The girl drew herself hastily from his embrace, and turned away from him with a shudder. He was her father, and there was something horrible in the idea of his disgrace; but there was very little affection for him in her mind. He was willing to sell her into bondage in order to save himself. It was in this light she regarded the transaction with Stephen Whitelaw.
* * *
CHAPTER XXXIV
DOUBTFUL INFORMATION
The early days of the new year brought little change in John Saltram’s condition. Mr. Mew, and the physician who saw him once in every three days, seemed perhaps a shade more hopeful than they had been, but would express no decided opinion when Gilbert pressed them with close questioning. The struggle was still going on — the issue still doubtful.
“If we could keep the mind at rest,” said the physician, “we should have every chance of doing better; but this constant restlessness, this hyper-activity of the brain, of which you and Mr. Mew tell me, must needs make a perpetual demand upon the patient’s physical powers. The waste is always going on. We cannot look for recovery until we obtain more repose.”
Several weeks had passed since the beginning of John Saltram’s illness, and there were no tidings from Mr. Medler. Every day Gilbert had expected some communication from that practitioner, only to be disappointed. He had called twice in Soho, and on both occasions had been received by a shabby-looking clerk, who told him that Mr. Medler was out, and not likely to come home within any definite time. He was inclined to fancy, by the clerk’s manner on his second visit, that there was some desire to avoid an interview on Mr. Medler’s part; and this fancy made him all the more anxious to see that gentleman. He did not, therefore, allow much time to elapse between this second visit to the dingy chambers in Soho and a third. This time he was more fortunate; for he saw the lawyer let himself in at the street-door with his latch-key, just as the cab that drove him approached the house.
The same shabby clerk opened the door to him.
“I want to see your master,” he said decisively, making a move towards the office-door.
The clerk contrived to block his way.
“I beg your pardon, sir, I don’t think Mr. Medler’s in; but I’ll go and see.”
“You needn’t give yourself the trouble. I saw your master let himself in at this door a minute ago. I suppose you were too busy to hear him come in.”
The clerk coughed a doubtful kind of cough, significant of perplexity.
“Upon my word, sir, I believe he’s out; but I’ll see.”
“Thanks; I’d rather see myself, if you please,” Gilbert said, passing the perturbed clerk before that functionary could make up his mind whether he ought to intercept him.
He opened the office-door and went in. Mr. Medler was sitting at his desk, bending over some formidable document, with the air of a man who is profoundly absorbed by his occupation; with the air also, Gilbert thought, of a man who has been what is vernacularly called “on the listen.”
“Good-morning, Mr. Medler,” Gilbert said politely; “your clerk had such a conviction of your being out, that I had some difficulty in convincing him you were at home.”
“I’ve only just come in; I suppose Lucas didn’t hear me.”
“I suppose not; I’ve been here twice before in search of you, as I conclude you have been told. I have expected to hear from you daily.”
“Well, yes — yes,” replied the lawyer in a meditative way; “I am aware that I promised to write — under certain circumstances.”
“Am I to conclude, then, that you were silent because you had nothing to communicate? that you have obtained no tidings of any kind respecting Mrs. Holbrook?”
Mr. Medler coughed; a cough no less expressive of embarrassment than that of his clerk.
“Why, you see, Mr. Fenton,” he began, crossing his legs, and rubbing his hands in a very deliberate manner, “when I made that promise with reference to Mrs. Holbrook, I made it of course without prejudice to the interests or inclinations of my client. I might be free to communicate to you any information I received upon this subject — or I might find myself pledged to withhold it.”
Gilbert’s face flushed with sudden excitement.
“What!” he cried, “do you mean to say that you have solved the mystery of Marian Holbrook’s fate? that you know her to be alive — safe — well, and have kept back the knowledge from me?”
“I have been compelled to submit to the wishes of my client. I will not say that I have not offered considerable opposition to her desire upon this point, but finding her resolution fixed, I was bound to respect it.”
“She is safe — then all this alarm has been needless? You have seen her?”
“Yes, Mr. Fenton, I have seen her.”
“And she — she forbade you to let me know of her safety? She was willing that I should suffer all the anguish of uncertainty as to her fate? I could not have believed her so unkind.”
“Mrs. Holbrook had especial reasons for wishing to avoid all communication with former acquaintances. She explained those reasons to me, and I fully concurred in them.”
“She might have such reasons with regard to other people; she could have none with reference to me.”
“Pardon me, she mentioned your name in a very particular manner.”
“And yet she has had good cause to trust in my fidelity.”
“She has a very great respect and esteem for you, I am aware. She said as much to me. But her reasons for keeping her affairs to herself just now are quite apart from her personal feeling for yourself.”
“I cannot understand this. I am not to see her then, I suppose; not to be told her address?”
“No; I am strictly forbidden to disclose her address to any one.”
“Yet you can positively assure me that she is in safety — her own mistress — happy?”
“She is in perfect safety — her own mistress — and as happy as it is possible she can be under the unfortunate circumstances of her married life. She has left her husband for ever; I will venture to tell you so much as that.”
“I am quite aware of that fact.”
“How so? I thought Mr. Holbrook was quite unknown to you?”
“I have learnt a good deal about him lately.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed the lawyer, with a genuine air of surprise.
“But of course your client has been perfectly frank in her communications with you upon this subject?” Gilbert said. “Yes; I know that Mrs. Holbrook has left her husband, but I did not for a moment suppose she had left him of her own free will. From my knowledge of her character and sentiments, that is just the last thing I could have imagined possible. There was no quarrel between them; indeed, she was expecting his return with delight at the very time when she left her home in Hampshire. The thought of sharing her fortune with him was one of perfect happiness. How can you explain her abrupt flight from him in the face of this?”
“I am not free to explain matters, Mr. Fenton,” answered the lawyer; “you must be satisfied with the knowledge that the lady about whom you have been so anxious is safe.”
“I thank God for that,” Gilbert said earnestly; “but that, knowledge of itself is not quite enough. I shall be uneasy so long as there is this secrecy and mystery surrounding her fate. There is something in this sudden abandonment of her husband which is painfully inexplicable to me.”
“Mrs. Holbrook may have received some sudden revelation of her husband’s unworthiness. You are aware that a letter reached her a few hours before she left Hampshire? There is no doubt that letter influenced her actions. I do not mind admitting a fact which is so obvious.”
“The revelation that could move her to such a step must have been a very startling one.”
“It was strong enough to decide her course,” replied the lawyer gravely.
“And you can assure me that she is in good hands?” Gilbert asked anxiously.
“I have every reason to suppose so. She is with her father.”
“What!” he exclaimed; “she is with Mr. Nowell — the father who neglected her in her youth, who of course seeks her now only for the sake of her fortune? And you call that being in good hands, Mr. Medler? For my own part, I cannot imagine a more dangerous alliance. When did Percival Nowell come to England?”
“A very short time ago. I have only been aware of his return within the last two or three weeks. His first step on arriving in this country was to seek for his daughter.”
“Yes; when he knew that she was rich, no doubt.”
“I do not think that he was influenced by mercenary motives,” the lawyer said, with a calm judicial air. “Of course, as a man of the world, I am not given to look at such matters from a sentimental point of view. But I really believe that Mr. Nowell was anxious to find his daughter, and to atone in some measure for his former neglect.”
“A very convenient repentance,” exclaimed Gilbert, with a short bitter laugh. “And his first act is to steal his daughter from her home, and hide her from all her former friends. I don’t like the look of this business, Mr. Medler; I tell you so frankly.”
“Mr. Nowell is my client, you must remember, Mr. Fenton. I cannot consent to listen to any aspersion of his character, direct or indirect.”
“And you positively refuse to tell me where Mrs. Holbrook is to be found?”
“I am compelled to respect her wishes as well as those of her father.”
“She has been placed in possession of her property, I suppose?”
“Yes; her grandfather’s will has been proved, and the estate now stands in her name. There was no difficulty about that — no reason for delay.”
“Will you tell me if she is in London?” Gilbert asked impatiently.
“Pardon me, my dear sir, I am pledged to say nothing about Mrs. Holbrook’s whereabouts.”
Gilbert gave a weary sigh.
“Well, I suppose it is useless to press the question, Mr. Medler,” he said. “I can only repeat that I don’t like the look of this business. Your client, Mr. Nowell, must have a very strong reason for secrecy, and my experience of life has shown me that there is very seldom mystery without wrong doing of some kind behind it. I thank God that Mrs. Holbrook is safe, for I suppose I must accept your assurance that she is so; but until her position is relieved from all this secrecy, I shall not cease to feel uneasy as to her welfare. I am glad, however, that the issue of events has exonerated her husband from any part in her disappearance.”
He was glad to know this — glad to know that however base a traitor to himself, John Saltram had not been guilty of that deeper villany which he had at times been led to suspect.
Gilbert Fenton left Mr. Medler’s office a happier man than when he had entered it, and yet only half satisfied. It was a great thing to know that Marian was safe; but he would have wished her in the keeping of any one rather than of him whom the world would have called her natural protector.
Nor was his opinion of Mr. Medler by any means an exalted one. No assertion of that gentleman inspired him with heart-felt confidence; and he had not left the lawyer’s office long before he began to ask himself whether there was truth in any portion of the story he had heard, or whether he was not the dupe of a lie.
Strange that Marian’s father should have returned at so opportune a moment; still more strange that Marian should suddenly desert the husband she had so devotedly loved, and cast in her lot with a father of whom she knew nothing but his unkindness. What if this man Medler had been lying to him from first to last, and was plotting to get old Jacob Nowell’s fortune into his own hands?
“I must find her,” Gilbert said to himself; “I must be certain that she is in safe hands. I shall know no rest till I have found her.”
Harassed and perplexed beyond measure, he walked through the busy streets of that central district for some time without knowing where he was going, and without the faintest purpose in his steps. Then the notion suddenly flashed upon him that he might hear something of Percival Nowell at the shop in Queen Anne’s Court, supposing the old business to be still carried on there under the sway of Mr. Tulliver; and it seemed too early yet for the probability of any change in that quarter.
Gilbert was in the Strand when this notion occurred to him. He turned his steps immediately, and went back to Wardour-street, and thence to the dingy court where he had first discovered Marian’s grandfather.
There was no change; the shop looked exactly the same as it had looked in the lifetime of Jacob Nowell. There were the same old guineas in the wooden bowl, the same tarnished tankards and teapots on view behind the wire-guarded glass, the same obscure hints of untold riches within, in the general aspect of the place.
Mr. Tulliver darted forward from his usual lurking-place as Gilbert went in at the door.
“O!” he exclaimed, with undisguised disappointment, “it’s you, is it, sir? I thought it was a customer.”
“I am sorry to disappoint your expectation of profit. I have looked in to ask you two or three questions, Mr. Tulliver; that is all.”
“Any information in my power I’m sure I shall be happy to afford, sir. Won’t you be pleased to take a seat?”
“How long is it since you saw Mr. Nowell, your former employer’s son?” Gilbert asked, dropping into the chair indicated by the shopman, and coming at once to the point.
Mr. Tulliver was somewhat startled by the question. That was evident, though he was not a man who wore his heart upon his sleeve.
“How long is it since I’ve seen Mr. Nowell — Mr. Percival Nowell, sir?” he repeated, staring thoughtfully at his questioner.
“Yes; you need not be afraid to speak freely to me; I know Mr. Nowell is in London.”
“Well, sir, I’ve not seen him often since his father’s death.”
Since his father’s death! And according to Mr. Medler, Jacob Nowell’s son had only arrived in England after the old man’s death; — or stay, the lawyer had declared that he had been only aware of Percival’s return within the last two or three weeks. That was a different thing, of course; yet was it likely this man could have returned, and his father’s lawyer have remained ignorant of his arrival?
Gilbert did not allow the faintest expression of surprise to appear on his countenance.
“Not often since your master’s death: but how often before?”
“Well, he used to come in pretty often before the old man died; but they were both of ’em precious close. Mr. Percival never let out that he was my master’s son, but I guessed as much before he’d been here many times.”
“How was it that I never came across him?”
“Chance, I suppose; but he’s a deep one. If you’d happened to come in when he was here, I daresay he’d have contrived to slip away somehow without your seeing him.”
“When did he come here last?” asked Gilbert.
“About a fortnight ago. He came with Mr. Medler, the lawyer, who introduced him formally as my master’s son; and they took possession of the place between them for Mrs. Holbrook, making an arrangement with me to carry on the business, and making precious hard terms too.”
“Have you seen Mrs. Holbrook since that morning when she left London for Hampshire, immediately after her grandfather’s death?”
“Never set eyes on her since then; but she’s in London, they told me, living with her father. She came up to claim the property. I say, the husband must be rather a curious party, mustn’t he, to stand that kind of thing, and part company with her just when she’s come into a fortune?”
“Have you any notion where Mrs. Holbrook or her father is to be found? I should be glad to make you a handsome present if you could enlighten me upon that point.”
“I wish I could, sir. No, I haven’t the least idea where the gentleman hangs out. Oysters ain’t closer than that party. I thought he’d get his paw upon his father’s money, somehow, when I
used to see him hanging about this place. But I don’t believe the old man ever meant him to have a sixpence of it.”
There was very little satisfaction, to be obtained from Mr. Tulliver; and except as to the one fact of Percival Nowell’s return, Gilbert left Queen Anne’s Court little wiser than when he entered it.
Brooding upon the revelations of that day as he walked slowly westward, he began to think that Percival and Mr. Medler had been in league from the time of the prodigal son’s return, and that his own exclusion from the will as executor, and the substitution of the lawyer’s name, had been brought about for no honourable purpose. What would a weak inexperienced woman be between two such men? or what power could Marian have, once under her father’s influence, to resist his will? How she had fallen under that influence so completely as to leave her husband and her quiet country home, without a word of explanation, was a difficult question to answer; and Gilbert Fenton meditated upon it with a troubled mind.
He walked westward, indifferent where he went in the perplexity of his thoughts, anxious to walk off a little of his excitement if he could, and to return to his sick charge in the temple in a calmer frame of mind. It was something gained, at the worst, to be able to return to John Saltram’s bedside freed from that hideous suspicion which had tormented him of late.
Walking thus, he found himself, towards the close of the brief winter day, at the Marble Arch. He went through the gate into the empty Park, and was crossing the broad road near the entrance, when an open carriage passed close beside him, and a woman’s voice called to the coachman to stop.
The carriage stopped so abruptly and so near him that he paused and looked up, in natural wonderment at the circumstance. A lady dressed in mourning was leaning forward out of the carriage, looking eagerly after him. A second glance showed him that this lady was Mrs. Branston.
Delphi Works of M. E. Braddon Page 511