Poor Miss Finch by Wilkie Collins (heaven official's blessing novel english txt) 📖

ON former occasions of doubt or difficulty, it had always been Oscar’s habit to follow the opinions of others. On this occasion he was the first to speak, and to assert an opinion of his own.

“It seems needless to waste time in discussing our different views,” he said. “There is only one thing to be done. I am the person principally concerned in this matter. Wait here, while I go to the house.”

He spoke without any of his usual hesitation; he took up his hat without looking either at Mr. Finch or at me. I felt more and more convinced that the influence which Nugent’s vile breach of confidence had exerted over Oscar’s mind, was an influence which had made a dangerous man of him. Resolved to prevent him from leaving us, I insisted on his returning to his chair, and hearing what I had to say. At the same moment, Mr. Finch rose, and placed himself between Oscar and the door. Seeing this, I thought it might be wise if I kept my interference in reserve, and allowed the rector to speak first.

“Wait a moment, Oscar,” said Mr. Finch, gravely. “You are forgetting Me.”

Oscar waited doggedly, hat in hand.

Mr. Finch paused, evidently considering what words he should use before he spoke again. His respect for Oscar’s pecuniary position was great; but his respect for himself—especially at the present crisis—was, if possible, greater still. In deference to the first sentiment he was as polite, and in deference to the second he was as positive, in phrasing his remonstrance, as a man could be. “Permit me to remind you, dear Oscar, that my claim to interfere, as Lucilla’s father, is at least equal to yours,” proceeded the rector. “In the hour of my daughter’s need, it is my parental duty to be present. If you go to your cousin’s house, my position imperatively requires that I should go too.” Oscar’s reception of this proposal confirmed the grave apprehensions with which he had inspired me. He flatly refused to have Mr. Finch for a companion.

“Excuse me,” he answered shortly. “I wish to go to the house alone.”

“Permit me to ask your reason,” said the rector, still preserving his conciliatory manner.

“I wish to see my brother in private,” Oscar replied, with his eyes on the ground.

Mr. Finch, still restraining himself, but still not moving from the door, looked at me. I hastened to interfere before there was any serious disagreement between them.

“I venture to think,” I said, “that you are both wrong. Whether one of you goes, or both of you go, the result will be the same. The chances are a hundred to one, against your being admitted into the house.”

They both turned on me together, and asked what I meant.

“You can’t force your way in,” I said. “You must do one of two things. You must either give your names to the servant at the door, or you must withhold your names. If you give them, you warn Nugent of what is coming—and he is not the man to let you into the house under those circumstances. If you take the other way, and keep your names concealed, you present yourselves as strangers. Is Nugent likely to be accessible to strangers? Would Lucilla, in her present position, consent to receive two men who are unknown to her? Take my word for it—you will not only gain nothing if you go to the house you will actually make it more difficult to communicate with Lucilla than it is already.”

There was a moment’s silence. Both the men felt that my objections were not easy to answer. Once more, Oscar took the lead.

“Do you propose to go?” he asked.

“No,” I answered. “I propose to send a letter to Lucilla. A letter will find its way to her.”

This again was unanswerable. Oscar inquired next what the purport of the letter was to be. I replied that I proposed to ask her to grant me a private interview—nothing more.

“Suppose Lucilla refuses?” said Mr. Finch.

“She will not refuse,” I rejoined. “There was a little misunderstanding between us—I admit—at the time when I went abroad. I mean to refer frankly to that misunderstanding as my reason for writing. I shall put your daughter on her honor to give me an opportunity of setting things right between us. If I summon Lucilla to do an act of justice, I believe she will not refuse me.”

(This, let me add in parenthesis, was the plan of action which I had formed on the way to Sydenham. I had only waited to mention it, until I heard what the two men proposed to do first.)

Oscar, standing hat in hand, glanced at Mr. Finch (also hat in hand) keeping obstinately near the door. If he persisted in carrying out his purpose of going alone to his cousin’s house, the rector’s face and manner expressed, with the politest plainness, the intention of following him. Oscar was placed between a clergyman and a woman, both equally determined to have their own way. Under those circumstances, there was no alternative—unless he wished to produce a public scandal—but to yield, or appear to yield, to one or the other of us. He selected me.

“If you succeed in seeing her,” he asked, “what do you mean to do?”

“I mean either to bring her back with me here to her father and to you, or to make an appointment with her to see you both where she is now living,” I replied.

Oscar—after another look at the immovable rector—rang the bell, and ordered writing materials.

“One more question,” he said. “Assuming that Lucilla receives you at the house, do you intend to see–-?” He stopped; his eyes shrank from meeting mine. “Do you intend to see anybody else?” he resumed: still evading the plain utterance of his brother’s name.

“I intend to see nobody but Lucilla,” I answered. “It is no business of mine to interfere between you and your brother.” (Heaven forgive me for speaking in that way to him, while I had the firm resolution to interfere between them in my mind all the time!)

“Write your letter,” he said, “on condition that I see the reply.”

“It is needless, I presume, for me to make the same stipulation?” added the rector. “In my parental capacity

I recognized his parental capacity, before he could say any more. “You shall both see the reply,” I said—and sat down to my letter; writing merely what I had told them I should write: “Dear Lucilla, I have just returned from the Continent. For the sake of justice, and for the sake of old times, let me see you immediately—without mentioning our appointment to anybody. I pledge myself to satisfy you, in five minutes, that I have never been unworthy of your affection and your confidence. The bearer waits for your reply.”

I handed those lines to the two gentlemen to read. Mr. Finch made no remark—he was palpably dissatisfied at the secondary position which he occupied. Oscar said, “I see no objection to the letter. I will do nothing until I have read the answer.” With those words, he dictated to me his cousin’s address. I gave the letter myself to one of the servants at the hotel.

“Is it far from here?” I asked.

“Barely ten minutes’ walk, ma’am.”

“You understand that you are to wait for an answer?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He went out. As well as I can remember, an interval of at least half an hour passed before his return. You will form some idea of the terrible oppression of suspense that now laid its slowly-torturing weight on all three of us, when I tell you that not one word was spoken in the room from the time when the servant went out, to the time when the servant came in again.

When the man returned he had a letter in his hand!

My fingers shook so that I could hardly open it. Before I had read a word, the sight of the writing struck a sudden chill through me. The body of the note was written by the hand of a stranger! And the signature at the end was traced in the large straggling childish characters which I remembered so well, when Lucilla had written her first letter to Oscar in the days when she was blind!

The note was expressed in these strange words:—“I cannot receive you here; but I can, and will, come to you at your hotel if you will wait for me. I am not able to appoint a time. I can only promise to watch for my first opportunity, and to take advantage of it instantly—for your sake and for mine.”

But one interpretation could be placed on such language as this. Lucilla was not a free agent. Both Oscar and the rector were now obliged to acknowledge that my view of the case had been the correct one. If it was impossible for me to be received into the house, how doubly impossible would it be for the men to gain admission! Oscar, after reading the note, withdrew to the further end of the room; keeping his thoughts to himself. Mr. Finch decided on stepping out of his secondary position by forthwith taking a course of his own.

“Am I to infer,” he began, “that it is really useless for me to attempt to see my own child?”

“Her letter speaks for itself,” I replied. “If you attempt to see her, you will probably be the means of preventing your daughter from coming here.”

“In my parental capacity,” continued Mr. Finch, “it is impossible for me to remain passive. As a brother-clergyman, I have, I conceive, a claim on the rector of the parish. It is quite likely that notice may have been already given of this fraudulent marriage. In that case, it is not only my duty to myself and my child—it is my duty to the Church, to confer with my reverend colleague. I go to confer with him.” He strutted to the door, and added, “If Lucilla arrives in