Man and Wife

by Wilkie Collins

  His lawyer went over to the table at which Sir Patrick sat. Sir

  Patrick handed him the sheet of note-paper.

  He read the two letters contained in it with absorbed and

  deliberate attention. The moments that passed before he lifted

  his head from his reading seemed like hours. "Can you prove the

  handwritings?" he asked. "And prove the residence?"

  Sir Patrick took up a second morsel of paper lying ready under

  his hand.

  "There are the names of persons who can prove the writing, and

  prove the residence," he replied. "One of your two witnesses

  below stairs (otherwise useless) can speak to the hour at which

  Mr. Brinkworth arrived at the inn, and so can prove that the lady

  for whom he asked was, at that moment, Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn.

  The indorsement on the back of the note-paper, also referring to

  the question of time, is in the handwriting of the same

  witness--to whom I refer you, when it suits your convenience to

  question him."

  "I will verify the references, Sir Patrick, as matter of form. In

  the mean time, not to interpose needless and vexatious delay, I

  am bound to say that I can not resist the evidence of the

  marriage."

  Having replied in those terms he addressed himself, with marked

  respect and sympathy, to Anne.

  "On the faith of the written promise of marriage exchanged

  between you in Scotland," he said, "you claim Mr. Geoffrey

  Delamayn as your husband?"

  She steadily repented the words after him.

  "I claim Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn as my husband."

  Mr. Moy appealed to his client. Geoffrey broke silence at last.

  "Is it settled?" he asked.

  "To all practical purposes, it is settled."

  He went on, still looking at nobody but Anne.

  "Has the law of Scotland made her my wife?"

  "The law of Scotland has made her your wife."

  He asked a third and last question.

  "Does the law tell her to go where her husband goes?"

  "Yes."

  He laughed softly to himself, and beckoned to her to cross the

  room to the place at which he was standing.

  She obeyed. At the moment when she took the first step to

  approach him, Sir Patrick caught her hand, and whispered to her,

  "Rely on me!" She gently pressed his hand in token that she

  understood him, and advanced to Geoffrey. At the same moment,

  Blanche rushed between them, and flung her arms around Anne's

  neck.

  "Oh, Anne! Anne!"

  An hysterical passion of tears choked her utterance. Anne gently

  unwound the arms that clung round her--gently lifted the head

  that lay helpless on her bosom.

  "Happier days are coming, my love," she said. "Don't think of

  _me._"

  She kissed her--looked at her--kissed her again--and placed her

  in her husband's arms. Arnold remembered her parting words at

  Craig Fernie, when they had wished each other good-night. "You

  have not befriended an ungrateful woman. The day may yet come

  when I shall prove it." Gratitude and admiration struggled in him

  which should utter itself first, and held him speechless.

  She bent her head gently in token that she understood him. Then

  she went on, and stood before Geoffrey.

  "I am here," she said to him. "What do you wish me to do?"

  A hideous smile parted his heavy lips. He offered her his arm.

  "Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn," he said. "Come home."

  The picture of the lonely house, isolated amidst its high walls;

  the ill-omened figure of the dumb woman with the stony eyes and

  the savage ways--the whole scene, as Anne had pictured it to him

  but two days since, rose vivid as reality before Sir Patrick's

  mind. "No!" he cried out, carried away by the generous impulse of

  the moment. "It shall _not_ be!"

  Geoffrey stood impenetrable--waiting with his offered arm. Pale

  and resolute, she lifted her noble head--called back the courage

  which had faltered for a moment--and took his arm. He led her to

  the door. "Don't let Blanche fret about me," she said, simply, to

  Arnold as they went by. They passed Sir Patrick next. Once more

  his sympathy for her set every other consideration at defiance.

  He started up to bar the way to Geoffrey. Geoffrey paused, and

  looked at Sir Patrick for the first time.

  "The law tells her to go with her husband," he said. "The law

  forbids you to part Man and Wife."

  True. Absolutely, undeniably true. The law sanctioned the

  sacrifice of her as unanswerably as it had sanctioned the

  sacrifice of her mother before her. In the name of Morality, let

  him take her! In the interests of Virtue, let her get out of it

  if she can!

  Her husband opened the door. Mr. Moy laid his hand on Sir

  Patrick's arm. Lady Lundie, Captain Newenden, the London lawyer,

  all left their places, influenced, for once, by the same

  interest; feeling, for once, the same suspense. Arnold followed

  them, supporting his wife. For one memorable instant Anne looked

  back at them all. Then she and her husband crossed the threshold.

  They descended the stairs together. The opening and closing of

  the house door was heard. They were gone.

  Done, in the name of Morality. Done, in the interests of Virtue.

  Done, in an age of progress, and under the most perfect

  government on the face of the earth.

  FIFTEENTH SCENE.--HOLCHESTER HOUSE.

  CHAPTER THE FORTY-SEVENTH.

  THE LAST CHANCE.

  "HIS lordship is dangerously ill, Sir. Her ladyship can receive

  no visitors."

  "Be so good as to take that card to Lady Holchester. It is

  absolutely necessary that your mistress should be made

  acquainted--in the interests of her younger son--with something

  which I can only mention to her ladyship herself."

  The two persons speaking were Lord Holchester's head servant and

  Sir Patrick Lundie. At that time barely half an hour had passed

  since the close of the proceedings at Portland Place.

  The servant still hesitated with the card

  in his hand. "I shall forfeit my situation," he said, "if I do

  it."

  "You will most assuredly forfeit your situation if you _don't_ do

  it," returned Sir Patrick. "I warn you plainly, this is too

  serious a matter to be trifled with."

  The tone in which those words were spoken had its effect. The man

  went up stairs with his message.

  Sir Patrick waited in the hall. Even the momentary delay of

  entering one of the reception-rooms was more than he could endure

  at that moment. Anne's happiness was hopelessly sacrificed

  already. The preservation of her personal safety--which Sir

  Patrick firmly believed to be in danger--was the one service

  which it was possible to render to her now. The perilous position

  in which she stood toward her husband--as an immovable obstacle,

  while she lived, between Geoffrey and Mrs. Glenarm--was beyond

  the reach of remedy. But it was still possible to prevent her

  from becoming the innocent cause of Geoffrey's pecuniary ruin, by

  standing in the way of a reconciliation between father and son.<
br />
  Resolute to leave no means untried of serving Anne's interests,

  Sir Patrick had allowed Arnold and Blanche to go to his own

  residence in London, alone, and had not even waited to say a

  farewell word to any of the persons who had taken part in the

  inquiry. "Her life may depend on what I can do for her at

  Holchester House!" With that conviction in him, he had left

  Portland Place. With that conviction in him, he had sent his

  message to Lady Holchester, and was now waiting for the reply.

  The servant appeared again on the stairs. Sir Patrick went up to

  meet him.

  "Her ladyship will see you, Sir, for a few minutes."

  The door of an upper room was opened; and Sir Patrick found

  himself in the presence of Geoffrey's mother. There was only time

  to observe that she possessed the remains of rare personal

  beauty, and that she received her visitor with a grace and

  courtesy which implied (under the circumstances) a considerate

  regard for _his_ position at the expense of her own.

  "You have something to say to me, Sir Patrick, on the subject of

  my second son. I am in great affliction. If you bring me bad

  news, I will do my best to bear it. May I trust to your kindness

  not to keep me in suspense?"

  "It will help me to make my intrusion as little painful as

  possible to your ladyship," replied Sir Patrick, "if I am

  permitted to ask a question. Have you heard of any obstacle to

  the contemplated marriage of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn and Mrs.

  Glenarm?"

  Even that distant reference to Anne produced an ominous change

  for the worse in Lady Holchester's manner.

  "I have heard of the obstacle to which you allude," she said.

  "Mrs. Glenarm is an intimate friend of mine. She has informed me

  that a person named Silvester, an impudent adventuress--"

  "I beg your ladyship's pardon. You are doing a cruel wrong to the

  noblest woman I have ever met with."

  "I can not undertake, Sir Patrick, to enter into your reasons for

  admiring her. Her conduct toward my son has, I repeat, been the

  conduct of an impudent adventuress."

  Those words showed Sir Patrick the utter hopelessness of shaking

  her prejudice against Anne. He decided on proceeding at once to

  the disclosure of the truth.

  "I entreat you so say no more," he answered. "Your ladyship is

  speaking of your son's wife."

  "My son has married Miss Silvester?"

  "Yes."

  She turned deadly pale. It appeared, for an instant, as if the

  shock had completely overwhelmed her. But the mother's weakness

  was only momentary The virtuous indignation of the great lady had

  taken its place before Sir Patrick could speak again. She rose to

  terminate the interview.

  "I presume," she said, "that your errand here is as an end."

  Sir Patrick rose, on his side, resolute to do the duty which had

  brought him to the house.

  "I am compelled to trespass on your ladyship's attention for a

  few minutes more," he answered. "The circumstances attending the

  marriage of Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn are of no common importance. I

  beg permission (in the interests of his family) to state, very

  briefly, what they are."

  In a few clear sentences he narrated what had happened, that

  afternoon, in Portland Place. Lady Holchester listened with the

  steadiest and coldest attention. So far as outward appearances

  were concerned, no impression was produced upon her.

  "Do you expect me," she asked, "to espouse the interests of a

  person who has prevented my son from marrying the lady of his

  choice, and of mine?"

  "Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn, unhappily, has that reason for resenting

  his wife's innocent interference with interests of considerable,

  importance to him," returned Sir Patrick. "I request your

  ladyship to consider whether it is desirable--in view of your

  son's conduct in the future--to allow his wife to stand in the

  doubly perilous relation toward him of being also a cause of

  estrangement between his father and himself."

  He had put it with scrupulous caution. But Lady Holchester

  understood what he had refrained from saving as well as what he

  had actually said. She had hitherto remained standing--she now

  sat down again. There was a visible impression produced on her at

  last.

  "In Lord Holchester's critical state of health," she answered, "I

  decline to take the responsibility of telling him what you have

  just told me. My own influence has been uniformly exerted in my

  son's favor--as long as my interference could be productive of

  any good result. The time for my interference has passed. Lord

  Holchester has altered his will this morning. I was not present;

  and I have not yet been informed of what has been done. Even if I

  knew--"

  "Your ladyship would naturally decline," said Sir Patrick, "to

  communicate the information to a stranger."

  "Certainly. At the same time, after what you have said, I do not

  feel justified in deciding on this matter entirely by myself. One

  of Lord Holchester's executors is now in the house. There can be

  no impropriety in your seeing him--if you wish it. You are at

  liberty to say, from me, that I leave it entirely to his

  discretion to decide what ought to be done."

  "I gladly accept your ladyship's proposal."

  Lady Holchester rang the bell at her side.

  "Take Sir Patrick Lundie to Mr. Marchwood," she said to the

  servant.

  Sir Patrick started. The name was familiar to him, as the name of

  a friend.

  "Mr. Marchwood of Hurlbeck?" he asked.

  "The same."

  With that brief answer, Lady Holchester dismissed her visitor.

  Following the servant to the other end of the corridor, Sir

  Patrick was conducted into a small room--the ante-chamber to the

  bedroom in which Lord Holchester lay. The door of communication

  was closed. A gentleman sat writing at a table near the window.

  He rose, and held out his hand, with a look of surprise, when the

  servant announced Sir Patrick's name. This was Mr. Marchwood.

  After the first explanations had been given, Sir Patrick

  patiently reverted to the object of his visit to Holchester

  House. On the first occasion when he mentioned Anne's name he

  observed that Mr. Marchwood became, from that moment, specially

  interested in what he was saying.

  "Do you happen to be acquainted with the lady?" he asked

  "I only know her as the cause of a very strange proceeding, this

  morning, in that room." He pointed to Lord Holchester's bedroom

  as he spoke.

  "Are you at liberty to mention what the proceeding was?"

  "Hardly--even to an old friend like you--unless I felt it a

  matter of duty, on my part, to state the circumstances. Pray go

  on with what you were saying to me. You were on the point of

  telling me what brought you to this house."

  Without a word more of preface, Sir Patrick told him the news of

  Geoffrey's marriage to Anne.

  "Married!" cried Mr. Marchwood. "Are you sure of what you say?"


  "I am one of the witnesses of the marriage."

  "Good Heavens! And Lord Holchester's lawyer has left the house!"

  "Can I replace him? Have I, by any chance justified you in

  telling me what happened this morning in the next room?"

  "Justified me? You have left me no other alternative. The doctors

  are all agreed in dreading apoplexy--his lordship may die at any

  moment. In the lawyer's absence, I must take it on myself. Here

  are the facts. There is the codicil to Lord

  Holchester's Will which is still unsigned."

  "Relating to his second son?"

  "Relating to Geoffrey Delamayn, and giving him (when it is once

  executed) a liberal provision for life."

  "What is the object in the way of his executing it?"

  "The lady whom you have just mentioned to me."

  "Anne Silvester!"

  "Anne Silvester--now (as you tell me) Mrs. Geoffrey Delamayn. I

  can only explain the thing very imperfectly. There are certain

  painful circumstances associated in his lordship's memory with

  this lady, or with some member of her family. We can only gather

  that he did something--in the early part of his professional

  career--which was strictly within the limits of his duty, but

  which apparently led to very sad results. Some days since he

  unfortunately heard (either through Mrs. Glenarm or through Mrs.

  Julius Delamayn) of Miss Silvester's appearance at Swanhaven

  Lodge. No remark on the subject escaped him at the time. It was

  only this morning, when the codicil giving the legacy to Geoffrey

  was waiting to be executed, that his real feeling in the matter

  came out. To our astonishment, he refused to sign it. 'Find Anne

  Silvester' (was the only answer we could get from him); 'and

  bring her to my bedside. You all say my son is guiltless of

  injuring her. I am lying on my death-bed. I have serious reasons

  of my own--I owe it to the memory of the dead--to assure myself

  of the truth. If Anne Silvester herself acquits him of having

  wronged her, I will provide for Geoffrey. Not otherwise.' We went

  the length of reminding him that he might die before Miss

  Silvester could be found. Our interference had but one result. He

  desired the lawyer to add a second codicil to the Will--which he

  executed on the spot. It directs his executors to inquire into

  the relations that have actually existed between Anne Silvester

  and his younger son. If we find reason to conclude that Geoffrey

  has gravely wronged her, we are directed to pay her a

  legacy--provided that she is a single woman at the time."

  "And her marriage violates the provision!" exclaimed Sir Patrick.

  "Yes. The codicil actually executed is now worthless. And the

  other codicil remains unsigned until the lawyer can produce Miss

  Silvester. He has left the house to apply to Geoffrey at Fulham,

  as the only means at our disposal of finding the lady. Some hours

  have passed--and he has not yet returned."

  "It is useless to wait for him," said Sir Patrick. "While the

  lawyer was on his way to Fulham, Lord Holchester's son was on his

  way to Portland Place. This is even more serious than you

  suppose. Tell me, what under less pressing circumstances I should

  have no right to ask. Apart from the unexecuted codicil what is

  Geoffrey Delamayn's position in the will?"

  "He is not even mentioned in it."

  "Have you got the will?"

  Mr. Marchwood unlocked a drawer, and took it out.

  Sir Patrick instantly rose from his chair. "No waiting for the

  lawyer!" he repeated, vehemently. "This is a matter of life and

  death. Lady Holchester bitterly resents her son's marriage. She

  speaks and feels as a friend of Mrs. Glenarm. Do you think Lord

  Holchester would take the same view if he knew of it?"

  "It depends entirely on the circumstances."

  "Suppose I informed him--as I inform you in confidence--that his