‘I say, yes,’ replied Magdalen, after a moment’s consideration. ‘On the understanding that I am to take her out walking as you propose.’
Captain Wragge bowed, and recovered his suavity of manner, ‘What are our plans?’ he inquired. ‘Shall we start our enterprise this afternoon? Are you ready for your introduction to Mrs Lecount and her master?’
‘Quite ready.’
‘Good, again. We will meet them on the Parade, at their usual hour for going out – two o’clock. It is not twelve yet. I have two hours before me – just time enough to fit my wife into her new Skin. The process is absolutely necessary, to prevent her compromising us with the servant. Don’t be afraid about the results; Mrs Wragge has had a copious selection of assumed names hammered into her head in the course of her matrimonial career. It is merely a question of hammering hard enough – nothing more. I think we have settled everything now. Is there anything I can do before two o’clock? Have you any employment for the morning?’
‘No,’ said Magdalen. ‘I shall go back to my own room, and try to rest.’
‘You had a disturbed night, I am afraid?’ said the captain, politely opening the door for her.
‘I fell asleep once or twice,’ she answered, carelessly. ‘I suppose my nerves are a little shaken. The bold black eyes of that man who stared so rudely at me yesterday evening, seemed to be looking at me again in my dreams. If we see him to-day, and if he annoys me any more, I must trouble you to speak to him. We will meet here again at two o’clock. Don’t be hard with Mrs Wragge; teach her what she must learn as tenderly as you can.’
With those words she left him, and went upstairs.
She lay down on her bed, with a heavy sigh, and tried to sleep. It was useless. The dull weariness of herself which now possessed her, was not the weariness which finds its remedy in repose. She rose again, and sat by the window, looking out listlessly over the sea.
A weaker nature than hers would not have felt the shock of Frank’s desertion as she had felt it – as she was feeling it still. A weaker nature would have found refuge in indignation and comfort in tears. The passionate strength of Magdalen’s love clung desperately to the sinking wreck of its own delusion – clung, until she tore herself from it, by main force of will. All that her native pride, her keen sense of wrong could do, was to shame her from dwelling on the thoughts which still caught their breath of life from the undying devotion of the past; which still perversely ascribed Frank’s heartless farewell to any cause but the inborn baseness of the man who had written it. The woman never lived yet who could cast a true love out of her heart, because the object of that love was unworthy of her. All she can do is to struggle against it in secret – to sink in the contest, if she is weak; to win her way through it, if she is strong, by a process of self-laceration, which is of all moral remedies applied to a woman’s nature, the most dangerous and the most desperate; of all moral changes the change that is surest to mark her for life. Magdalen’s strong nature had sustained her through the struggle; and the issue of it had left her – what she now was.
After sitting by the window for nearly an hour – her eyes looking mechanically at the view; her mind empty of all impressions, and conscious of no thoughts – she shook off the strange waking stupor that possessed her, and rose to prepare herself for the serious business of the day.
She went to the wardrobe, and took down from the pegs two bright, delicate muslin dresses, which had been made for summer wear at Combe-Raven, a year since, and which had been of too little value to be worth selling when she parted with her other possessions. After placing these dresses side by side on the bed, she looked into the wardrobe once more. It only contained one other summer dress – the plain alpaca gown which she had worn during her memorable interview with Noel Vanstone and Mrs Lecount. This she left in its place; resolving not to wear it, less from any dread that the housekeeper might recognize a pattern too quiet to be noticed, and too common to be remembered, than from the conviction that it was neither gay enough nor becoming enough for her purpose. After taking a plain white muslin scarf, a pair of light grey kid gloves, and a garden-hat of Tuscan straw, from the drawers of the wardrobe, she locked it, and put the key carefully in her pocket.
Instead of at once proceeding to dress herself, she sat idly looking at the two muslin gowns; careless which she wore, and yet inconsistently hesitating which to choose. ‘What does it matter!’ she said to herself with a reckless laugh; ‘I am equally worthless in my own estimation, whichever I put on.’ She shuddered, as if the sound of her own laughter had startled her; and abruptly caught up the dress which lay nearest to her hand. Its colours were blue and white – the shade of blue which best suited her fair complexion. She hurriedly put on the gown, without going near her looking-glass. For the first time in her life, she shrank from meeting the reflection of herself – except for a moment, when she arranged her hair under her garden-hat, leaving the glass again immediately. She drew her scarf over her shoulders, and fitted on her gloves, with her back to the toilet-table. ‘Shall I paint?’ she asked herself, feeling instinctively that she was turning pale. ‘The rouge is still left in my box. It can’t make my face more false than it is already.’ She looked round towards the glass, and again turned away from it. ‘No!’ she said. ‘I have Mrs Lecount to face, as well as her master. No paint.’ After consulting her watch, she left the room, and went downstairs again. It wanted ten minutes only of two o’clock.
Captain Wragge was waiting for her in the parlour – respectable in a frock-coat, a stiff summer cravat and a high white hat; specklessly and cheerfully rural, in a buff waistcoat, grey trousers, and gaiters to match. His collars were higher than ever, and he carried a bran-new camp-stool in his hand. Any tradesman in England who had seen him at that moment, would have trusted him on the spot.
‘Charming!’ said the captain, paternally surveying Magdalen when she entered the room. ‘So fresh and cool! A little too pale, my dear, and a great deal too serious. Otherwise perfect. Try if you can smile.’
‘When the time comes for smiling,’ said Magdalen, bitterly, ‘trust my dramatic training for any change of face that may be necessary. Where is Mrs Wragge?’
‘Mrs Wragge has learnt her lesson,’ replied the captain, ‘and is rewarded by my permission to sit at work in her own room. I sanction her new fancy for dressmaking, because it is sure to absorb all her attention, and to keep her at home. There is no fear of her finishing the Oriental Robe in a hurry – for there is no mistake in the process of making it which she is not certain to commit. She will sit incubating her gown – pardon the expression – like a hen over an addled egg. I assure you her new whim relieves me. Nothing could be more convenient under existing circumstances.’
He strutted away to the window – looked out – and beckoned to Magdalen to join him. ‘There they are!’ he said, and pointed to the Parade.
Noel Vanstone slowly walked by, as she looked, dressed in a complete suit of old-fashioned nankeen. It was apparently one of the days when the state of his health was at the worst. He leaned on Mrs Lecount’s arm, and was protected from the sun by a light umbrella which she held over him. The housekeeper – dressed to perfection, as usual, in a quiet, lavender-coloured summer gown, a black mantilla, an unassuming straw bonnet and a crisp blue veil – escorted her invalid master with the tenderest attention; sometimes, directing his notice respectfully to the various objects of the sea view; sometimes, bending her head in graceful acknowledgment of the courtesy of passing strangers on the Parade, who stepped aside to let the invalid pass by. She produced a visible effect among the idlers on the beach. They looked after her, with unanimous interest; and exchanged confidential nods of approval, which said as plainly as words could have expressed it: ‘A very domestic person! a truly superior woman!’
Captain Wragge’s parti-coloured eyes followed Mrs Lecount with a steady, distrustful attention. ‘Tough work for us there,’ he whispered in Magdalen’s ear; ‘tougher work than you think,
before we turn that woman out of her place.’
‘Wait,’ said Madgalen, quietly. ‘Wait, and see.’
She walked to the door. The captain followed her without making any further remark. ‘I’ll wait till you’re married,’ he thought to himself – ‘not a moment longer, offer me what you may.’
At the house-door, Magdalen addressed him again.
‘We will go that way,’ she said, pointing southward – ‘then turn, and meet them as they come back.’
Captain Wragge signified his approval of the arrangement, and followed Magdalen to the garden-gate. As she opened it to pass through, her attention was attracted by a lady, with a nursery-maid and two little boys behind her, loitering on the path outside the garden-wall. The lady started, looked eagerly, and smiled to herself, as Magdalen came out. Curiosity had got the better of Kirke’s sister – and she had come to Aldborough for the express purpose of seeing Miss Bygrave.
Something in the shape of the lady’s face, something in the expression of her dark eyes, reminded Magdalen of the merchant-captain, whose uncontrolled admiration had annoyed her on the previous evening. She instantly returned the stranger’s scrutiny by a frowning, ungracious look. The lady coloured, paid the look back with interest, and slowly walked on.
‘A hard, bold, bad girl,’ thought Kirke’s sister. ‘What could Robert be thinking of to admire her? I am almost glad he is gone. I hope and trust he will never set eyes on Miss Bygrave again.’
‘What boors the people are here!’ said Magdalen to Captain Wragge. ‘That woman was even ruder than the man last night. She is like him in the face. I wonder who she is?’
‘I’ll find out directly,’ said the captain. ‘We can’t be too cautious about strangers.’ He at once appealed to his friends, the boatmen. They were close at hand; and Magdalen heard the questions and answers plainly.
‘How are you all, this morning?’ said Captain Wragge, in his easy jocular way. ‘And how’s the wind? Nor’-west and by west, is it? Very good. Who is that lady?’
‘That’s Mrs Strickland, sir.’
‘Ay! ay! The clergyman’s wife and the captain’s sister. Where’s the captain to-day?’
‘On his way to London, I should think, sir. His ship sails for China, at the end of the week.’
China! As that one word passed the man’s lips, a pang of the old sorrow struck Magdalen to the heart. Stranger as he was, she began to hate the bare mention of the merchant-captain’s name. He had troubled her dreams of the past night – and now, when she was most desperately and recklessly bent on forgetting her old home-existence, he had been indirectly the cause of recalling her mind to Frank.
‘Come!’ she said angrily to her companion. ‘What do we care about the man or his ship? Come away.’
‘By all means,’ said Captain Wragge. ‘As long as we don’t find friends of the Bygraves, what do we care about anybody?’
They walked on, southwards, for ten minutes or more – then turned and walked back again to meet Noel Vanstone and Mrs Lecount.
Chapter Four
Captain Wragge and Magdalen retraced their steps until they were again within view of North Shingles Villa, before any signs appeared of Mrs Lecount and her master. At that point, the housekeeper’s lavender-coloured dress, the umbrella, and the feeble little figure in nankeen walking under it, became visible in the distance. The captain slackened his pace immediately; and issued his directions to Magdalen for her conduct at the coming interview, in these words:
‘Don’t forget your smile,’ he said. ‘In all other respects you will do. The walk has improved your complexion, and the hat becomes you. Look Mrs Lecount steadily in the face; show no embarrassment when you speak; and if Mr Noel Vanstone pays you pointed attention, don’t take too much notice of him while his housekeeper’s eye is on you. Mind one thing! I have been at Joyce’s Scientific Dialogues all the morning; and I am quite serious in meaning to give Mrs Lecount the full benefit of my studies. If I can’t contrive to divert her attention from you and her master, I won’t give sixpence for our chance of success. Small-talk won’t succeed with that woman; compliments won’t succeed; jokes won’t succeed – ready-made science may recall the deceased Professor, and ready-made science may do. We must establish a code of signals to let you know what I am about. Observe this camp-stool. When I shift it from my left hand to my right, I am talking Joyce. When I shift it from my right hand to my left, I am talking Wragge. In the first case, don’t interrupt me – I am leading up to my point. In the second case, say anything you like; my remarks are not of the slightest consequence. Would you like a rehearsal? Are you sure you understand? Very good – take my arm, and look happy. Steady! here they are.’
The meeting took place nearly midway between Sea-View Cottage and North Shingles. Captain Wragge took off his tall white hat, and opened the interview immediately on the friendliest terms.
‘Good morning, Mrs Lecount,’ he said, with the frank and cheerful politeness of a naturally sociable man. ‘Good morning, Mr Vanstone; I am sorry to see you suffering to-day. Mrs Lecount, permit me to introduce my niece – my niece, Miss Bygrave. My dear girl, this is Mr Noel Vanstone, our neighbour at Sea-View Cottage. We must positively be sociable at Aldborough, Mrs Lecount. There is only one walk in the place (as my niece remarked to me just now, Mr Vanstone); and on that walk we must all meet every time we go out. And why not? Are we formal people on either side? Nothing of the sort – we are just the reverse. You possess the continental facility of manner, Mr Vanstone – I match you, with the blunt cordiality of an old-fashioned Englishman – the ladies mingle together in harmonious variety, like flowers on the same bed – and the result is a mutual interest in making our sojourn at the sea-side agreeable to each other. Pardon my flow of spirits; pardon my feeling so cheerful and so young. The Iodine in the sea-air, Mrs Lecount – the notorious effect of the Iodine in the sea-air!’
‘You arrived yesterday, Miss Bygrave, did you not?’ said the housekeeper, as soon as the captain’s deluge of language had come to an end.
She addressed those words to Magdalen with a gentle motherly interest in her youth and beauty, chastened by the deferential amiability which became her situation in Noel Vanstone’s household. Not the faintest token of suspicion or surprise betrayed itself in her face, her voice or her manner, while she and Madgalen now looked at each other. It was plain at the outset that the true face and figure which she now saw, recalled nothing to her mind of the false face and figure which she had seen in Vauxhall Walk. The disguise had evidently been complete enough even to baffle the penetration of Mrs Lecount.
‘My aunt and I came here yesterday evening,’ said Magdalen. ‘We found the latter part of the journey very fatiguing. I dare say you found it so too?’
She designedly made her answer longer than was necessary, for the purpose of discovering, at the earliest opportunity, the effect which the sound of her voice produced on Mrs Lecount.
The housekeeper’s thin lips maintained their motherly smile; the housekeeper’s amiable manner lost none of its modest deference – but the expression of her eyes suddenly changed, from a look of attention to a look of inquiry. Magdalen quietly said a few words more; and then waited again for results. The change spread gradually all over Mrs Lecount’s face; the motherly smile died away; and the amiable manner betrayed a slight touch of restraint. Still, no signs of positive recognition appeared; the housekeeper’s expression remained what it had been from the first – an expression of inquiry, and nothing more.
‘You complained of fatigue, sir, a few minutes since,’ she said, dropping all further conversation with Magdalen, and addressing her master. ‘Will you go in-doors and rest?’
The proprietor of Sea-View Cottage had hitherto confined himself to bowing, simpering, and admiring Magdalen through his half-closed eyelids. There was no mistaking the sudden flutter and agitation in his manner, and the heightened colour in his wizened little face. Even the reptile temperament of Noel Vanstone warmed under
the influence of the sex: he had an undeniably appreciative eye for a handsome woman, and Magdalen’s grace and beauty were not thrown away on him.
‘Will you go in-doors, sir, and rest?’ asked the housekeeper, repeating her question.
‘Not yet, Lecount,’ said her master. ‘I fancy I feel stronger; I fancy I can go on a little.’ He turned simpering to Magdalen, and added in a lower tone, ‘I have found a new interest in my walk, Miss Bygrave. Don’t desert us, or you will take the interest away with you.’
He smiled and smirked in the highest approval of the ingenuity of his own compliment – from which Captain Wragge dexterously diverted the housekeeper’s attention, by ranging himself on her side of the path and speaking to her at the same moment. They all four walked on slowly. Mrs Lecount said nothing more. She kept fast hold of her master’s arm, and looked across him at Magdalen with the dangerous expression of inquiry more marked than ever in her handsome black eyes. That look was not lost on the wary Wragge. He shifted his indicative camp-stool from the left hand to the right, and opened his scientific batteries on the spot.
‘A busy scene, Mrs Lecount,’ said the captain, politely waving his camp-stool over the sea and the passing ships. ‘The greatness of England, ma’am – the true greatness of England. Pray observe how heavily some of those vessels are laden! I am often inclined to wonder whether the British sailor is at all aware, when he has got his cargo on board, of the Hydrostatic importance of the operation that he has performed. If I were suddenly transported to the deck of one of those ships (which Heaven forbid, for I suffer at sea); and if I said to a member of the crew,“Jack! you have done wonders; you have grasped the Theory of Floating Vessels” – how the gallant fellow would stare! And yet, on that theory Jack’s life depends. If he loads his vessel one-thirtieth part more than he ought, what happens? He sails past Aldborough, I grant you, in safety. He enters the Thames, I grant you again, in safety. He gets on into the fresh water, as far, let us say, as Greenwich; and – down he goes! Down, ma’am, to the bottom of the river, as a matter of scientific certainty!’
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