Complete Works of Bram Stoker (209 page)

‘I parted with most of my merchandise at normal price as I hurried home. I did hot dare to give it away, or even lose it, least I should incur suspicion. My burden was far too precious to be risked by any foolishness now. I got on as fast as it is possible to travel in such countries; and arrived in London with only the lamps and certain portable curios and papyri which I had” picked up on my travels. ‘Now, Mr. Ross, you know all I know; and I leave it to your discretion how much, if any of it, you will tell Miss Trelawny.’

As he finished a clear young voice said behind us: “What about Miss Trelawny? She is here!’ We turned, startled; and looked at each other enquiringly. Miss Trelawny stood in the doorway. We did not know how long she had been present, or how much she had heard.

Chapter XIII.   Awaking from the Trance

THE FIRST UNEXPECTED WORDS MAY ALWAYS STARTLE A hearer; but when the shock is over, the listener’s reason has asserted itself, and he can judge of the manner, as well as of the matter, of speech. Thus it was on this occasion. With intelligence now alert, I could not doubt of the simple sincerity of Margaret’s next question:

‘What have you two men been talking about all this time, Mr. Ross? I suppose, Mr. Corbeck has been telling you all his adventures’ in finding the lamps. I hope yon will tell me too, some day, Mr. Corbeck; but that must not be until my poor Father is better. He would like, I am sure, to tell me all about these things himself; or to be present when I heard them.’ She glanced sharply from one to the other. ‘Oh! that was what you were saying as I came in? All right! I shall wait; but I hope it won’t be long. The continuance of Father’s condition is, I feel, breaking me down. A little while ago I felt that my nerves were giving out; so I determined to go out for a walk in the Park. I am sure it will do me good. I want you, if you will, Mr. Ross, to be with Father whilst I am away. I shall feel secure then!’

I rose with alacrity, rejoicing that the poor girl was going out, even for half an hour. She was looking terribly wearied and haggard; and the sight of her pale cheeks made my heart ache. I went to the sick-room; and sat down in my usual place. Mrs. Grant was then on duty; we had not found it necessary to have more than one person in the room during the day. When I came in, she took occasion to go about some household duty. The blinds were up, but the north aspect of the room softened the hot glare of the sunlight without.

I sat for a long time thinking over all that Mr. Corbeck had told me; and weaving its wonders into the tissue of strange things which had come to pass since I had entered the house. At times I was inclined to doubt; to doubt everything and everyone; to doubt even the evidences of my own senses. The warnings of the skilled detective kept coming back to my mind. He had put down Mr. Corbeck as a clever liar and- a confederate of Miss Trelawny. Of Margaret! That settled it! Face to face with such a proposition as that, doubt vanished. Each time when her image, her name, the merest thought of her, came before my mind, each event stood out stark as a living fact. My life upon her faith!

I was recalled from my reverie, which was fast becoming a dream of love, in a startling manner. A voice came from the bed; a deep, strong, masterful voice. The first note of it called up like a clarion my eyes and my ears. The sick man was awake and speaking!

‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

Whatever ideas any of us had ever formed of his waking, I am quite sure that none of us expected to see him start up all awake and full master of himself. I was so surprised that I answered almost mechanically:

‘Ross is my name. I have been watching by you!’ He looked surprised for an instant, and then I could see that his habit’ of judging for himself came into play.

‘Watching by me! How do you mean? Why watching by me?’ His eye had now lit on his heavily bandaged wrist. He went on in a different tone; less aggressive, more genial, as of one accepting facts:

‘Are you a doctor?’ I felt myself almost smiling as I answered; the relief from the long pressure of anxiety regarding his life was beginning to tell:

‘No, sir!’

‘Then why are you here? If you are not a doctor, what are you?’ His tone was again more dictatorial. Thought is quick; the whole train of reasoning on which my answer must be based flooded through my brain before the words could leave my lips. Margaret! I must think of Margaret! This was her father, who as yet knew nothing of me; even of my very existence. He would be naturally curious, if not anxious, to know why I amongst men had been chosen as his daughter’s friend on the occasion of his illness. Fathers are naturally a little jealous in such matters as a daughter’s choice, and in the undeclared state of my love for Margaret I must do nothing which could ultimately embarrass her.

‘I am a Barrister. It is not, however, in that capacity I am here; but simply as a friend of your daughter. It was probably her knowledge of my being a lawyer which first determined her to ask me to come when she thought you had been murdered. Afterwards she was good enough to consider me to be a friend, and to allow me to remain in accordance with your expressed wish that someone should remain to watch.’

Mr. Trelawny was manifestly a man of quick thought, and of few words. He gazed at me keenly as I spoke, and his piercing eyes seemed to read my thought. To my relief he said no more on the subject just then, seeming to accept my words in simple faith. There was evidently in his own mind some cause for the acceptance deeper than my own knowledge. His eyes flashed, and there was an unconscious movement of the mouth  —  it could hardly
be
called a twitch  —  which betokened satisfaction. He was following out some train of reasoning in his own mind. Suddenly he said: ‘She thought I had been murdered! Was that last night?’ ‘No! Four days ago.’ He seemed surprised. Whilst he had been speaking the first time he had sat up in bed; now he made a movement as though he would jump out. With an effort, however, he restrained himself; leaning back on his pillows he said quietly:

‘Tell me all about it! All you know! Every detail! Omit nothing! But stay; first lock the door! I want to know, before I see anyone, exactly how things stand.’

Somehow his last words made my heart leap. ‘Anyone!’ He evidently accepted me, then, as an exception. In my present state of feeling for his daughter, this was a comforting thought I felt exultant as I went over to the door and softly turned the key. When I came back I found him sitting up again. He said: ‘Go on!’

Accordingly, I told him every detail; even of the slightest which I could remember, of what had happened from the moment of my arrival at the house. Of course I said nothing of my feeling towards Margaret, and spoke only concerning those things already within his own knowledge. With regard to Corbeck, I simply said that he had brought back some lamps of which he had been in quest. Then I proceeded to tell him fully of their loss, and of their rediscovery in the house.

He listened with a self-control which, under the circumstances, was to me little less man marvellous. It was not impassiveness, for at times his eyes would flash or blaze, and the strong fingers of his uninjured hand would grip the sheet, pulling it into far-extending wrinkles. This was most noticeable when I told him of the return of Corbeck, and the finding of the lamps in the boudoir. At times he spoke, but only a few words, and as if unconsciously in emotional comment. The mysterious parts, those which had most puzzled us, seemed to have no special interest for him; he seemed to know them already. The utmost concern he showed was when I told him of Daw’s shooting. His muttered comment: ‘Stupid ass!’ together with a quick glance across the room at the injured cabinet, marked the measure of his disgust. As I told him of his daughter’s harrowing anxiety for him, of her unending care and devotion, of the tender love which she had shown, he seemed much moved. There was a sort of veiled surprise in his unconscious whisper:

‘Margaret! Margaret!’

When I had finished my narration, bringing matters up to the moment when Miss Trelawny had gone out for her walk  —  I thought of her as ‘Miss Trelawny’, not as ‘Margaret’ now, in the presence of her father  —  he remained silent for quite a long time. It was probably two or three minutes; but it seemed interminable. All at once he turned to me and said briskly:

‘Now tell me all about yourself!’ This was something of a floorer; I felt myself grow red hot. Mr. Trelawny’s eyes were upon me; they were now calm and enquiring, but never ceasing in their soul-searching scrutiny. There was just a suspicion of a smile on the mouth which, though it added to my embarrassment, gave me a certain measure of relief. I was, however, face to face with difficulty; and the habit of my life stood me in good stead. I looked him straight in the eyes as I spoke:

‘ “My name, as I told you, is Ross, Malcolm Ross. I am by profession a Barrister. I was made a QC in the last year of the Queen’s reign. I have been fairly successful in my work.’ To my relief he said:

‘Yes, I know. I have always heard well of you! Where and when did you meet Margaret?’

‘First at the Hay’s in Belgrave Square, ten days ago. Then at a picnic up the river with Lady Strathconnell. We went from Windsor to Cookham. Mar  —  Miss Trelawny was in ‘my boat. I scull a little, and I had my own boat at Windsor. We had a good deal of conversation  —  naturally.’

‘Naturally!’ There was just a suspicion of something sardonic in the tone of acquiescence; but there was no other intimation of his feeling. I began to think that as I was in the presence of a strong man, I should show something of my own strength. My friends, and sometimes my opponents, say that I am a strong man. In my present circumstances, not to be absolutely truthful would be to be weak. So I stood up to the difficulty before me; always bearing in mind, however, that my words might affect Margaret’s happiness through her love for her father. I went on:

‘In conversation at a place and time and amid surroundings so pleasing, and in a solitude inviting to confidence, I got a glimpse of her inner life. Such a glimpse as a man of my years and experience may get from a young girl!’ The father’s face grew graver as I went on: but he said nothing. I was committed now to a definite line of speech, and went on with such mastery of my mind as I could exercise. The occasion might be fraught with serious consequences to me too:

‘I could not but see that there was over her spirit a sense of loneliness which was habitual to her. I thought I understood it; I am myself an only child. I ventured to encourage her to speak to me freely; and was happy enough to succeed. A sort of confidence became established between us.’’ There was something in the father’s face which made me add hurriedly:

‘Nothing was said by her, sir, as you can well imagine, which was not right and proper. She only told me in the impulsive way of one longing to give voice to thoughts long carefully concealed, of her yearning to be closer to the fat (her whom she loved; more
en rapport
with him; more in his confidence; closer within the circle of his sympathies.’ Oh, believe me, sir, that it was all good! All that a father’s heart could hope or wish for! It was all loyal! That she spoke it to me was perhaps because I was almost a stranger with whom there was no previous barrier to confidence.’

Here I paused. It was hard to go on; and I feared lest I might in my zeal do Margaret a disservice. The relief of the strain came from her father.

‘And you?’

‘Sir, Miss Trelawny is very sweet and beautiful! She is young; and her mind is like crystal! Her sympathy is a joy! I am not an old man, and my affections were not engaged. They never had been till then. I hope I may say so much, even to a father!’ My eyes involuntarily dropped. When I raised them again, Mr. Trelawny was still gazing at me keenly. All the kindliness of his nature seemed to wreathe itself in a smile as he held out his hand and said:

‘Malcolm Ross I have always heard of you as a fearless and honourable gentleman. I am glad my girl has such a friend! Go on!’

My heart leaped. The first step to the winning of Margaret’s father was gained. I dare say I was somewhat more effusive in my words and my manner as I went on. I certainly felt that way.

‘One thing we gain as we grow older: to use our age judiciously! I have had much experience. I have fought for it and worked for it all my life; and I felt that I was justified in using it. I ventured to ask Miss Trelawny to count on me as a friend; to let me serve her should occasion arise. She promised me that she would. I had little idea that my chance of serving her should come so soon or in such a way; but that very night you were stricken down. In her desolation and anxiety she sent for me!’ I paused. He continued to look at me as I went on:

‘When your letter of instructions was found, I offered my services. They were accepted, as you know!’

‘And these days, how did they pass for you?’ The question startled me. There was in it something of Margaret’s own voice and manner; something so greatly resembling her lighter moments that it brought out all the masculinity in me. I felt more sure of my ground now as I said:

‘These days, sir, despite all their harrowing anxiety, despite all the pain they held for a girl whom I grew to love more and more with each passing hour, have been the happiest of my life!’ He kept silence for a long time; so long that, as I waited for him to speak, with my heart beating, I began to wonder if my frankness had been too effusive. At last he said:

‘I suppose it is hard to say so much vicariously. Her poor mother should have heard you; it would have made her heart glad!’ Then a shadow swept across his face; and he went on more hurriedly:

‘But are you quite sure of all this?’ ‘I know my own heart, sir; or, at least, I think I do!’ ‘No! no!’ he answered, ‘I don’t mean you. That is all right! But you spoke of my girl’s affection for me... and yet...! And yet she has been living here, in my house, a whole year.... Still, she spoke to you of her loneliness  —  her desolation. I never  —  it grieves me to say it, but it is true  —  I never saw sign of such affection towards myself in all the year!...’ His voice trembled away into sad, reminiscent introspection.