Harry Joscelyn; vol. 3 of 3

by Mrs. Oliphant

“You see meaning in everything,” he said, “more than there is, more than there can be, Lydia. All that about his child’s name is just your own delicate feeling—though after all, when one comes to think of it, Ralph! it is an odd name for a little Italian boy.”

“And the girl is Giovanna; you said yourself it was the same name as Joan.”

“Did I? I am sure I did not mean anything,” said Lionel, with a short laugh, and then he cried, “By Jove!” again. “I really do think there is something in it. He gave a look, I remember now, as if he did understand, as if he thought I meant something. It looks very odd, Lydia; and I had a strong impression he was like some one that I had seen him before.”

“He is like—all of us,” said Lydia, with a little breathless gasp, “not one nor another, but all. But tell me, tell me what to do! We have only to-day, a few hours, nothing more!”

“As for that,” said Lionel, “of course, if this turns out so important, my mother must simply arrange to stay till we see the end of it. She will not mind, she will like to jump into the middle of a romance; and my father will easily be persuaded to stay, there will be no difficulty about that.”

And then there was a long debate and consultation between them; a debate—for Lionel, not understanding that even when a human creature is a woman she likes to do her work with her own hands, was for proceeding to the Vice-Consul himself, and going through all the pros and cons, and bringing the result to her, to save her fatigue, and to keep her from all disagreeable contact with the world; whereas Lydia’s most prevailing desire was to follow out the clue at which she had caught, and to track her prey into his last refuge, and to unveil the impostor. She did not use these words, but this was the course upon which she was intent. She was not afraid of contact with the world, or of what anybody might say. The discussion rose somewhat hotly between them as the servants came and went, laying the table, bringing in the English urn and teapot, which all the Inglesi preferred. They were still sitting close together, talking warmly, interrupting each other, Lydia’s face glowing with the excitement of the situation, when Lady Brotherton appeared. She was startled by the sight, but for the moment she did not ask any questions, being much pre-occupied by Sir John’s breakfast, that the tea should be strong enough without being too strong, that the cream should not be “turned,” and that the fish should be done to his mind. She did not take much notice of them, and the meeting between them broke up, each retiring upon his and her own side of the question. Lydia was too much excited to talk, or to think, of ordinary things. She sat at the table as upon thorns, and the moment the meal was over, got up with some excuse and hastened away. Lionel followed her a few minutes after. He lingered in the hall, hoping he might be in time, at least, to go with her, wherever she might choose to go. But as she did not come, after half-an-hour’s waiting Lionel resolved to act upon his own theory, and accordingly set out on his volunteer mission, hoping that she might have thought better of it, and was staying with dignity in her room, however anxious she might be, waiting till he, her representative, should bring her news. It was a pretty division of labour, and one that fell in with all Lionel’s views.

CHAPTER XII.
ACTING FOR HERSELF.

BUT it is not to be supposed that Lydia, her whole being ablaze with excitement and eagerness, was likely to assent to this masculine view of what was best for her. Before Lionel had got downstairs into the hall, where he waited so long to intercept any rash enterprise she might be bound on, she had stolen out, tremulous yet brave, and was speeding along the morning streets, where the passers-by, who gazed at her with that frank admiration which Italians feel, without any impertinence of meaning, to be the due of every pretty woman—excused, yet wondered at her solitary progress, on the score that everything was to be pardoned to an Englishwoman. Lydia herself was confused by the looks she met on every side, but her mind was so entirely preoccupied that they made less impression upon her than they would have done had it been at freedom, and it did not occur to her that she was being guilty of any breach of decorum. What troubled her more was that she was uncertain of the way, having paid but little attention to it last night, and she was shy of asking which turning to take. But by right of the inspiration that was in her, and of that good fortune which attends daring, she at last found herself in a street which she recognised, and saw with a beating heart the well-known shield over the doorway. It was not to the official entrance she was bound. She saw with a smile, even in the midst of all the ferment of her agitation, the little Italian, her admirer of the previous night, in light clothes and a cigar, making his way towards it; and, lingering a moment till he disappeared within the doorway, she hurried after him till she got safely within the shelter of the courtyard and to the door of the Vice-Consul’s house.

The Vice-Consul that morning had been early astir. He had been painfully affected by the half-revelation of last night. All these years, since the beginning of their intercourse when he had framed his theory about Harry’s parentage so easily, and satisfied himself so entirely that he must be right, nothing had occurred to put this theory to the test. The marriage had taken place while he was still ill, and in a state of some danger, and perhaps at the bottom of his heart he was glad and relieved to be in a condition which made all inquiries impossible, and which forced him to throw himself upon Harry’s honour. He had never had any occasion to be shaken in his faith as to that honour personally, and use and wont had made everything natural. For years he had not thought on the question. Nothing had occurred to bring it up. The serene domestic life had flowed along, and notwithstanding the drawbacks on Mr. Bonamy’s part which have been already noted, they had been happy together. He was aware that, though he might sometimes grudge Harry the position he had acquired in Rita’s affection, yet that he himself would have been the first to miss him had any accident taken Harry away. But at the first whisper of a real discovery of his son-in-law’s antecedents, Mr. Bonamy was roused out of the quiescence of years. The very suggestion of some one bearing Harry’s name roused him, and something about Harry, an awakened attention in his eyes, a strain of watchfulness quite unusual with his simple, easy-going nature had aided the impression. He had already heard something from Miss Joscelyn, and was on his way to learn more when Harry had interrupted the conversation, calling him away for a matter of business to which strictly speaking it was necessary that he should give his attention, but which in other circumstances his son-in-law, he felt sure, would have managed himself rather than disturb him among his guests. And what he had heard had roused him still more. It was evident that the person, whoever he was, who bore the same name was not a relation to be proud of, and the Vice-Consul too was impressed by the fact, dimly apparent, that Harry had shown no surprise and asked no questions when this namesake was spoken of. There had been that look in his eyes, eveillé, on the watch, on his guard; but no curiosity—and he had not said a word about it when the guests were gone. Neither had Rita said anything about it, which would have seemed so natural. She had not asked who Miss Joscelyn was speaking of, or what she was speaking of; but had maintained a complete silence on the subject. All this awakened the Vice-Consul’s anxious curiosity. He was on the watch at breakfast next morning, hoping that something might be said, that Harry might laugh at the suggestion made to him, or take some notice of it. But nothing occurred to throw the least light upon the subject. Harry was still watchful, still on his guard, but chiefly occupied with little Madge and the baby, whom he brought in to breakfast seated high upon his shoulder, and who occupied him completely in a way which filled the elder man, though he had usually all the indulgence of a grandfather for his descendants, with impatience. He was glad to get away from this scene, rising somewhat abruptly, and going out without any explanation. Had Lydia come the direct way she would have met Mr. Bonamy and saved him a great deal of annoyance and trouble. But, as she took two or three wrong turnings, the Vice-Consul reached the inn and was shown up to the sitting-room to wait for Lady Brotherton about the same time that Lydia reached his house; and Lionel, by no means so sure what to do as either of these straightforward and one-idead persons, had gone to the English bankers, the best-informed persons he could think of, to see what information about Mr. Isaac Oliver he could pick up there.

Lady Brotherton was still busy about Sir John’s breakfast, endeavouring to beguile him to the simple luxury of an egg instead of the something much less safe on which he had set his fancy. “You must not forget that we start to-night; that we have a sea voyage before us,” she was saying. “Morsh-a reason for deshunt breakfast now,” said the invalid, and chuckled and laughed at his own cleverness. His wife was not at all disposed to go downstairs and hear what Mr. Bonamy might have to say. “Let’sh have old Bonamy up here—show him up here,” Sir John said; but that was so much worse that Lady Brotherton left him to his ortolan, and went off to answer her untimely visitor. She thought it was no doubt a mere visit of goodwill, to inquire “if he could be of any use.” “As if we wanted anybody to be of use! As if we were not experienced enough to know what we want, and how to get it,” she said to herself, as she went to the unwelcome guest. Her mind was a little perturbed besides; the servant had declared that he could not find either Mr. Brotherton or Miss Joscelyn. They had both gone out. Where had they gone, had they gone together? she asked, but nobody could tell. Now Lady Brotherton had bidden them to go out together, had said they were cousins, and had no need of a chaperon, but she did not like this adoption of her advice so suddenly. The last morning, just when Sir John wanted special managing, that he might commit no imprudence before the evening, and when they might have known Mr. Bonamy would be sure to call!