IN the present condition of her mind these words produced a strange effect on Lady Bassett. She quivered, and her eyes began to rove in that peculiar way I have already noticed; and then she started up and walked wildly to and fro; and then she kneeled down and prayed; and then, alarmed, perplexed, exhausted, she went and leaned her head on her patient's shoulder, and wept softly a long time.
Some days passed, and no more strangers attempted to see Sir Charles.
Lady Bassett was beginning to breathe again, when she was afflicted by an unwelcome discovery.
Mary Wells fainted away so suddenly that, but for Lady Bassett's quick eye and ready hand, she would have fallen heavily.
Lady Bassett laid her head down and loosened her stays, and discovered her condition. She said nothing till the young woman was well, and then she taxed her with it.
Mary denied it plump; but, seeing her mistress's disgust at the falsehood, she owned it with many tears.
Being asked how she could so far forget herself, she told Lady Bassett she had long been courted by a respectable young man; he had come to the village, bound on a three years' voyage, to bid her good-by, and, what with love and grief at parting, they had been betrayed into folly; and now he was on the salt seas, little dreaming in what condition he had left her: “and,” said she, “before ever he can write to me, and I to him, I shall be a ruined girl; that is why I wanted to put an end to myself; I will, too, unless I can find some way to hide it from the world.”
Lady Bassett begged her to give up those desperate thoughts; she would think what could be done for her. Lady Bassett could say no more to her just then, for she was disgusted with her.
But when she came to reflect that, after all, this was not a lady, and that she appeared by her own account to be the victim of affection and frailty rather than of vice, she made some excuses; and then the girl had laid aside her trouble, her despair, and given her sorrowful mind to nursing and comforting Sir Charles. This would have outweighed a crime, and it made the wife's bowels yearn over the unfortunate girl. “Mary,” said she, “others must judge you; I am a wife, and can only see your fidelity to my poor husband. I don't know what I shall do without you, but I think it is my duty to send you to him if possible. You are sure he really loves you?”
“Me cross the seas after a young man?” said Mary Wells. “I'd as lieve hang myself on the nighest tree and make an end. No, my lady, if you are really my friend, let me stay here as long as I can—I will never go downstairs to be seen—and then give me money enough to get my trouble over unbeknown to my sister; she is all my fear. She is married to a gentleman, and got plenty of money, and I shall never want while she lives, and behave myself; but she would never forgive me if she knew. She is a hard woman; she is not like you, my lady. I'd liever cut my hand off than I'd trust her as I would you.”
Lady Bassett was not quite insensible to this compliment; but she felt uneasy.
“What, help you to deceive your sister?”
“For her good. Why, if any one was to go and tell her about me now, she'd hate them for telling her almost as much as she would hate me.”
Lady Bassett was sore perplexed. Unable to see quite clear in the matter, she naturally reverted to her husband and his interest. That dictated her course. She said, “Well, stay with us, Mary, as long as you can; and then money shall not be wanting to hide your shame from all the world; but I hope when the time comes you will alter your mind and tell your sister. May I ask what her name is?”
Mary, after a moment's hesitation, said her name was Marsh.
“I know a Mrs. Marsh,” said Lady Bassett; “but, of course, that is not your sister. My Mrs. Marsh is rather fair.”
“So is my sister, for that matter.”
“And tall?”
“Yes; but you never saw her. You'd never forget her it you had. She has got eyes like a lion.”
“Ah! Does she ride?”
“Oh, she is famous for that; and driving, and all.”
“Indeed! But no; I see no resemblance.”
“Oh, she is only my half-sister.”
“This is very strange.”
Lady Bassett put her hand to her brow, and thought.
“Mary,” said she, “all this is very mysterious. We are wading in deep waters.”
Mary Wells had no idea what she meant.
The day was not over yet. Just before dinner-time a fly from the station drove to the door, and Mr. Oldfield got out.
He was detained in the hall by sentinel Moss.
Lady Bassett came down to him. At the very sight of him she trembled, and said, “Richard Bassett?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Oldfield, “he is in the field again. He has been to the Court of Chancery ex parte, and obtained an injunction ad interim to stay waste. Not another tree must be cut down on the estate for the present.”
“Thank Heaven it is no worse than that. Not another tree shall be felled on the grounds.”
“Of course not. But they will not stop there. If we do not move to dissolve the injunction, I fear they will go on and ask the Court to administer the estate, with a view to all interests concerned, especially those of the heir at law and his son.”
“What, while my husband lives?”
“If they can prove him dead in law.”
“I don't understand you, Mr. Oldfield.”
“They have got affidavits of two medical men that he is insane.”
Lady Bassett uttered a faint scream, and put her hand to her heart.
“And, of course, they will use that extraordinary fall of timber as a further proof, and also as a reason why the Court should interfere to protect the heir at law. Their case is well got up and very strong,” said Mr. Oldfield, regretfully.
“Well, but you are a lawyer, and you have always beaten them hitherto.”
“I had law and fact on my side. It is not so now. To be frank, Lady Bassett, I don't see what I can do but watch the case, on the chance of some error or illegality. It is very hard to fight a case when you cannot put your client forward—and I suppose that would not be safe. How unfortunate that you have no children!”
“Children! How could they help us?”
“What a question! How could Richard Bassett move the Court if he was not the heir at law?”
After a long conference Mr. Oldfield returned to town to see what he could do in the way of procrastination, and Lady Bassett promised to leave no stone unturned to cure Sir Charles in the meantime. Mr. Oldfield was to write immediately if any fresh step was taken.
When Mr. Oldfield was gone, Lady Bassett pondered every word he had said, and, mild as she was, her rage began to rise against her husband's relentless enemy. Her wits worked, her eyes roved in that peculiar half-savage way I have described. She became intolerably restless; and any one acquainted with her sex might see that some strange conflict was going on in her troubled mind.
Every now and then she would come and cling to her husband, and cry over him; and that seemed to still the tumult of her soul a little.
She never slept all that night, and next day, clinging in her helpless agony to the nearest branch, she told Mary Wells what Bassett was doing, and said, “What shall I do? He is not mad; but he is in so very precarious a state that, if they get at him to torment him, they will drive him mad indeed.”
“My lady,” said Mary Wells, “I can't go from my word. 'Tis no use in making two bites of a cherry. We must cure him: and if we don't, you'll never rue it but once, and that will be all your life.”
“I should look on myself with horror afterward were I to deceive him now.”
“No, my lady, you are too fond of him for that. Once you saw him happy you'd be happy too, no matter how it came about. That Richard Bassett will turn him out of this else. I am sure he will; he is a hard-hearted villain.”
Lady Bassett's eyes flashed fire; then her eyes roved; then she sighed deeply.
Her powers of resistance were beginning to relax. As for Mary Wells, she gave her no peace; she kept instilling her mind into her mistress's with the pertinacity of a small but ever-dripping fount, and we know both by science and poetry that small, incessant drops of water will wear a hole in marble.
“Gutta cavat lapidem non vi sed saepe cadendo.”
And in the midst of all a letter came from Mr. Oldfield, to tell her that Mr. Bassett threatened to take out a commission de lunatico, and she must prepare Sir Charles for an examination; for, if reported insane, the Court would administer the estates; but the heir at law, Mr. Bassett, would have the ear of the Court and the right of application, and become virtually master of Huntercombe and Bassett; and, perhaps, considering the spirit by which he was animated, would contrive to occupy the very Hall itself. Lady Bassett was in the dressing-room when she received this blow, and it drove her almost frantic. She bemoaned her husband; she prayed God to take them both, and let their enemy have his will. She wept and raved, and at the height of her distress came from the other room a feeble cry, “Childless! childless! childless!”
Lady Bassett heard that, and in one moment, from violent she became unnaturally and dangerously calm. She said firmly to Mary Wells, “This is more than I can bear. You pretend you can save him—do it.”
Mary Wells now trembled in her turn; but she seized the opportunity. “My lady, whatever I say you'll stand to?”
“Whatever you say I'll stand to.”
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