CHAPTER XXVI. A SECRET CORRESPONDENCE.
A beautiful peace had descended upon Wyngham House on the departure of the Graham-Shutes. There were no more scurryings up and down stairs on unimportant errands; no more conversations carried on at opposite ends of the house. Mrs. Abercarne rejoiced articulately in the change; but to Chris the satisfaction brought by the change was tempered by many things.
For one thing, the girl was troubled by the consciousness that she was not acting quite openly, and by a fear of what the consequences would be if she were to do so. Her first meetings with Mr. Richard she had concealed from her mother for a perfectly good and honest reason, the fear of giving Mrs. Abercarne unnecessary alarm. Later, when she had begun to feel sure that Mr. Richard was not so mad as was supposed, Chris had thought it a pity to worry her mother with her story while Mrs. Abercarne spent her days in a tempest of irritation against her declared enemy, Mrs. Graham-Shute.
But now these excuses for reticence had disappeared, and still she hesitated to confide in her mother. For her confidence, if it was to be in any way genuine or whole-hearted, must now be in the nature of a confession. She did not now try to cheat herself into the belief that she had no deeply personal interest in the occupant of the east wing; indeed, all her thoughts were occupied in wondering why he was kept there, and in devising schemes for releasing him from his unhappy position. Certain words he had used in his letter had struck her to the heart. He had mentioned the infirmity she must have noticed; so that Chris, even in spite of herself, was obliged to admit that her lover, although not insane, for that she refused to believe, suffered from sudden lapses of memory, or fits of unconsciousness, which would certainly make him, in her mother’s eyes, a “most ineligible person,” while his eccentric habit of silence would increase this impression. For Mrs. Abercarne would not be ready, as Chris was, to explain these things tenderly away, and account for them by his long and enforced seclusion.
So that Chris seemed rather depressed than exhilarated by the departure of the noisy relations, whose presence had made it easier for her to hide her secret troubles from her mother.
Mr. Bradfield also suffered from the departure of his guests; at least, that was the inference Mrs. Abercarne drew, with some asperity, from his gloomy looks. But, in truth, although the sudden change from excessive noise to excessive tranquillity proved trying to his nerves, the causes of Mr. Bradfield’s uneasiness had a much deeper root than this.
He was brooding over the consciousness of a crime which would not have troubled him in the least, but for the fear he now entertained that he would be found out.
Now John Bradfield’s roughness and abruptness of manner were not accompanied by as much energy of character as might have been supposed. Nor was he a man possessed of much fertility of invention or resource. Therefore, although conscious that the cunning Stelfox was in possession of certain knowledge which he had concealed from his master, John Bradfield vacillated between two courses; the one was to come to an understanding with the servant, the other was to let things go on for a while and await fresh developments before embarking on a hazardous course of action.