He Knew He Was Right by Anthony Trollope (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖

had driven

her to live apart from him by his own bad conduct, then probably the

custody of her boy might be awarded to her, until the child should be

seven years old. But when the circumstances of the case were explained

to Sir Marmaduke’s lawyer by Lady Rowley, that gentleman shook his

head. Mrs Trevelyan had, he said, no case with which she could go into

court. Then by degrees there were words whispered as to the husband’s

madness. The lawyer said that that was a matter for the doctors. If a

certain amount of medical evidence could be obtained to show that the

husband was in truth mad, the wife could, no doubt, obtain the custody

of the child. When this was reported to Mrs Trevelyan, she declared

that conduct such as her husband’s must suffice to prove any man to be

mad; but at this Sir Marmaduke shook his head, and Lady Rowley sat,

sadly silent, with her daughter’s hand within her own. They would not

dare to tell her that she could regain her child by that plea.

 

During those ten days they did not learn whither the boy had been

carried, nor did they know even where the father might be found. Sir

Marmaduke followed up the address as given in the letter, and learned

from the porter at ‘The Acrobats’ that the gentleman’s letters were

sent to No. 65, Stony Walk, Union Street, Borough. To this

uncomfortable locality Sir Marmaduke travelled more than once. Thrice

he went thither, intent on finding his son-in-law’s residence. On the

two first occasions he saw no one but Mrs Bozzle; and the discretion of

that lady in declining to give any information was most admirable.

‘Trewillian!’ Yes, she had heard the name certainly. It might be that

her husband had business engagements with a gent of that name. She

would not say even that for certain, as it was not her custom ever to

make any inquiries as to her husband’s business engagements. Her

husband’s business engagements were, she said, much too important for

the ‘likes of she’ to know anything about them. When was Bozzle likely

to be at home? Bozzle was never likely to be at home. According to her

showing, Bozzle was of all husbands the most erratic. He might perhaps

come in for an hour or two in the middle of the day on a Wednesday, or

perhaps would take a cup of tea at home on Friday evening. But anything

so fitful and uncertain as were Bozzle’s appearances in the bosom of

his family was not to be conceived in the mind of woman. Sir Marmaduke

then called in the middle of the day on Wednesday, but Bozzle was

reported to be away in the provinces. His wife had no idea in which of

the provinces he was at that moment engaged. The persevering governor

from the islands called again on the Friday evening, and then, by

chance, Bozzle was found at home. But Sir Marmaduke succeeded in

gaining very little information even from Bozzle. The man acknowledged

that he was employed by Mr Trevelyan. Any letter or parcel left with

him for Mr Trevelyan should be duly sent to that gentleman. If Sir

Marmaduke wanted Mr Trevelyan’s address, he could write to Mr Trevelyan

and ask for it. If Mr Trevelyan declined to give it, was it likely that

he, Bozzle, should betray it? Sir Marmaduke explained who he was at

some length. Bozzle with a smile assured the governor that he knew very

well who he was. He let drop a few words to show that he was intimately

acquainted with the whole course of Sir Marmaduke’s family affairs. He

knew all about the Mandarins, and Colonel Osborne, and Gregg’s Hotel—

not that he said anything about Parker’s Hotel—and the Colonial Office.

He spoke of Miss Nora, and even knew the names of the other two young

ladies, Miss Sophia and Miss Lucy. It was a weakness with Bozzle, that

of displaying his information. He would have much liked to be able to

startle Sir Marmaduke by describing the Government House in the island,

or by telling him something of his old carriage-horses. But of such

information as Sir Marmaduke desired, Sir Marmaduke got none.

 

And there were other troubles which fell very heavily upon the poor

governor, who had come home as it were for a holiday, and who was a man

hating work naturally, and who, from the circumstances of his life, had

never been called on to do much work. A man may govern the Mandarins

and yet live in comparative idleness. To do such governing work well a

man should have a good presence, a flow of words which should mean

nothing, an excellent temper, and a love of hospitality. With these

attributes Sir Rowley was endowed; for, though his disposition was by

nature hot, for governing purposes it had been brought by practice

under good control. He had now been summoned home through the

machinations of his dangerous old friend Colonel Osborne, in order that

he might give the results of his experience in governing before a

committee of the House of Commons. In coming to England on this

business he had thought much more of his holiday, of his wife and

children, of his daughters at home, of his allowance per day while he

was to be away from his government, and of his salary to be paid to him

entire during his absence, instead of being halved as it would be if he

were away on leave; he had thought much more in coming home on these

easy and pleasant matters, than he did on the work that was to be

required from him when he arrived. And then it came to pass that he

felt himself almost injured, when the Colonial Office demanded his

presence from day to day, and when clerks bothered him with questions

as to which they expected ready replies, but in replying to which Sir

Marmaduke was by no means ready. The working men at the Colonial Office

had not quite thought that Sir Marmaduke was the most fitting man for

the job in hand. There was a certain Mr Thomas Smith at another set of

islands in quite another part of the world, who was supposed by these

working men at home to be a very paragon of a governor. If he had been

had home, so said the working men, no Committee of the House would have

been able to make anything of him. They might have asked him questions

week after week, and he would have answered them all fluently and would

have committed nobody. He knew all the ins and outs of governing, did Mr

Thomas Smith, and was a match for the sharpest Committee that ever sat

at Westminster. Poor Sir Marmaduke was a man of a very different sort;

all of which was known by the working men; but the Parliamentary

interest had been too strong, and here was Sir Marmaduke at home. But

the working men were not disposed to make matters so pleasant for Sir

Marmaduke as Sir Marmaduke had expected. The Committee would not

examine Sir Marmaduke till after Easter, in the middle of April; but it

was expected of him that, he should read blue-books without number, and

he was so catechised by the working men that he almost began to wish

himself back at the Mandarins. In this way the new establishment in

Manchester Street was not at first in a happy or even in a contented

condition.

 

At last, after about ten days, Lady Rowley did succeed in obtaining an

interview with Trevelyan. A meeting was arranged through Bozzle, and

took place in a very dark and gloomy room at an inn in the City. Why

Bozzle should have selected the Bremen Coffee House, in Poulter’s

Alley, for this meeting no fit reason can surely be given, unless it

was that he conceived himself bound to select the most dreary locality

within his knowledge on so melancholy an occasion. Poulter’s Alley is a

narrow dark passage somewhere behind the Mansion House; and the Bremen

Coffee House—why so called no one can now tell—is one of those strange

houses of public resort in the City at which the guests seem never to

eat, never to drink, never to sleep, but to come in and out after a

mysterious and almost ghostly fashion, seeing their friends or perhaps

their enemies, in nooks and corners, and carrying on their conferences

in low melancholy whispers. There is an aged waiter at the Bremen

Coffee House; and there is certainly one private sitting-room upstairs.

It was a dingy, ill-furnished room, with an old large mahogany table,

an old horse-hair sofa, six horse-hair chairs, two old round mirrors,

and an old mahogany press in a corner. It was a chamber so sad in its

appearance that no wholesome useful work could have been done within

it; nor could men have eaten there with any appetite, or have drained

the flowing bowl with any touch of joviality. It was generally used for

such purposes as that to which it was now appropriated, and no doubt

had been taken by Bozzle on more than one previous occasion. Here Lady

Rowley arrived precisely at the hour fixed, and was told that the

gentleman was waiting up stairs for her.

 

There had, of course, been many family consultations as to the manner

in which this meeting should be arranged. Should Sir Marmaduke

accompany his wife or, perhaps, should Sir Marmaduke go alone? Lady

Rowley had been very much in favour of meeting Mr Trevelyan without any

one to assist her in the conference. As for Sir Marmaduke, no meeting

could be concluded between him and his son-in-law without a personal,

and probably a violent quarrel. Of that Lady Rowley had been quite

sure. Sir Marmaduke, since he had been home, had, in the midst of his

various troubles, been driven into so vehement a state of indignation

against his son-in-law as to be unable to speak of the wretched man

without strongest terms of opprobrium. Nothing was too bad to be said

by him of one who had ill-treated his dearest daughter. It must be

admitted that Sir Marmaduke had heard only one side of the question. He

had questioned his daughter, and had constantly seen his old friend

Osborne. The colonel’s journey down to Devonshire had been made to

appear the most natural proceeding in the world. The correspondence of

which Trevelyan thought so much had been shown to consist of such notes

as might pass between any old gentleman and any young woman. The

promise which Trevelyan had endeavoured to exact, and which Mrs

Trevelyan had declined to give, appeared to the angry father to be a

monstrous insult. He knew that the colonel was an older man than

himself, and his Emily was still to him only a young girl. It was

incredible to him that anybody should have regarded his old comrade as

his daughter’s lover. He did not believe that anybody had, in truth, so

regarded the man. The tale had been a monstrous invention on the part

of the husband, got up because he had become tired of his young wife.

According to Sir Marmaduke’s way of thinking, Trevelyan should either

be thrashed within an inch of his life, or else locked up in a

madhouse. Colonel Osborne shook his head, and expressed a conviction

that the poor man was mad.

 

But Lady Rowley was more hopeful. Though she was as confident about her

daughter as was the father, she was less confident about the old

friend. She, probably, was alive to the fact that a man of fifty might

put on the airs and assume the character of a young lover; and acting

on that suspicion, entertaining also some hope that bad as matters now