Poor Miss Finch

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH

  On the Way to the End. First Stage

  You will perhaps expect me to give some account of how Oscar bore thediscovery of his brother's conduct.

  I find it by no means easy to do this. Oscar baffled me.

  The first words of any importance which he addressed to me were spoken onour way to the station. Rousing himself from his own thoughts, he saidvery earnestly----

  "I want to know what conclusion you have drawn from Mrs. Finch's letter."

  Naturally enough, under the circumstances, I tried to avoid answeringhim. He was not to be put off in that way.

  "You will do me a favor," he went on, "if you will reply to my question.The letter has bred in me such a vile suspicion of my dear good brother,who never deceived me in his life, that I would rather believe I am outof my mind than believe in my own interpretation of it. Do _you_ inferfrom what Mrs. Finch writes, that Nugent has presented himself to Lucillaunder my name? Do _you_ believe that he has persuaded her to leave herfriends, under the impression that she has yielded to My entreaties, andtrusted herself to My care?"

  I answered in the fewest and plainest words, "That is what your brotherhas done."

  A sudden change passed over him. My reply seemed to have set his lastdoubts at rest in an instant.

  "That is what my brother has done," he repeated. "After all that Isacrificed to him--after all that I trusted to his honor--when I leftEngland." He paused, and considered a little. "What does such a mandeserve?" he went on; speaking to himself, in a low threatening tone thatstartled me.

  "He deserves," I said, "what he will get when we reach England. You haveonly to show yourself to make him repent his wickedness to the last dayof his life. Are exposure and defeat not punishment enough for such a manas Nugent?" I stopped, and waited for his answer.

  He turned his face away from me, and said no more until we arrived at thestation. There, he drew me aside for a moment out of hearing of thestrangers about us.

  "Why should I take you away from your father?" he asked abruptly. "I ambehaving very selfishly--and I only see it now."

  "Make your mind easy," I said. "If I had not met you to-day, I shouldhave gone to England to-morrow for Lucilla's sake."

  "But now you _have_ met me," he persisted, "why shouldn't I spare you thejourney? I could write and tell you every thing--without putting you tothis fatigue and expense."

  "If you say a word more," I answered, "I shall think you have some reasonof your own for wishing to go to England by yourself."

  He cast one quick suspicious look at me--and led the way back to thebooking-office without uttering another word. I was not at all satisfiedwith him. I thought his conduct very strange.

  In silence we took our tickets; in silence, we got into therailway-carriage. I attempted to say something encouraging, when westarted. "Don't notice me," was all he replied. "You will be doing me akindness, if you will let me bear it by myself." In my former experienceof him, he had talked his way out of all his other troubles--he hadclamorously demanded the expression of my sympathy with him. In thisgreatest trouble, he was like another being; I hardly knew him again!Were the hidden reserves in his nature (stirred up by another seriouscall on them) showing themselves once more on the surface as they hadshown themselves already, on the fatal first day when Lucilla tried hersight? In that way I accounted for the mere superficial change in him, atthe time. What was actually going on below the surface it defied myingenuity even to guess. Perhaps I shall best describe the sort of vagueapprehension which he aroused in me--after what had passed between us atthe station--by saying that I would not for worlds have allowed him to goto England by himself.

  Left as I now was to my own resources, I occupied the first hours of thejourney, in considering what course it would be safest and best for us totake, on reaching England.

  I decided, in the first place, that we ought to go straight to Dimchurch.If any tidings had been obtained of Lucilla, they would be sure to havereceived them at the rectory. Our route, after reaching Paris, must betherefore by way of Dieppe; thence across the Channel to Newhaven, nearBrighton--and so to Dimchurch.

  In the second place--assuming it to be always possible that we might seeLucilla at the rectory--the risk of abruptly presenting Oscar to her inhis own proper person might, for all I knew to the contrary, be a veryserious one. It would relieve us, as I thought, of a graveresponsibility, if we warned Grosse of our arrival, and so enabled him tobe present, if he thought it necessary, in the interests of Lucilla'shealth. I put this view (as also my plan for returning by way of Dieppe)to Oscar. He briefly consented to everything--he ungraciously left it allto me.

  Accordingly, on our arrival at Lyons, having some time for refreshment atour disposal before we went on, I telegraphed to Mr. Finch at therectory, and to Grosse in London; informing them (as well as I couldcalculate it) that, if we were lucky in catching trains and steamboats,Oscar and I might be in Dimchurch in good time, on the next night--thatis to say, on the night of the eighteenth. In any case, they were toexpect us at the earliest possible moment.

  These difficulties disposed of, and a little store of refreshment for thenight packed in my basket, we re-entered the train, for our long journeyto Paris.

  Among the new passengers who joined us at Lyons was a gentleman whoseface was English, and whose dress was the dress of a clergyman. For thefirst time in my life, I hailed the appearance of a priest with a feelingof relief. The reason was this. From the moment when I had read Mrs.Finch's letter until now, a horrid doubt, which a priest was just the manto solve, had laid its leaden weight on my mind--and, I firmly believe,on Oscar's mind as well. Had time enough passed, since Lucilla had leftRamsgate, to allow of Nugent's marrying her, under his brother's name?

  As the train rolled out of the station, I, the enemy of priests, began tomake myself agreeable to _this_ priest. He was young and shy--but Iconquered him. Just as the other travelers were beginning (with theexception of Oscar) to compose themselves to sleep, I put my case to theclergyman. "A and B, sir, lady and gentleman, both of age, leave oneplace in England, and go to live in another place, on the fifth of thismonth--how soon, if you please, can they be lawfully married after that?"

  "I presume you mean in church?" said the young clergyman.

  "In church, of course." (To that extent I believed I might answer forLucilla, without any fear of making a mistake.)

  "They may be married by License," said the clergyman--"provided one ofthem continues to reside in that other place to which they traveled onthe fifth--on the twenty-first, or (possibly) even the twentieth of thismonth."

  "Not before?"

  "Certainly not before."

  It was then the night of the seventeenth. I gave my companion's hand alittle squeeze in the dark. Here was a glimpse of encouragement to cheerus on the journey. Before the marriage could take place, we should be inEngland. "We have time before us," I whispered to Oscar. "We will saveLucilla yet."

  "Shall we find Lucilla?" was all he whispered back.

  I had forgotten that serious difficulty. No answer to Oscar's questioncould possibly present itself until we reached the rectory. Between thisand then, there was nothing for it but to keep patience and to keep hope.

  I refrain from encumbering this part of my narrative with any detailedaccount of the little accidents, lucky and unlucky, which alternatelyhastened or retarded our journey home. Let me only say that, beforemidnight on the eighteenth, Oscar and I drove up to the rectory gate.

  Mr. Finch himself came out to receive us, with a lamp in his hand. Helifted his eyes (and his lamp) devotionally to the sky when he saw Oscar.The two first words he said, were:--

  "Inscrutable Providence!"

  "Have you found Lucilla?" I asked.

  Mr. Finch--with his whole attention fixed on Oscar--wrung my handmechanically, and said I was a "good creature;" much as he might havepatted, and spoken to, Oscar's companion, if the companion had been adog. I almost wished myself tha
t animal for the moment--I should have hadthe privilege of biting Mr. Finch. Oscar impatiently repeated myquestion; the rector, at the time, officiously assisting him to descendfrom the carriage, and leaving me to get out as I could.

  "Did you hear Madame Pratolungo?" Oscar asked. "Is Lucilla found?"

  "Dear Oscar, we hope to find her, now you have come."

  That answer revealed to me the secret of Mr. Finch's extraordinarypoliteness to his young friend. The last chance, as things were, ofpreventing Lucilla's marriage to a man who had squandered away everyfarthing of his money, was the chance of Oscar's arrival in Englandbefore the ceremony could take place. The measure of Oscar's importanceto Mr. Finch was now, more literally than ever, the measure of Oscar'sfortune.

  I asked for news of Grosse as we went in. The rector actually found somecomparatively high notes in his prodigious voice, to express hisamazement at my audacity in speaking to him of anybody but Oscar.

  "Oh, dear, dear me!" cried Mr. Finch, impatiently conceding to me oneprecious moment of his attention. "Don't bother about Grosse! Grosse isill in London. There is a note for you from Grosse.--Take care of thedoor-step, dear Oscar," he went on, in his deepest and gravest bassnotes. "Mrs. Finch is so anxious to see you. We have both looked forwardto your arrival with such eager hope--such impatient affection, so tospeak. Let me put down your hat. Ah! how you must have suffered! Share mytrust in an all-wise Providence, and meet this trial with cheerfulsubmission as I do. All is not lost yet. Bear up! bear up!" He threw openthe parlor door. "Mrs. Finch! compose yourself. Our dear adopted son. Ourafflicted Oscar!"

  Is it necessary to say what Mrs. Finch was about, and how Mrs. Finchlooked?

  There were the three unchangeable institutions--the novel, the baby, andthe missing pocket-handkerchief There was the gaudy jacket over the longtrailing dressing-gown--and the damp lady inside them, damp as ever!Receiving Oscar with a mouth drawn down at the corners, and a head thatshook sadly in sympathy with him, Mrs. Finch's face underwent a mostextraordinary transformation when she turned my way next. To myastonishment, her dim eyes actually sparkled; a broad smile ofirrepressible contentment showed itself cunningly to _me,_ in place ofthe dismal expression which had welcomed Oscar. Holding up the baby intriumph, the lady of the rectory whispered these words in my ear:--"Whatdo you think he has done since you have been away?"

  "I really don't know," I answered.

  "He has cut two teeth! Put your finger in and feel."

  Others might bewail the family misfortune. The family triumph filled thesecret mind of Mrs. Finch, to the exclusion of every other earthlyconsideration. I put my finger in as instructed, and got instantly bittenby the ferocious baby. But for a new outburst of the rector's voice atthe moment, Mrs. Finch (if I am any judge of physiognomy) must havecertainly relieved herself by a scream of delight. As it was, she openedher mouth; and (having lost her handkerchief as already stated) retiredinto a corner, and gagged herself with the baby.

  In the meantime, Mr. Finch had produced from a cupboard near thefireplace, two letters. The first he threw down impatiently on the table."Oh, dear, dear! what a nuisance other people's letters are!" The secondhe handled with extraordinary care; offering it to Oscar with a heavysigh, and with eyes that turned up martyr-like to the ceiling. "Rouseyourself, and read it," said Mr. Finch in his most pathetic pulpit tones."I would have spared you, Oscar, if I could. All our hopes depend, dearboy, on what you can say to guide us when you have read those lines."

  Oscar took the enclosure out of the envelope--ran over the firstwords--glanced at the signature--and, with a look of mingled rage andhorror, threw the letter on the floor.

  "Don't ask me to read it!" he cried, in the first burst of passion whichhad escaped him yet. "If I read it, I shall kill him when we meet." Hedropped into a chair, and hid his face in his hands. "Oh, Nugent! Nugent!Nugent!" he moaned to himself, with a cry that was dreadful to hear.

  It was no time for standing on ceremony. I picked up the letter, andlooked at it without asking leave. It proved to be the letter from Nugent(already inserted at the close of Lucilla's Journal), informing MissBatchford of her niece's flight from Ramsgate, and signed in Oscar'sname. The only words which it is necessary to repeat here, arethese:--"She accompanies me, at my express request, to the house of amarried lady who is a relative of mine, and under whose care she willremain, until the time arrives for our marriage."

  Those lines instantly lightened my heart of the burden that had oppressedit on the journey. Nugent's married relative was Oscar's married relativetoo. Oscar had only to tell us where the lady lived--and Lucilla would befound!

  I stopped Mr. Finch, in the act of maddening Oscar by administeringpastoral consolation to him.

  "Leave it to me," I said, showing him the letter. "I know what you want."

  The rector stared at me indignantly. I turned to Mrs. Finch.

  "We have had a weary journey," I went on. "Oscar is not so well used totraveling as I am. Where is his room?"

  Mrs. Finch rose to show the way. Her husband opened his lips tointerfere.

  "Leave it to me," I repeated. "I understand him; and you don't."

  For once in his life, the Pope of Dimchurch was reduced to silence. Hisamazement at my audacity defied even his powers of expression. I tookOscar's arm, and said, "You are worn out. Go to your room. I will makeyou something warm and bring it up to you myself in a few minutes." Heneither looked at me nor answered me--he yielded silently and followedMrs. Finch. I took from the sideboard, on which supper was waiting, thematerials I wanted; set the kettle boiling; made my renovating mixture;and advanced to the door with it--followed from first to last, move whereI might, by the staring and scandalized eyes of Mr. Finch. The moment inwhich I opened the door was also the moment in which the rector recoveredhimself. "Permit me to inquire, Madame Pratolungo," he said with hisloftiest emphasis, "in what capacity are You here?"

  "In the capacity of Oscar's friend," I answered. "You will get rid of usboth to-morrow." I banged the door behind me, and went up-stairs. If Ihad been Mr. Finch's wife, I believe I should have ended in making quitean agreeable man of him.

  Mrs. Finch met me in the passage on the first floor, and pointed outOscar's room. I found him walking backwards and forwards restlessly. Thefirst words he said alluded to his brother's letter. I had arranged notto disturb him by any reference to that painful matter until the nextmorning; and I tried to change the topic. It was useless. There was ananxiety in his mind which was not to be dismissed at will. He insisted onmy instantly setting that anxiety at rest.

  "I don't want to see the letter," he said. "I only want to know all thatit says about Lucilla."

  "All that it says may be summed up in this. Lucilla is perfectly safe."

  He caught me by the arm, and looked me searchingly in the face.

  "Where?" he asked. "With _him?_"

  "With a married lady who is a relative of his."

  He dropped my arm, and considered for a moment.

  "My cousin at Sydenham!" he exclaimed.

  "Do you know the house?"

  "Perfectly well."

  "We will go there to-morrow. Let that content you for tonight. Get torest."

  I gave him my hand. He took it mechanically--absorbed in his ownthoughts.

  "Didn't I say something foolish down stairs?" he asked, putting thequestion suddenly, with an odd suspicious look at me.

  "You were quite worn out," I said, consolingly. "Nobody noticed it."

  "You are sure of that?"

  "Quite sure. Good night."

  I left the room, feeling much as I had felt at the station at Marseilles.I was not satisfied with him. I thought his conduct very strange.