Torwood's trust

think I must take you over to Thornton House this afternoon, Phil,’ said Tor, ‘and reintroduce you to your esteemed aunt and uncle.’

Phil made a grimace, which indicated that he did not look forward with eagerness to the impending introduction to his kinsfolk.

‘I wanted to go and see old Meredith.’

‘We’ll take him on the way back, if you like,’ answered Tor; ‘but you ought to go first to see the Belassis family.’

They were sitting at lunch when this conversation took place, and Phil, for the first time, had taken his place at the foot of the table. Tor sat beside Maud, and seemed to feel in nowise degraded.

The servants knew nothing of the transformation which had taken place. They believed that the young squire had arrived late the previous evening, and that the Signor had been called away the following morning. They were too much excited by the sudden change of master to have much interest to spare for the Italian.

All their thoughts were given to puzzling over the strange change which had taken place; and all tongues were uttering speculations as to why Mr. Debenham had sent Mr. Torwood in his place, and made him take his name for three whole months.

Phil was glad enough that it should be so. He was heartily ashamed of his distrust of his friend, and consequently the whole of the Signor Pagliadini episode was highly distasteful to him. He felt degraded by the thought that he had come in disguise to spy upon Tor; and he was really anxious that the matter should remain unknown, outside the walls of his own house.

Hence his reluctance to face Mrs. Belassis.

‘I was almost conspiring with her against Tor,’ he said ruefully. ‘I could not bear her ever to remind me of that, and I know she will.’

‘Why should she ever have the opportunity?’ said Miss Marjory. ‘It will be your fault if she does.’

‘How?’

‘It was Signor Pagliadini, not Mr. Philip Debenham, who nearly made a confidante of her.’

Miss Marjory spoke with some significance, and Phil’s face brightened.

‘You think I needn’t say that I was the Signor?’

‘Why should you say so?’

‘I don’t know, I’m sure. I fancied it would all have to come out.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. Don’t you think she’ll suspect?’

‘No, I don’t—I’m quite sure she won’t,’ said Miss Marjory, nodding her head emphatically. ‘If you deceived me, young man, I’m quite sure you equally deceived Mrs. Belassis.’

‘I think,’ said Mrs. Lorraine gently, ‘that no one besides our six selves need ever know exactly how matters really stand, or that Mr. Torwood ever acted as anything but dear Philip’s deputy.’

‘Quite so,’ said Miss Marjory. ‘Mr. Torwood was doing the best thing possible for his friend’s interests; and if not very wisely, he acted most generously, and great good has been done by it.’

‘Indeed, yes,’ cried Phil eagerly; ‘and do you really think nobody else need know what an ass I’ve been?’

‘If you don’t betray yourself,’ said Miss Marjory, ‘nobody else will betray you.’

Phil drew a long breath of satisfaction.

‘Oh, jolly!’ he cried in his boyish way; ‘and won’t my uncle and aunt be sold! They’ll think I knew all the time that Tor was here, and that I was in the plot. I hope they will feel properly “done.”’

‘You must be bold and firm with them,’ said Miss Marjory; ‘you must stand up for every measure your friend has taken. You must say that everything he did has your complete sanction.’

‘Of course I shall.’

‘And they can easily be made to believe that you were aware the whole time of your friend’s movements.’

‘And they shall think so too!’ cried Phil eagerly; ‘and if they try to cast in my teeth what that old Pagliadini said, I will lay it hot on him!’

‘I think you will enjoy abusing the Signor,’ remarked Maud, smiling.

‘That I shall,’ cried Phil. ‘I abuse him to myself every time I think of him.’

‘Well,’ said Tor, bringing matters round to the point from which they had strayed, ‘is it agreed that we call together at Thornton House to-day?’

‘It is,’ said Phil.

At Thornton House that day a somewhat animated interview was taking place between Mrs. Belassis and her husband.

It will doubtless be remembered that it was only upon the previous afternoon Mrs. Belassis had made an attack upon Tor at Ladywell, and had heard from Miss Marjory the disgraceful story of her husband’s first marriage, and his subsequent desertion of his young wife.

She had appeared to take the news quietly, for she had not been able, in her excitement and indignation against Tor, to consider with calmness her own possible position; and she had, at the moment, felt convinced that the first wife must have died, and that he must have known of her death before he had dared to marry again; but when she began to review the subject dispassionately, a great fear fell upon her that this might not be so, and a hundred little forgotten incidents rose up before her, all tending to increase her doubts. Her husband’s eagerness to engage himself to her, and his constant postponement of the wedding, looked significant enough to her now. His ill-assured manner all through the marriage day and later, and his wish not to advertise the ceremony, came back to her memory now and made her tremble. Then his fear and anxiety when Whitbury was named were certainly strange, as was also his craven and cowed air when he had met Miss Marjory.

It was possible, of course, that he might be cowed and timid, in any case, at meeting one who could reveal the fact of the first marriage; but all seemed to point to the conclusion that he had never really ascertained the fate of the woman he had wedded only to desert.

Mrs. Belassis could not speak to her husband on her return, for he had started upon a business expedition from which he was not expected home until the following day.

Time, however, gave Mrs. Belassis opportunity to nurse her wrath and plan out a course of action, and certainly the expression of her countenance, as she sat at the luncheon-table opposite the husband, who had just returned, boded him no good; and after one or two feeble attempts at conversation, he sank into silence, quaking inwardly and wondering what was to come.

‘I wish to speak to you, Mr. Belassis,’ she said, as they rose from table.

‘Certainly, my love.’

Lewis and the girls looked on aghast. The latter had felt that a storm was brewing, and had not dared to tell their father and brother, as they were longing to do, that ‘Phil’ was engaged to Roma, and that he was not really ‘Phil’ at all, but an impostor.

They had felt bound to keep silence at luncheon; but when their father and mother had retired to the study, they pounced upon Lewis and poured into his ears the bewildering tale which they had lately heard themselves.

Mr. Belassis followed his wife slowly and reluctantly into his study, feeling that an evil time lay before him.

‘Sit down, Mr. Belassis,’ she said.

He sat down meekly.

‘Well, my love, what is it?’

‘Don’t call me “my love” again, until I give you leave. What has become, Mr. Belassis, of your first wife? Tell me that.’

‘My—f-first—wife!’

‘Yes, your first wife—you are not going to look me in the face and say you have not had one!’

He did not look her in the face, and he did not utter a word.

‘Where is the first Mrs. Belassis—tell me that!’

‘Dead.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Y-yes—I’m as sure as I can be.’

Mrs. Belassis shivered slightly. It was, then, as she had suspected.

‘When did she die?’

There was a pause; which he broke by answering with assumed assurance:

‘Ages ago; long before I married you.’

‘That’s a lie!’

He shrank before her tone and look.

‘How—how do you know?’

‘I know that she was alive three months before you married me.’

His face turned livid.

‘How do you know?’

‘I was told, on good authority.’

‘By whom?’

‘By Miss Marjory Descartes.’

‘Good heavens!’ cried the miserable man, starting up. ‘If you’ve been talking to her, it’s all over with me. She has no mercy.’

Then there was a long pause, which at first neither seemed inclined to break.

‘You mean to tell me, then,’ said Mrs. Belassis, at last, ‘that I am not your wife at all?’

‘I don’t know,’ he cried desperately. ‘I can’t tell you anything—I don’t know myself. I never could find out what became of her. I did make inquiries—I did all I could. I found out that she had left Whitbury, that she was in a consumption, and was gone away south, and was not likely to live through the winter. I couldn’t get to know where she was, and you wouldn’t wait longer. I made sure she had died in the winter, and I believe still that she did; but I don’t know, and I can’t say more.’

Mrs. Belassis looked coldly and scornfully at him.

‘I wouldn’t wait! Hadn’t I waited five years for your whims? Was it likely I cared for you enough to waste my whole life waiting? Why didn’t you tell me you were a married man?’

‘I didn’t know whether I was or not,’ he answered sullenly.

‘Then why didn’t you say that you didn’t know?’

He glared at her like a wild beast at bay.

‘Take care, Mrs. Belassis—take care! Don’t drive me too far.’

‘I am not aware that I am Mrs. Belassis.’

‘You’re not aware that you’re not, anyhow. I believe you are; and when I’ve proved this miserable creature’s death, I’ll make you feel that I am your lord and master.’

Some of the old brutal power of the man was returning to him in this extremity. There had been a time when Mrs. Belassis had half-feared and admired, whilst she half-despised him. It seemed as though danger of disgrace had roused in him some of his old force of character.

‘You’d better not threaten me, Mr. Belassis. So long as the doubt remains a doubt, I will stay where I am, and act as your wife; but remember, that whether or not our marriage is legal, you have behaved abominably; and if I expose you, you will not find it pleasant.’

‘It will hurt you more than it hurts me—exposure will!’ began Belassis savagely; then, catching the look in her eye, he paused and said: ‘Come, Celia, be reasonable. What is the good of our quarrelling? Nobody need know this miserable story, unless you betray it; and they’ll find it hard to prove that she was alive, as nobody seems to know where she went to, when she left Yorkshire. I don’t see that anybody can have any interest in raking up an old story like that; and I shall be always ready to swear to her death. I’ll get a certificate if necessary. I can easily manage that.’

Mrs. Belassis sat silent.

‘I must know the truth. I cannot go on like this,’ she said slowly. ‘But so long as matters remain uncertain, I suppose things must go on as they are. We have one enemy, however, who knows of the existence of the first Mrs. Belassis, and of the doubt of her death. He will ruin us if he can!’

‘Who is he?’

‘The man now calling himself Philip Debenham and our nephew.’

‘Calling himself?’

‘Yes; that man is really Torrington Torwood!’

‘Celia!’

‘He is. I have suspected him for long. I knew all was not well, though I could not lay my finger on the fraud. I know, now, what it is—the man is an impostor—only that!—an impostor and a forger!’

‘How do you know?’

‘Signor Pagliadini told me.’

‘That Italian? Does he know Philip and his friend?’

‘He has known them both well. It is Mr. Torwood who is reigning here. Poor Philip is in a kind of captivity, awaiting his tyrant’s orders. At present he is at sea—safely out of the way.’

‘We must rescue him!’ cried Belassis, a vision of golden possibilities rising at once before his eyes. ‘We, his next of kin, will rescue him from the clutch of this villain, and reinstate him in his own inheritance! Celia, my love! the tables will be turned, and our fortunes will be made! We will drive out this impostor with scorn and obloquy! I will prosecute him myself, and he shall be transported for life! Penal servitude is just fit for him, and such as he! When dear Philip has his own again—ah, how different it will all be! I knew that man was not a Debenham, and Philip must be his father’s own son, or this Torwood could not ride rough-shod over him as he does. Ah, my dear! when we get our own nephew safe under our protection at Ladywell, how different everything will look!’

This had been Mrs. Belassis’ own conclusion, but she saw more difficulties in the way.

‘We must prove our case first. Torwood will not give way readily. I charged him with the fraud yesterday, openly, but he had the impudence to look me in the face and tell me that he should prefer to hear of such matters through my legal adviser! Oh, you needn’t be afraid! He’s Torwood, as sure as you’re Belassis; but he has got the property, and he will fight for it.’

Belassis considered awhile, and his eye began to glitter.

‘So much the better, perhaps. Phil’s gratitude will be all the greater, after a hard fight.’

‘We must find Phil first.’

‘True. Does anyone but this impostor know where he is?’

‘I fancy Signor Pagliadini does.’

‘Who is this Signor Pagliadini?’

‘I don’t know. Evidently some friend of Phil’s, who has come over to look after his interests.’

‘Has Phil sent him?’

‘I don’t know. He cannot speak English, and he is very reserved about himself.’

‘But he is Torwood’s enemy?’

‘I should say so.’

‘And therefore our friend.’

‘Don’t be too sure of that. He was anything but open with me. I wormed a good deal out of him; but I’m not sure that he intended me to.’

‘We’ll make him speak out!’ cried Belassis heartily and eagerly. ‘I’ve not been a lawyer for nothing; and I flatter myself I know how to get at information when I want it, and how to get up a case when I’ve an object to gain. The first thing to do, when we’ve won over this Signor, is to find our poor wronged nephew; and the next, to prosecute this Torrington Torwood for forgery and fraud.’

A knock at the door had passed unheeded, so it was simply thrown open, whilst the servant briefly announced:

‘Mr. Debenham and Mr. Torwood.’

Dead silence reigned in the room, as the two young men made their entrance.

‘Good-afternoon,’ said Tor pleasantly. ‘I hope we do not interrupt anything very important. I felt I must not lose time in introducing to you your real nephew, Philip Debenham, or in explaining to Mrs. Belassis that her shrewd surmise as to my identity is perfectly correct. Yesterday the time had not come to declare it; but now it has, and I have great pleasure in withdrawing from the position I have hitherto held as your nephew, and in presenting the rightful claimant for your affections, Philip Debenham.’

If a bomb had exploded in their midst, it could not have produced a more profound sensation of dismay and consternation.

‘You seem surprised, uncle,’ said Phil, advancing with a smile. ‘I should have thought you would have been prepared by my aunt.’

‘My dear, dear boy!’ stammered Belassis, with all the fervour his confused mind could muster. ‘My own dear Philip! welcome, welcome home to your true friends, who really care for you and your interests!’

‘Well, uncle, I’m glad enough to get home,’ said Phil. ‘It’s not been my fault I’ve stayed away so long; and for the rest, this friend here has looked so well after me and my interests for the past ten years, and especially for the past three months, that I can’t say I feel any special yearnings after new ones.’

Mrs. Belassis was gazing coldly and fixedly at Tor, who seemed quite at his ease even under the awful glare of her eyes.

‘Young man,’ she said threateningly, ‘do you imagine for a moment that you will be allowed to escape all the consequences of this gross imposition and fraud, which you have been practising upon us?’

‘I’ll take my chance of that,’ answered Tor serenely. ‘I don’t feel under any pressing anxiety, so far.’

‘We shall prosecute,’ said Mrs. Belassis grandly.

‘I shall be delighted if you do,’ answered Tor. ‘I’m afraid you will find some difficulty in procuring counsel.’

‘Difficulty!’

‘Well, it’s generally rather difficult to get counsel when you’ve got no case,’ explained Tor affably.

Mrs. Belassis was silent, through extreme indignation. Her husband, who better understood the law, appealed with more zeal than discretion to his nephew.

‘You must prosecute. Philip! You must not let this act pass unnoticed and unpunished. He has signed your cheques and papers, and perpetrated every kind of fraud. You must not allow such a monstrous imposition to go unpunished—for the sake of justice you must not.’

‘Well, sir, I think justice can take care of herself without any protection from me; and as for prosecuting Tor, for doing me the greatest service in his power, I never heard of anything so monstrously ridiculous in all my life.’

‘The greatest service!’ echoed Mrs. Belassis. ‘A service to rob you of your name, get your affairs into a shocking state, and quarrel with all your friends. Fine service, indeed!’

‘Yes, a great service. I was ill—I could not attend to things myself; but he has brought everything round to a most satisfactory issue. My agent did much better than I could have done.’

‘Your agent! He did not come as your agent, but as yourself.’

‘Exactly—the only satisfactory way in which he could come. Why he did so, is his business and mine. You had better not inquire more closely into the matter.’

‘Your agent! Signor Pagliadini said——’

‘Signor Pagliadini is an old fool.’

‘You know him, then?’

‘Yes, for a meddling, blunder-headed fool. You will see no more of the Signor, Aunt Belassis.’

‘Has he gone, then?’

‘Gone to the place he came from, to hide his diminished head. He vanished double-quick, I can tell you, when I appeared upon the scene.’

This was the final blow. All lingering hope of proving Tor a villain, was crushed by the news of Signor Pagliadini’s sudden flight.

‘Well, I don’t think I’ll stay longer to-day,’ said Phil. ‘You seem altogether too much astonished to have anything to say. I’ll look in another day when you have got over your surprise. Tor would have me come to report myself at headquarters, and I’ve done it now. You may congratulate yourself, uncle, that you had Tor to deal with in the first place, not me. I’m an awful duffer at business, and never do understand things. Any fool could cheat me. But Tor, he’s made of different stuff, and he can’t have tried your patience half so much as I should have done. You’ll be saved all trouble now with my stupidity, for he will teach me everything. He’s so well up in all my affairs, that I feel as if he ought to be the master.’

So Phil and Tor departed, leaving the husband and wife alone together.

They looked in silence into each other’s faces, as if they both felt that a great calamity had befallen them.

‘Can we not prosecute, then?’ said she.

‘Impossible, so long as Philip supports him.’

‘It’s a disgraceful scandal!’ said the wife.

‘It is,’ assented the husband. ‘Oh, what a monstrous shame it has all been! If only we had had that other man to deal with, all would have been safe, and Maud would have been Lewis’s wife by this time. He is the very image of his father. I could have turned him round my little finger.’

‘It seems to me that we are pretty nearly ruined every way,’ said Mrs. Belassis; ‘and we shall be most certainly, if that will in the Ladywell library is ever found. Five thousand you can pay, and the interest we claim as recompense for Maud’s expenses whilst under our care. But fifteen thousand with interest for eighteen years——’

‘Would mean simple ruin. The trust-money is all gone.’

‘I know it, and we must find the will,’ said Mrs. Belassis; ‘though I don’t know if there is any reason why I should trouble myself over your affairs now.’