Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1388 page)

“It’s not easy to say, Mrs. Tenbruggen, how grateful I am to the writers of novels.”

“Ah! I read novels, too. But I blush to confess — do I blush? — that I never thought of feeling grateful till you mentioned it. Selina and I don’t complain of your preferring your own reflections to our company. On the contrary, you have reminded us agreeably of the heroes of fiction, when the author describes them as being ‘absorbed in thought.’ For some minutes, Mr. Governor, you have been a hero; absorbed, as I venture to guess, in unpleasant remembrances of the time when I was a single lady. You have not forgotten how badly I behaved, and what shocking things I said, in those bygone days. Am I right?”

“You are entirely wrong.”

It is possible that I may have spoken a little too sharply. Anyway, faithful Selina interceded for her friend. “Oh, dear sir, don’t be hard on Elizabeth! She always means well.” Mrs. Tenbruggen, as facetious as ever, made a grateful return for a small compliment. She chucked Miss Jillgall under the chin, with the air of an amorous old gentleman expressing his approval of a pretty servant-girl. It was impossible to look at the two, in their relative situations, without laughing. But Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to cheat me into altering my opinion of her. Innocent Miss Jillgall clapped her ugly hands, and said: “Isn’t she good company?”

Mrs. Tenbruggen’s social resources were not exhausted yet. She suddenly shifted to the serious side of her character.

“Perhaps I have improved a little,” she said, “as I have advanced in years. The sorrows of an unhappy married life may have had a purifying influence on my nature. My husband and I began badly. Mr. Tenbruggen thought I had money; and I thought Mr. Tenbruggen had money. He was taken in by me; and I was taken in by him. When he repeated the words of the marriage service (most impressively read by your friend the Chaplain): ‘With all my worldly goods I thee endow’ — his eloquent voice suggested one of the largest incomes in Europe. When I promised and vowed, in my turn, the delightful prospect of squandering my rich husband’s money made quite a new woman of me. I declare solemnly, when I said I would love, honour, and obey Mr. T., I looked as if I really meant it. Wherever he is now, poor dear, he is cheating somebody. Such a handsome, gentleman-like man, Selina! And, oh, Mr. Governor, such a blackguard!”

Having described her husband in those terms, she got tired of the subject. We were now favored with another view of this many-sided woman. She appeared in her professional character.

“Ah, what a delicious breeze is blowing, out here in the country!” she said. “Will you excuse me if I take off my gloves? I want to air my hands.” She held up her hands to the breeze; firm, muscular, deadly white hands. “In my professional occupation,” she explained, “I am always rubbing, tickling, squeezing, tapping, kneading, rolling, striking the muscles of patients. Selina, do you know the movements of your own joints? Flexion, extension, abduction, adduction, rotation, circumduction, pronation, supination, and the lateral movements. Be proud of those accomplishments, my dear, but beware of attempting to become a Masseuse. There are drawbacks in that vocation — and I am conscious of one of them at this moment.” She lifted her hands to her nose. “Pah! my hands smell of other people’s flesh. The delicious country air will blow it away — the luxury of purification!” Her fingers twisted and quivered, and got crooked at one moment and straight again at another, and showed themselves in succession singly, and flew into each other fiercely interlaced, and then spread out again like the sticks of a fan, until it really made me giddy to look at them. As for Miss Jillgall, she lifted her poor little sunken eyes rapturously to the sky, as if she called the homiest sunlight to witness that this was the most lovable woman on the face of the earth.

But elderly female fascination offers its allurements in vain to the rough animal, man. Suspicion of Mrs. Tenbruggen’s motives had established itself firmly in my mind. Why had the Popular Masseuse abandoned her brilliant career in London, and plunged into the obscurity of a country town? An opportunity of clearing up the doubt thus suggested seemed to have presented itself now. “Is it indiscreet to ask,” I said, “if you are here in your professional capacity?”

Her cunning seized its advantage and put a sly question to me. “Do you wish to be one of my patients yourself?”

“That is, unfortunately, impossible,” I replied “I have arranged to return to London.”

“Immediately?”

“To-morrow at the latest.”

Artful as she was, Mrs. Tenbruggen failed to conceal a momentary expression of relief which betrayed itself, partly in her manner, partly in her face. She had ascertained, to her own complete satisfaction, that my speedy departure was an event which might be relied on.

“But I have not yet answered you,” she resumed. “To tell the truth, I am eager to try my hands on you. Massage, as I practice it, would lighten your weight, and restore your figure; I may even say would lengthen your life. You will think of me, one of these days, won’t you? In the meanwhile — yes! I am here in my professional capacity. Several interesting cases; and one very remarkable person, brought to death’s door by the doctors; a rich man who is liberal in paying his fees. There is my quarrel with London and Londoners. Some of their papers, medical newspapers, of course, declare that my fees are exorbitant; and there is a tendency among the patients — I mean the patients who are rolling in riches — to follow the lead of the newspapers. I am no worm to be trodden on, in that way. The London people shall wait for me, until they miss me — and, when I do go back, they will find the fees increased.
My
fingers and thumbs, Mr. Governor, are not to be insulted with impunity.”

Miss Jillgall nodded her head at me. It was an eloquent nod. “Admire my spirited friend,” was the interpretation I put on it.

At the same time, my private sentiments suggested that Mrs. Tenbruggen’s reply was too perfectly satisfactory, viewed as an explanation. My suspicions were by no means set at rest; and I was resolved not to let the subject drop yet. “Speaking of Mr. Gracedieu, and of the chances of his partial recovery,” I said, “do you think the Minister would benefit by Massage?”

“I haven’t a doubt of it, if you can get rid of the doctor.”

“You think he would be an obstacle in the way?”

“There are some medical men who are honourable exceptions to the general rule; and he may be one of them,” Mrs. Tenbruggen admitted. “Don’t be too hopeful. As a doctor, he belongs to the most tyrannical trades-union in existence. May I make a personal remark?”

“Certainly.”

“I find something in your manner — pray don’t suppose that I am angry — which looks like distrust; I mean, distrust of me.”

Miss Jillgall’s ever ready kindness interfered in my defense: “Oh, no, Elizabeth! You are not often mistaken; but indeed you are wrong now. Look at my distinguished friend. I remember my copy book, when I was a small creature learning to write, in England. There were first lines that we copied, in big letters, and one of them said, ‘Distrust Is Mean.’ I know a young person, whose name begins with H, who is one mass of meanness. But” — excellent Selina paused, and pointed to me with a gesture of triumph — ”no meanness there!”

Mrs. Tenbruggen waited to hear what I had to say, scornfully insensible to Miss Jillgall’s well-meant interruption.

“You are not altogether mistaken,” I told her. “I can’t say that my mind is in a state of distrust, but I own that you puzzle me.”

“How, if you please?”

“May I presume that you remember the occasion when we met at Mr. Gracedieu’s house-door? You saw that I failed to recognise you, and you refused to give your name when the servant asked for it. A few days afterward, I heard you (quite accidentally) forbid Miss Jillgall to mention your name in my hearing. I am at a loss to understand it.”

Before she could answer me, the chaise drew up at the gate of the farmhouse. Mrs. Tenbruggen carefully promised to explain what had puzzled me, at the first opportunity. “If it escapes my memory,” she said, “pray remind me of it.”

I determined to remind her of it. Whether I could depend on her to tell me the truth, might be quite another thing.

CHAPTER XLVIII. THE DECISION OF EUNICE.

Eunice ran out to meet us, and opened the gate. She was instantly folded in Miss Jillgall’s arms. On her release, she came to me, eager for news of her father’s health. When I had communicated all that I thought it right to tell her of the doctor’s last report, she noticed Mrs. Tenbruggen. The appearance of a stranger seemed to embarrass her. I left Miss Jillgall to introduce them to each other.

“Darling Euneece, you remember Mrs. Tenbruggen’s name, I am sure? Elizabeth, this is my sweet girl; I mentioned her in my letters to you.”

“I hope she will be
my
sweet girl, when we know each other a little better. May I kiss you, dear? You have lovely eyes; but I am sorry to see that they don’t look like happy eyes. You want Mamma Tenbruggen to cheer you. What a charming old house!”

She put her arm round Eunice’s waist and led her to the house door. Her enjoyment of the creepers that twined their way up the pillars of the porch was simply perfection as a piece of acting. When the farmer’s wife presented herself, Mrs. Tenbruggen was so irresistibly amiable, and took such flattering notice of the children, that the harmless British matron actually blushed with pleasure. “I’m sure, ma’am, you must have children of your own,” she said. Mrs. Tenbruggen cast her eyes on the floor, and sighed with pathetic resignation. A sweet little family, and all cruelly swept away by death. If the performance meant anything, it did most assuredly mean that.

“What wonderful self-possession!” somebody whispered in my ear. The children in the room were healthy, well-behaved little creatures — but the name of the innocent one among them was Selina.

Before dinner we were shown over the farm.

The good woman of the house led the way, and Miss Jillgall and I accompanied her. The children ran on in front of us. Still keeping possession of Eunice, Mrs. Tenbruggen followed at some distance behind. I looked back, after no very long interval, and saw that a separation had taken place. Mrs. Tenbruggen passed me, not looking so pleasantly as usual, joined the children, and walked with two of them, hand in hand, a pattern of maternal amiability. I dropped back a little, and gave Eunice an opportunity of joining me; having purposely left her to form her own opinion, without any adverse influence exercised on my part.

“Is that lady a friend of yours?” she asked. “No; only an acquaintance. What do you think of her?”

“I thought I should like her at first; she was so kind, and seemed to take such an interest in me. But she said such strange things — asked if I was reckoned like my mother, and which of us was the eldest, my sister or myself, and whether we were my father’s only two children, and if one of us was more his favorite than the other. What I could tell her, I did tell. But when I said I didn’t know which of us was the oldest, she gave me an impudent tap on the cheek, and said, ‘I don’t believe you, child,’ and left me. How can Selina be so fond of her? Don’t mention it to any one else; I hope I shall never see her again.”

“I will keep your secret, Eunice; and you must keep mine. I entirely agree with you.”

“You agree with me in disliking her?”

“Heartily.”

We could say no more at that time. Our friends in advance were waiting for us. We joined them at once.

If I had felt any doubt of the purpose which had really induced Mrs. Tenbruggen to leave London, all further uncertainty on my part was at an end. She had some vile interest of her own to serve by identifying Mr. Gracedieu’s adopted child — but what the nature of that interest might be, it was impossible to guess. The future, when I thought of it now, filled me with dismay. A more utterly helpless position than mine it was not easy to conceive. To warn the Minister, in his present critical state of health, was simply impossible. My relations with Helena forbade me even to approach her. And, as for Selina, she was little less than a mere tool in the hands of her well-beloved friend. What, in God’s name, was I to do?

At dinner-time we found the master of the house waiting to bid us welcome.

Personally speaking, he presented a remarkable contrast to the typical British farmer. He was neither big nor burly; he spoke English as well as I did; and there was nothing in his dress which would have made him a fit subject for a picture of rustic life. When he spoke, he was able to talk on subjects unconnected with agricultural pursuits; nor did I hear him grumble about the weather and the crops. It was pleasant to see that his wife was proud of him, and that he was, what all fathers ought to be, his children’s best and dearest friend. Why do I dwell on these details, relating to a man whom I was not destined to see again? Only because I had reason to feel grateful to him. When my spirits were depressed by anxiety, he made my mind easy about Eunice, as long as she remained in his house.