‘Did Alfred Belassis fall in with his father’s plans for his future?’ asked Tor, in rather a peculiar tone.
‘Yes, I think so. He came here often, and paid us all a good deal of attention; but for several years nothing happened. I think it was four years before he even proposed to Celia. Maud had married your father by that time, and I think it was soon afterwards that he asked Celia; and they were engaged quite a long time. I used to think he didn’t really want to marry her—he kept putting it off so much. Men were generally afraid of Celia; I think that was why she never had an offer till Alfred Belassis asked her. I don’t think she ever cared very much for him; but father was for it, and she wished to be independent. I used often to fancy Alfred was half afraid of her. He was so very long in coming to the point.’
‘When were they married?’
‘In May, 1850—I remember I did not like them to be married in May; but Celia said it was all superstitious nonsense. Alfred would have waited till June, but Celia said if it wasn’t in May it should be in April; and then they settled for May. Celia had got quite out of patience with his “shilly-shallying.” She threatened to break off the match, if he never intended to get married.’
‘Why didn’t he break it off, if he was so much afraid?’
‘Oh, he never could bear her to talk like that. He was bent on the marriage, but he seemed so inclined to keep putting it off. He acted very oddly altogether. You know Celia was a good match; for I was cut out of father’s will when I married, and Maud and Celia had my fortune between them. Celia was father’s favourite, and she got the most in the end.’
Tor sat still, digesting what he had heard. All pointed conclusively to the theory he had formed, that Alfred Belassis had not verified the fact of his first wife’s death, before his marriage with Celia Maynard. He had evidently been summoned home suddenly, to hear of an increase of fortune, and fairly good worldly position, and the prospect of an excellent marriage; and he had not had the honesty or courage to confess that he was already married. A wife like Nelly Roberts would be a millstone round his neck all his life, preventing his ever rising to the standing he might otherwise hope to attain; and with his usual lack of principle, and clumsy cunning, he had trusted that chance would favour him, and that the ex-lady’s-maid would remain in the seclusion where he had left her, and never trouble him more.
At the end of seven years he evidently had heard nothing of her, and had then, though obviously with some misgivings, entered a second time into the bonds of ‘holy matrimony.’
‘Why do you ask all these questions, Philip?’ asked Mrs. Lorraine. ‘What can it matter now, how or when all this happened? I know it was an evil day for all of us when Belassis entered our family; but why do you want to know the details?’
‘I will tell you why, Aunt Olive. It is a disgraceful story enough, and I do not wish it to go further; but it will be safe with you; and I think one of the family should know it.’