Torwood's trust

iss Marjory’s carefully planned dinner was a marked success, and was followed by a very pleasant evening, spent partly in the sweet, old-fashioned and faultlessly kept garden, and partly in the cool, softly lighted drawing-room.

Miss Marjory’s guest and deputy landlord made himself most agreeable. He talked politics and science with Miss Marjory, told anecdotes and traveller’s tales to Ethel, and discussed town talk with Horace, who had not long left London for Whitbury.

When Tor reached his room that night, it was with the consciousness that he had made at least one valuable friend, but at the same time with the fear that his position was gradually growing less and less secure. Troublesome reflections would crowd into his mind, and it was anything but a pleasant possibility that loomed before him, the thought that he might be branded as a felon and taste the sweets of convict-life! That would be rather a heavy penalty to pay for the fraud he had practised for friendship’s sake; and yet it was just possible that an adverse fate might drive matters even to such a crisis as that. What then would become of his intended proposal to Maud? She would be as hopelessly beyond his reach as if she were the wife of Lewis Belassis. The reflection was not inspiriting, but Tor shook himself, ‘pulled himself together,’ and smiled at his own depression.

‘Never say die! What can have come to me? There’s no reason why I should be betrayed, or betray myself. Old Belassis will have enough on his hands, I should say, after my hints, without trying to upset my claim. I wonder what Miss Marjory knows about him. I must have some more conversation with her to-morrow. She is a clever woman, I am sure; and will, I think, stand my friend.’

So Tor argued himself out of his fears, and soon regained his customary elasticity of spirit. He slept soundly, and woke in a happier frame of mind.

He and Miss Marjory made the breakfast-table very lively; and when she requested him to make a tour of inspection round house and gardens, Ethel and Horace smiled at one another, and said that Cousin Marjory had evidently made a conquest, and would have no trouble in getting her own way with the landlord, even were her demands more exorbitant than they were known to be.

Very brisk and business-like did Miss Marjory show herself as she conducted ‘Mr. Debenham’ round ‘his friend’s’ property. No smallest allusion did she make to what had passed between them on the previous afternoon, but confined herself exclusively to the matter in hand. She showed what had been done in house and garden since her father had taken out the lease, explained what she wanted done now, and discussed with him what she considered to be her share of the undertaking, and what she believed the landlord should be ready to do. Her demands were both just and reasonable, and Tor assented readily to all she proposed, and would have even done more, only that Miss Marjory checked him.

‘Oh no, thank you. I don’t wish to be extortionate; and besides, that would be wasteful. I don’t say but what the stables might have been better arranged originally; but they have done very well for us these twenty-eight years, and will do so till the end of the chapter. There’s no end to the expense when once you begin to dabble in bricks and mortar; and if you take my advice you’ll let the matter alone. I’ve told you what I want—the well, and the iron fencing, and general outside repairs. You will have to spend a good deal over those. Don’t run into needless expense.’

‘Well, Miss Marjory, I will be guided by your judgment; but you have done so much yourself, that it would be shabby of me not to be willing to meet you more than half-way. Look at all the glass you have put up.’

‘Yes; that’s my hobby. I can’t do without flowers; and when you once begin, you must go on. There’s no end to what one wants. I should like to have seven acres of glass, like Veitch.’

‘And overlook all yourself, Miss Marjory?’ asked Tor, with a smile.

‘Yes, of course. I always do want my finger in everybody’s pie. I suppose you think I couldn’t do it—an old woman like me.’

‘I have a very strong impression that you could do anything you’ve a mind to, Miss Marjory,’ answered Tor; and Miss Marjory laughed and shook her head at him in implied rebuke.

‘Trying to practise on the credulity of an old woman, Mr. Debenham. As if I did not know all your tricks by heart—idle young good-for-nothings! Come now, we have not quite done our business yet. I have told my factotum tradesman to meet you here to-day, to give you a sort of general estimate as to time and cost. You will find him a very honest and capable man, this Alfred Belassis, and you cannot do better than employ him.’

Tor’s eyes opened wide.

‘What name did you say?’

‘Alfred Belassis; he is quite our model tradesman in Whitbury, for anything in the building line, within or without—a capital workman, though still young.’

Tor was looking hard at Miss Marjory.

‘Alfred Belassis!’ he said slowly. ‘Alfred Belassis! How very curious!’

‘Yes, it is rather curious, isn’t it?’ said Miss Marjory coolly; ‘the same name as that uncle of your friend’s—of yours, I mean—of whom you think so highly. He will be here shortly, and my advice to you is—look well at him.’

The significance of the last four words convinced Tor that Miss Marjory knew, or suspected, more than a mere coincidence in this identity of names; but no more was said then, for the said Alfred Belassis was already approaching them, having been directed by the servants to the spot where Miss Marjory and the landlord were consulting together.

The talk that followed was chiefly carried on between the tradesman and Miss Marjory, Tor contenting himself by assenting to what was proposed, and throwing in an observation from time to time for form’s sake. He followed Miss Marjory’s advice to the letter, however, and looked well at Belassis, bestowing such careful scrutiny upon him as would have astonished him, had he been made aware of it.

Yes, Tor was quite convinced that there was some vague likeness between this young builder and Philip’s Uncle Belassis. There was something similar in build and in voice; and several little tricks of manner were strongly alike. The younger man was a far pleasanter specimen of humanity, quiet, civil, and unassuming, yet thoroughly up to his work, and able to grasp Miss Marjory’s meaning, and even to make notes, in spite of her rapid delivery, which puzzled Tor more than once.

So he watched attentively, and the conviction became stronger, and a sense of vague bewilderment grew up, as he traced more and more of the Belassis form and colouring in this Whitbury tradesman who bore their name. What it could all mean, he was at a loss to imagine.

When Belassis was gone, Miss Marjory turned round with something of triumph in her tone.

‘Well, and what do you say to that? What have you made out there?’

‘He must come of the same stock, I think,’ said Tor slowly. ‘He certainly is rather like my uncle, unless my fancy has deceived me.’

‘I do not imagine that it has,’ said Miss Marjory significantly.

‘You believe he belongs to that family?’ asked Tor. ‘I have never heard of him!’

‘Probably not.’

‘You think, as a poor relation, he has been kept in the background purposely?’

‘Alfred Belassis is by no means a poor man. He is very well-to-do in the world.’

‘But still in trade.’

‘Yes, in trade; but do you think a wealthy man, even in trade, would be quite beneath Alfred Belassis’ notice?’

‘I see you know more than I do, Miss Marjory,’ said Tor, the feeling of perplexity growing slowly upon him. ‘Won’t you confide in me now, and tell me what it is?’

‘Come into the shrubbery, then, where we can talk uninterrupted. I do not know much, but I suspect a good deal. Perhaps we can piece it together.’

Tor followed her, wondering, but not seeing the end. Was this what she meant by ‘putting a spoke in Belassis’ wheel’?

‘Now,’ said Miss Marjory, seating herself upon a rustic chair, and bidding Tor follow her example. ‘I suppose, as you are a man, you don’t see an inch before your nose as yet? Men never do.’

Tor was forced to admit that he didn’t.

‘Now, who do you suppose was the father of that young man?’

‘Was it a brother of Belassis?—a brother who made a low marriage and was cast off, and never heard of more? That’s what I fancy must have taken place.’

‘Well, you might have made a worse shot,’ returned Miss Marjory indulgently. However, you haven’t quite got to the rights of it yet, as you will see when I tell you that the father’s name was the same as the son’s—Alfred Belassis.’

‘Alfred Belassis!’

‘Yes, Alfred Belassis, brothers are not usually called by the same name.’

‘A cousin?’ suggested Tor feebly; but Miss Marjory cut him ruthlessly short.

‘Cousin, indeed! Don’t make yourself out denser than you are! I believe you have grasped the situation now.’

‘Do you mean that you think he is my uncle’s son?’ quoth Tor. ‘Impossible!’

‘I believe he is Philip Debenham’s uncle’s son, most assuredly; and so will you too, if you will only listen to me.’

‘But has he, then, a right to his name?’ Tor could not help asking. ‘Do you mean that Belassis has been twice married?’

‘Oh yes, he was married fast enough. Mr. Longmore married them—my pretty waiting-maid, Nelly Roberts, and that young loafer Alfred Belassis, whom we none of us knew, and none of us liked. But they would go their own way, and nobody could hinder the marriage. Nelly was one-and-twenty, and he a little older. He made out that he was well-to-do, and would make a lady of her; and her silly head was turned, and they got married, and lived for a few months at the Angler’s Arms, where he had been stopping for the fishing. And then one fine morning he got some letters from home, he told her, and must go away for a few days on business. He left no address, saying he would write when he reached his destination, and she was too confiding to ask questions. He went away in gay good spirits, and never returned again; nor did any word or message from him ever reach her from that day forward.’

‘The scoundrel!’ muttered Tor.

‘So we all said,’ assented Miss Marjory—‘all but Nelly, who was convinced that some evil chance had befallen him. There had been a bad coaching accident somewhere in the country on the day he had left her, and she was fully persuaded that he had been killed in it. Nobody else believed this theory, for we had none of us liked the young man, who was vulgar and pretentious, without having anything to recommend him. I told Nelly that no doubt his movements could be traced, and her suspicion either verified or overthrown; and that if he was still living he could be made to support her. But her pride revolted against such a course. She showed what I considered a very proper spirit, and said that if he had left her of his own free will, he might leave her. She would never force herself where she was not wanted, and make him support her, now that he was tired of her, and despised her love. If he was dead, as she believed, search would be useless; and if not, she would still not have him found. He could come back to her of his own accord if he would; if not, he might stay away, and she would never trouble him more. We Whitbury people believed she had judged wisely for herself—such a marriage could only end in unhappiness—and we all pitied and helped her, for she was an orphan, poor child, and had no relatives in the neighbourhood.’

Tor was listening intently, an uncomfortable feeling growing up in his mind.

‘Did she live long?’ he asked. ‘I suppose she is not alive now?’

‘No. She lived several years though, and brought up her little boy, Alfred, well and respectably; but when he was about four or five years old, as nearly as I can remember, her health failed very much, and the charge of the child became more of a burden than she could undertake. I found a home for the boy in an institution, where he would be well cared for, and taught a useful trade; and his mother, quite satisfied, went to live with some relatives in the South of England, who had offered her a home. I heard from her from time to time, and then I went abroad for a couple of years, during which period her letters quite ceased. When I came back, and could make inquiries, I found out that she had died, though how and when, I do not exactly know.’

When she had died was, in Tor’s mind, an important point. Miss Marjory and he were both thinking the same thing.

‘Do you know when your uncle’s second marriage took place?’ asked Miss Marjory abruptly.

‘I have been considering—I think it must have been in or very much about the year 1850.’

‘Nelly Belassis was living in November, 1849,’ remarked Miss Marjory—‘living, and in fair health, for I heard from her then. I do not know how long she lived afterwards.’

‘But surely Belassis knew,’ said Tor. ‘He is a villain, and a clumsy villain, too; but I think he knows better than to perpetrate bigamy. He must have kept his eye upon her, and verified her death.’

‘It is possible, of course; but I do not know how he managed it, if he did. Nelly never heard one syllable from him during the years that followed the desertion, and you may be sure he would not let his face be seen in Whitbury. He had left too many bad debts behind him, perpetrated too many questionable actions, in addition to his conduct towards poor Nelly, ever to care to appear here again in a hurry. When Nelly left, I believe nobody but myself knew whither she had gone; so that, even if he did start an inquiry after her, there is every probability he would have been baffled. It is my very firm impression that he just looked upon his doings here as a crop of wild oats that he had sown in his youth; and trusted to the thousand and one chances of life, that if ever there came to be a harvest, it would not be his hand that would reap it.’

Tor thought this supposition quite in keeping with the clumsy rascality of Belassis, as he had seen it. He had no opinion at all of Phil’s uncle’s capacity. His wife’s shrewdness and his own dogged determination and brazen dishonesty had carried him safely on so far, when not opposed by any far-seeing or strong-minded foe; but he could quite believe him capable of running a tremendous risk rather than lose a present opportunity of good, or face a distinctly awkward position.

‘You may be right,’ he said slowly. ‘He is a pitiful coward, and as covetous as Judas. I suppose to have acknowledged such a marriage would have ruined his prospects for life.’

‘Just so. I imagine his father would have had scant mercy, if it had come to his ears.’

‘If Belassis takes after his father, I should say he would.’

There was a pause for reflection.

‘I suppose you do not know much of this uncle’s past history?’

‘No, little enough. The real Phil might know more, perhaps, though I don’t think it would come to much. I could find out, though, I dare say.’

‘From whom?’

‘From Mrs. Lorraine, my aunt pro tem. Mrs. Belassis’ sister, and Mrs. Debenham’s.’

‘From what you tell me of your mother’s family—I mean, of course, Mr. Debenham’s mother’s family—they seem very well born people—quite superior to the Belassis’.’

‘Yes, quite, I should say.’

‘Then what made one of the sisters marry Alfred Belassis?’

‘That I don’t know, but I might find out.’

‘Do so if you can. Of course, a match like that would be an immense advantage to a man in his position; one can understand that if such a thing as that were in view, he would be reluctant enough to confess his former marriage with a lady’s-maid. I wonder if Nelly was dead at the time, and if he knew it. Mr. Debenham, unless you can make sure of that fact, don’t let your sister marry Lewis Belassis on any account.’

‘I will not,’ said Tor resolutely.

‘You must find out the exact date of the wedding, and I will endeavour to find out that of Nelly’s death. Unluckily, as all these things happened more than a quarter of a century ago, I am doubtful if I have even a record left of the place the poor girl went to. It was Devonshire or Dorsetshire, I think, but I can be sure of nothing. Still, I will do my best; where there’s a will there’s a way. And I think you have now another hold upon your worthy uncle.’

‘I think so,’ answered Tor, with some satisfaction in his tone. ‘If I wish to be specially agreeable to him, or if he has been particularly pleasant to me, I can tell him that I have been over to Whitbury, and ask him if he has any knowledge of the place.’

Miss Marjory seemed to enjoy the idea of this question very much.

‘Yes, Whitbury must recall many very pleasant associations; for, as I tell you, he sowed plenty of wild oats here before he spoilt poor Nelly’s life. Mr. Graves could, I fancy, lay his hands upon some papers which would be rather disconcerting to a man of his social standing. You could ask him if he remembers the lawyer Mr. Graves, or Miss Marjory Descartes. I should like to see his face if you did!’

‘Did he know you, then?’

‘Oh, he knew me well enough to come and beg my intercession with Mr. Graves, for his poor dear Nelly’s sake. I was a silly young thing in those days, with more money than wisdom; and I was fond of Nelly, and did not want her to know what a precious sort of fellow this husband of hers was. So I gave him money, and got him off somehow; but I don’t imagine his gratitude would teach him to welcome me very warmly now.’

Tor smiled to himself.

‘I could go on to sing your praises, and to assert my hope that some day I might see you at Ladywell. May I really hope that you will visit us there one of these days?’

‘I’ll come if you want me—if things are going badly with you, and a curb is wanted for Belassis. I’ll come if my support will be of service to you; but I don’t often pay visits for pleasure. I always find that I wish myself home again in two days’ time.’

‘I trust you may not do that if you come to Ladywell,’ said Tor gallantly. ‘Such a promise almost makes a complication and danger desirable.’

‘Stuff and nonsense! don’t talk rubbish to an old woman like me. I’ll come if I’m needed; and if not, I’ll stay at home. But don’t you be rash and drive Belassis to bay, or he might turn upon you. I’d advise you to say nothing about the kinsman you’ve found here.’

‘I shall not at present, at any rate. I have no wish to drive things to a crisis; but I think I shall be able to guess by his manner whether or not he knew of his first wife’s death, before his second marriage. I hope it is all right. I don’t want, for the sake of wife and children, to drag up anything that would fall so hardly upon them; but I don’t care how much of a dog’s life I lead Belassis.’

‘He deserves it all,’ cried Miss Marjory, with energy; ‘only be careful.’

‘I will. I live in a glass house myself; but I shall certainly hold you over his head if he becomes objectionable.’

‘Yes, you may do that. I rather like an encounter of wits myself. In the days of my youth I was a good hand at retort. I don’t think my tongue has quite lost its cunning even now.’

‘I don’t think so either,’ smiled Tor. ‘Yes, we must certainly contrive a meeting, face to face.’

Miss Marjory would make no definite promise, but Tor went away convinced that he had gained a valuable ally, and one who would never desert him, and who would, perhaps, be more dangerous to Belassis than he himself could be.

There was something in Miss Marjory’s assured position and in the respect which she always inspired, as well as in her age and experience, which was very encouraging to the young man, who certainly needed all the advantages he could secure; and he was now exceedingly glad that the lease of his house had fallen in, and that Miss Marjory had summoned him to Whitbury.