“And whence and from whom did he obtain the information embodied in his letter to me, which we now know to be absolutely true. Those are questions, Louisa, which there seems little present probability of either you or I being able to answer.”
“At any rate,” said Lady Pell with a shrug, “it’s far from pleasant to know that, after everybody is in bed, the house is perambulated by someone who, to answer some purpose of his own, chooses to disguise himself as the family spectre. What becomes of him in the daytime? Who supplies him with food? He would seem to be able to come and go just as he likes, because he has mostly been seen out of doors in one part of the grounds or another.”
Sir Gilbert shook his head. “Mysteries all; more than that we cannot say. But stranger than all to me is the fact that, whoever he may be, he should have a knowledge of certain circumstances in the life of my son which only someone intimately acquainted with him during his brief American career would be at all likely to have. But from beginning to end the affair is altogether beyond my comprehension.”
“The allegations conveyed in the letter affect Mrs. Clare most seriously.”
“They do indeed. You have heard what Rispani said—that she was a consenting party to the fraud concocted by Verinder. But her every action from the time of her introduction to me affords incontestable proof of the fact. Oh, it is vile—vile I could not have believed it of her. No one could have appeared more open and straightforward than she. I had grown to like her, Louisa—to like her very much. I shall feel the blow for many a day to come—no, not for many, because at the most my remaining days can be but few.”
“According to the last note you had from her, Mrs. Clare may be here any day.”
“Almost at any hour, unless she should choose to break her journey at London instead of coming direct through to the Chase.”
“You will see her when she arrives?”
“It will be no more than just that I should do so. Every opportunity shall be afforded her of refuting the charges which have been brought against her, but that she will succeed in doing so I greatly doubt.”
Again for two or three minutes he seemed lost in thought, then he went on: “I cannot deny that, in a certain sense, it is an immense relief to me to find that Rispani is not my grandson. I have felt from the first, not merely that he would fail to be a credit to the family, but that he would be nearly sure to entail positive discredit on it, and that the unsullied name of the Clares would be passed on by him fouled and dishonoured to whomsoever might succeed him. Yes, I can afford to be very thankful that, being such as he is, he is proved to be no grandson of mine. Better, far better, that the direct line should die with me than that it should be continued in one so utterly unworthy of the traditions of his race. But with Alec’s widow it is different. Rispani the impostor we have done with; he will go and trouble us no more; but she—she will still remain my daughter-in-law; how vilely soever she may have acted, whatever she may have been guilty of, the tie is one which cannot be severed.”