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

CHAPTER XCIII

‘SAY THAT YOU FORGIVE ME’

 

On the following day, again early in the morning, Mrs Trevelyan and

Stanbury were driven out to Casalunga. The country people along the

road knew the carriage well, and the lady who occupied it, and would

say that the English wife was going to see her mad husband. Mrs

Trevelyan knew that these words were common in the people’s mouths, and

explained to her companion how necessary it would be to use these

rumours, to aid her in putting some restraint over her husband even in

this country, should they fail in their effort to take him to England.

She saw the doctor in Siena constantly, and had learned from him how

such steps might be taken. The measure proposed would be slow,

difficult, inefficient, and very hard to set aside, if once taken, but

still it might be indispensable that something should be done. ‘He

would be so much worse off here than he would be at home,’ she said, ‘if

we could only make him understand that it would be so.’ Then Stanbury

asked about the wine. It seemed that of late Trevelyan had taken to

drink freely, but only of the wine of the country. But the wine of the

country in these parts is sufficiently stimulating, and Mrs Trevelyan

acknowledged that hence had arisen a further cause of fear.

 

They walked up the hill together, and Mrs Trevelyan, now well knowing

the ways of the place, went round at once to the front terrace. There

he was, seated in his armchair, dressed in the same way as yesterday,

dirty, dishevelled, and gaudy with various colours; but Stanbury could

see at once that his mood had greatly changed. He rose slowly, dragging

himself up out of his chair, as they came up to him, but shewing as he

did so, and perhaps somewhat assuming, the impotency of querulous

sickness. His wife went to him, and took him by the hand, and placed

him back in his chair. He was weak, he said, and had not slept, and

suffered from the heat; and then he begged her to give him wine. This

she did, half filling for him a tumbler, of which he swallowed the

contents greedily. ‘You see me very poorly, Stanbury, very poorly,’ he

said, seeming to ignore all that had taken place on the previous day.

 

‘You want change of climate, old fellow,’ said Stanbury.

 

‘Change of everything; I want change of everything,’ he said. ‘If I

could have a new body and a new mind, and a new soul!’

 

‘The mind and soul, dear, will do well enough, if you will let us look

after the body,’ said his wife, seating herself on a stool near his

feet. Stanbury, who had settled beforehand how he would conduct

himself, took out a cigar and lighted it and then they sat together

silent, or nearly silent, for half an hour. She had said that if Hugh

would do so, Trevelyan would soon become used to the presence of his

old friend, and it seemed that he had already done so. More than once,

when he coughed, his wife fetched him some drink in a cup, which he

took from her without a word. And Stanbury the while went on smoking in

silence.

 

‘You have heard, Louis,’ she said at last, ‘that, after all, Nora and

Mr Stanbury are going to be married?’

 

‘Ah yes; I think I was told of it. I hope you may be happy, Stanbury,

happier than I have been.’ This was unfortunate, but neither of the

visitors winced, or said a word.

 

‘It will be a pity that papa and mamma cannot be present at the

wedding,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

 

‘If I had to do it again, I should not regret your father’s absence; I

must say that. He has been my enemy. Yes, Stanbury, my enemy. I don’t

care who hears me say so. I am obliged to stay here, because that man

would swear every shilling I have away from me if I were in England. He

would strive to do so, and the struggle in my state of health would be

too much for me.’

 

‘But Sir Marmaduke sails from Southampton this very week,’ said

Stanbury.

 

‘I don’t know. He is always sailing, and always coming back again. I

never asked him for a shilling in my life, and yet he has treated me as

though I were his bitterest enemy.’

 

‘He will trouble you no more now, Louis,’ said Mrs Trevelyan.

 

‘He cannot trouble you again. He will have left England before you can

possibly reach it.’

 

‘He will have left other traitors behind him, though none as bad as

himself,’ said Trevelyan.

 

Stanbury, when his cigar was finished, rose and left the husband and

wife together on the terrace. There was little enough to be seen at

Casalunga, but he strolled about looking at the place. He went into the

huge granary, and then down among the olive trees, and up into the

sheds which had been built for beasts. He stood and teased the lizards,

and listened to the hum of the insects, and wiping away the

perspiration which rose to his brow even as he was standing. And all

the while he was thinking what he would do next, or what say next, with

the view of getting Trevelyan away from the place. Hitherto he had been

very tender with him, contradicting him in nothing, taking from him

good humouredly any absurd insult which he chose to offer, pressing

upon him none of the evil which he had himself occasioned, saying to

him no word that could hurt either his pride or his comfort. But he

could not see that this would be efficacious for the purpose desired.

He had come thither to help Nora’s sister in her terrible distress, and

he must take upon himself to make some plan for giving this aid. When

he had thought of all this and made his plan, he sauntered back round

the house on to the terrace. She was still there, sitting at her

husband’s feet, and holding one of his hands in hers. It was well that

the wife should be tender, but he doubted whether tenderness would

suffice.

 

‘Trevelyan,’ he said, ‘you know why I have come over here?’

 

‘I suppose she told you to come,’ said Trevelyan.

 

‘Well; yes; she did tell me. I came to try and get you back to England.

If you remain here, the climate and solitude together will kill you.’

 

‘As for the climate, I like it, and as for the solitude, I have got used

even to that.’

 

‘And then there is another thing,’ said Stanbury.

 

‘What is that?’ asked Trevelyan, starting.

 

‘You are not safe here.’

 

‘How not safe?’

 

‘She could not tell you, but I must.’ His wife was still holding his

hand, and he did not at once attempt to withdraw it; but he raised

himself in his chair, and fixed his eyes fiercely on Stanbury. ‘They

will not let you remain here quietly,’ said Stanbury.

 

‘Who will not?’

 

‘The Italians. They are already saying that you are not fit to be

alone; and if once they get you into their hands under some Italian

medical board, perhaps into some Italian asylum, it might be years

before you could get out, if ever. I have come to tell you what the

danger is. I do not know whether you will believe me.’

 

‘Is it so?’ he said, turning to his wife.

 

‘I believe it is, Louis.’

 

‘And who has told them? Who has been putting them up to it?’ Now his

hand had been withdrawn. ‘My God, am I to be followed here too with

such persecution as this?’

 

‘Nobody has told them, but people have eyes.’

 

‘Liar, traitor, fiend! it is you!’ he said, turning upon his wife.

 

‘Louis, as I hope for mercy, I have said not a word to any one that

could injure you.’

 

‘Trevelyan, do not be so unjust, and so foolish,’ said Stanbury. ‘It is

not her doing. Do you suppose that you can live here like this and give

rise to no remarks? Do you think that people’s eyes are not open, and

that their tongues will not speak? I tell you, you are in danger here.’

 

‘What am I to do? Where am I to go? Can not they let me stay till I

die? Whom am I hurting here? She may have all my money, if she wants

it. She has got my child.’

 

‘I want nothing, Louis, but to take you where you may be safe and

well.’

 

‘Why are you afraid of going to England?’ Stanbury asked.

 

‘Because they have threatened to put me in a madhouse.’

 

‘Nobody ever thought of so treating you,’ said his wife.

 

‘Your father did and your mother. They told me so.’

 

‘Look here, Trevelyan. Sir Marmaduke and Lady Rowley are gone. They

will have sailed, at least, before we can reach England. Whatever may

have been either their wishes or their power, they can do nothing