Jezebel's Daughter

by Wilkie Collins

delusion that he has been poisoned. Has he ever betrayed it in your

  presence?"

  "I heard something of it," Mrs. Wagner answered, "from the superintendent

  at the madhouse in London."

  "Ah, indeed? The superintendent merely repeated, I suppose, what Jack had

  told him?"

  "Exactly. I was careful not to excite him, by referring to it myself,

  when I took him under my charge. At the same time, it is impossible to

  look at his hair and his complexion, without seeing that some serious

  accident must have befallen him."

  "Most unquestionably! He is the victim, poor creature--not of poison--but

  of his own foolish curiosity, in my husband's surgery, and you see the

  result. Alas! I cannot give you the scientific reasons for it."

  "I shouldn't understand them, Madame Fontaine, if you could."

  "Ah, dear lady, you kindly say so, because you are unwilling to humiliate

  me. Is there anything Jack may have said to you about me, which seems to

  require an explanation--if I can give it?"

  She slipped in this question, concealing perfectly the anxiety that

  suggested it, so far as her voice and her eyes were concerned. But the

  inner agitation rose to the surface in a momentary trembling of her lips.

  Slight as it was, that sign of self-betrayal did not escape Mrs. Wagner's

  keen observation. She made a cautious reply. "On the contrary," she said,

  "from what Jack has told me, the conclusion is plain that you have really

  done him a service. You have succeeded in curing that delusion you spoke

  of--and I applaud your good sense in refusing to trust him with the

  medicine."

  Madame Fontaine made a low curtsey. "I shall remember those kind words,

  among the happy events of my life," she said, with her best grace.

  "Permit me to take your hand." She pressed Mrs. Wagner's hand

  gratefully--and made an exit which was a triumph of art. Even a French

  actress might have envied the manner in which she left the room.

  But, when she ascended the stairs, with no further necessity for keeping

  up appearances, her step was as slow and as weary as the step of an old

  woman. "Oh, my child," she thought sadly, with her mind dwelling again on

  Minna, "shall I see the end of all these sacrifices, when your

  wedding-day comes with the end of the year?" She sat down by the fire in

  her room, and for the first time in her life, the harmless existence of

  one of those domestic drudges whom she despised began to seem enviable to

  her. There were merits visible now, in the narrow social horizon that is

  bounded by gossip, knitting, and tea.

  Left by herself in the dining-room, Mrs. Wagner took a turn up and down,

  with her mind bent on penetrating Madame Fontaine's motives.

  There were difficulties in her way. It was easy to arrive at the

  conclusion that there was something under the surface; but the obstacles

  to advancing beyond this point of discovery seemed to defy removal. To

  distrust the graceful widow more resolutely than ever, and to lament that

  she had not got wise David Glenney to consult with, were the principal

  results of Mrs. Wagner's reflections when she returned to the office.

  There was Jack--in the nursery phrase, as good as gold--still in his

  place on the window seat, devoted to his keys. His first words related

  entirely to himself.

  "If this isn't good conduct," he said, "I should like to know what is.

  Give me my other mark."

  Mrs. Wagner took out her pocket-book and made the new mark.

  "Thank you," said Jack. "Now I want something else. I want to know what

  Mrs. Housekeeper has been saying. I have been seriously alarmed about

  you."

  "Why, Jack?"

  "She hasn't bitten you, has she? Oh, they do it sometimes! What lies has

  she been telling you of me? Oh, they lie in the most abominable manner!

  What? She has been talking of me in the kindest terms? Then why did she

  want to get out of my hearing? Ah, they're so infernally deceitful! I do

  hate mad people."

  Mrs. Wagner produced her pocket-book again. "I shall scratch out your

  mark," she said sternly, "if I hear any more talk of that sort."

  Jack gathered his keys together with a strong sense of injury, and put

  them back in his leather bag. "You're a little hard on me," he said, when

  I'm only warning you for your own good. I don't know why it is, you're

  not as kind to me here, as you used to be in London. And I feel it, I

  do!" He laid himself down on the window seat, and began to cry.

  Mrs. Wagner was not the woman to resist this expression of the poor

  little man's feeling. In a moment she was at the window comforting him

  and drying his eyes, as if he had been a child. And, like a child, Jack

  took advantage of the impression that he had made. "Look at your desk,"

  he said piteously; "there's another proof how hard you are on me. I used

  to keep the key of your desk in London. You won't trust it to me here."

  Mrs. Wagner went to the desk, locked it, and returned to Jack. Few people

  know how immensely an act of kindness gains in effect, by being performed

  in silence. Mrs. Wagner was one of the few. Without a word, she opened

  the leather bag and dropped the key into it. Jack's gratitude rushed

  innocently to an extreme which it had never reached yet. "Oh!" he cried,

  "would you mind letting me kiss you?"

  Mrs. Wagner drew back, and held up a warning hand. Before she could

  express herself in words, Jack's quick ear caught the sound of footsteps

  approaching the door. "Is she coming back?" he cried, still suspicious of

  Madame Fontaine. Mrs. Wagner instantly opened the door, and found herself

  face to face with Joseph the footman.

  "Do you know, ma'am, when Mr. Keller will be back?" he asked.

  "I didn't even know that he was out, Joseph. Who wants him?"

  "A gentleman, ma'am, who says he comes from Munich."

  CHAPTER VII

  On further inquiry, it turned out that "the gentleman from Munich" had no

  time to spare. In the absence of Mr. Keller, he had asked if he could see

  "one of the other partners." This seemed to imply that commercial

  interests were in some way connected with the stranger's visit--in which

  case, Mrs. Wagner was perfectly competent to hear what he had to say.

  "Where is the gentleman?" she asked.

  "In the drawing-room," Joseph answered.

  Mrs. Wagner at once left the office. She found herself in the presence of

  a dignified elderly gentleman, dressed entirely in black, and having the

  ribbon of some order of merit attached to the buttonhole of his long

  frock-coat. His eyes opened wide in surprise, behind his gold spectacles,

  when he found himself face to face with a lady. "I fear there is some

  mistake," he said, in the smoothest of voices, and with the politest of

  bows; "I asked to see one of the partners."

  Mrs. Wagner added largely to his amazement, by informing him of the

  position that she held in the firm. "If you come on a matter of

  business," she proceeded, "you may trust me to understand you, sir,

  though I am only a woman. If your visit relates to private affairs, I beg

  to suggest that you should write to Mr. Keller--I will take care th
at he

  receives your letter the moment he returns."

  "There is not the least necessity for my troubling you," the stranger

  replied. "I am a physician; and I have been summoned to Frankfort to

  consult with my colleagues here, on a serious case of illness. Mr.

  Keller's sister is one of my patients in Munich. I thought I would take

  the present opportunity of speaking to him about the state of her

  health."

  He had just introduced himself in those words, when Mr. Keller entered

  the room. The merchant and the physician shook hands like old friends.

  "No alarming news of my sister, I hope?" said Mr. Keller.

  "Only the old trouble, my good friend. Another attack of asthma."

  Mrs. Wagner rose to leave the room. Mr. Keller stopped her. "There is not

  the least necessity for you to leave us," he said. "Unless my

  presentiments deceive me, we may even have occasion to ask your advice.

  -- Is there any hope, doctor, of her being well enough to leave Munich,

  towards the end of the month?"

  "I am sorry to say it," answered the physician--"having heard of the

  interesting occasion on which she had engaged to be one of your

  guests--but, at her age, I must ask for a little more time."

  "In other words, it is impossible for my sister to be with us, on the day

  of my son's marriage?"

  "Quite impossible. She has so few pleasures, poor soul, and she is so

  bitterly disappointed, that I volunteered to take advantage of my

  professional errand here, to make a very bold request. Let me first do

  your excellent sister justice. She will not hear of the young people

  being disappointed by any postponement of the wedding, on her account.

  And here is the famous necklace, committed to my care, to prove that she

  is sincere."

  He took his little traveling-bag from the chair on which he had placed

  it, and produced the case containing the necklace. No woman--not even a

  head-partner in a great house of business--could have looked at those

  pearls, and preserved her composure. Mrs. Wagner burst out with a cry of

  admiration.

  Mr. Keller passed the necklace over without notice; his sister was the

  one object of interest to him. "Would she be fit to travel," he asked,

  "if we put off the marriage for a month?"

  "She shall be fit to travel, barring accidents," said the physician, "if

  you can put off the marriage for a fortnight. I start this evening on my

  return to Munich, and not a day shall pass without my seeing her."

  Mr. Keller appealed to Mrs. Wagner. "Surely, we might make this trifling

  sacrifice?" he said. "The pleasure of seeing her nephew married is likely

  to be the last pleasure of my sister's life."

  "In your place," said Mrs. Wagner, "I should not hesitate for an instant

  to grant the fortnight's delay. But the bride and bridegroom must be

  consulted, of course."

  "And the bride's parents," suggested the discreet physician, "if they are

  still living."

  "There is only her mother living," said Mr. Keller. "She is too

  high-minded a person to raise any objection, I am sure." He paused, and

  reflected for awhile. "Fritz counts for nothing," he went on. "I think we

  ought to put the question, in the first instance, to the bride?" He rang

  the bell, and then took the necklace out of Mrs. Wagner's hands. "I have

  a very high opinion of little Minna," he resumed. "We will see what the

  child's own kind heart says--undisturbed by the influence of the pearls,

  and without any prompting on the part of her mother."

  He closed the jewel case, and put it into a cabinet that stood near him.

  Joseph was sent upstairs, with the necessary message. "Don't make any

  mistake," said his master; "I wish to see Miss Minna, alone."

  The physician took a pinch of snuff while they were waiting. "The test is

  hardly conclusive," he remarked slily; "women are always capable of

  sacrificing themselves. What will the bridegroom say?"

  "My good sir," Mr. Keller rejoined a little impatiently, "I have

  mentioned already that Fritz counts for nothing."

  Minna came in. Her color rose when she found herself unexpectedly in the

  presence of a dignified and decorated stranger. The physician tapped his

  snuff-box, with the air of a man who thoroughly understood young women.

  "Charming indeed!" he said confidentially to Mrs. Wagner; "I am young

  enough (at heart, madam) to wish I was Fritz."

  Mr. Keller advanced to meet Minna, and took her hand.

  "My dear," he said, "what would you think of me, if I requested you to

  put off your marriage for two whole weeks--and all on account of an old

  woman?"

  "I should think you had surely some reason, sir, for asking me to do

  that," Minna replied; "and I confess I should be curious to know who the

  old woman was."

  In the fewest and plainest words, Mr. Keller repeated what the physician

  had told him. "Take your own time to think of it," he added; "and consult

  your mother first, if you like."

  Minna's sweet face looked lovelier than ever, glowing with the heavenly

  light of true and generous feeling. "Oh, Mr. Keller!" she exclaimed, "do

  you really suppose I am cold-hearted enough to want time to think of it?

  I am sure I may speak for my mother, as well as for myself. Fraulein

  Keller's time shall be our time. Please tell her so, with my duty--or,

  may I be bold enough to say already, with my love?"

  Mr. Keller kissed her forehead with a fervor of feeling that was rare

  with him. "You are well worthy of my sister's bridal gift," he said--and

  took the necklace out of the cabinet, and gave it to her.

  For some moments Minna stood looking at the magnificent pearls, in a

  state of speechless enchantment. When she did speak, her first delightful

  ardor of admiration had cooled under the chilling perception of a want of

  proper harmony between her pearls and herself. "They are too grand for

  me," she said sadly; "I ought to be a great lady, with a wardrobe full of

  magnificent dresses, to wear such pearls as these!" She looked at them

  again, with the natural longing of her sex and age. "May I take the

  necklace upstairs," she asked, with the most charming inconsistency, "and

  see how it looks when I put it on?"

  Mr. Keller smiled and waved his hand. "You can do what you like with your

  own necklace, my dear," he said. "When I have written a line to my

  sister, perhaps I may follow you, and admire my daughter-in-law in all

  her grandeur."

  The physician looked at his watch. "If you can write your letter in five

  minutes," he suggested, "I can take it with me to Munich."

  Mrs. Wagner and Minna left the room together. "Come and see how it

  looks," said Minna; "I should so like to have your opinion."

  "I will follow you directly, my dear. There is something I have forgotten

  in the office."

  The events of the day had ended in making Jack drowsy; he was half-asleep

  on the window-seat. Mrs. Wagner effectually roused him.

  "Mr. Keeper of the Keys," she said; "I want my desk opened."

  Jack was on his legs in an instant. "Ha, Mistress, it's jolly to hear you

  say that--it's like being in L
ondon again."

  The desk was of the spacious commercial sort, with a heavy mahogany lid.

  Everything inside was in the most perfect order. A row of "pigeon-holes"

  at the back had their contents specified by printed tickets. "Abstracts

  of correspondence, A to Z;" "Terms for commission agency;" "Key of the

  iron safe." "Key of the private ledger"--and so on. The ledger--a stout

  volume with a brass lock, like a private diary--was placed near the

  pigeon-holes. On the top of it rested a smaller book, of the

  pocket--size, entitled "Private Accounts." Mrs. Wagner laid both books

  open before her, at the pages containing the most recent entries, and

  compared them. "I felt sure I had forgotten it!" she said to herself--and

  transferred an entry in the ledger to the private account-book. After

  replacing the ledger, she locked the desk, and returned the key to Jack.

  "Remember," she said, "the rule in London is the rule here. My desk is

  never to be opened, except when I ask you to do it. And if you allow the

  key to pass out of your own possession, you cease to be Keeper."

  "Did I ever do either of those two things in London?" Jack asked.

  "Never."

  "Then don't be afraid of my doing them here. I say! you haven't put back

  the little book." He produced the key again, and put it into the

  lock--while Mrs. Wagner was occupied in placing her account-book in her

  pocket.

  "Its proper place is not in the desk," she explained; "I usually keep it

  about me."

  Jack's ready suspicion was excited. "Ah," he cried, with an outburst of

  indignation, "you won't trust it to me!"

  "Take care I don't set a bad-conduct mark against you!" said Mrs. Wagner.

  "You foolish fellow, the little book is a copy of what is in the big

  book--and I trust you with the big book."

  She knew Jack thoroughly well. His irritable dignity was at once appeased

  when he heard that the biggest of the duplicate books was in his keeping.

  He took the key out of the lock again. At the same moment, Mr. Keller

  entered the office. Jack possessed the dog's enviable faculty of

  distinguishing correctly between the people who are, and the people who

  are not, their true friends. Mr. Keller privately disliked the idea of

  having a person about him who had come out of a madhouse. Jack's

  instincts warned him to leave a room when Mr. Keller entered it. He left

  the office now.

  "Is it possible that you trust that crazy creature with the key of your

  desk?" said Mr. Keller. "Even your bitterest enemy, Mrs. Wagner, would

  not believe you could be guilty of such an act of rashness."

  "Pardon me, sir, it is you who are guilty of an act of rashness in

  forming your judgment. 'Fancy a woman in her senses trusting her keys to

  a man who was once in Bedlam!' Everybody said that of me, when I put Jack

  to the proof in my own house."

  "Aha! there are other people then who agree with me?" said Mr. Keller.

  "There are other people, sir (I say it with all needful respect), who

  know no more of the subject than you do. The most certain curative

  influence that can be exercised over the poor martyrs of the madhouse, is

  to appeal to their self-respect. From first to last, Jack has never been

  unworthy of the trust that I have placed in him. Do you think my friends

  owned they had been mistaken? No more than you will own it! Make your

  mind easy. I will be personally answerable for anything that is lost,

  while I am rash enough to trust my crazy creature with my key."

  Mr. Keller's opinion was not in the least shaken; he merely checked any

  further expression of it, in deference to an angry lady. "I dare say you