Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (1454 page)

“‘Mrs. Vimpany,’ he cried, ‘this is terrible! There is no doubt — not the least doubt — in my mind that the man Oxbye is the man buried under the name of Lord Harry, and that he was murdered — murdered in cold blood — by that worst of villains —
 
— ’

“‘My husband,’ I said.

“‘Your husband — most unfortunate of wives! As for Lord Harry’s share in the murder, it is equally plain that he knew of it, even if he did not consent to it. Good heavens! Do you understand? Do you realise what they have done? Your husband and Iris’s husband may be tried — actually tried — for murder and put to a shameful death. Think of it!’

“‘I do think of it, Heaven knows! I think of it every day — I think of it all day long. But, remember, I will say nothing that will bring this fate upon them. And Fanny will say nothing. Without Fanny’s evidence there cannot be even a suspicion of the truth.’

“‘What does Iris know about it?’

“‘I think that she cannot know anything of the murder. Consider the dates. On Wednesday Fanny was dismissed; on Thursday she returned secretly and witnessed the murder. It was on Thursday morning that Lady Harry drove to Victoria on her return to Passy, as we all supposed, and as I still suppose. On Saturday Funny was back again. The cottage was deserted. She was told that the man Oxbye had got up and walked away; that her mistress had not been at the house at all, but was travelling in Switzerland; and that Lord Harry was gone on a long journey. And she was sent into Switzerland to get her out of the way. I gather from all this that Lady Harry was taken away by her husband directly she arrived — most likely by night — and that of the murder she knew nothing.’

“‘No — no — she could know nothing! That, at least, they dared not tell her. But about the rest? How much does she know? How far has she lent herself to the conspiracy? Mrs. Vimpany, I shall go back to London to-night. We will travel by the night train. I feel quite strong enough.’

“I began this letter in Scotland; I finish it in London.

“We are back again in town. Come to the hotel at once, and see us.”

So, there was now a Man to advise. For once, Fanny was thankful for the creation of Man. To the most misanthropic female there sometimes comes a time when she must own that Man has his uses. These two women had now got a Man with whom to take counsel.

“I do not ask you,” said Mr. Mountjoy, with grave face, “how far this statement of yours is true: I can see plainly that it is true in every particular.”

“It is quite true, sir; every word of it is true. I have been tempted to make out a worse case against the doctor, but I have kept myself to the bare truth.”

“You could not make out a worse case against any man. It is the blackest case that I ever heard of or read. It is the foulest murder. I do not understand the exact presence of Lord Harry when the medicine was given. Did he see the doctor administer it? Did he say anything?”

“He turned white when the doctor told him that the man was going to die — that day, perhaps, or next day. When the doctor was pouring out the medicine he turned pale again and trembled. While the doctor was taking the photograph he trembled again. I think, sir — I really think — that he knew all along that the man was going to die, but when it came to the moment, he was afraid. If it had depended on him, Oxbye would be alive still.”

“He was a consenting party. Well; for the moment both of you keep perfect silence. Don’t discuss the timing with each other lest you should be overheard: bury the thing. I am going to make some inquiries.”

The first thing was to find out what steps had been taken, if any, with insurance companies. For Iris’s sake his inquiry had to be conducted quite openly. His object must seem none other than the discovery of Lady Harry Norland’s present address. When bankers, insurance companies, and solicitors altogether have to conduct a piece of business it is not difficult to ascertain such a simple matter.

He found out the name of the family solicitor, he went to the office, sent in his card, and stated his object. As a very old friend of Lady Harry’s, he wanted to learn her address. He had just come up from Scotland, where he had been ill, and had only just learned her terrible bereavement.

The lawyer made no difficulty at all. There was no reason why he should. Lady Harry had been in London; she was kept in town for nearly two months by business connected with the unfortunate event; but she had now gone — she was travelling Switzerland or elsewhere. As for her address, a letter addressed to his care should be forwarded on hearing from her ladyship.

“Her business, I take it, was the proving of the will and the arrangement of the property.”

“That was the business which kept her in town.”

“Lady Harry,” Mr. Mountjoy went on, “had a little property of her own apart from what she may ultimately get from her father. About five thousand pounds — not more.”

“Indeed? She did not ask my assistance in respect of her own property.”

“I suppose it is invested and in the hands of trustees. But, indeed, I do not know. Lord Harry himself, I have heard, was generally in a penniless condition. Were there any insurances?”

“Yes; happily there was insurance paid for him by the family. Otherwise there would have been nothing for the widow.”

“And this has been paid up, I suppose?”

“Yes; it has been paid into her private account.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Mountjoy. “With your permission, I will address a letter to Lady Harry here. Will you kindly order it to be forwarded at the very earliest opportunity?”

“Iris,” he thought, “will not come to London any more. She has been persuaded by her husband to join in the plot. Good heavens! She has become a swindler — a conspirator — -a fraudulent woman! Iris! — it is incredible — it is horrible! What shall we do?”

He first wrote a letter, to the care of the lawyers. He informed her that he had made a discovery of the highest importance to herself — he refrained from anything that might give rise to suspicion; he implored her to give him an interview anywhere, in any part of the world — alone, he told her that the consequences of refusal might be fatal — absolutely fatal — to her future happiness: he conjured her to believe that he was anxious for nothing but her happiness: that he was still, as always, her most faithful friend.

Well; he could do no more. He had not the least expectation that his letter would do any good; he did not even believe that it would reach Iris. The money was received and paid over to her own account. There was really no reason at all why she should place herself again in communication with these lawyers. What would she do, then? One thing only remained. With her guilty husband, this guilty woman must remain in concealment for the rest of their days, or until death released her of the man who was pretending to be dead. At the best, they might find some place where there would be no chance of anybody ever finding them who knew either of them before this wicked thing was done.

But could she know of the murder?

He remembered the instruction given to Fanny. She was to write to Brussels. Let her therefore write at once. He would arrange what she was to say. Under his dictation, therefore, Fanny wrote as follows: —

“My Lady, — I have received your ladyship’s letter, and your kind gift of ten pounds. I note your directions to write to you at Brussels, and I obey them.

“Mr. Mountjoy, who has been ill and in Scotland, has come back to London. He begs me to tell you that he has had an interview with your lawyers, and has learned that you have been in town on business, the nature of which he has also learned. He has left an important letter for you at their office. They will forward it as soon as they learn your address.

“Since I came back from Passy I have thought it prudent to set down in writing an exact account of everything that happened there under my own observation. Mr. Mountjoy has read my story, and thinks that I ought without delay to send a copy of it to you. I therefore send you one, in which I have left out all the names, and put in A, B, and C instead, by his directions. He says that you will have no difficulty in filling up the names.

“I remain, my dear Lady,
“Your ladyship’s most obedient and humble servant,
“FANNY MERE.”

This letter, with the document, was dispatched to Brussels that night. And this is the trouble which Iris brought upon herself by answering Fanny’s advertisement.

CHAPTER LX

ON THE EVE OF A CHANGE

IRIS returned to Louvain by way of Paris. She had to settle up with the doctor.

He obeyed her summons and called upon her at the hotel.

“Well, my lady,” he began in his gross voice, rubbing his hands and laughing, “it has come off, after all; hasn’t it?”

“I do not desire, Dr. Vimpany, to discuss anything with you. We will proceed to settle what business we have together.”

“To think that your ladyship should actually fall in!” he replied. “Now I confess that this was to me the really difficult part of the job. It is quite easy to pretend that a man is dead, but not so easy to touch his money. I really do not see how we could have managed at all without your co-operation. Well, you’ve had no difficulty, of course?”

“None at all.”

“I am to have half.”

“I am instructed to give you two thousand pounds. I have the money here for you.”

“I hope you consider that I deserve this share?”

“I think, Dr. Vimpany, that whatever you get in the future or the present you will richly deserve. You have dragged a man down to your own level — ”

“And a woman too.”

“A woman too. Your reward will come, I doubt not.”

“If it always takes the form of bank-notes I care not how great the reward may be. You will doubtless, as a good Christian, expect your own reward — for him and for you?”

“I have mine already,” she replied sadly. “Now, Dr. Vimpany, let me pay you, and get rid of your company.”

He counted the money carefully and put it in the banker’s bag in his coat-pocket. “Thank you, my lady. We have exchanged compliments enough over this job.”

“I hope — I pray — that we may never set eyes on you again.”

“I cannot say. People run up against each other in the strangest manner, especially people who’ve done shady things and have got to keep in the background.”

“Enough! — enough!”

“The background of the world is a very odd place, I assure you. It is full of interesting people. The society has a piquancy which you will find, I hope, quite charming. You will be known by another name, of course?”

“I shall not tell you by what name — ”

“Tut — tut! I shall soon find out. The background gets narrower when you fall into misery.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, Lady Harry, that your husband has no idea whatever as to the value of money. The two thousand that you are taking him will vanish in a year or two. What will you do then? As for myself, I know the value of money so well that I am always buying the most precious and delightful things with it. I enjoy them immensely. Never any man enjoyed good things so much as I do. But the delightful things cost money. Let us be under no illusions. Your ladyship and your noble husband and I all belong to the background; and in a year or two we shall belong to the needy background. I daresay that very soon after that the world will learn that we all belong to the criminal background. I wish your ladyship a joyful reunion with your husband!”

He withdrew, and Iris set eyes on him no more. But the prophecy with which he departed remained with her, and it was with a heart foreboding fresh sorrows that she left Paris and started for Louvain.

Here began the new life — that of concealment and false pretence. Iris put off her weeds, but she never ventured abroad without a thick veil. Her husband, discovering that English visitors sometimes ran over from Brussels to see the Hotel de Ville, never ventured out at all till evening. They had no friends and no society of any kind.