THE VENICE MYSTERIES: The Woman in White, The Haunted Hotel & The Moonstone (3 Books in One Edition). Wilkie Collins CollinsЧитать онлайн книгу.
than you have treated mine.”
This unfortunate, yet most natural, reference to the Count’s extraordinary power over her husband, indirect as it was, set Sir Percival’s smouldering temper on fire again in an instant.
“Scruples!” he repeated. “YOUR scruples! It is rather late in the day for you to be scrupulous. I should have thought you had got over all weakness of that sort, when you made a virtue of necessity by marrying me.”
The instant he spoke those words, Laura threw down the pen — looked at him with an expression in her eyes which, throughout all my experience of her, I had never seen in them before, and turned her back on him in dead silence.
This strong expression of the most open and the most bitter contempt was so entirely unlike herself, so utterly out of her character, that it silenced us all. There was something hidden, beyond a doubt, under the mere surface-brutality of the words which her husband had just addressed to her. There was some lurking insult beneath them, of which I was wholly ignorant, but which had left the mark of its profanation so plainly on her face that even a stranger might have seen it.
The Count, who was no stranger, saw it as distinctly as I did. When I left my chair to join Laura, I heard him whisper under his breath to Sir Percival, “You idiot!”
Laura walked before me to the door as I advanced, and at the same time her husband spoke to her once more.
“You positively refuse, then, to give me your signature?” he said, in the altered tone of a man who was conscious that he had let his own licence of language seriously injure him.
“After what you have just said to me,” she replied firmly, “I refuse my signature until I have read every line in that parchment from the first word to the last. Come away, Marian, we have remained here long enough.”
“One moment!” interposed the Count before Sir Percival could speak again —“one moment, Lady Glyde, I implore you!”
Laura would have left the room without noticing him, but I stopped her.
“Don’t make an enemy of the Count!” I whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t make an enemy of the Count!”
She yielded to me. I closed the door again, and we stood near it waiting. Sir Percival sat down at the table, with his elbow on the folded parchment, and his head resting on his clenched fist. The Count stood between us — master of the dreadful position in which we were placed, as he was master of everything else.
“Lady Glyde,” he said, with a gentleness which seemed to address itself to our forlorn situation instead of to ourselves, “pray pardon me if I venture to offer one suggestion, and pray believe that I speak out of my profound respect and my friendly regard for the mistress of this house.” He turned sharply towards Sir Percival. “Is it absolutely necessary,” he asked “that this thing here, under your elbow, should be signed to-day?”
“It is necessary to my plans and wishes,” returned the other sulkily. “But that consideration, as you may have noticed, has no influence with Lady Glyde.”
“Answer my plain question plainly. Can the business of the signature be put off till to-morrow — Yes or No?”
“Yes, if you will have it so.”
“Then what are you wasting your time for here? Let the signature wait till to-morrow — let it wait till you come back.”
Sir Percival looked up with a frown and an oath.
“You are taking a tone with me that I don’t like,” he said. “A tone I won’t bear from any man.”
“I am advising you for your good,” returned the Count, with a smile of quiet contempt. “Give yourself time — give Lady Glyde time. Have you forgotten that your dog-cart is waiting at the door? My tone surprises you — ha? I dare say it does — it is the tone of a man who can keep his temper. How many doses of good advice have I given you in my time? More than you can count. Have I ever been wrong? I defy you to quote me an instance of it. Go! take your drive. The matter of the signature can wait till to-morrow. Let it wait — and renew it when you come back.”
Sir Percival hesitated and looked at his watch. His anxiety about the secret journey which he was to take that day, revived by the Count’s words, was now evidently disputing possession of his mind with his anxiety to obtain Laura’s signature. He considered for a little while, and then got up from his chair.
“It is easy to argue me down,” he said, “when I have no time to answer you. I will take your advice, Fosco — not because I want it, or believe in it, but because I can’t stop here any longer.” He paused, and looked round darkly at his wife. “If you don’t give me your signature when I come back to-morrow!” The rest was lost in the noise of his opening the book-case cupboard again, and locking up the parchment once more. He took his hat and gloves off the table, and made for the door. Laura and I drew back to let him pass. “Remember to-morrow!” he said to his wife, and went out.
We waited to give him time to cross the hall and drive away. The Count approached us while we were standing near the door.
“You have just seen Percival at his worst, Miss Halcombe,” he said. “As his old friend, I am sorry for him and ashamed of him. As his old friend, I promise you that he shall not break out to-morrow in the same disgraceful manner in which he has broken out to-day.”
Laura had taken my arm while he was speaking and she pressed it significantly when he had done. It would have been a hard trial to any woman to stand by and see the office of apologist for her husband’s misconduct quietly assumed by his male friend in her own house — and it was a trial to HER. I thanked the Count civilly, and let her out. Yes! I thanked him: for I felt already, with a sense of inexpressible helplessness and humiliation, that it was either his interest or his caprice to make sure of my continuing to reside at Blackwater Park, and I knew after Sir Percival’s conduct to me, that without the support of the Count’s influence, I could not hope to remain there. His influence, the influence of all others that I dreaded most, was actually the one tie which now held me to Laura in the hour of her utmost need!
We heard the wheels of the dog-cart crashing on the gravel of the drive as we came into the hall. Sir Percival had started on his journey.
“Where is he going to, Marian?” Laura whispered. “Every fresh thing he does seems to terrify me about the future. Have you any suspicions?”
After what she had undergone that morning, I was unwilling to tell her my suspicions.
“How should I know his secrets?” I said evasively.
“I wonder if the housekeeper knows?” she persisted.
“Certainly not,” I replied. “She must be quite as ignorant as we are.”
Laura shook her head doubtfully.
“Did you not hear from the housekeeper that there was a report of Anne Catherick having been seen in this neighbourhood? Don’t you think he may have gone away to look for her?”
“I would rather compose myself, Laura, by not thinking about it at all, and after what has happened, you had better follow my example. Come into my room, and rest and quiet yourself a little.”
We sat down together close to the window, and let the fragrant summer air breathe over our faces.
“I am ashamed to look at you, Marian,” she said, “after what you submitted to downstairs, for my sake. Oh, my own love, I am almost heartbroken when I think of it! But I will try to make it up to you — I will indeed!”
“Hush! hush!” I replied; “don’t talk so. What is the trifling mortification of my pride compared to the dreadful sacrifice of your happiness?”
“You heard what he said to me?” she went on quickly and vehemently. “You heard the words — but you don’t know what they meant — you don’t know why I threw down the pen and turned my back on him.” She rose in sudden agitation, and walked about the room. “I