CHAPTER XIV
The jubilation of George at the turn events had taken may perhaps bemore easily imagined than described. There is generally one weak pointabout all artful schemes to keep other people out of their rights;they break down over some unforeseen detail, or through the neglect ofsome trivial and obvious precaution. But this was one of the gloriousinstances to the contrary that prove the rule. Nothing had brokendown, everything had prospered as a holy cause always should, and does--in theory. The stars in their courses had fought for Sisera,everything had succeeded beyond expectation, nothing had failed. Inthe gratitude of his heart, George would willingly have given athousand pounds towards the establishment of a training-school foranonymous letter-writers, or the erection of a statue to HildaCaresfoot, whose outraged pride and womanly jealousy had done him suchyeoman service.
Speaking seriously, he had great cause for rejoicing. Instead of acomparatively slender younger son's portion, he had stepped into afine and unencumbered property of over five thousand a year, and thatin the heyday of his youth, when in the full possession of all hiscapacities for enjoyment, which were large indeed. Hencefortheverything that money could buy would be his, including the respectand flattery of his poorer neighbours. An added flavour too was givento the overflowing cup of his good fortune by the fact that it hadbeen wrenched from the hands of the cousin whom he hated, and on whomhe had from a boy sworn to be avenged. Poor Philip! bankrupt in honourand broken in fortune, he could afford to pity him now, to pity himostentatiously and in public. He was open-handed with his pity wasGeorge. Nor did he lack a sympathizer in these delicious moments ofunexpected triumph.
"Did I not tell you," said Mrs. Bellamy, in her full, rich tones, onthe afternoon of the reading of the will--"did I not tell you that, ifyou would consent to be guided by me, I would pull you through, andhave I not pulled you through? Never misdoubt my judgment again, mydear George; it is infinitely sounder than your own."
"You did, Anne, you certainly did; you are a charming woman, and asclever as you are charming."
"Compliments are all very well, and I am sure I appreciate yours"--andshe gave a little curtsey--"at their proper value; but I must remindyou, George, that I have done my part of the bargain, and that now youmust do yours."
"Oh! that's all right; Bellamy shall have the agency and two hundred ayear with it, and, to show you that I have not forgotten you, perhapsyou will accept this in memorial of our joint achievement;" and hedrew from his pocket and opened a case containing a superb set ofsapphires.
Mrs. Bellamy had all a beautiful woman's love for jewels, andespecially adored sapphires.
"Oh!" she said, clasping her hands, "thank you, George; they areperfectly lovely!"
"Perhaps," he replied, politely; "but not half so lovely as theirwearer. I wonder," he added, with a little laugh, "what the old boywould say, if he could know that a thousand pounds of his personaltyhad gone by anticipation to buy a necklace for Anne Bellamy."
To this remark she made no reply, being apparently absorbed in her ownthoughts. At last she spoke.
"I don't want to seem ungracious, George, but these"--and she touchedthe jewels--"were not the reward I expected: I want the letters youpromised me back."
"My dear Anne, you are under a mistake, I never promised you theletters; I said that, under the circumstances, I might possiblyrestore them--a very different thing from promising."
Mrs. Bellamy flushed a little, and the great pupils of her sleepy eyescontracted till she looked quite dangerous.
"Then I must have strangely misunderstood you," she said.
"What do you want the letters for? Can't you trust me with them?"
"Don't you think, George, that if you had passed through somethingvery terrible, you would like to have all the mementoes of that darktime destroyed? Those letters are the record of my terrible time;nothing remains of it but those written lines. I want to burn them, tostamp them into powder, to obliterate them as I have obliterated allthe past. Whilst they exist I can never feel safe. Supposing you wereto turn traitor to me and let those letters fall into the hands ofothers, supposing that you lost them, I should be a ruined woman. Ispeak frankly, you see; I fully appreciate my danger, principallybecause I know that, the more intimate a man and woman have been, themore chance there is of their becoming bitter enemies. George, give methose letters; do not overcloud my future with the shadows of thepast."
"You talk as well as you do everything else, Anne; you are really avery remarkable woman. But, curiously enough, those letters, theexistence of which is so obnoxious to you, are to me a source of greatinterest. You know that I love to study character--curious occupationfor a young man, isn't it?--but I do. Well, in my small experience, Ihave never yet, either in fiction or in real life, come across such afascinating display as is reflected in those letters. There I can, andoften do, trace in minutest detail the agony of a strong mind, can seethe barriers of what people call religion, early training, self-respect, and other curiosities which we name virtues, bursting awayone by one under pressure, like the water-tight bulkheads they put inpassenger steamers, till at length the work is done; the moral shipsinks, and the writer stands revealed what you are, my dear Anne, theloveliest, the cleverest, and the most utterly unscrupulous woman inthe three kingdoms."
She rose very quietly, but quite white with passion, and answered inher low voice--
"Whatever I am you made me, and _you_ are a devil, George Caresfoot,or you could not take pleasure in the tortures you inflicted beforeyou destroyed. But, don't go too far, or you may regret it. Am I awoman to be played with? I think that you have trained me too well."
He laughed a little uneasily.
"There, you see; _grattez le Russe_, &c., and out comes the truecharacter. Look at your face in the glass; it is magnificent, but notpleasant; rather dangerous, indeed. Why, Anne, do be reasonable; if Igave you those letters, I should never be able to sleep in peace. Forthe sake of my own safety I dare not abandon the whip-hand I have ofyou. Remember you could, if you chose, say some unpleasant thingsabout me, and I don't want that any more than you do just now. But,you see, whilst I hold in my power what would, if necessary,effectually ruin you, and probably Bellamy too--for this countrysociety is absurdly prejudiced--I have little cause for fear. Perhapsin the future you may be able to render me some service for which youshall have the letters--who knows? You see I am perfectly frank withyou, for the simple reason that I know that it is useless to try toconceal my thoughts from a person of your perception."
"Well, well, perhaps you are right: it is difficult to trust oneself,much less any one else. At any rate," she said, with a bitter smile,"you have given me Bellamy, a start in society, and a sapphirenecklace. In twenty years, I hope, if the fates are kind, to have lostBellamy on the road--he is really unendurable--to rule society, and tohave as many sapphire necklaces and other fine things as I care for.In enumerating my qualities, you omitted one, ambition."
"With your looks, your determination, and your brains, there isnothing that you will not be able to do if you set your mind to it,and don't make an enemy of your devoted friend."
And thus the conversation ended.
Now little Bellamy had, after much anxious thought, just about thistime come to a bold determination--namely, to asset his maritalauthority over Mrs. Bellamy. Indeed, his self-pride was much injuredby the treatment he received at his wife's hands, for it seemed to himthat he was utterly ignored in his own house. In fact, it would not betoo much to say that he _was_ an entire nonentity. He had married Mrs.Bellamy for love, or rather from fascination, though she had nothingin the world--married her in a fortnight from the time that George hadfirst introduced him. When he had walked out of church with hisbeautiful bride, he had thought himself the luckiest man in London,whereas now he could not but feel that matrimony had not fulfilled hisexpectations. In the first place, Love's young dream--he was barelythirty--came to a rude awakening, for, once married, it was impossible--
though he had, in common with the majority of little men, atolerably good opinion of himself--but that he should perceive thathis wife did not care one brass farthing about him. To his softadvances she was as cold as a marble statue, the lovely eyes nevergrew tender for him. Indeed, he found that she was worse than astatue, for statues cannot indulge in bitter mockery and contemptuouscomments, and Mrs. Bellamy could, and, what is more, frequently did.
"It is very well," reflected her husband, "to marry the loveliestwoman in the county, but I don't see the use of it if she treats onelike a dog."
At last this state of affairs had grown intolerable, and, meditatingin the solitude of his office, Mr. Bellamy resolved to assert himselfonce and for all, and set matters on a proper footing, and Mrs.Bellamy in her place. But it is one thing for husbands of the Bellamystamp to form high-stomached resolutions, and another for them to putthose resolutions into active and visible operation on wives of theMrs. Bellamy stamp. Indeed, had it not been for a little incidentabout to be detailed, it is doubtful if Mr. Bellamy would have evercome to the scratch at all.
When George had gone, Mrs. Bellamy sat down in by no means thesweetest of tempers to think. But thinking in this instance proved anunprofitable occupation, and she gave it up, in order to admire thesapphire necklace that lay upon her knee. At that moment her husbandentered the room, but she took no notice, merely going on examiningthe stones. After moving about a little, as though to attractattention, the gentleman spoke.
"I have managed to get home to lunch, my dear."
"Indeed.
"Well, you might take a little notice of me."
"Why? Is there anything remarkable about you this morning?"
"No, there is not; but, remarkable or not, a man who has been foolenough"--Mr. Bellamy laid great emphasis on the word "fool"--"to getmarried has a right to expect when he comes into his own house that hewill have a little notice taken of him, and not be as completelyoverlooked as--as though he were a tub of butter in a grocer's shop;"and he pugged out his chest, rubbed his hands, and looked defiant.
The lady laid her head back on the chair, and laughed with exquisiteenjoyment.
"Really, my dear John, you will kill me," she said at length.
"May I ask," he replied, looking as though there was nothing in theworld that he would like better, "what you are laughing at?"
"Your slightly vulgar but happy simile; it is easy to see where youdraw your inspiration from. If you had only said butterine, inferiorbutter, you know, the counterfeit article, it would have beenperfect."
Her husband gave a glance at his tubby little figure in the glass.
"Am I to understand that you refer to me as 'butterine,' Mrs.Bellamy?"
"Oh! certainly yes, if you like; but, butter or not, you will melt ifyou lose your temper so."
"I have not lost my temper, madam; I am perfectly cool," he replied,positively gasping with fury. Here his eye fell upon the necklace."What necklace is that? who gave you that necklace? I demand to know."
"You _demand_ to know! Be careful what you say, please. Mr. GeorgeCaresfoot gave me the necklace. It cost a thousand pounds. Are yousatisfied?"
"No, I am not satisfied; I will not have that cursed George Caresfootcontinually here. I will send him back his necklace. I will assert myrights as an Englishman and a spouse, I will----"
"You will sit down and listen to me."
The tone of the voice checked his absurd linguistic and physicalcapers, and caused him to look at his wife. She was standing andpointing to a chair. Her face was calm and immovable, only her eyesappeared to expand and contract with startling rapidity. One glancewas enough for Bellamy. He felt frightened, and sat down in theindicated chair.
"That's right," she said, pleasantly; "now we can have a cosy chat.John, you are a lawyer, and therefore, I suppose, more or less a manof the world. Now, _as_ a lawyer and a man of the world, I ask you tolook at me and then at yourself, and say if you think it likely oreven possible that I married you for love. To be frank, I did nothingof the sort; I married you because you were the person most suited tomy purpose. If you will only understand that it will save us both agreat deal of trouble. As for your talk about asserting yourself andexercising your authority, it is simple nonsense. You are very well inyour way, my dear John, and a fair attorney, but do you suppose forone moment that you are capable of matching yourself against me? Ifso, you make a shocking mistake. Be advised, and do not try theexperiment. But don't think that the bargain is all my side--it isnot. If you will behave yourself properly and be guided by my advice,I will make you one of the richest and most powerful men in thecounty. If you will not, I shall shake myself free of you as soon as Iam strong enough. Rise I must and will, and if you will not rise withme, I will rise alone. As regards your complaints of my not caringabout you, the world is wide, my dear John; console yourselfelsewhere. I shall not be jealous. And now I think I have explainedeverything. It is so much more satisfactory to have a clearunderstanding. Come, shall we go to lunch?"
But Bellamy wanted no lunch that day.
"After all," he soliloquized to himself, between the pangs of aracking headache brought on by his outburst of temper, "time sometimesbrings its revenges, and, if it does, you may look out, Mrs. Bellamy."
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