In this house?" I asked.
The Major advanced a step nearer to me, and answered--
"In this room."
My head began to swim; my heart throbbed violently. I tried to speak;it was in vain; the effort almost choked me. In the silence I couldhear the music-lesson still going on in the room above. The future primadonna had done practicing her scales, and was trying her voice now inselections from Italian operas. At the moment when I first heard hershe was singing the beautiful air from the _Somnambula,_ "Come per mesereno." I never hear that delicious melody, to this day, without beinginstantly transported in imagination to the fatal back-room in VivianPlace.
The Major--strongly affected himself by this time--was the first tobreak the silence.
"Sit down again," he said; "and pray take the easy-chair. You are verymuch agitated; you want rest."
He was right. I could stand no longer; I dropped into the chair. MajorFitz-David rang the bell, and spoke a few words to the servant at thedoor.
"I have been here a long time," I said, faintly. "Tell me if I am in theway."
"In the way?" he repeated, with his irresistible smile. "You forget thatyou are in your own house!"
The servant returned to us, bringing with him a tiny bottle of champagneand a plateful of delicate little sugared biscuits.
"I have had this wine bottled expressly for the ladies," said the Major."The biscuits came to me direct from Paris. As a favor to _me,_ youmust take some refreshment. And then--" He stopped and looked at me veryattentively. "And then," he resumed, "shall I go to my young prima donnaupstairs and leave you here alone?"
It was impossible to hint more delicately at the one request which Inow had it in my mind to make to him. I took his hand and pressed itgratefully.
"The tranquillity of my whole life to come is at stake," I said. "When Iam left here by myself, does your generous sympathy permit me to examineeverything in the room?"
He signed to me to drink the champagne and eat a biscuit before he gavehis answer.
"This is serious," he said. "I wish you to be in perfect possession ofyourself. Restore your strength--and then I will speak to you."
I did as he bade me. In a minute from the time when I drank it thedelicious sparkling wine had begun to revive me.
"Is it your express wish," he resumed, "that I should leave you here byyourself to search the room?"
"It is my express wish," I answered.
"I take a heavy responsibility on myself in granting your request. But Igrant it for all that, because I sincerely believe--as you believe--thatthe tranquillity of your life to come depends on your discovering thetruth." Saying those words, he took two keys from his pocket. "You willnaturally feel a suspicion," he went on, "of any locked doors that youmay find here. The only locked places in the room are the doors of thecupboards under the long book-case, and the door of the Italian cabinetin that corner. The small key opens the book-case cupboards; the longkey opens the cabinet door."
With that explanation, he laid the keys before me on the table.
"Thus far," he said, "I have rigidly respected the promise which I madeto your husband. I shall continue to be faithful to my promise, whatevermay be the result of your examination of the room. I am bound in honornot to assist you by word or deed. I am not even at liberty to offer youthe slightest hint. Is that understood?"
"Certainly!"
"Very good. I have now a last word of warning to give you--and then Ihave done. If you do by any chance succeed in laying your hand on theclew, remember this--_the discovery which follows will be a terribleone._ If you have any doubt about your capacity to sustain a shock whichwill strike you to the soul, for God's sake give up the idea of findingout your husband's secret at once and forever!"
"I thank you for your warning, Major. I must face the consequences ofmaking the discovery, whatever they may be."
"You are positively resolved?"
"Positively."
"Very well. Take any time you please. The house, and every person in it,are at your disposal. Ring the bell once if you want the man-servant.Ring twice if you wish the housemaid to wait on you. From time to time Ishall just look in myself to see how you are going on. I am responsiblefor your comfort and security, you know, while you honor me by remainingunder my roof."
He lifted my hand to his lips, and fixed a last attentive look on me.
"I hope I am not running too great a risk," he said--more to himselfthan to me. "The women have led me into many a rash action in my time.Have _you_ led me, I wonder, into the rashest action of all?"
With those ominous last words he bowed gravely and left me alone in theroom.
The Law and the Lady Page 9