Born in Exile (44 page)

Just before dinner, one evening, as she sat alone in the
drawing-room, Christian entered with a look which portended some
strange announcement. He spoke abruptly:

'I have heard something astonishing.'

'What is that?'

'This afternoon I went to the matinee at the Vaudeville, and
found myself among a lot of our friends—the Walworths and the
Hunters and the Mortons. Between the acts I was talking to Hunter,
when a man came up to us, spoke to Hunter, and was introduced to
me—a Mr Warricombe. What do you think he said? "I believe you know
my friend Peak, Mr. Moxey?" "Peak? To be sure! Can you tell me what
has become of him?" He gave me an odd look. "Why, I met him last,
some two months ago, in Devonshire." At that moment we were obliged
to go to our places, and I couldn't get hold of the fellow again.
Hunter told me something about him; he knows the Walworths, it
seems—belongs to a good Devonshire family. What on earth can Peak
be doing over there?'

Marcella kept silence. The event she had judged improbable had
come to pass. The chance of its doing so had of course increased
since Christian began to associate freely with the Walworths and
their circle. Yet, considering the slightness of the connection
between that group of people and the Warricombe family, there had
seemed no great likelihood of Christian's getting acquainted with
the latter. She debated rapidly in her troubled mind how to meet
this disclosure. Curiosity would, of course, impel her brother to
follow up the clue; he would again encounter Warricombe, and must
then learn all the facts of Peak's position. To what purpose should
she dissemble her own knowledge?

Did she desire that Godwin should remain in security? A tremor
more akin to gladness than its opposite impeded her utterance. If
Warricombe became aware of all that was involved in Godwin Peak's
withdrawal from among his friends—if (as must follow) he imparted
the discovery to his sister——

The necessity of speaking enabled her to ignore these turbulent
speculations, which yet were anything but new to her.

'They met at Budleigh Salterton,' she said, quietly.

'Who did? Warricombe and Peak?'

'Yes. At the Moorhouses'. It was when I was there.'

Christian stared at her.

'When you were there? But—
you
met Peak?'

His sister smiled, turning from the astonished gaze.

'Yes, I met him.'

'But, why the deuce——? Why didn't you tell me, Marcella?'

'He asked me not to speak of it. He didn't wish you to know
that—that he has decided to become a clergyman.'

Christian was stricken dumb. In spite of his sister's obvious
agitation, he could not believe what she told him; her smile gave
him an excuse for supposing that she jested.

'Peak a clergyman?' He burst out laughing. 'What's the meaning
of all this?—Do speak intelligibly! What's the fellow up to?'

'I am quite serious. He is studying for Orders—has been for this
last year.'

In desperation, Christian turned to another phase of the
subject.

'Then Malkin
was
mistaken?'

'Plainly.'

'And you mean to tell me that Peak——? Give me more details.
Where's he living? How has he got to know people like these
Warricombes?'

Marcella told all that she knew, and without injunction of
secrecy. The affair had passed out of her hands; destiny must
fulfil itself. And again the tremor that resembled an uneasy joy
went through her frame.

'But how,' asked Christian, 'did this fellow Warricombe come to
know that
I
was a friend of Peak's?'

'That's a puzzle to me. I shouldn't have thought he would have
remembered my name; and, even if he had, how could he
conclude——'

She broke off, pondering. Warricombe must have made inquiries,
possibly suggested by suspicions.

'I scarcely spoke of Mr. Peak to anyone,' she added. 'People
saw, of course, that we were acquaintances, but it couldn't have
seemed a thing of any importance.'

'You spoke with him in private, it seems?'

'Yes, I saw him for a few minutes—in Exeter.'

'And you hadn't said anything to the Walworths that—that would
surprise them?'

'Purposely not.—Why should I injure him?'

Christian knit his brows. He understood too well why his sister
should refrain from such injury.

'You would have behaved in the same way,' Marcella added.

'Why really—yes, perhaps so. Yet I don't know.—In plain English,
Peak is a wolf in sheep's clothing!'

'I don't know anything about that,' she replied, with gloomy
evasion.

'Nonsense, my dear girl!—Had he the impudence to pretend to you
that he was sincere?'

'He made no declaration.'

'But you are convinced he is acting the hypocrite, Marcella. You
spoke of the risk of injuring him.—What are his motives? What does
he aim at?'

'Scarcely a bishopric, I should think,' she replied,
bitterly.

'Then, by Jove! Earwaker may be right!'

Marcella darted an inquiring look at him.

'What has he thought?'

'I'm ashamed to speak of it. He suggested once that Peak might
disguise himself for the sake of—of making a good marriage.'

The reply was a nervous laugh.

'Look here, Marcella.' He caught her hand. 'This is a very
awkward business. Peak is disgracing himself; he will be unmasked;
there'll be a scandal. It was kind of you to keep silence—when
don't you behave kindly, dear girl?—but think of the possible
results to
us
. We shall be something very like
accomplices.'

'How?' Marcella exclaimed, impatiently. 'Who need know that we
were so intimate with him?'

'Warricombe seems to know it.'

'Who can prove that he isn't sincere?'

'No one, perhaps. But it will seem a very odd thing that he hid
away from all his old friends. You remember, I betrayed that to
Warricombe, before I knew that it mattered.'

Yes, and Mr. Warricombe could hardly forget the circumstance. He
would press his investigation—knowing already, perhaps, of Peak's
approaches to his sister Sidwell.

'Marcella, a man plays games like that at his own peril. I don't
like this kind of thing. Perhaps he has audacity enough to face out
any disclosure. But it's out of the question for you and me to
nurse his secret. We have no right to do so.'

'You propose to denounce him?'

Marcella gazed at her brother with an agitated look.

'Not denounce. I am fond of Peak; I wish him well. But I can't
join him in a dishonourable plot.—Then, we mustn't endanger our
place in society.'

'I have no place in society,' Marcella answered, coldly.

'Don't say that, and don't think it. We are both going to make
more of our lives; we are going to think very little of the past,
and a great deal of the future. We are still young; we have
happiness before us.'

'We?' she asked, with shaken voice.

'Yes—both of us! Who can say'——

Again he took her hand and pressed it warmly in both his own.
Just then the door opened, and dinner was announced. Christian
talked on, in low hurried tones, for several minutes,
affectionately, encouragingly. After dinner, he wished to resume
the subject, but Marcella declared that there was no more to be
said; he must act as honour and discretion bade him; for herself,
she should simply keep silence as hitherto. And she left him to his
reflections.

Though with so little of ascertained fact to guide her, Marcella
interpreted the hints afforded by her slight knowledge of the
Warricombes with singular accuracy. Precisely as she had imagined,
Buckland Warricombe was going about on Peak's track, learning all
he could concerning the theological student, forming acquaintance
with anyone likely to supplement his discoveries. And less than a
fortnight after the meeting at the theatre, Christian made known to
his sister that Warricombe and he had had a second conversation,
this time uninterrupted.

'He inquired after you, Marcella, and—really I had no choice but
to ask him to call here. I hardly think he'll come. He's not the
kind of man I care for—though liberal enough, and all that.'

'Wasn't it rather rash to give that invitation?'

'The fact was, I so dreaded the appearance of—of seeming to
avoid him,' Christian pleaded, awkwardly. 'You know, that affair—we
won't talk any more of it; but, if there
should
be a row
about it, you are sure to be compromised unless we have managed to
guard ourselves. If Warricombe calls, we must talk about Peak
without the least show of restraint. Let it appear that we thought
his choice of a profession unlikely, but not impossible. Happily,
we needn't know anything about that anonymous
Critical
article.—Indeed, I think I have acted wisely.'

Marcella murmured:

'Yes, I suppose you have.'

'And, by the way, I have spoken of it to Earwaker. Not of your
part in the story, of course. I told him that I had met a man who
knew all about Peak.—Impossible, you see, for me to keep silence
with so intimate a friend.'

'Then Mr. Earwaker will write to him?' said Marcella,
reflectively.

'I couldn't give him any address.'

'How does Mr. Warricombe seem to regard Mr. Peak?'

'With a good deal of interest, and of the friendliest kind.
Naturally enough; they were College friends, as you know, before I
had heard of Peak's existence.'

'He has no suspicions?'

Christian thought not, but her brother's judgment had not much
weight with Marcella.

She at once dreaded and desired Warricombe's appearance. If he
thought it worth while to cultivate her acquaintance, she would
henceforth have the opportunity of studying Peak's relations with
the Warricombes; on the other hand, this was to expose herself to
suffering and temptation from which the better part of her nature
shrank with disdain. That she might seem to have broken the promise
voluntarily made to Godwin was a small matter; not so the risk of
being overcome by an ignoble jealousy. She had no overweening
confidence in the steadfastness of her self-respect, if
circumstances were all on the side of sensual impulse. And the
longer she brooded on this peril, the more it allured her. For
therewith was connected the one satisfaction which still remained
to her: however little he desired to keep her constantly in mind,
Godwin Peak must of necessity do so after what had passed between
them. Had but her discovery remained her own secret, then the
pleasure of commanding her less pure emotions, of proving to Godwin
that she was above the weakness of common women, might easily have
prevailed. Now that her knowledge was shared by others, she had
lost that safeguard against lower motive. The argument that to
unmask hypocrisy was in itself laudable she dismissed with
contempt; let that be the resource of a woman who would indulge her
rancour whilst keeping up the inward pretence of sanctity. If
she
erred in the ways characteristic of her sex, it should
at all events be a conscious degradation.

'Have you seen that odd creature Malkin lately?' she asked of
Christian, a day or two after.

'No, I haven't; I thought of him to make up our dinner on
Sunday; but you had rather not have him here, I daresay?'

'Oh, he is amusing. Ask him by all means,' said Marcella,
carelessly.

'He may have heard about Peak from Earwaker, you know. If he
begins to talk before people'——

'Things have gone too far for such considerations,' replied his
sister, with a petulance strange to her habits of speech.

'Well, yes,' admitted Christian, glancing at her. 'We can't be
responsible.'

He reproached himself for this attitude towards Peak, but was
heartily glad that Marcella seemed to have learnt to regard the
intriguer with a wholesome indifference.

On the second day after Christmas, as they sat talking idly in
the dusking twilight, the door of the drawing-room was thrown open,
and a visitor announced. The name answered with such startling
suddenness to the thought with which Marcella had been occupied
that, for an instant, she could not believe that she had heard
aright. Yet it was undoubtedly Mr. Warricombe who presented
himself. He came forward with a slightly hesitating air, but
Christian made haste to smooth the situation. With the help of
those commonplaces by which even intellectual people are at times
compelled to prove their familiarity with social usages,
conversation was set in movement.

Buckland could not be quite himself. The consciousness that he
had sought these people not at all for their own sake made him
formal and dry; his glances, his half-smile, indicated a doubt
whether the Moxeys belonged entirely to the sphere in which he was
at home. Hence a rather excessive politeness, such as the man who
sets much store on breeding exhibits to those who may at any
moment, even in a fraction of a syllable, prove themselves his
inferiors. With men and women of the unmistakably lower orders,
Buckland could converse in a genial tone that recommended him to
their esteem; on the borderland of refinement, his sympathies were
repressed, and he held the distinctive part of his mind in
reserve.

Marcella desired to talk agreeably, but a weight lay upon her
tongue; she was struck with the resemblance in Warricombe's
features to those of his sister, and this held her in a troubled
preoccupation, occasionally evident when she made a reply, or tried
to diversify the talk by leading to a new topic. It was rather
early in the afternoon, and she had slight hope that any other
caller would appear; a female face would have been welcome to her,
even that of foolish Mrs. Morton, who might possibly look in before
six o'clock. To her relief the door did presently open, but the
sharp, creaking footstep which followed was no lady's; the servant
announced Mr. Malkin.