|
The following is a Gaslight etext.... |
A message to you about copyright and permissions |
|
CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:
BELFORD, CLARKE AND COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS
(1883?)
I travelled in hot haste, as fast as steam would bear me, to Geneva; where I at once began my inquiries as to the whereabouts of Doctor Ceneri. I had hoped that finding him would be an easy matter. His words had given me the impression that he practised in the town. If so, many people must know him. But he had misled me or I had deceived myself. For several days I hunted high and low; inquired everywhere; but not a soul could I find who knew the man. I called on every doctor in the place; one and all professed entire ignorance of such a colleague. At last I felt certain that the name he had given me was a fictitious one, or that Geneva was not his abode. However obscure a doctor may be, he is sure to he known by some of his professional brethren in the same town. I decided to go to Turin and try my luck there.
It was on the eve of my intended departure. I was strolling about, feeling very sad at heart, and trying to persuade myself that I should fare better in Turin, when I noticed a man lounging along the opposite side of the street. As his face and bearing seemed familiar to me, I crossed the road to see him to better advantage Being clothed in the inevitable tourist suit, he presented the appearance of an ordinary British traveller —— so much so that I believed I must be mistaken. But I was right, after all. In spite of his changed attire, I recognized him the moment I drew near. He was the man with whom Kenyon had engaged in a wordy war outside San Giovanni —— the man who had remonstrated with us for our expressed admiration of Pauline —— the man who had walked away arm in arm with Ceneri.
The chance was too good a one to be lost. He would, at least, know where the doctor was to be found. I trusted his memory for faces was not so retentive as mine; that he would not connect me with the unpleasant passage which occurred when we last met walked up to him, and raising my hat requested him to favor me with a few moments' conversation.
I spoke in English. He gave me a quick, penetrating glance, then acknowledging my salutation, professed, in the same language, his wish to place himself at my service.
"I am trying to ascertain the address of a gentleman who I believe lives here. I think you will be able to assist me."
He laughed. "I will if I can —— but being like yourself an Englishman, and knowing very few people, I fear I can be of little help to you."
"I am anxious to find a doctor named Ceneri."
The start he gave as he heard my words; the look, almost of apprehension, he cast on me, showed me that he recognized the name. But in a second he recovered himself.
"I cannot remember the name. I am sorry to say I am unable to help you."
"But," I said, in Italian, "I have seen you in his company."
He scowled viciously. "I know no man of the name. Good-morning."
He raised his hat and strode away.
I was not going to lose him like that. I quickened my pace and came up with him.
"I must beg of you to tell me where I can find him. I must see him upon an important matter. It is no use denying that he is a friend of yours."
He hesitated, then halted. "You are strangely importunate, sir. Perhaps you will tell me your reason for your statement that the man you seek is my friend?"
"I saw you arm in arm with him."
"Where, may I ask?"
"In Turin —— last spring. Outside San Giovanni."
He looked at me attentively. "Yes, I remember your face now. You are one of those young men who insulted a lady, and whom I swore to chastise."
"No insult was meant, but even had it been so, it might be passed over now."
"No insult! I have killed a man for less than your friend said to me!"
"Please remember I said nothing. But that matters little. It is on behalf of his niece, Pauline, that I wish to see Dr. Ceneri."
A look of utter astonishment spread over his face. "What have you to do with his niece?" he asked roughly.
"That is his business and mine. Now tell me where I can find him."
"What is your name?" he asked curtly
"Gilbert Vaughan."
"What are you?"
"An English gentleman —— nothing more."
He remained thoughtful for a few seconds. "I can take you to Ceneri," he said, "but first I must know what you want with him, and why you mention Pauline's name? The street is not the place to talk in —— let us go elsewhere."
I led him to my hotel, to a room where we could talk at our ease.
"Now, Mr. Vaughan," he said, "answer my question, and I may see my way to helping you. What has Pauline March to do with the matter?"
"She is my wife —— that is all."
He sprang to his feet —— a fierce Italian oath hissed from his lips. His face was white with rage.
"Your wife!" he shouted. "You lie —— I say you lie!"
I rose, furious as himself, but more collected.
"I told you, sir, that I am an English gentleman. Either you will apologize for your words or I will kick you out of the room."
He struggled with his passion and curbed it. "I apologize," he said, "I was wrong. Does Ceneri know it?" he asked sharply.
"Certainly; he was present when we were married."
His passion once more seemed upon the point of mastering him. "Traditore!" I heard him whisper fiercely to himself. "Ingannatore!" Then he turned to me with composed features.
"If so, I have nothing more to do save to congratulate you, Mr. Vaughan. Your fortune is indeed enviable. Your wife is beautiful, and of course good. You will find her a charming companion."
I would have given much to know why the mention of my marriage should have sent him into such a storm of rage, but I would have given more to have been able to fulfil my threat of kicking him out. The intonation of his last words told me that Pauline's state of mind was well known to him. I could scarcely keep my hands off the fellow; but I was compelled to restrain my anger, as without his aid I could not find Ceneri.
"Thank you," I said quietly, "now perhaps you will give me the information I want."
"You are not a very devoted bridegroom, Mr. Vaughan," said the fellow mockingly. "If Ceneri was at your wedding it could only have occurred a few days ago. It must be important business which tears you from the side of your bride."
"It is important business."
"Then I fear it must wait a few days. Ceneri is not in Geneva. But I have reason to think he may be here in about a week's time. I shall see him, and tell him you are here."
"Let me know where to find him and I will call upon him. I must speak with him."
"I imagine that will be as the doctor chooses. I can only make known your wishes to him."
He bowed and left me. I felt that even now it was doubtful whether I should succeed in obtaining the interview with the mysterious doctor. It depended entirely whether he chose to grant it. He might come to Geneva and go away again without my being any the wiser, unless his friend or himself sent me some communication.
I idled away a week, and then began to fear that Ceneri had made up his mind to keep out of my way. But it was not so. A letter came one morning. It contained a few words only. "You wish to see me. A carriage will call for you at eleven o'clock. M.C."
At eleven o'clock an ordinary hired conveyance drove up to the hotel. The driver inquired for Mr. Vaughan. I stepped in without a word, and was driven to a small house outside the town. Upon being shown into a room I found the doctor seated at a table covered with newspapers and letters. He rose, and shaking my hand begged me to be seated.
"You have come to Geneva to see me, I hear, Mr. Vaughan?"
"Yes. I wished to ask you some questions respecting my wife."
"I will answer all I can —— but there are many I shall doubtless refuse to reply to. You remember my stipulation?"
"Yes, but why did you not make me aware of my wife's peculiar mental state?"
"You had seen her yourself several times. Her state was the same as when she first proved so attractive to you. I am sorry you should think yourself deceived."
"Why not have told me everything? Then I could have blamed no one."
"I had so many reasons, Mr. Vaughan. Pauline was a great responsibility on my shoulders. A great expense, for I am a poor man. And, after all, is the matter so very bad? She is beautiful, good, and amiable. She will make you a loving wife."
"You wished to get rid of her, in fact."
"Scarcely that altogether. There are circumstances —— I cannot explain them —— which made me glad to marry her to an Englishman of good position."
"Without thinking what that man's feelings might be on finding the woman he loved little better than a child."
I felt indignant, and showed my feelings very plainly. Ceneri took little notice of my warmth. He remained perfectly calm.
"There is another point to be considered. Pauline's case is, in my opinion, far from being hopeless. Indeed, I have always looked upon marriage as greatly adding to the chance of her recovery. If her mind to a certain extent is wanting, I believe that, little by little, it may be built up again. Or it may return as suddenly as it left her."
My heart leaped at his words of hope. Cruelly as I felt I had been treated, tool that I had been made for this man's selfish ends, I was willing to accept the situation cheerfully if I had any hope held out to me.
"Will you give me all the particulars of my poor wife's state? I conclude she has not been always like this?"
"Certainly not. Her case is most peculiar. Some years ago she received a great shock —— sustained a sudden loss. The effect was to entirely blot out the past from her mind. She rose from her bed after some weeks' illness with her memory a complete blank. Places were forgotten —— friends were strangers to her. Her mind might, as you say, have been the mind of a child. But a child's mind grows, and, if treated properly, so will hers."
"What was the cause of her illness —— what shock?"
"That is one of the questions I cannot answer."
"But I have a right to know."
"You have a right to ask, and I have a right to refuse to speak."
"Tell me of her family —— her relatives."
"She has none, I believe, save myself."
I asked other questions, but could get no answers worth recording I should return to England not much wiser than I left it. But there was one question to which I insisted on having a clear reply.
"What has that friend of yours —— that English-speaking Italian, to do with Pauline?"
Ceneri shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
"Macari! I am glad to be able to answer something fully, Mr. Vaughan. For a year or two before Pauline was taken ill, Macari supposed himself to be in love with her. He is now furious with me for allowing her to get married. He declares he was only awaiting her recovery to try his own luck."
"Why should he not have served your purpose as well as I seem to have?"
Ceneri looked at me sharply. "Do you regret, Mr. Vaughan?"
"No —— not if there is a chance, even a slight chance. But I tell you, Dr. Ceneri, you have deceived and cajoled me shamefully."
I rose to take my leave. Then Ceneri spoke with more feeling than he had as yet displayed.
"Mr. Vaughan, do not judge me too harshly. I have wronged you, I admit. There are things you know nothing of. I must tell you more than I intended. The temptation to place Pauline in a position of wealth and comfort was irresistible. I am her debtor for a vast amount. At one time her fortune was about fifty thousand pounds. The whole of that I spent ————"
"And dare to boast of it!" I said, bitterly. He waved his hand with dignity.
"Yes. I dare to speak of it. I spent it all for freedom —— for Italy. It was in my keeping as trustee. I, who would have robbed my own father, my own son, should I hesitate to take her money for such an end? Every farthing went to the great cause, and was well spent."
"It was the act of a criminal to rob an orphan."
"Call it what you like. Money had to be found. Why should I not sacrifice my honor for my country as freely as I would have sacrificed my life?"
"It is no use discussing it —— the matter is ended."
"Yes, but I tell you to show you why I wished to gain Pauline a home. Moreover, Mr. Vaughan" —— here his voice dropped to a whisper —— "I was anxious to provide that home at once. I am bound on a journey —— a journey of which I cannot see the end, much less the returning. I doubt whether I should have decided to see you had it not been for this. But the chances are we shall never meet again."
"You mean you are engaged in some plot or conspiracy?"
"I mean what I have said —— no more, no less. I will now bid you adieu."
Angry as I was with the man, I could not refuse the hand he stretched out to me.
"Farewell," he said, "it may be that in some year or two I shall write to you and ask you if my predictions as to Pauline's recovery have been fulfilled; but do not trouble to seek me or to inquire for me if I am silent."
So we parted. The carriage was waiting to take mo back to the hotel. On my way thither I passed the man whom Ceneri had called Macari. He signalled to the driver to stop, and then entering the carriage sat beside me.
"You have seen the doctor, Mr. Vaughan?" he asked.
"Yes. I have just come from him."
"And have learned all you wish to know, I hope?"
"A great many of my questions have been answered."
"But not all. Ceneri would not answer all."
He laughed, and his laugh was cynical and mocking. I kept silence.
"Had you questioned me," he continued, "I might have told you more than Ceneri."
"I came here to ask Dr. Ceneri for all the information he could give me respecting my wife's mental state, of which I believe you are aware. If you can say anything that may be of use to me, I will beg you to speak."
"You asked him what caused it?"
"I did. He told me a shock."
"You asked him what shock. That he did not tell you?"
"He had his reasons for declining, I suppose."
"Yes. Excellent reasons —— family reasons."
"If you can enlighten me, kindly do so."
"Not here, Mr. Vaughan. The doctor and I are friends. You might fly back and assault him, and I should get blamed. You are going back to England, I suppose?"
"Yes. I start at once."
"Give me your address, and perhaps I will write; or, better still, if I feel inclined to be communicative, I will call upon you when I am next in London, and pay my respects to Mrs. Vaughan at the same time."
So eager was I to get at the bottom of the affair that I gave him my card. He then stopped the carriage and stepped out. He raised his hat, and there was a malicious triumph in his eyes as they met mine.
"Good-by, Mr. Vaughan. Perhaps after all you are to be congratulated upon being married to a woman whose past it is impossible to rake up."
With this parting shaft —— a shaft which struck deep and rankled —— he left me. It was well he did so, before I caught him by the throat and strove to force him to explain his last words.
Longing to see my poor wife again, I went back to England with all speed.
(End of Chapter Six)
Go to the next chapter
Back to the Called back menu
Back to the Hugh Conway literature page