Book: The Evil Genius

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Randal smiled. "You too have found something in that old woman,"
he said, "which doesn't appear on the surface."

"The occasion seems to bring that something out," the lawyer
remarked. "When I proposed the separation, and mentioned my
reasons, I expected to find some difficulty in persuading Mrs.
Presty to give up the adventurous journey with her daughter and
her grandchild. I reminded her that she had friends in London who
would receive her, and got snubbed for taking the liberty. 'I
know that as well as you do. Come along--I'm ready to go with
you.' It isn't agreeable to my self-esteem to own it, but I
expected to hear her say that she would consent to any sacrifice
for the sake of her dear daughter. No such clap-trap as that
passed her lips. She owned the true motive with a superiority to
cant which won my sincerest respect. 'I'll do anything,' she
said, 'to baffle Herbert Linley and the spies he has set to watch
us.' I can't tell you how glad I was that she had her reward on
the same day. We were too late at the station, and we had to wait
for the next train. And what do you think happened? The two
scoundrels followed us instead of following Mrs. Linley! They had
inquired no doubt at the livery stables where we hired the
carriage--had recognized the description of us--and had taken the
long journey to London for nothing. Mrs. Presty and I shook hands
at the terminus the best friends that ever traveled together with
the best of motives. After that, I think I deserve another glass
of wine."

"Go on with your story, and you shall have another bottle!" cried
Randal. "What did Catherine and the child do after they left
you?"

"They did the safest thing--they left England. Mrs. Linley
distinguished herself on this occasion. It was her excellent idea
to avoid popular ports of departure, like Folkestone and Dover,
which were sure to be watched, and to get away (if the thing
could be done) from some place on the east coast. We consulted
our guide and found that a line of steamers sailed from Hull to
Bremen once a week. A tedious journey from our part of
Cumberland, with some troublesome changing of trains, but they
got there in time to embark. My first news of them reached me in
a telegram from Bremen. There they waited for further
instructions. I sent the instructions by a thoroughly capable and
trustworthy man--an Italian courier, known to me by an experience
of twenty years. Shall I confess it? I thought I had done rather
a clever thing in providing Mrs. Linley with a friend in need
while I was away from her."

"I think so, too," said Randal.

"Wrong, completely wrong. I had made a mistake--I had been too
clever, and I got my reward accordingly. You know how I advised
Mrs. Linley?"

"Yes. You persuaded her, with the greatest difficulty, to apply
for a Divorce."

"Very well. I had made all the necessary arrangements for the
trial, when I received a letter from Germany. My charming client
had changed her mind, and declined to apply for the Divorce.
There was my reward for having been too clever!"

"I don't understand you."

"My dear fellow, you are dull to-night. I had been so successful
in protecting Mrs. Linley and the child, and my excellent courier
had found such a charming place of retreat for them in one of the
suburbs of Hanover, that 'she saw no reason now for taking the
shocking course that I had recommended to her--so repugnant to
all her most cherished convictions; so sinful and so shameful in
its doing of evil that good might come. Experience had convinced
her that (thanks to me) there was no fear of Kitty being
discovered and taken from her. She therefore begged me to write
to my agent in Edinburgh, and tell him that her application to
the court was withdrawn.' Ah, you understand my position at last.
The headstrong woman was running a risk which renewed all my
anxieties. By every day's post I expected to hear that she had
paid the penalty of her folly, and that your brother had
succeeded in getting possession of the child. Wait a little
before you laugh at me. But for the courier, the thing would have
really happened a week since."

Randal looked astonished. "Months must have passed," he objected.
"Surely, after that lapse of time, Mrs. Linley must have been
safe from discovery."

"Take your own positive view of it! I only know that the thing
happened. And why not? The luck had begun by being on one
side--why shouldn't the other side have had its turn next?"

"Do you really believe in luck?"

"Devoutly. A lawyer must believe in something. He knows the law
too well to put any faith in that: and his clients present to him
(if he is a man of any feeling) a hideous view of human nature.
The poor devil believes in luck--rather than believe in nothing.
I think it quite likely that accident helped the person employed
by the husband to discover the wife and child. Anyhow, Mrs.
Linley and Kitty were seen in the streets of Hanover; seen,
recognized, and followed. The courier happened to be with
them--luck again! For thirty years and more, he had been
traveling in every part of Europe; there was not a landlord of
the smallest pretensions anywhere who didn't know him and like
him. 'I pretended not to see that anybody was following us,' he
said (writing from Hanover to relieve my anxiety); 'and I took
the ladies to a hotel. The hotel possessed two merits from our
point of view--it had a way out at the back, through the stables,
and it was kept by a landlord who was an excellent good friend of
mine. I arranged with him what he was to say when inquiries were
made; and I kept my poor ladies prisoners in their lodgings for
three days. The end of it is that Mr. Linley's policeman has gone
away to watch the Channel steam-service, while we return quietly
by way of Bremen and Hull.' There is the courier's account of it.
I have only to add that poor Mrs. Linley has been fairly
frightened into submission. She changes her mind again, and
pledges herself once more to apply for the Divorce. If we are
only lucky enough to get our case heard without any very serious
delay, I am not afraid of my client slipping through my fingers
for the second time. When will the courts of session be open to
us? You have lived in Scotland, Randal--"

"But I haven't lived in the courts of law. I wish I could give
you the information you want."

Mr. Sarrazin looked at his watch. "For all I know to the
contrary," he said, "we may be wasting precious time while we are
talking here. Will you excuse me if I go away to my club?"

"Are you going in search of information?"

"Yes. We have some inveterate old whist-players who are always to
be found in the card-room. One of them formerly practiced, I
believe, in the Scotch courts. It has just occurred to me that
the chance is worth trying."

"Will you let me know if you succeed?" Randal asked.

The lawyer took his hand at parting. "You seem to be almost as
anxious about it as I am," he said.

"To tell you the truth, I am a little alarmed when I think of
Catherine. If there is another long delay, how do we know what
may happen before the law has confirmed the mother's claim to the
child? Let me send one of the servants here to wait at your club.
Will you give him a line telling me when the trial is likely to
take place?"

"With the greatest pleasure. Good-night."

Left alone, Randal sat by the fireside for a while, thinking of
the future. The prospect, as he saw it, disheartened him. As a
means of employing his mind on a more agreeable subject for
reflection, he opened his traveling desk and took out two or
three letters. They had been addressed to him, while he was in
America, by Captain Bennydeck.

The captain had committed an error of which most of us have been
guilty in our time. He had been too exclusively devoted to work
that interested him to remember what was due to the care of his
health. The doctor's warnings had been neglected; his
over-strained nerves had given way; and the man whose strong
constitution had resisted cold and starvation in the Arctic
wastes, had broken down under stress of brain-work in London.

This was the news which the first of the letters contained.

The second, written under dictation, alluded briefly to the
remedies suggested. In the captain's case, the fresh air
recommended was the air of the sea. At the same time he was
forbidden to receive either letters or telegrams, during his
absence from town, until the doctor had seen him again. These
instructions pointed, in Captain Bennydeck's estimation, to
sailing for pleasure's sake, and therefore to hiring a yacht.

The third and last letter announced that the yacht had been
found, and described the captain's plans when the vessel was
ready for sea.

He proposed to sail here and there about the Channel, wherever
it might please the wind to take him. Friends would accompany
him, but not in any number. The yacht was not large enough to
accommodate comfortably more than one or two guests at a time.
Every now and then, the vessel would come to an anchor in the bay
of the little coast town of Sandyseal, to accommodate friends
going and coming and (in spite of medical advice) to receive
letters. "You may have heard of Sandyseal," the Captain wrote,
"as one of the places which have lately been found out by the
doctors. They are recommending the air to patients suffering from
nervous disorders all over England. The one hotel in the place,
and the few cottages which let lodgings, are crammed, as I hear,
and the speculative builder is beginning his operations at such a
rate that Sandyseal will be no longer recognizable in a few
months more. Before the crescents and terraces and grand hotels
turn the town into a fashionable watering-place, I want to take a
last look at scenes familiar to me under their old aspect. If you
are inclined to wonder at my feeling such a wish as this, I can
easily explain myself. Two miles inland from Sandyseal, there is
a lonely old moated house. In that house I was born. When you
return from America, write to me at the post-office, or at the
hotel (I am equally well known in both places), and let us
arrange for a speedy meeting. I wish I could ask you to come and
see me in my birth-place. It was sold, years since, under
instructions in my father's will, and was purchased for the use
of a community of nuns. We may look at the outside, and we can do
no more. In the meantime, don't despair of my recovery; the sea
is my old friend, and my trust is in God's mercy."

These last lines were added in a postscript:

"Have you heard any more of that poor girl, the daughter of my
old friend Roderick Westerfield--whose sad story would never have
been known to me but for you? I feel sure that you have good
reasons for not telling me the name of the man who has misled
her, or the address at which she may be found. But you may one
day be at liberty to break your silence. In that case, don't
hesitate to do so because there may happen to be obstacles in my
way. No difficulties discourage me, when my end in view is the
saving of a soul in peril."

Randal returned to his desk to write to the Captain. He had only
got as far as the first sentences, when the servant returned with
the lawyer's promised message. Mr. Sarrazin's news was
communicated in these cheering terms:

"I am a firmer believer in luck than ever. If we only make
haste--and won't I make haste!--we may get the Divorce, as I
calculate, in three weeks' time."



Chapter XXX.


The Lord President.


Mrs. Linley's application for a Divorce was heard in the first
division of the Court of Session at Edinburgh, the Lord President
being the judge.

To the disappointment of the large audience assembled, no defense
was attempted on the part of the husband--a wise decision, seeing
that the evidence of the wife and her witnesses was beyond
dispute. But one exciting incident occurred toward the close of
the proceedings. Sudden illness made Mrs. Linley's removal
necessary, at the moment of all others most interesting to
herself--the moment before the judge's decision was announced.

But, as the event proved, the poor lady's withdrawal was the most
fortunate circumstance that could have occurred, in her own
interests. After condemning the husband's conduct with unsparing
severity, the Lord President surprised most of the persons
present by speaking of the wife in these terms:

"Grievously as Mrs. Linley has been injured, the evidence shows
that she was herself by no means free from blame. She has been
guilty, to say the least of it, of acts of indiscretion. When the
criminal attachment which had grown up between Mr. Herbert Linley
and Miss Westerfield had been confessed to her, she appears to
have most unreasonably overrated whatever merit there might have
been in their resistance to the final temptation. She was indeed
so impulsively ready to forgive (without waiting to see if the
event justified the exercise of mercy) that she owns to having
given her hand to Miss Westerfield, at parting, not half an hour
after that young person's shameless forgetfulness of the claims
of modesty, duty and gratitude had been first communicated to
her. To say that this was the act of an inconsiderate woman,
culpably indiscreet and, I had almost added, culpably indelicate,
is only to say what she has deserved. On the next occasion to
which I feel bound to advert, her conduct was even more deserving
of censure. She herself appears to have placed the temptation
under which he fell in her husband's way, and so (in some degree
at least) to have provoked the catastrophe which has brought her
before this court. I allude, it is needless to say, to her having
invited the governess--then out of harm's way; then employed
elsewhere--to return to her house, and to risk (what actually
occurred) a meeting with Mr. Herbert Linley when no third person
happened to be present. I know that the maternal motive which
animated Mrs. Linley is considered, by many persons, to excuse
and even to justify that most regrettable act; and I have myself
allowed (I fear weakly allowed) more than due weight to this
consideration in pronouncing for the Divorce. Let me express the
earnest hope that Mrs. Linley will take warning by what has
happened; and, if she finds herself hereafter placed in other
circumstances of difficulty, let me advise her to exercise more
control over impulses which one might expect perhaps to find in a
young girl, but which are neither natural nor excusable in a
woman of her age."

His lordship then decreed the Divorce in the customary form,
giving the custody of the child to the mother.

* * * * *

As fast as a hired carriage could take him, Mr. Sarrazin drove
from the court to Mrs. Linley's lodgings, to tell her that the
one great object of securing her right to her child had been
achieved.

At the door he was met by Mrs. Presty. She was accompanied by a
stranger, whose medical services had been required. Interested
professionally in hearing the result of the trial, this gentleman
volunteered to communicate the good news to his patient. He had
been waiting to administer a composing draught, until the
suspense from which Mrs. Linley was suffering might be relieved,
and a reasonable hope be entertained that the medicine would
produce the right effect. With that explanation he left the room.

While the doctor was speaking, Mrs. Presty was drawing her own
conclusions from a close scrutiny of Mr. Sarrazin's face.

"I am going to make a disagreeable remark," she announced. "You
look ten years older, sir, than you did when you left us this
morning to go to the Court. Do me a favor--come to the
sideboard." The lawyer having obeyed, she poured out a glass of
wine. "There is the remedy," she resumed, "when something has
happened to worry you."

"'Worry' isn't the right word," Mr. Sarrazin declared. "I'm
furious! It's a most improper thing for a person in my position
to say of a person in the Lord President's position; but I do say
it--he ought to be ashamed of himself."

"After giving us our Divorce!" Mrs. Presty exclaimed. "What has
he done?"

Mr. Sarrazin repeated what the judge had said of Mrs. Linley. "In
my opinion," he added, "such language as that is an insult to
your daughter."

"And yet," Mrs. Presty repeated, "he has given us our Divorce."
She returned to the sideboard, poured out a second dose of the
remedy against worry, and took it herself. "What sort of
character does the Lord President bear?" she asked when she had
emptied her glass.

This seemed to be an extraordinary question to put, under the
circumstances. Mr. Sarrazin answered it, however, to the best of
his ability. "An excellent character," he said--"that's the
unaccountable part of it. I hear that he is one of the most
careful and considerate men who ever sat on the bench. Excuse me,
Mrs. Presty, I didn't intend to produce that impression on you."

"What impression, Mr. Sarrazin?"

"You look as if you thought there was some excuse for the judge."

"That's exactly what I do think."

"You find an excuse for him?"

"I do."

"What is it, ma'am?"

"Constitutional infirmity, sir."

"May I ask of what nature?"

"You may. Gout."

Mr. Sarrazin thought he understood her at last. "You know the
Lord President," he said.

Mrs. Presty denied it positively. "No, Mr. Sarrazin, I don't get
at it in that way. I merely consult my experience of another
official person of high rank, and apply it to the Lord President.
You know that my first husband was a Cabinet Minister?"

"I have heard you say so, Mrs. Presty, on more than one
occasion."

"Very well. You may also have heard that the late Mr. Norman was
a remarkably well-bred man. In and out of the House of Commons,
courteous almost to a fault. One day I happened to interrupt him
when he was absorbed over an Act of Parliament. Before I could
apologize--I tell you this in the strictest confidence--he threw
the Act of Parliament at my head. Ninety-nine women out of a
hundred would have thrown it back again. Knowing his
constitution, I decided on waiting a day or two. On the second
day, my anticipations were realized. Mr. Norman's great toe was
as big as my fist and as red as a lobster; he apologized for the
Act of Parliament with tears in his eyes. Suppressed gout in Mr.
Norman's temper; suppressed gout in the Lord President's temper.
_He_ will have a toe; and, if I can prevail upon my daughter to
call upon him, I have not the least doubt he will apologize to
her with tears in _his_ eyes."

This interesting experiment was never destined to be tried. Right
or wrong, Mrs. Presty's theory remained the only explanation of
the judge's severity. Mr. Sarrazin attempted to change the
subject. Mrs. Presty had not quite done with it yet. "There is
one more thing I want to say," she proceeded. "Will his
lordship's remarks appear in the newspapers?"

"Not a doubt of it."

"In that case I will take care (for my daughter's sake) that no
newspapers enter the house to-morrow. As for visitors, we needn't
be afraid of them. Catherine is not likely to be able to leave
her room; the worry of this miserable business has quite broken
her down."

The doctor returned at that moment.

Without taking the old lady's gloomy view of his patient, he
admitted that she was in a low nervous condition, and he had
reason to suppose, judging by her reply to a question which he
had ventured to put, that she had associations with Scotland
which made a visit to that country far from agreeable to her. His
advice was that she should leave Edinburgh as soon as possible,
and go South. If the change of climate led to no improvement, she
would at least be in a position to consult the best physicians in
London. In a day or two more it would be safe to remove
her--provided she was not permitted to exhaust her strength by
taking long railway journeys.

Having given his advice, the doctor took leave. Soon after he had
gone, Kitty made her appearance, charged with a message from Mrs.
Linley's room.

"Hasn't the physic sent your mother to sleep yet?" Mrs. Presty
inquired.

Kitty shook her head. "Mamma wants to go away tomorrow, and no
physic will make her sleep till she has seen you, and settled
about it. That's what she told me to say. If _I_ behaved in that
way about my physic, I should catch it."

Mrs. Presty left the room; watched by her granddaughter with an
appearance of anxiety which it was not easy to understand.

"What's the matter?" Mr. Sarrazin asked. "You look very serious
to-day."

Kitty held up a warning hand. "Grandmamma sometimes listens at
doors," she whispered; "I don't want her to hear me." She waited
a little longer, and then approached Mr. Sarrazin, frowning
mysteriously. "Take me up on your knee," she said. "There's
something wrong going on in this house."

Mr. Sarrazin took her on his knee, and rashly asked what had gone
wrong. Kitty's reply puzzled him.

"I go to mamma's room every morning when I wake," the child
began. "I get into her bed, and I give her a kiss, and I say
'Good-morning'--and sometimes, if she isn't in a hurry to get up,
I stop in her bed, and go to sleep again. Mamma thought I was
asleep this morning. I wasn't asleep--I was only quiet. I don't
know why I was quiet."

Mr. Sarrazin's kindness still encouraged her. "Well," he said,
"and what happened after that?"

"Grandmamma came in. She told mamma to keep up her spirits. She
says, 'It will all be over in a few hours more.' She says, 'What
a burden it will be off your mind!' She says, 'Is that child
asleep?' And mamma says, 'Yes.' And grandmamma took one of
mamma's towels. And I thought she was going to wash herself. What
would _you_ have thought?"

Mr. Sarrazin began to doubt whether he would do well to discuss
Mrs. Presty's object in taking the towel. He only said, "Go on."

"Grandmamma dipped it into the water-jug," Kitty continued, with
a grave face; "but she didn't wash herself. She went to one of
mamma's boxes. Though she's so old, she's awfully strong, I can
tell you. She rubbed off the luggage-label in no time. Mamma
says, 'What are you doing that for?' And grandmamma says--this is
the dreadful thing that I want you to explain; oh, I can remember
it all; it's like learning lessons, only much nicer--grandmamma
says, 'Before the day's over, the name on your boxes will be your
name no longer.'"

Mr. Sarrazin now became aware of the labyrinth into which his
young friend had innocently led him. The Divorce, and the wife's
inevitable return (when the husband was no longer the husband) to
her maiden name--these were the subjects on which Kitty's desire
for enlightenment applied to the wisest person within her reach,
her mother's legal adviser.

Mr. Sarrazin tried to put her off his knee. She held him round
the neck. He thought of the railway as a promising excuse, and
told her he must go back to London. She held him a little
tighter. "I really can't wait, my dear;" he got up as he said it.
Kitty hung on to him with her legs as well as her arms, and
finding the position uncomfortable, lost her temper. "Mamma's
going to have a new name," she shouted, as if the lawyer had
suddenly become deaf. "Grandmamma says she must be Mrs. Norman.
And I must be Miss Norman. I won't! Where's papa? I want to write
to him; I know he won't allow it. Do you hear? Where's papa?"

She fastened her little hands on Mr. Sarrazin's coat collar and
tried to shake him, in a fury of resolution to know what it all
meant. At that critical moment Mrs. Presty opened the door, and
stood petrified on the threshold.

"Hanging on to Mr. Sarrazin with her arms _and_ her legs!"
exclaimed the old lady. "You little wretch, which are you, a
monkey or a child?"

The lawyer gently deposited Kitty on the floor.

"Mind this, Samuel," she whispered, as he set her down on her
feet, "I won't be Miss Norman."

Mrs. Presty pointed sternly at the open door. "You were screaming
just now, when quiet in the house is of the utmost importance to
your mother. If I hear you again, bread and water and no doll for
the rest of the week."

Kitty retired in disgrace, and Mrs. Presty sharpened her tongue
on Mr. Sarrazin next. "I'm astonished, sir, at your allowing that
impudent grandchild of mine to take such liberties with you. Who
would suppose that you were a married man, with children of your
own?"

"That's just the reason, my dear madam," Mr. Sarrazin smartly
replied. "I romp with my own children--why not with Kitty? Can I
do anything for you in London?" he went on, getting a little
nearer to the door; "I leave Edinburgh by the next train. And I
promise you," he added, with the spirit of mischief twinkling in
his eyes, "this shall be my last confidential interview with your
grandchild. When she wants to ask any more questions, I transfer
her to you."

Mrs. Presty looked after the retreating lawyer thoroughly
mystified. What "confidential interview"? What "questions"? After
some consideration, her experience of her granddaughter suggested
that a little exercise of mercy might be attended with the right
result. She looked at a cake on the sideboard. "I have only to
forgive Kitty," she decided, "and the child will talk about it of
her own accord."

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