Torwood's trust

or left Michael Meredith’s house that day with a presentiment that this visit of Signor Pagliadini boded no good to him.

He could not account for the feeling altogether, because by a little dexterous management it would surely be easy to avoid meeting this Italian, who would not be likely to remain more than a single night, or at most two, in so remote a part as Ladywell. Even if he did meet the foreigner, he could but brazen matters out with him as he had done before with Sir Herbert Moncrieff. He would meet the man, if meet him he must, alone, and then there would be no danger that the conversation would be repeated abroad and reach other ears. He knew quite well that if Mrs. Belassis found out that a second old acquaintance had identified him as Torwood, it would enable her to come to a conclusion which was of all things to be avoided. That she already entertained some suspicions about him, her visits to his house in his absence plainly proved. He had been more uneasy than he cared to show, when he heard of her second attempt to be left alone in one of the Ladywell rooms. And the declaration of open enmity, which she had made in a moment of anger, seemed to him to indicate that she knew of something which gave her confidence to declare war. He had ignored in her presence any knowledge of her words or actions; but for all that he felt ill at ease before her.

Next day news came that Signor Pagliadini was staying at Mr. Meredith’s house, and was an immense favourite there already. Maud had been to see Roma, and had seen him, and been quite captivated by his good looks and gentle manners. Conversation had not flowed easily, as her knowledge of Italian was about on a par with his English; but Roma had made everything easy, and when the mistress of Ladywell understood that the Signor was an old friend of Phil’s, she had asked him up to the Manor House that same afternoon to see her brother.

‘I thought you would like me to, Phil,’ she said. ‘I know your hospitable ways.’

‘Quite so—yes; I shall be glad to see him, though I confess I have no recollection of his name. I may know him when I see him, perhaps.’

‘I should think you would be sure to do that. He seemed to know you quite well once.’

Tor was right enough in denying all recollection of the Signor’s name. He did not remember to have heard of a Pagliadini in connection with Phil; but then Phil had a way of picking up foreign friends, about whom Tor never knew much. His easy manners and facile temperament had made Phil very popular everywhere. Acquaintances seemed to crop up round him wherever he went; and Tor, who, without holding aloof, did not so easily make friends, had often found himself almost a stranger to men who for the moment were quite intimate with Phil.

Pagliadini was probably one of these, and he would not be likely to admit easily that he had been mistaken in the two men. Still, if he was to stay in the neighbourhood, a meeting was inevitable, and it had better take place as early as possible. Ladywell Manor was as good a spot as could be chosen, for a man in his own house feels himself in a better position than he can do elsewhere.

On the whole, Tor considered that Maud had done well to invite the stranger to visit him this same afternoon.

He contrived without any difficulty that Maud and Mrs. Lorraine should be out driving when the Italian appeared; and he received him alone in the small drawing-room, with an ease and friendliness of manner which did him great credit.

Yes, he certainly had known this man somewhere. The first glance showed him so much. He could not recall the circumstances of their former meeting, but there was something undoubtedly familiar in the face, and in the voice too, as soon as the stranger spoke.

Signor Pagliadini entered, and glanced round him in a manner which seemed a trifle disconcerted. Then he smiled, and took Tor’s proffered hand.

‘I fear I have misunderstood my friends, Signor Torwood. I believed it was my friend Filippo I was to see here. They said you were ill. I am delighted to see you so far recovered. You are no doubt a guest here of the Signor Debenham.’

‘On the contrary, Signor, I am the master here—Philip Debenham. Mr. Torwood is certainly ill, I am sorry to say; but I am not he.’

The Signor received this piece of intelligence with a little smile and shrug.

‘The Signor is pleased to joke,’ he said. ‘Is it that we are masquerading?’

‘No, Signor; any masquerading that went on was in old days, when my friend Torwood and I used to change names with one another in a foolish, boyish fashion, which now I regret. You may have known my friend under the name of Debenham, but he was really Torwood; and I am Philip Debenham.’

Tor spoke quietly and firmly; but he did not like the gleam of distrust that sparkled in the stranger’s eyes. Even the tinted glasses did not conceal from Tor the glance of astonishment and disdain which was undoubtedly shot at him. It was evident that this man might be dangerous, and it behoved Tor to act towards him with all the firmness and acuteness which lay in his power.

‘You are perplexed, I see, Signor, by my statement,’ he said courteously.

‘I am, Signor.’

‘But why so, may I ask? Is it not enough when I tell you that I and my friend were more than once foolish and thoughtless enough to change our names one for the other? The whole matter lies there, if you can but see it.’

Signor Pagliadini made a little deprecating foreign bow, as if to apologize for any doubt he might cast upon his host’s veracity; but all his grace of manner could not hide from Tor the distinctly menacing look in those half-concealed eyes of his.

‘I could see that well enough, Signor,’ he said, with a certain unpleasant significance in manner. ‘It certainly seems an odd sort of amusement for grown men, this interchange of names. It does not sound very amusing, or profitable either. Still, of course, if the Signor says it was so, why then, without doubt, so it was. But still, I may be stupid—I do not see things quickly—I make hillocks into mountains, very likely, as you English say; but I cannot understand one thing.’

‘And what may that one thing be?’

‘I cannot understand how it comes about that your charming sister and my old friend Filippo—who is, I hear, Mr. Torwood—are so strikingly alike. Even for brother and sister—which you say they are not—such a likeness would be remarkable.’

The Italian was staring hard at him, but Tor was on his guard, and his face betrayed nothing. He merely smiled a little.

‘Are you not rather imaginative, Signor?’

‘Not that I am aware of.’

‘Well, I don’t know. It seems so to me. I have not observed any striking likeness.’

Signor Pagliadini smiled a pleasant smile.

‘No, Signor; it is quite to be expected that you have not.’

‘What do you mean, sir?’

Tor liked neither the words nor the tone.

‘I mean that near relatives seldom see likenesses,’ he answered, with a reassuring smile. ‘It is strangers who do that, not intimates.’

Tor was silent, thinking out his plan of action. He was perfectly aware that he was suspected; he already felt in a great measure at this man’s mercy, and he believed him to be, for some unknown reason, his enemy. He dared not make a confidant of a perfect stranger, who might be anything, from a spy of Belassis, upwards; and yet he must endeavour to keep on friendly terms, and if it were possible bind him over to silence. If he were to talk abroad as he was talking here, a catastrophe would be inevitable.

‘Sit down, Signor,’ he said courteously. ‘I see I must have some further talk with you. Let us be frank with one another. Do not be afraid to speak out. Truth is always the best. You believe that I am an impostor—is it not so?’

‘That is your word, not mine, Signor,’ said the Italian. ‘You know best if the cap fits—as your proverb goes.’

‘If it is my word,’ returned Tor quickly, ‘it but expresses your own thoughts, unless I have very much misread your face and your words.’

‘What can I think, in the face of these facts?’ asked the stranger, with the significance of voice and look which Tor greatly disliked. ‘The Signor puts me in a very awkward position by asking such questions.’

Tor laughed, in spite of his inward discomfiture.

‘Pardon me, Signor; I think it is you who put me in an awkward position by your insinuations. I am sure you cannot mean to insult me; but if you will think the matter quietly over, you will see, I think, that what you would imply about me, is about as great an insult as one man can offer to another. You seem to me to suggest that I am playing an impostor’s part, living in my friend’s house, trading upon his fortune, adopting his name. Come, come, Signor Pagliadini, when one comes to put it all into plain words, I think you must see for yourself how utterly absurd and unfounded such an idea must be. Why, the thing would be impossible!’

‘It has been done before now, I believe,’ answered the stranger.

Tor drew himself up haughtily.

‘Do you mean to say that you accuse me of doing so great a wrong as this to my best friend?’

The stranger rose too, and faced Tor with sparkling eyes.

‘Will you give me your word of honour that you are not doing him a great wrong?’

‘I will,’ answered Tor firmly; and he held his head proudly, as one who knows that he speaks the truth. ‘I give you my word of honour, as an Englishman and as a gentleman, that I have never wronged my friend even in thought. I would cut off my right hand sooner than commit a single act dishonourable to our old friendship!’

The Italian’s face softened somewhat, and he sat down again with what sounded like a sigh.

‘Signor,’ he said, with a slight bow, ‘I accept your word. I must accept such an asseveration as that. I have been taught to believe in an Englishman’s word, and I will try to do so.’

‘I am obliged by your concession, Signor. It is not a pleasant thing to be doubted or suspected, however innocent one may be in reality. And now that you have done me the honour to believe me, I will point out to you how impossible your theory of imposture must be. If things were as you would have implied, why should Philip Debenham permit such a substitution of names and places? If I were an impostor, surely the true man would come forward and claim his own.’

Signor Pagliadini shot a quick look at him, and said:

‘Undoubtedly so—if he could.’

‘What do you mean, Signor?’

‘I understood your friend was ill.’

‘Yes; so he is.’

‘Perhaps that might account for his passive condition.’

Tor smiled, and shook his head.

‘Hardly likely, if you come to consider it.’

‘We are not going to re-open the argument, Signor,’ said the Italian quietly. ‘I have told you I am satisfied by the pledge you have given me. Appearances are undoubtedly against you, but we all know that appearances are deceptive. Unless circumstances force me to a different conclusion, I shall accept the one I have already arrived at.’

‘And in return, may I ask a personal favour from you?’

‘Certainly.’

‘May I ask you not to discuss with other people the circumstances which you deem so strange? I think you can see for yourself that to raise a doubt as to my identity would be at the present moment very unpleasant for me?’

‘Very,’ assented the Italian drily.

Tor felt disposed to give way to a natural desire to knock the fellow down; but he controlled himself, and continued quietly:

‘When Mr. Torwood returns from the voyage on which he has started for his health, the whole world is welcome to say what it likes. When he is here to answer for his identity, as I can answer for mine, I do not care one iota for what anybody may please to say. He and I can convince everyone who wishes convincing, as to who and what we are. But whilst he is away, and beyond the reach even of letters, I would much rather nothing was said which could raise such a doubt in my friend’s mind. Not that I care so very much about it;’ and here Tor held his head up proudly. ‘I can hold my own, I flatter myself, before the world, and in defiance of any doubts anybody likes to cast upon me. You are welcome to say and do what you choose. I am not going to sue to any man; but I advise you, for your own sake, to take care what you do, because I am better as a friend than as an enemy; and I am honest enough to tell you candidly, that to raise a doubt as to my right to my name would be unpleasant for me during Torwood’s absence, and that if you raise that doubt, you will gain a tolerably dangerous enemy.’

The Italian was silent awhile. He was, perhaps, surprised at this sudden outburst. Tor believed this declaration of strength and independence had done good to his cause, for Signor Pagliadini looked at him with more of respect and less of mockery than he had done before.

‘Signor Debenham,’ he said gravely, ‘it is not my wish to cause you any needless annoyance. I may be puzzled—I may not trust you altogether as a friend—but I have no wish to be your enemy. I will not be treacherous. I will not take you by surprise. If I have anything to announce to the world, I will announce it to you first in private.’

Tor smiled, and bent his head in seemingly somewhat ironical gratitude. In reality, he was really grateful for this pledge.

He could carry things off with a high hand to a certain point; but beyond that he dared not go. He knew if any enemy of his once got hold of the idea that this man evidently possessed (that he was merely masquerading as Philip Debenham, being in reality Torrington Torwood)—if Mrs. Belassis, or any enemy of his, had this idea once put into their minds, then in truth it would be hard to brazen out his part. Close cross-examination must bring out the truth. Beyond a certain point no cleverness nor coolness could carry him; and it was something to gain the promise Pagliadini had voluntarily made. If the worst came to the worst—if the Italian did discover his secret, he could but tell him the whole truth, and throw himself upon his mercy. If he were really Phil’s friend, he would most likely be ready to become an ally. If not Phil’s friend, what interest could he possibly have in the matter?

These thoughts flashed through Tor’s mind in a few seconds. He was not, however, going to show any open gratitude for the admission just granted. All he said was:

‘I agree with you entirely, Signor. Whatever passes upon this subject had better be discussed privately between us two, before being given to the world at large. And now that this rather awkward conversation is at an end, and we have come to a satisfactory conclusion, will you allow me the pleasure of showing you round the garden? There is a good deal worth looking at there.’

The interruption was welcome to both men. It was not pleasant, after what had just passed, to sit there facing one another, trying to keep up a conversation on indifferent subjects.

Whilst walking leisurely upon the terraces and in the shady shrubbery paths, it was easier to establish easy relations; and the Italian showed a great deal of intelligent interest in all he saw.

He admired the whole place very heartily; seemed struck by the knowledge Tor had so quickly acquired, and was altogether both friendly and pleasant.

Tor was more and more convinced that he had known this guest of his before, although he failed to recall the name. Voice, manner, and expression all seemed in a manner familiar, and left an impression upon his mind that he had liked as well as known the Signor at some distant date.

When the ladies returned, the men joined them at their tea, and Maud seemed much struck by the handsome Italian, and made so much of him that Tor was half inclined to feel jealous. Although he could not speak it, Signor Pagliadini understood English very fairly, and seemed pleased and flattered by the way in which she chattered away to him.

When he had gone, she had a great deal to say about his handsome eyes, and soft voice, and courtly manners. Tor was somewhat silent and absent; but she did not seem to observe it, and was rather startled by the sudden way in which he changed the subject.

‘Maud,’ he said, ‘do you think you and Aunt Olive would mind very much if I were to bring some lady-visitors to Ladywell?’

‘Lady-visitors!’ echoed Maud. ‘Why, Phil, what an odd suggestion from a confirmed old bachelor like you! Of course we shall be delighted—we always are delighted to do your bidding. But who are they? and why do you want them?’

‘They are Miss Marjory Descartes and her niece, whose name I forget; but I think I must include her. I like Miss Marjory immensely, as you know; and I feel inclined to ask her to come and spend a week here, before she has time to forget the favourable impression I produced upon her in Whitbury.’

‘Yes, dear boy, have her by all means. I wish you joy,’ answered Maud sweetly and slily. ‘But, Phil dear, don’t you think she’s just a little bit old for you?’

‘Well, I must consider the point,’ answered Tor, with a smile. ‘She is wonderfully young for her years, and I’m not at all sure that she couldn’t outwalk you, even now, Maud, and I know she could beat you at tennis. However, we will make up our minds on that subject later; and in the meantime you don’t mind my asking her here?’

‘As if I ever minded anything you did, Phil!’ laughed Maud. ‘I shouldn’t mind if you turned the whole house into a menagerie, and brought up young lions in the drawing-room, if only you’d stay yourself and keep us in order. Everything is so flat and stale when you go away. I can’t think how auntie and I ever lived without you!’

‘Well,’ returned Tor, with a smile that showed genuine satisfaction, ‘if you don’t mind who I am, or what I do, so long as I remain upon the spot, I have not much to fear.’

‘To fear indeed!’ laughed Maud, laying her little hands caressingly upon his two shoulders, and looking up at him with smiling eyes. ‘I don’t believe you know what fear is, Phil. I don’t believe you could be afraid of anything or anybody, you great, big, strong boy. You are like the everlasting Bayard one gets so tired of hearing about—sans peur et sans reproche—only you really are so; and half the people one hears it said of are nothing of the kind.’

He bent his head and kissed her on the forehead, and then strolled off by himself to think matters over.

His idea of asking Miss Marjory down, was a sudden inspiration on his part. He had felt that the present threatened crisis required very careful watching on his part, and that two heads were better than one. He had a great opinion of Miss Marjory’s shrewdness, and was confident that she would be a zealous partizan in any cause she had once taken up.

Circumstances prevented him from taking anyone else into his confidence. Much as he would be relieved by discussing the position with Maud or Mrs. Lorraine, he felt that he must not be weak enough to gratify the wish.

The fear and anxiety which it would occasion them, and the embarrassment his assumed relationship must cause, would be, he felt, too great a burden to ask them to bear, and they ought not to be put in so trying a position. Then every additional person let into the secret meant additional chances of its innocent betrayal; and more danger was certainly to be avoided, not courted.

Miss Marjory, however, did know all, and had promised her assistance if ever it should be required; and Tor felt as though that moment had now come.

So he wrote his letter, explaining what had occurred, asking Miss Marjory’s opinion as to the motive the stranger could have had in accusing him of the imposture, and speculating whether it was by accident or by design that he had found his way to Ladywell.

He concluded his letter thus:

When that letter was written, Tor’s spirits rose. He had great confidence in Miss Marjory, and he believed she would come.