Torwood's trust

nd now,’ said Miss Marjory briskly, ‘let me hear what has happened, or is going to happen, that makes you so anxious.’

Miss Marjory and her niece had arrived at the Manor House a few hours before; but Tor had not been able, until now, to secure her undivided attention. Maud and Mrs. Lorraine had been so much amused by her conversation, that it had been impossible to secure any privacy, and it was only when Miss Marjory’s enthusiasm over the garden and the hot-houses had tired out the less comprehending and interested part of the company, that Tor found himself alone with his guest.

‘It is so good of you to come so quickly,’ said he, with real gratitude in his tone. ‘I feel as though I really did need an ally at the present threatened crisis. I cannot thank you enough.’

‘Oh, I shall make it worth my while to have come. I shall leave you laden with spoil, I can see. There are ever so many things I have seen already that I want, and haven’t got. I shall take cuttings innumerable, with or without your leave. Your orchids make me break the tenth commandment on the spot. I think I must put up an orchid-house myself. Oh yes, I will make a good thing of this visit—never fear!’

‘If you will let me put up an orchid-house for you, as a slight——’

‘Stuff and nonsense! I’m not going to let you do anything ridiculous and romantic. Too much glass might be more of a hindrance than a help to the letting of the house in the future. Now look here—we are alone at last: tell me what is the matter, and what it is I can do for you.’

‘The matter is, that a foreign chap has turned up here—a Signor Pagliadini; he says he knew Phil and me abroad, and I believe that’s true enough, for I know his face, though I can’t recollect him exactly. But he knows, too—of that I am convinced—who I really am, and will not swallow the fiction I try to force upon him. In addition to this, I believe he has a spite against me and comes with a motive; and though he doesn’t speak out, I am pretty certain that he knows a great deal more than he has any business to, and that he means mischief.’

‘Why?’

‘By the ugly hints he gives, and by his significant looks and words. And then I came upon him and Mrs. Belassis in deep talk by the roadside; and by the startled look she cast at me, I know of whom it was they were talking.’

‘We can soon stop the Belassis’ mouths,’ remarked Miss Marjory grimly. ‘I think we can give them ample food for meditation on their own account.’

‘Have you found anything out about the first wife?’

‘I have found out that in February, 1850, she was alive and fairly well. I am making inquiries, and I think I soon shall be able to ascertain the date of her death; but it strikes me that your virtuous uncle has run it very fine. I should not wonder if he finds himself in a desperately nasty position.’

‘Something like what I find myself in now,’ said Tor, shaking his head.

‘Now, don’t you get low about it,’ advised Miss Marjory, with the air of a benignant Minerva. ‘You’ll never do anything if you lose heart. For my part, I rise to the occasion. I know I have a natural talent for intrigue, though circumstances have not hitherto been favourable to its development.’

‘I am glad you have,’ smiled Tor, ‘for my powers seem deserting me. That confounded Italian—I beg your pardon, but I feel strongly upon the subject—with his smooth tongue and offensive hints, bothers me tremendously. I know he is my enemy, and will injure me if he can.’

‘Have you ever made an enemy that you know of?’ asked Miss Marjory.

Tor reflected a little.

‘I shouldn’t say exactly that,’ he answered. ‘I have had occasional disputes with different men at different times. When my blood is up, I speak my mind pretty freely, and lay it on thick; but then, I don’t think I am easily roused to wrath, and I have no recollection of any row likely to have made an eternal enmity between me and another fellow. No, I have no clue at all to his motive, but I am quite certain he has one, and possesses some knowledge of the truth; he would not go on as he does, if he was actuated merely by a curiosity to know why I was called “Torwood” in Italy and am “Debenham” here. His whole language and bearing convinces me that he comes here as an enemy and a spy. And if Mrs. Belassis once gets a hint as to the true state of the case, it will be all up with me. I wish I had never sent Phil away on that voyage.’

‘Why so?’

‘Because, if I could, I would fetch him back at all risks. I would tell the whole truth—show my accounts, get you as a witness as to my motives, and take my chance of a prosecution. I have Phil’s I O U for a larger sum than I have yet expended; and although I have forged his signature, and passed myself off under a false name, I think I might, by counsel’s aid, get off pretty easily. But I don’t choose to risk it, with Phil out of reach on the high seas. Things would be more complicated, and disagreeable insinuations might be cast at me. I wish he had never gone; but as he has, I must try to hold out these few months longer, and then, when he is once back, whether ill or well, he shall come to Ladywell, and I will abdicate in his favour. I think I shall have pretty well broken Belassis’ power by that time, and opened the eyes of the executors. He will never regain the ascendency he once had here.’

‘Oh yes, you must certainly hold out. I will help you. I am sure I can hold the Belassis faction at bay, if I can do no more. You are certain that Philip Debenham has sailed?’

‘Quite certain. I have received, through Dr. Schneeberger, a letter from his medical friend under whose care Phil travels. It was written on board the vessel, and said that the journey had been safely accomplished, that Phil had borne it well, though without any sign of returning powers, and that they were to sail before midnight. He will be far enough away by now.’

‘Safely out of Mrs. Belassis’ or the Italian’s reach, anyway,’ said Miss Marjory. ‘I wonder who this Italian can be? A spy of hers?’

‘Not possible, I think. He came as a guest to a Mr. Meredith, a sculptor here, with an introduction from a relative of theirs in Florence who has known him for several years. I made, for my own satisfaction, as many close inquiries as I could without attracting attention. He says he knew Philip well, and me slightly; that he met us in Rome and Naples. I dare say it is all true enough—indeed it must be, for he recalls incidents that I remember quite well, only I don’t remember him.’

‘This is interesting and romantic,’ said Miss Marjory, fanning herself gently. ‘I will tackle this fascinating Italian, and see if I cannot pluck out the heart of his mystery.’

‘I wish you could,’ said Tor.

‘Does he speak English?’

‘No; only Italian and French, so far as I know.’

‘Well, well, I am old-fashioned enough to speak Italian. When I was young, it was the fashion to learn only a few things, and those well. Girls were not encouraged then to dabble in science and metaphysics, and play at atheism and agnosticism when they should be practising their scales and learning their catechism. We were not at all learned young ladies in my day. We didn’t look down on our parents, sneer at the clergy, or aspire to the “higher culture” and “higher morality,” or whatever their new-fangled jargon may be; but we were taught how to behave ourselves in the company of our elders, we did not lounge or yawn when obliged to listen to conversation rather above our heads, nor did we interrupt our betters or interfere whenever we happened to disagree. We did not talk big about universal equality or socialistic philanthropy, but I flatter myself we understood our duty to our neighbour better than this generation understands it. And I venture to say I can talk Italian against any modern young lady extant, however learned she may be.’

Once get Miss Marjory upon any of her pet themes, and she was certain to wax eloquent. Tor was quite content to listen, and the late experiences he had had of nineteenth-century culture inclined him to agree with Miss Marjory’s view of the case. Men are proverbially averse to the higher education of women.

‘Well, Miss Marjory,’ said Tor, ‘you will have that opportunity to-night; for I have asked Signor Pagliadini to dine here, and you will be able to tackle him to your heart’s content.’

‘To dine here!’ echoed Miss Marjory. ‘Why, I thought you were sworn foes.’

‘Not at all; we are nominally on excellent terms. In public he has not said one unpleasant word. It is in a private interview that he was so disagreeable. Whatever his motive is, he does not wish to drive me to strong measures. I believe I shall have fair warning if he makes up his mind to attack me.’

‘I will tackle him,’ said Miss Marjory, with a certain satisfaction in her tone. ‘I flatter myself I shall be able to discover who he is and what he wants.’

Tor was quite of the same opinion. He believed that Miss Marjory could do anything she had a mind to, and was content to hand over Signor Pagliadini to her tender mercies, to be turned inside out, or submitted to any other process that might seem good to her.

‘My sister and my aunt do not understand Italian,’ he went on to say, ‘so that they will not be a bit the wiser for any conversation which they may overhear.’

‘Ah, perhaps that is as well,’ said Miss Marjory.

Ethel Hardcastle and Maud Debenham had meantime struck up a great friendship, after the manner of young girls. Ethel was always ready to admire and adore anyone who was kind and pretty and good to her; and anything like a strong will or an originality of disposition struck her as something peculiarly desirable. Thus in a couple of hours’ time the young mistress of Ladywell, with her frank gracious ways, her fresh, charming face, and her saucy independent speech, had altogether bewitched the less-favoured but simple-minded Ethel, and Maud became the object of her youthful and generous enthusiasm.

Maud liked to be admired, and therefore she liked Ethel; and because she liked her, she waxed confidential; and an acute observer of human nature might safely aver that a stage had already been arrived at when long conversations in one another’s rooms at night, of a peculiarly and almost needlessly confidential character, would become inevitable.

Tor became aware of this sudden friendship when he arrived in the drawing-room shortly before the dinner-hour, and found the two girls deep in talk in a distant window.

Miss Marjory looked remarkably well—every inch the gentlewoman she was—in her rich amber satin and costly lace, which set off to peculiar advantage her small dark head and bright animated eyes. She had the distinguished, high-bred look which seems growing more and more rare in these modern times, and which no amount of outward magnificence can ever simulate.

‘Signor Pagliadini,’ announced the servant, throwing open the door; and Miss Marjory’s keen eyes were riveted in a moment upon the stranger’s face.

He was presented to the guests, and went through the ceremony with all the ease of indifference. He had certainly no cause to be interested in these two ladies, whom he had never seen before, nor was likely to see again.

Dinner was announced in a few minutes. Tor gave his arm to Miss Marjory; Mrs. Lorraine followed with Ethel; Maud and the Signor brought up the rear.

‘He is very good-looking,’ said Miss Marjory softly to her host—‘too good-looking to be dangerous, I think. Very handsome men are always rather stupid.’

Tor smiled, and wondered how far this sweeping statement was true. He was rather inclined to accept Miss Marjory’s axioms, for he believed her to be a keen observer of human nature.

The dinner passed off smoothly. Conversations in English, French, and Italian were carried on promiscuously, English predominating somewhat, as three out of the four ladies present much preferred their native tongue as a medium of communication.

Only once did Miss Marjory address any low-toned observation to Tor, and that was when the Italian and Maud were laughing very much together over some anecdote he had just related.

Leaning forward slightly, she said in a quiet undertone:

‘Whether that man speaks English or not, he understands it as well as you or I.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘I don’t think anything about it. I know it.’

Nothing of interest happened when the ladies had left the table. The Signor talked easily and pleasantly of persons and places that both had known, but made no allusion to what had passed between them a few days previously. Tor followed his lead, and was only too glad to be left in peace. Torwood’s name was never mentioned between them, and both seemed quite ready to join the ladies, as soon as a decent interval had elapsed.

The Italian was willing enough to take refuge with Miss Marjory as soon as the drawing-room had been reached. Tor could not help fancying that he felt some relief at the presence of strangers, as though he did not feel disposed to show fight that day, and yet had no inclination to become too friendly.

Miss Marjory never knew what it was to want words. English or Italian, it was all the same to her. She was wont to say of herself that if she were to be cast away upon a savage island, she should learn the language in a few days, so impossible would it be for her to remain silent.

The Signor seemed pleased by her conversation. Maud had taken Ethel out into the garden. Tor was talking to Mrs. Lorraine at the other end of the great room. There was nobody to hear what passed between these two, and Miss Marjory could be charmingly innocent when she chose.

‘Have you ever been in England before, Signor?’

There was the least possible hesitation before the answer came.

‘As a child, Madame, I was here; but I have little recollection of it.’

‘Was it this part of the world that you visited then?’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘That I cannot say. I cannot remember well enough.’

‘You have seen London, of course?’

‘I spent one night there on my way here. That is all my acquaintance with it.’

‘You were in a desperate hurry to reach these remote parts,’ remarked Miss Marjory, laughing. ‘Most men would not have hastened away quite so fast from the gaieties of a London season.’

‘I—I had an introduction to Mr. Meredith,’ answered the stranger with a very slight embarrassment of manner, which did not escape Miss Marjory.

‘Well, I imagine the introduction would have kept,’ she answered lightly. ‘I suppose the fact of the case is, that you had paid Homburg or Baden, or Paris perhaps, a long visit first, and had seen enough of the delights of life to satiate you for a time. Or perhaps,’ she added slily, ‘you were afraid that your reputation would reach this place before you, and scare simple country people, who do not understand gay doings.’

The young man looked relieved at having his way made so plain for him. He bowed and smiled, and remarked with edifying admiration that the Signora was quite too clever—her eyes saw through everything, like the sun at noonday.

‘I always did say my eyes saw a little farther than other people’s,’ answered Miss Marjory, with a little laugh. ‘What a charming man our host is!’ she continued, after a while. ‘So superior to most young men of the present day—just as his father was before him; they are remarkably alike.’

‘You were acquainted, then, with Mr. Debenham, our good friend’s father?’

‘Oh yes; his father and I were great friends. Like father, like son, you know, Signor. It is quite so in this case—charming men both.’

Signor Pagliadini looked intently at her through his glasses. Miss Marjory returned the glance with the frankest possible ease.

‘Think I’ve puzzled him there,’ she remarked to herself. ‘If the son is so like the father, he can hardly rank as an impostor.’

‘I did not know Mr.—our friend’s father,’ said the Signor slowly. ‘He is not at all like his sister.’

‘Do you think not?’ returned Miss Marjory, in her brisk way. ‘Well, now, I should have called them quite as much alike as the average run of brothers and sisters. He is a little fairer, and is bronzed, of course, by sun and wind, but they have the same clear skin and good colouring, the same kind of open foreheads and well-marked brows; and a wonderful similarity in disposition, so frank, and pleasant, and unaffected. Oh yes, no one can doubt that there is a strong affinity between them.’

Signor Pagliadini sat silent and absorbed.

‘Come, Signor,’ recommenced Miss Marjory, after a pause, ‘I must not become wearisome on the subject of my old friend’s children. The topic cannot be very interesting to you, even though you are a friend also;’ and without any effort she shifted the conversation dexterously this way and that, seemingly quite at random, as is natural when two strangers sit down to ‘make talk,’ but with a method in her apparent aimlessness, of which, however, her interlocutor was quite unconscious.

They parted on the best of terms, and with the mutual hope of future meetings.

‘I must have a breath of fresh air before I am an hour older,’ said Miss Marjory, drawing a long breath. ‘May I step out a few minutes, Mr. Debenham, and look at the stars?’

‘We will look at them together,’ said Tor; and he gave her his arm, and walked her off, unheeding Maud’s demure look of congratulation, and gentle pat on the back, as he passed her. ‘Well,’ he said, as they stood together in the warm summer night, ‘have you made out anything?’

‘That man is a spy!’ she answered with energy and decision. ‘Who and what he is besides, I have not yet made out; but he is a spy!’

‘I believe it; but what makes you so certain?’

‘I am certain because he has not got his story right. He is masquerading—pretending to be what he is not, and he is all confused as to his antecedents. Fancy being so stupid as to try and play a part without knowing exactly how to do it, and what to say—just like a man! Men are such clumsy creatures! One time he told me he had just come from Florence, from a Signor Something who gave him an introduction. Then he said another time he had been in Rome until he came here, and had travelled straight to England; and once he slipped out something which showed he had been in Germany quite lately; but he saw he had tripped that time, and tried to explain his words away—the very stupidest thing he could have done, of course. He didn’t know how many times he contradicted himself, but I kept count. Whoever that man is, he is playing a part, and he is a spy!’