Blind Love.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume V, Issue 44, 1 November 1890, Page 4

Blind Love.

By

WILKIE COLLINS.

[The Right of Translation is Reserved.]

THE STORY.

THIRD PERIOD.

CHAPTER LIX. THE CONSEQUENCES OF AN ADVERTISEMENT. HE trouble was made I yby Iris for herself. 1 'ln this way—- ■ She saw Fanny’s p advertisement. Her I s first impulse was to take her back into her service. But she remembered the R necessity for con- ' cealment. She must K&g!3x not place herself — she realised already the fact that she d° ne a thing mWI which would draw KIIVLi, aifflLaKa u P on her the ven- ' S eance °f the law —and her husband csfSßi litxSmLL l'sr& ' n ie P ower this j; woman, whose IfWi'JMjgk ' fidelity might not I stand the shock of ■'''7 some fit of jealousy, b.: \'' rage, or revenge for fancied slight. She must henceforth be cut off altogether from all her old friends. She therefore answered the letter by one which contained no address, and which she posted with her own hand at the General Post Office. She considered her words carefully. She must not say too much or too little. ‘ I enclose,’ she said, ‘ a bank note for ten pounds to assist you. I am about to travel abroad, but must, under existing circumstances, dispense with the services of a maid. In the course of my travels I expect to be in Brussels. If, therefore, you have anything to tell me or to ask of me, write to me at the Post Restante of that city, and in the course of six months or so I am tolerably sure to send for the letter from you. Do not think that I have forgotten you or your faithful services, though for a moment I am not able to call yon to my side. Be patient.’ There was no address given in the letter. This alone was mysterious. If Lady Harry was in London—and the letter was posted at the General Post Office —why could she not give her address ? If she was abroad, why should she hide her address ? In any case, why should she do without a maid —she who had never been without a maid—to whom a maid was as necessary as one of her hands ? Oh.! she could never get along at all without a maid. . As for Iris’s business in London and her part in the conspiracy, of course Fanny neither knew nor suspected. She had recourse again to her only friend —Mrs Vimpany —to whom she sent Lady Harry’s letter, and imploring her to lay the whole before Mr Mountjoy. ‘ He is getting so much stronger,’ Mrs Vimpany wrote back, ‘ that I shall be able to tell him everything before long. Do not be in a hurry. Let us do nothing that may bring trouble upon her. But lam sure that something is going on—something wicked. I have read your account of what has happened over and over again. lam as convinced as you could possibly be that my husband and Lord Harry are trading on the supposed death of the latter. We can do nothing. Let us wait.’ Three days afterwards she wrote again. ‘ The opportunity for which I have been waiting has come at last. Mr Mountjoy is, I believe, fully recoveied. This morning, seeing him so well and strong, I asked him if I might venture to place in his hands a paper containing a narrative. ‘ “ Is it concerning Iris ?” he asked. ‘ “ It has to do with Lady Harry—indirectly.” ‘ For a while he made no reply. Then he asked me if it had also to do with her husband. * “ With her husband and with mine,” I told him. ‘ Again he was silent. ‘ After a bit he looked up and said, “ I had promised myself never again to interfere in Lady Harry Norland’s affairs. You wish me to read this document, Mrs Vimpany ‘ “ Certainly ; I am most anxious that you should read it and should advise upon it.” ‘ “ Who wrote it ?” ‘ “ Fanny Mere, Lady Harry’s maid.” ‘ “ If it is only to tell me that her husband is a villain,” he said, “ I will not read it.” ‘ “ If you were enabled by reading it to keep Lady Harry from a dreadful misfortune ?” I suggested. * “ Give me the document,” he said. ‘ Before I gave it to him—it was in my pocket—l showed him a newspaper containing a certain announcement. ‘“Lord Harry dead?” he cried. “Impossible 1 Then Iris is free.” ‘ “ Perhaps yon will first read the document.” I drew it out of my pocket, gave it to him, and retired. He should be alone while he read it. * Half an hour afterwards I returned. I found him in a state of the most violent agitation, without, however, any of the weakness which he betrayed on previous occasions. ‘ “ Mrs Vimpany,” he cried, “ this is terrible ! There is no doubt —not the least doubt—in my mind that the man

Oxbye is the man buried under the name of I.ord Harry, and that he was murdered—murdered in cold blood—by that worst of villians—”

"My husband,” I said. “Your husband !—most unfortunate of wives ! As for Lord Harry’s share in the murder, it is equally plain that he knew of it, even if he did not consent to it. Good heavens ! Do you understand 1 Do you realise what they have done ? Your husband and Iris’s husband may be tried—actually tried—for murder and put to a shameful death. Think of it !” ‘ “ I do think of it, Heaven knows ! I think of it every day—l think of it all day long. But, remember, I will say nothing that will bring this fate upon them. And Fanny will say nothing. Without Fanny’s evidence there cannot be even a suspicion of the truth. ” ‘ “ What does Iris know about it ?” ‘“I think that she cannot know anything of the murder. Consider the dates. On Wednesday Fanny was dismissed ; on Thursday she returned secretly and witnessed the murder. It was on Thursday morning that Lady Harry drove to Victoria on her return to Passy, as we all supposed, and as I still suppose. On Saturday Fanny was back again. The cottage was deserted. She was told that the man Oxbye had got up and walked away ; that her mistress had not been at the house at all, but was travelling in Switzerland ; and that Lord Harry was gone on a long journey. And she was sent into Switzerland to get her out of the way. I gather from all this that Lady Harry was taken away by her husband directly she arrived—most likely by night—and that of the murder she knew nothing. ’’ ‘ “ No—no—she could know nothing ! That, at least, they dare not tell her. But about the rest ? How much does she know 1 How far has she lent herself to the conspiracy? Mrs Vimpany, I shall go back to London tonight. We will travel by the night train. I feel quite strong enough. ” ‘ I began this letter in Scotland ; I finish it in London. ‘We are back again in town. Come to the hotel at once, and see us.’ So, there was now a Man to advise. For once, Fanny was thankful for the creation of Man. To the most misanthropic female there sometimes comes a time when she must own that Man has his uses. These two women had now got a Man with whom to take counsel. ‘ I do not ask you,’ said Mr Mountjoy, with grave face, ‘ how far this statement of yours is true : I can see plainly that it is true in every particular.’ ‘lt is quite true, sir ; every word of it is true. I have been tempted to make out a worst case against the doctor, but I have kept myself to the bare truth.’ ‘ You could not make out a worse case against any man. It is the blackest case that I have ever heard of or read. It is the foulest murder. Ido not understand the exact presence of Lord Harry when the medicine was given. Did he see the doctor administer it? Did he say anythin"?’ ‘ He turned white when the doctor told him that tire man was going to die—that day, perhaps, or next day. When the doctor was pouring out the medicine he turned pale again and trembled. While the doctor was taking the photograph he trembled again. I think, sir—l really think —that he knew all along that the man was going to die, but when it came to the moment he was afraid. If it had depended upon him, Oxbye would be alive still.’ ‘He was a consenting party. Well: for the moment both of you keep perfect silence. Don’t discuss the thing with each other lest you should be overheard ; bury the thing. I am going to make some inquiries. ’ The first thing was to find out what steps had been taken, if any, with insurance companies. For Iris’ sake his inquiry had to be conducted quite openly. His object must seem none other than the discovery of Lady Hany Norland’s present address. W hen bankers, insurance companies, and solicitors altogether have to conduct a piece of business it is not difficult to ascertain such a simple matter. He found out the name of the family solicitor. He went to the office, sent in his card, and stated his object. As a very old friend of Lady Harry’s he wanted to learn her address. He had just come up from Scotland, where be had been ill, and had only just learned her terrible bereavement. The lawyer made no difficulty at all. There was no reason why he should. Lady Harry had been in London ; she was kept in town for nearly two months by business connected with the unfortunate event; but she had now gone—she was travelling in Switzerland or elsewhere. As for her address, a letter addressed to his care should be forwarded on hearing from her ladyship. ‘ Her business, I take it, was the proving of the will and the arrangement of the property.’ ‘ That was the business which kept her in town.’ ‘ Lady Harry,’ Mr Mountjoy went on, ‘ had a little property of her own apart from what she may ultimately get from her father. About five thousand pounds— not more.’ ‘ Indeed ? She did not ask my assistance in respect of her own property.’ ‘ I suppose it is invested and in the hands of trustees. But, indeed, Ido not know. Lord Harry himself, I have heard, was generally in a penniless condition. Were there any insurances?’ ‘ Yes ; happily, there was insurance paid for him by the family. Otherwise there would have been nothing for the widow. ’ ‘ And this has been paid up, I suppose ?’ ‘ Yes ; it has been paid into her private account. ‘ Thank you,’ said Mr Mountjoy. ‘ With your permission, 1 will address a letter to Lady Harry here. Will you kindly order it to be forwarded at the very earliest opportunity ?’ * Iris,’ he thought, ‘will not come to London any more. She has been persuaded by her husband to join in tfie plot. Good heavens ! She has become a swindler—a conspirator —a fraudulent woman ! Iris ! —it is incredible—it is horrible ! What shall we do ?’ He first wrote a letter, to the care of the lawyers. He informed her that he had made a discovery of the highest importance to herself—he refrained from anything that might give rise to suspicion ; he implored her to give him an interview anywhere, in any part of the world—alone. He told her that the consequences of refusal might be fatal—absolutely fatal—to her future happiness: he conjured her to believe that he was anxious for nothing but her happiness : that he was still, as always, her most faithful friend. Well : he could do no more. He had not the least expectation that his letter would do any good ; he did not even believe that it would reach Iris. The money was received

and paid over to her own account. There was really no reason at all why she should place herself again in communication with these lawyers. What would she do, then ? One thing only remained. With her guilty husband, this guilty woman must remain in concealment for the rest of their days, or until death released her of the man who was pretending to be dead. At the best, they might find some place where there would be no chance of anybody ever finding them who knew either of them before this wicked thing was done. But could she know of the murder? He remembered the instiuction given to Fanny. She was to write to Brussels. Let her therefore write at once. He would arrange what she was to say. Under his dictation, therefore, Fanny wrote as follows :— M v Lady,—l have received your ladyship's letter, and vour kind gift of ten pounds. I note your directions to write to you at Brussels, and I obey them. Mr Mountjoy, who has been ill and in Scotland, has come back to London. He begs me to tell you that he has had an interview with your lawyers and has learned that you have been in town on business, the nature of which he has also learned. He has left an important letter for you at their office. They will forward it as soon as they learn your address. Since I came back from Bassy I have thought it prudent to set down in writing an exact account of everything that happened there under my own observation. Mr Mountjoy has read my story, and thinks that I ought without delay to send a copy of ft to you. I therefore send you one, in which 1 have left out all the names, and put in A, B, and C instead, by his directions, lie says that you will have no difficulty in filling up the names.—l remain, my dear lady, your ladyship’s most obedient and humble servant, Fanny Mere. This letter, with the document, was dispatched to Brussels that night. And this is the trouble which Iris brought upon herself by answering Fanny’s advertisement. CHAPTER LX. ON THE EVE OF A CHANGE. Iris returned to Louvain by way of Paris. She had to settle up with the doctor. He obeyed her summons, and called upon her at her hotel. ‘ Well, my lady,’ he began in his gross voice, rubbing his hands and laughing, ‘ it has come off, after all ; hasn’t it ?’ ‘ I do not desire, Dr. Vimpany, to discuss anything with you. We will proceed to settle what business we have together. ’ ‘To think that your ladyship should actually fall in !’ he replied. ‘ Now I confess that this was to me the really difficult part of the job. It is quite easy to pretend that a man is dead, but not so easy to touch his money. I really do not see how we could have managed at all without your co-operation. Well, you’ve had no difficulty, of course ?’ ‘None at all.’ ‘ I am to have half.’ ‘ I am instructed to give you two thousand pounds. I have the money here for you. ’ ‘ I hope you consider that I deserve the share ?’ ‘ I think, Dr. Vimpany, that whatever you get in the futuie or the present you will richly deserve. You have dragged a man down to your own level ’ ‘ And a woman too.’ 1 A woman too. Your reward will come, I doubt not.’ ‘ If it always takes the form of bank-notes I care not how great the reward may be. You will doubtless, as a good Christian, expect your own reward—for him and for you ?’ ‘ I have mine already,’ she replied sadly. ‘ Now, Dr. Vimpany, let me pay you, and get rid of your company.’ He counted the money carefully and put it in the banker’s bag in his coat pocket. ‘ Thank you, my lady. We have exchanged compliments enough over this job.’ ‘ I hope—l pray —that we may never set eyes on you again.’ ‘ I cannot say. People run up against each other in the strangest manner, especially people who’ve done shady things and have got to keep in the backgiound.’ ‘ Enough ! —enough !’ * The background of the world is a very odd place, I assure you. It is full of interesting people. The society has a piquancy which you will find, I hope, quite charming. You will be known by another name, of course?’ ‘ I shall not tell you by what name ’ ‘ Tut —tut ! I shall soon find out. The background gets narrower when you fall into misery.’ ‘ What do you mean ?’ * I mean, Lady Harry, that your husband has no idea whatever as to the value of money. The two thousand that you aie taking him will vanish in a year or two. What will y-ou do then ? As for myself, I know the value of money so well that I am always buying the most precious and delightful things with it. I enjoy them immensely. Never any man enjoyed good things so much as I do. But the delightful things cost money. Let us be under no illusions. Your ladyship and your noble husband and I all belong to the background ; and in a year or two we shall belong to the needy background. I daresay- that very soon after that the world will learn that we all belong to the criminal background. I wish your ladyship a joyful reunion with your husband !’ He withdrew, and Iris set eyes on him no more. But the prophecy with which he departed remained with her, and it was with a heart foreboding fresh sorrows that she left Paris and started for Louvain. Here began the new life—that of concealment and false pretence. Iris put oft' her weeds but she never ventured abroad without a thick veil. Her husband, discovering that English visitors sometimes ran over from Brussels to see the Hotel de Ville, never ventured out at all till evening; They had no friends and no society of any kind. The house, which stood secluded behind a high wall in its garden, was in the quietest part of this quiet old city ; no sound of life and work reached it ; the pair who lived there seldom spoke to each other. Except at midday breakfast and the dinner they did not meet. Iris sat in her own room, silent ; Lord Harry sat in his, or paced the garden walks for hours. Thus the days went on monotonously. The clock treked ; the hours struck ; they took meals ; they slept; they rose and dressed ; they took meals again—this was all their life. This was all that they could expect for the future. .. The weeks went on. For three months Iris endured this life. No news came to her of the outer world ; her husband hail even forgotten the first necessary of modern life—the newspaper. It was not the ideal life of love, apart from the world, where the two make for themselves a Darden of

Ellen ; it was a prison, in which two were confined together who were kept apart by their guilty secret. They ceased altogether to speak ; their very meals were taken in silence. The husband saw continual reproach in his wife’s eyes ; her sad and heavy look spoke more plainly than any words ‘ It is to this you have brought me.' One morning Iris was idly turning over the papers in her desk. There were old letters, old photographs, all kinds of triHing treasures that reminded her of the past—a woman keeps everything ; the little mementoes of her childhood, her first governess, her first school, her school friendships—eyerything. As Iris turned over these things her mind wandered back to the old days. She became again a young girl—innocent, fancy free ; she grew up—she was a woman innocent still. Then her mind jumped at one leap to the present, and she saw herself as she was —innocent no longer, degraded and guilty, the vile accomplice of a vile conspiracy. Then, as one who has been wearing coloured glasses puts them off and sees things in their own true colours, she saw how she had been pulled down by a blind infatuation to the level of the man who had held her in his fascination ; she saw him as he was—reckless, unstable, careless of name and honour. Then for the first time she realised the depths into which she was plunged and the life which she was henceforth doomed to lead. The blind love fell from her—it was dead at last; but it left her bound to the man by a chain which nothing could break; she was in her right senses; she saw things as they were ; but the knowledge came too late. Her husband made no attempt to bridge over the estrangement which had thus grown up between them ; it became wider every day ; he lived apart and alone ; he sat in his own room, smoking more cigars, drinking more brandy and water than was good for him ; sometimes he paced the gravel walks in the garden ; in the evening, after dinner, he went out and walked about the empty streets of the quiet city. Once or twice he ventured into a cafe, sitting in a corner, his hat drawn over his eyes; but that was dangerous, For the most part he kept in the streets, and he spoke to no one. Meantime the autumn had given place to winter, which began in wet and dreary fashion. Day and night the rain fell, making the gravel walks too wet and the streets impassible. Then Lord Harry sat in his room and smoked all day long. And still the melancholy of the one increased, and the boredom of the other. He spoke at last. It was after breakfast. ‘lris,’ he said, ‘ how long is this to continue'?’ ‘ This—what ?’ ‘ This life—this miserable solitude and silence.’ ‘ Till we die,’ she replied. ‘ What else do you expect ? You have sold our freedom, and we must pay the price.’ ‘No ; it shall end. I will end it. I can endure it no longer. ’ ‘ You are still young. You will perhaps have forty years more to live—all like this—as dull and empty. It is the price we must pay.’ ‘ No,’ he repeated, ‘it shall end. I swear that I will go on like this no longer.’ ‘You had better go to London and walk in Piccadilly to get a little society.’ ‘ What do you care what I do or where I go ?’ ‘ We will not reproach each other, Harry. ’ ‘■Why, what else do you do all day long but reproach me with your gloomy looks and your silence ?’ ‘ Well, end it, if you can. Find some change in the life.’ ‘Be gracious for a little, and listen to my plan. I have made a plan. Listen, Iris. I can no longer endure this life. It drives me mad. ’ ‘ And me too. That is one reason why we should not desire to change it. Mad people forget. They think they are somewhere else. For us to believe that we were somewhere else would be in itself happiness.’ ‘ I am resolved to change it—to change it, I say—at any risk. We will leave Louvain.’ ‘We can, I dare say,’ Iris replied coldly, ‘ find another town, French or Belgian, where we can get another cottage, behind high walls in a garden and hide there.’ ‘No. I will hide no longer. lam sick of hiding.’ ‘Go on. What is your plan? Am I to pretend to be someone else’s widow?’ ‘We will go to America. There are heaps of places in the States where no English people ever go—neither tourists nor settlers—places where they have certainly never heard of us. We will find some quiet village, buy a small farm, and settle among the people. I know something about farming. We need not trouble to make the thing pay. And we will go back to mankind again. Perhaps, Iris—when we have gone back to the world—you will ’ —he hesitated—‘ you will be able to forgive me, and to regard me again with your old thoughts. It was done for your sake.’ ‘lt was not done for my sake. Do not repeat that falsehood. The old thoughts will never come back, Harry. They are dead and gone. I have ceased to respect you or myself. Love cannot survive loss of self-respect. Who am I that I should give love to anybody ? Who are you that you should expect love ?’ ‘ Will you go with me to America—love or no love ? I cannot stay here—l will not stay here.’ ‘I will go with you wherever you please. I should like not to run risks. There are still people whom it would pain to see Iris Henley tried and found guilty with two others on a charge of fraudulent conspiracy.’ ‘ I wouldn’t accustom myself, if 1 were you, Iris, to speak of things too plainly. Leave the thing to me, and I will arrange it. See now, we will tiavel by a night train from Brussels to Calais. We will take the cross-country line from Amiens to Havre ; there we will take boat for New York—no English people ever travel by the Havre line. < »nce in America we will push up country—to Kentucky or somewhere—and find that quiet country place ; after that I ask no more. I will settle down for the rest of my life, and have no more adventures. Do you agree, Iris?’ ‘ I will do anything that you wish,’ she replied coldly. ‘ Very well. Let us lose no time. I feel choked here. Will you go into Brussels and buy a Continental Bradshaw or a Baedeker, or something that will tell us the times of sailing, the cost of passage, and all the rest of it ? We will take with us money to start us with ; you will have towrite to your bankers. We can easily arrange to have the money sent to New York, ami it can be invested there—except your own fortune—in my new name. We shall want no outfit for a fortnight at sea. I have rrranged it all beauti-

fully. Child, look like your old self.’ He took an unresisting hand. ‘ I want to see you smile and look happy again. ‘ You never will.’ ‘ Yes—when we have got ourselves out of this damnable, unwholesome way of life ; when we are with our fellowcreatures again. You will forget this—this little business —which was, you know, after all, an unhappy necessity.’ ‘ Oh ! how can I ever forget?’ ‘ New interests will arise ; new friendships be formed ’ ‘ Harry, it is myself that 1 cannot forgive. Teach me to forgive myself, and I will forget everything.’ He pressed her no longer. “Well, then,’he said, 'goto Brussels and get this information. If you will not try to conquer this absurd moral sensitiveness—which conies too late—you will at least enable me to place you in a healthier atmosphere.’ ‘ I will go at once,’ she said. ‘ I will go by the next train.’ * There is a train at a quarter to two. You can do all you have to do and catch the train at live. Iris ’—the chance of a change made him impatient—‘ let us go to-monow. Let us go by the night express. There will be English t ravellers, but they shall not recognise me. We shall lie in Calais at one in the morning. We will go on by an early train before the English steamer comes in. Will you be ready ?’ ‘Yes; theie is nothing to delay me. I suppose we can leave the house by paying the rent ? I will go and do what you want.’’ ‘Let us go this very night.’ ‘I f you please :lam al ways ready. ’ ‘ No : there will be no time ; it would look like running away. We will go to-morrow night. Besides, you would be.too tired after going to Brussels and back. Iris, we are going to be happy again—l am sure we are.’ He, for one, looked as if there was nothing to prevent a return of happiness. He laughed and waved his hands. ‘ A new sky — new scenes—new work—you will be happy again, Iris. \ou shall go, dear. Get me the things I want.’ She put on her thick veil and started on her short journey. The husband’s sudden return to his former good spirits gave her a gleam of hope. The change would be welcome indeed if it permitted him to go about among other men, and to her if it gave her occupation. As to forgetting—how could she forget the past, so long as they were reaping the fruit of their wickedness in the shape of solid dividends ? She easily found what she wanted. The steamer of the < ompagnie Generale Transatlantique left Havre every eighth day. They would go by that line. The more she considered the plan the more it eomniended itself. They would at any rate go out of prison. There would be a change in their life. When she had got all the information that was wanted she had still an hour or two before her. She thought she would spend the time wandering about the streets of Brussels. The animation and life of the cheerful city—where all the people except the market women are young—pleased her. It was long since she had seen any of the cheerfulness that belongs to a busy street. She walked slowly along, up one street and down another, looking into the shops. She made two or three little purchases. She looked into a place filled with Tauchnitz Editions, and bought two or three books. She was beginning to think that she was tired and had better make her way back to the station, when suddenly she remembered the post-office and her instructions to Fanny Mere. ‘ I wonder,’ she said, ‘if Fanny has written to me.’ She asked the way to the post-oiHce. There was time if she walked quickly. At the poste restante there was a letter for her —more than a letter, a parcel, apparently a book. She received it and hurried back to the station. In the train she amused herself with looking through the leaves of her new books. Fanny Mere’s letter she would read after dinner. At dinner they actually talked. Lord Harry was excited with the prospect of going back to the world. He had enjoyed his hermitage, he said, quite long enough. Give him the society of his fellow-creatures. ‘ Put me among cannibals,’ he said, ‘and I should make friends with them. But to live alone —it is the devil ! To-morrow we begin our new flight.’ After dinner he lit his cigar, and went on chattering about the future. Iris remembered the packet she had got at the post-office, and opened it. It contained a small manuscript book Idled with writing and a brief letter. She read the letter, laid it down, anil opened the book. (TO BE CONTINUED.)