IN LINCOLN'S INN.
Ledantec, alias Hobson, had at once reported progress to Mrs. Wilders. The day after his arrival in Paris she had heard from him. He wrote—
"Have no fears. The police are on his track. They have his exact description, and are watching at the Mairie. Directly he shows himself he will be arrested as Rupert Gascoigne, tried, condemned. They do these things well in France. You will never hear of him again."
There was much to quiet and console her in these words. After the dreadful surprise of Rupert's reappearance she had been a prey to the keenest anxiety. The whole edifice, built up with such patient, unscrupulous effort, had threatened to crumble away. Bitter disappointment seemed inevitable just when her highest hopes were nearest fulfilment.
But now, thanks to her unscrupulous confederate, the staunch friend who had stood by her so often before, the last and worst difficulty was removed, and everything would be well.
Another day passed without further intelligence from Paris, but Ledantec's silence aroused no fresh apprehensions. Doubtless there was nothing special to tell; matters were progressing favourably, of course; until her husband was actually arrested, she could expect to hear nothing more.
On the evening of the third day, however—that, in fact, following Gascoigne's visit to the Mairie—she had a short letter from Lincoln's Inn. Lord Essendine's lawyers wrote her, begging she would call on them early next day, as they had an important communication to make to her. His lordship himself would be present, and their noble client had suggested, if that would suit her, an appointment for twelve noon.
"At last! They mean to do the right thing at last," she said, exultingly. "The proud old man is humbled; he fears the extinction of his ancient line, and must make overtures now to me. My boy is the heir; they cannot resist his rights; his claim is undeniable. He shall be amply provided for; I shall insist on the most liberal terms."
Fully satisfied of the cause of her summons to Lincoln's Inn, Mrs. Wilders presented herself punctually at twelve. Although she still schooled her face to sorrowful commiseration with the old peer whom fate had so sorely stricken, the elation she felt was manifest in her proud, arrogant carriage, and the triumphant glitter of her bold brown eyes.
Lord Essendine was with the senior partner, Mr. Burt, when she was shown in; and although he arose stiffly, but courteously, from his seat, did not take her outstretched hand, while his greeting was cold and formal in the extreme.
There was a long pause, and, as neither of the gentlemen spoke, Mrs. Wilders began.
"You sent for me, my lord—"
His lordship waved his hand toward Mr. Burt, as though she must address herself to the old lawyer.
"Mrs. Wilders," said Mr. Burt, gravely and with great deliberation—"Mrs. Wilders, if that indeed be your correct appellation—"
And the doubt thus implied, reviving her worst fears, sent a cold shock to her heart.
But she was outwardly brave.
"How dare you!" she cried with indignant defiance in her tone. "Have you only brought me here to insult me? I appeal to your lordship. Is this the treatment I am to expect? I, your cousin's widow—"
"One moment, madam," interposed the lawyer. "To be a widow it is first necessary to have been a wife."
"Do you presume to say I was not General Wilders's wife?" she asked hotly.
"Not his lawful wife. Stay, madam," he said, seeing Mrs. Wilders half rise from her chair. "You must hear me out. We have evidence, the clearest seemingly; disprove it if you can."
"What evidence?"
"The certificate of your other marriage. It is here."
"How came you by it?" she inquired eagerly.
"No matter, it is all in proper form; you could not contest it, understand."
"Well? I never pretended when I gave my hand to Colonel Wilders that I had not been married before. He was well aware of it."
"But not that your first husband was alive at the time."
"It is false! He was dead—drowned; he drowned himself in the Seine."
"Your first husband is alive still, and you know it. You have seen him yourself within these last few days. He is ready to come forward at any time. It is he in fact who has furnished us with these proofs."
"I shall protest, dispute, contest this to the uttermost. It is a base, discreditable plot against a weak, helpless, defenceless woman," said Mrs. Wilders with effrontery; but despair was in her heart.
How Ledantec has deceived her!
"Is that all you have to say to me?" she went on at length after another pause. "You, Lord Essendine—my husband's relative and friend, one of the richest and proudest men in this purse-proud land—how chivalrous, how brave of you, to bring me here to load me with vile aspersions, to rob me of my character; my child, my little friendless orphan boy, of the inheritance which is his by right of birth!"
"Do not let us get into recriminations, madam," said Lord Essendine, speaking for the first time. "It is to speak of your boy, mainly, that I wished for this interview."
"Poor child!"
"Whatever blot may stain his birth, I cannot forget that he has Wilders's blood in his veins. He is Cousin Bill's son still."
"You admit so much? Many thanks," she sneered. "And since these heavy blows have struck us, blow after blow, he is the sole survivor of the house. I am willing—nay, anxious—to recognise him."
"Indeed! How truly generous of you!" There was no telling whether the speech was genuine, or another sneer.
"He cannot bear the title, but I can make him my heir. He may succeed to the position in due course—I hardly care how soon."
"Are you mocking me, Lord Essendine?"
"I am in sober earnest. I will do what I say, but only on one condition."
"And that is?"
"That you give up the child, absolutely, and forever."
"What! part with the only thing left me to love and cherish—"
"One moment, madam," interposed the lawyers "before your emotion overpowers you. We happen to be able to judge of the extent of your affection for your only son."
"How so?"
"We know you care so little for him that for month, you never see the child. It was left in England when you went to the Crimea—"
"With my husband. Besides, I could not have made a nursery of Lord Lydstone's yacht."
"And since you settled in London you have sent it to a nurse in the country."
"It was better for the child."
"No doubt you know best. However, this discussion is unnecessary. Will you comply with his lordship's conditions, and part with the child?"
"Never!"
"Remember, the offer will not be renewed."
"And what, pray, would become of me? You deprive me of everything—present joy in my offspring, his affection in coming years. I shall be alone, friendless—a beggar, perhaps."
"As to that, you must trust to his lordship's generosity."
"Little as you deserve it," added Lord Essendine, meaningfully.
She turned on him at once.
"Of what do you accuse me?"
"Of much that I forbear to repeat now. But I will spare you—I will leave you to your own conscience and—"
"What else, pray?"
"The law. It may seize you yet, madam, and it has a tight grip."
"I shall not remain here to be so grossly insulted. If you have anything more to say to me, my lord, you must write."
"And you refuse to give up the child?"
"You had better put your proposals on paper, Lord Essendine. I may consider them in my child's interests, although the separation would be almost too bitter to bear. I may add, however, that I will consent to nothing that does not include some settlement on myself—"
"As to that," said the lawyer, "his lordship declines to bind himself—is it not so, my lord?"
"Quite; I will make no promises. But she will not find me ungenerous if she will accept my terms."
And so the interview ended. There was no further reference made to the unpleasant facts now brought to light by the letter and documents sent over by Hyde. Mrs. Wilders, as we shall still call her, knew that she could not dispute them; that any protest in the shape of law proceedings would only make more public her own shame and discomfiture. But if she was beaten she would not confess it yet; and at least she was resolved that the enemy who had so ruthlessly betrayed her should not enjoy his triumph.