Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete
Maltravers nodded assent. The surgeon cleared the room of all but
himself, De Montaigne, and Maltravers.
"Has that servant lived long with Lord Vargrave?" asked the surgeon.
"I believe so,--yes; I recollect his face. Why?"
"And you think him safe and honest?"
"I don't know; I know nothing of him."
"Look here, sir,"--and the surgeon pointed to a slight discoloration
on one side the throat of the dead man. "This may be accidental--purely
natural; his lordship may have died in a fit; there are no certain marks
of outward violence, but murder by suffocation might still--"
"But who besides the servant could gain admission? Was the outer door
closed?"
"The servant can take oath that he shut the door before going to bed,
and that no one was with his lordship, or in the rooms, when Lord
Vargrave retired to rest. Entrance from the windows is impossible. Mind,
sir, I do not think I have any right to suspect any one. His lordship
had been in very ill health a short time before; had had, I hear, a
rush of blood to the head. Certainly, if the servant be innocent, we
can suspect no one else. You had better send for more experienced
practitioners."
De Montaigne, who had hitherto said nothing, now looked with a hurried
glance around the room: he perceived the closet-door, which was ajar,
and rushed to it, as by an involuntary impulse. The closet was large,
but a considerable pile of wood, and some lumber of odd chairs and
tables, took up a great part of the space. De Montaigne searched behind
and amidst this litter with trembling haste,--no trace of secreted
murder was visible. He returned to the bedroom with a satisfied and
relieved expression of countenance. He then compelled himself to
approach the body, from which he had hitherto recoiled.
"Sir," said he, almost harshly, as he turned to the surgeon, "what idle
doubts are these? Cannot men die in their beds, of sudden death, no
blood to stain their pillows, no loop-hole for crime to pass through,
but we must have science itself startling us with silly terrors? As
for the servant, I will answer for his innocence; his manner, his voice
attest it." The surgeon drew back, abashed and humbled, and began to
apologize, to qualify, when Lord Doltimore abruptly entered.
"Good heavens!" said he, "what is this? What do I hear? Is it possible?
Dead! So suddenly!" He cast a hurried glance at the body, shivered, and
sickened, and threw himself into a chair, as if to recover the shock.
When again he removed his hand from his face, he saw lying before him on
the table an open note. The character was familiar; his own name struck
his eye,--it was the note which Caroline had sent the day before. As
no one heeded him, Lord Doltimore read on, and possessed himself of the
proof of his wife's guilt unseen.
The surgeon, now turning from De Montaigne, who had been rating him
soundly for the last few moments, addressed himself to Lord Doltimore.
"Your lordship," said he, "was, I hear, Lord Vargrave's most intimate
friend at Paris."
"I _his_ intimate friend?" said Doltimore, colouring highly, and in a
disdainful accent. "Sir, you are misinformed."
"Have you no orders to give, then, my lord?"
"None, sir. My presence here is quite useless. Good-day to you,
gentlemen."
"With whom, then, do the last duties rest?" said the surgeon, turning to
Maltravers and De Montaigne. "With the late lord's secretary?--I expect
him every moment; and here he is, I suppose,"--as Mr. Howard, pale, and
evidently overcome by his agitation, entered the apartment. Perhaps, of
all the human beings whom the ambitious spirit of that senseless clay
had drawn around it by the webs of interest, affection, or intrigue,
that young man, whom it had never been a temptation to Vargrave to
deceive or injure, and who missed only the gracious and familiar patron,
mourned most his memory, and defended most his character. The grief of
the poor secretary was now indeed overmastering. He sobbed and wept like
a child.
When Maltravers retired from the chamber of death, De Montaigne
accompanied him; but soon quitting him again, as Ernest bent his way
to Evelyn, he quietly rejoined Mr. Howard, who readily grasped at his
offers of aid in the last melancholy duties and directions.
CHAPTER VI.
IF we do meet again, why, we shall smile.--_Julius Caesar_.
THE interview with Evelyn was long and painful. It was reserved
for Maltravers to break to her the news of the sudden death of Lord
Vargrave, which shocked her unspeakably; and this, which made their
first topic, removed much constraint and deadened much excitement in
those which followed.
Vargrave's death served also to relieve Maltravers from a most anxious
embarrassment. He need no longer fear that Alice would be degraded in
the eyes of Evelyn. Henceforth the secret that identified the erring
Alice Darvil with the spotless Lady Vargrave was safe, known only to
Mrs. Leslie and to Aubrey. In the course of nature, all chance of its
disclosure must soon die with them; and should Alice at last become
his wife, and should Cleveland suspect (which was not probable) that
Maltravers had returned to his first love, he knew that he might depend
on the inviolable secrecy of his earliest friend.
The tale that Vargrave had told to Evelyn of his early--but, according
to that tale, guiltless--passion for Alice, he tacitly confirmed; and
he allowed that the recollection of her virtues, and the intelligence of
her sorrows and unextinguishable affection, had made him recoil from
a marriage with her supposed daughter. He then proceeded to amaze his
young listener with the account of the mode in which he had discovered
her real parentage, of which the banker had left it to Alice's
discretion to inform her, after she had attained the age of eighteen.
And then, simply, but with manly and ill-controlled emotion, he touched
upon the joy of Alice at beholding him again, upon the endurance and
fervour of her love, upon her revulsion of feeling at learning that,
in her unforgotten lover, she beheld the recent suitor of her adopted
child.
"And now," said Maltravers, in conclusion, "the path to both of us
remains the same. To Alice is our first duty. The discovery I have made
of your real parentage does not diminish the claims which Alice has
on me, does not lessen the grateful affection that is due to her from
yourself. Yes, Evelyn, we are not the less separated forever. But when
I learned the wilful falsehood which the unhappy man, now hurried to
his last account, to whom your birth was known, had imposed upon
me,--namely, that you were the child of Alice,--and when I learned also
that you had been hurried into accepting his hand, I trembled at your
union with one so false and base. I came hither resolved to frustrate
his schemes and to save you from an alliance, the motives of which I
foresaw, and to which my own letter, my own desertion, had perhaps urged
you. New villanies on the part of this most perverted man came to my
ear: but he is dead; let us spare his memory. For you--oh, still let me
deem myself your friend,--your more than brother; let me hope now that
I have planted no thorn in that breast, and that your affection does not
shrink from the cold word of friendship."
"Of all the wonders that you have told me," answered Evelyn, as soon as
she could recover the power of words, "my most poignant sorrow is, that
I have no rightful claim to give a daughter's love to her whom I shall
ever idolize as my mother. Oh, now I see why I thought her affection
measured and lukewarm. And have I--I destroyed her joy at seeing you
again? But you--you will hasten to console, to reassure her! She loves
you still,--she will be happy at last; and that--that thought--oh, that
thought compensates for all!"
There was so much warmth and simplicity in Evelyn's artless manner, it
was so evident that her love for him had not been of that ardent nature
which would at first have superseded every other thought in the anguish
of losing him forever, that the scale fell from the eyes of Maltravers,
and he saw at once that his own love had blinded him to the true
character of hers. He was human; and a sharp pang shot across his
breast. He remained silent for some moments; and then resumed,
compelling himself as he spoke to fix his eyes steadfastly on hers.
"And now, Evelyn--still may I so call you?--I have a duty to discharge
to another. You are loved"--and he smiled, but the smile was sad--"by
a younger and more suitable lover than I am. From noble and generous
motives he suppressed that love,--he left you to a rival; the rival
removed, dare he venture to explain to you his own conduct, and plead
his own motives? George Legard--" Maltravers paused. The cheek on which
he gazed was tinged with a soft blush, Evelyn's eyes were downcast,
there was a slight heaving beneath the robe.
Maltravers suppressed a sigh and continued. He narrated his interview
with Legard at Dover; and, passing lightly over what had chanced at
Venice, dwelt with generous eloquence on the magnanimity with which his
rival's gratitude had been displayed. Evelyn's eyes sparkled, and the
smile just visited the rosy lips and vanished again. The worst because
it was the least selfish fear of Maltravers was gone, and no vain doubt
of Evelyn's too keen regret remained to chill his conscience in obeying
its earliest and strongest duties.
"Farewell!" he said, as he rose to depart; "I will at once return to
London, and assist in the effort to save your fortune from this general
wreck: LIFE calls us back to its cares and business--farewell, Evelyn!
Aubrey will, I trust, remain with you still."
"Remain! Can I not return then to my--to her--yes, let me call her
_mother_ still?"
"Evelyn," said Maltravers, in a very low voice, "spare me, spare her
that pain! Are we yet fit to--" He paused; Evelyn comprehended him, and
hiding her face with her hands, burst into tears.
When Maltravers left the room, he was met by Aubrey, who, drawing him
aside, told him that Lord Doltimore had just informed him that it was
not his intention to remain at Paris, and had more than delicately
hinted at a wish for the departure of Miss Cameron. In this emergency,
Maltravers bethought himself of Madame de Ventadour.
No house in Paris was a more eligible refuge, no friend more zealous;
no protector would be more kind, no adviser more sincere. To her then
he hastened. He briefly informed her of Vargrave's sudden death; and
suggested that for Evelyn to return at once to a sequestered village in
England might be a severe trial to spirits already broken; and declared
truly, that though his marriage with Evelyn was broken off, her welfare
was no less dear to him than heretofore. At his first hint, Valerie,
who took a cordial interest in Evelyn for her own sake, ordered her
carriage, and drove at once to Lady Doltimore's. His lordship was out,
her ladyship was ill, in her own room, could see no one, not even her
guest. Evelyn in vain sent up to request an interview; and at last,
contenting herself with an affectionate note of farewell, accompanied
Aubrey to the home of her new hostess.
Gratified at least to know her with one who would be sure to win her
affection and soothe her spirits, Maltravers set out on his solitary
return to England.
Whatever suspicious circumstances might or might not have attended the
death of Lord Vargrave, certain it is that no evidence confirmed and no
popular rumour circulated them. His late illness, added to the supposed
shock of the loss of the fortune he had anticipated with Miss Cameron,
aided by the simultaneous intelligence of the defeat of the party with
whom it was believed he had indissolubly entwined his ambition, sufficed
to account satisfactorily enough for the melancholy event. De Montaigne,