Books: He Knew He Was Right

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'Of course it is too late. The man must marry whom he pleases. I am
beginning to wonder that anybody should ever want to get married. I am
indeed.'

'But what are the girls to do?'

'I don't know what anybody is to do. Here is a man as mad as a March
hare, and yet nobody can touch him. If it was not for the child, I
should advise Emily to put him out of her head altogether.'

But though Sir Marmaduke could not bring himself to take any interest
in Mr Glascock's affairs, and would not ask a single question
respecting the fearful American female whom this unfortunate man was
about to translate to the position of an English peeress, yet
circumstances so fell out that before three days were over he and Mr
Glascock were thrown together in very intimate relations. Sir Marmaduke
had learned that Mr Glascock was the only Englishman in Florence to
whom Trevelyan had been known, and that he was the only person with
whom Trevelyan had been seen to speak while passing through the city.
In his despair, therefore, Sir Marmaduke had gone to Mr Glascock, and
it was soon arranged that the two gentlemen should renew the search at
Siena together, without having with them either Mrs Trevelyan or the
courier. Mr Glascock knew the ways of the people better than did Sir
Marmaduke, and could speak the language. He obtained a passport to the
good offices of the police at Siena, and went prepared to demand rather
than to ask for assistance. They started very early, before breakfast,
and on arriving at Siena at about noon, first employed themselves in
recruiting exhausted nature. By the time that they had both declared
that the hotel at Siena was the very worst in all Italy, and that a
breakfast without eatable butter was not to be considered a breakfast
at all, they had become so intimate that Mr Glascock spoke of his own
intended marriage. He must have done this with the conviction on his
mind that Nora Rowley would have told her mother of his former
intention, and that Lady Rowley would have told Sir Marmaduke; but he
did not feel it to be incumbent on himself to say anything on that
subject. He had nothing to excuse. He had behaved fairly and
honourably. It was not to be expected that he should remain unmarried
for ever for the sake of a girl who had twice refused him. 'Of course
there are very many in England,' he said, 'who will think me foolish to
marry a girl from another country.'

'It is done every day,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'No doubt it is. I admit, however, that I ought to be more careful than
some other persons. There is a title and an estate to be perpetuated,
and I cannot, perhaps, be justified in taking quite so much liberty as
some other men may do; but I think I have chosen a woman born to have a
high position, and who will make her own way in any society in which
she may be placed.'

'I have no doubt she will,' said Sir Marmaduke, who had still sounding
in his ears the alarming description which his wife had given him of
this infatuated man's proposed bride. But he would have been bound to
say as much had Mr Glascock intended to marry as lowly as did King
Cophetua.

'She is highly educated, gentle-mannered, as sweetly soft as any
English girl I ever met, and very pretty. You have met her, I think.'

'I do not remember that I have observed her.'

'She is too young for me, perhaps,' said Mr Glascock; 'but that is a
fault on the right side.' Sir Marmaduke, as he wiped his beard after
his breakfast, remembered what his wife had told him about the lady's
age. But it was nothing to him.'she is four-and-twenty, I think,' said
Mr Glascock. If Mr Glascock chose to believe that his intended wife was
four-and-twenty instead of something over forty, that was nothing to
Sir Marmaduke.

'The very best age in the world,' said he.

They had sent for an officer of the police, and before they had been
three hours in Siena they had been told that Trevelyan lived about
seven miles from the town, in a small and very remote country house,
which he had hired for twelve months from one of the city hospitals. He
had hired it furnished, and had purchased a horse and small carriage
from a man in the town. To this man they went, and it soon became
evident to them that he of whom they were in search was living at this
house, which was called Casalunga, and was not, as the police officer
told them, on the way to any place. They must leave Siena by the road
for Rome, take a turn to the left about a mile beyond the city gate,
and continue on along the country lane till they saw a certain round
hill to the right. On the top of that round hill was Casalunga. As the
country about Siena all lies in round hills, this was no adequate
description but it was suggested that the country people would know all
about it. They got a small open carriage in the market-place, and were
driven out. Their driver knew nothing of Casalunga, and simply went
whither he was told. But by the aid of the country people they got
along over the unmade lanes, and in little more than an hour were told,
at the bottom of the hill, that they must now walk up to Casalunga.
Though the hill was round-topped, and no more than a hill, still the
ascent at last was very steep, and was paved with stones set edgeway in
a manner that could hardly have been intended to accommodate wheels.
When Mr Glascock asserted that the signor who lived there had a
carriage of his own, the driver suggested that he must keep it at the
bottom of the hill. It was clearly not his intention to attempt to
drive up the ascent, and Sir Marmaduke and Mr Glascock were therefore
obliged to walk. It was now in the latter half of May, and there was a
blazing Italian sky over their heads. Mr Glascock was acclimated to
Italian skies, and did not much mind the work; but Sir Marmaduke, who
never did much in walking, declared that Italy was infinitely hotter
than the Mandarins, and could hardly make his way as far as the house
door.

It seemed to both of them to be a most singular abode for such a man as
Trevelyan. At the top of the hill there was a huge entrance through a
wooden gateway, which seemed to have been constructed with the
intention of defying any intruders not provided with warlike
ammunition. The gates were, indeed, open at the period of their visit,
but it must be supposed that they were intended to be closed at any
rate at night. Immediately on the right, as they entered through the
gates, there was a large barn, in which two men were coopering wine
vats. From thence a path led slanting to the house, of which the door
was shut, and all the front windows blocked with shutters. The house
was very long, and only of one story for a portion of its length. Over
that end at which the door was placed there were upper rooms, and there
must have been space enough for a large family with many domestics.
There was nothing round or near the residence which could be called a
garden, so that its look of desolation was extreme. There were various
large barns and outhouses, as though it had been intended by the
builder that corn and hay and cattle should be kept there; but it
seemed now that there was nothing there except the empty vats at which
the two men were coopering. Had the Englishmen gone farther into the
granary, they would have seen that there were wine-presses stored away
in the dark corners.

They stopped and looked at the men, and the men halted for a moment
from their work and looked at them; but the men spoke never a word. Mr
Glascock then asked after Mr Trevelyan, and one of the coopers pointed
to the house. Then they crossed over to the door, and Mr Glascock
finding there neither knocker nor bell, first tapped with his knuckles,
and then struck with his stick. But no one came. There was not a sound
in the house, and no shutter was removed. 'I don't believe that there
is a soul here,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'We'll not give it up till we've seen it all at any rate,' said Mr
Glascock. And so they went round to the other front.

On this side of the house the tilled ground, either ploughed or dug
with the spade, came up to the very windows. There was hardly even a
particle of grass to be seen. A short way down the hill there were rows
of olive trees, standing in prim order and at regular distances, from
which hung the vines that made the coopering of the vats necessary.
Olives and vines have pretty names, and call up associations of
landscape beauty. But here they were in no way beautiful. The ground
beneath them was turned up, and brown, and arid, so that there was not
a blade of grass to be seen. On some furrows the maize or Indian corn
was sprouting, and there were patches of growth of other kinds each
patch closely marked by its own straight lines; and there were narrow
paths, so constructed as to take as little room as possible. But all
that had been done had been done for economy, and nothing for beauty.
The occupiers of Casalunga had thought more of the produce of their
land than of picturesque or attractive appearance.

The sun was blazing fiercely hot, hotter on this side, Sir Marmaduke
thought, even than on the other; and there was not a wavelet of a cloud
in the sky. A balcony ran the whole length of the house, and under this
Sir Marmaduke took shelter at once, leaning with his back against the
wall. 'There is not a soul here at all,' said he.

'The men in the barn told us that there was,' said Mr Glascock; 'and,
at any rate, we will try the windows.' So saying, he walked along the
front of the house, Sir Marmaduke following him slowly, till they came
to a door, the upper half of which was glazed, and through which they
looked into one of the rooms. Two or three of the other windows in this
frontage of the house came down to the ground, and were made for egress
and ingress; but they had all been closed with shutters, as though the
house was deserted. But they now looked into a room which contained
some signs of habitation. There was a small table with a marble top, on
which lay two or three books, and there were two arm-chairs in the
room, with gilded arms and legs, and a morsel of carpet, and a clock
on, a shelf over a stove, and a rocking-horse. 'The boy is here, you
may be sure,' said Mr Glascock. 'The rocking-horse makes that certain.
But how are we to get at any one!'

'I never saw such a place for an Englishman to come and live in
before,' said Sir Marmaduke. 'What on earth can he do here all day!' As
he spoke the door of the room was opened, and there was Trevelyan
standing before them, looking at them through the window. He wore an
old red English dressing-gown, which came down to his feet, and a small
braided Italian cap on his head. His beard had been allowed to grow,
and he had neither collar nor cravat. His trousers were unbraced, and
he shuffled in with a pair of slippers, which would hardly cling to his
feet. He was paler and still thinner than when he had been visited at
Willesden, and his eyes seemed to be larger, and shone almost with a
brighter brilliancy.

Mr Glascock tried to open the door, but found that it was closed.'sir
Marmaduke and I have come to visit you,' said Mr Glascock, aloud. 'Is
there any means by which we can get into the house?' Trevelyan stood
still and stared at them. 'We knocked at the front door, but nobody
came,' continued Mr Glascock. 'I suppose this is the way you usually go
in and out.'

'He does not mean to let us in,' whispered Sir Marmaduke.

'Can you open this door,' said Mr Glascock, 'or shall we go round
again?' Trevelyan had stood still contemplating them, but at last came
forward and put back the bolt. 'That is all right,' said Mr Glascock,
entering. 'I am sure you will be glad to see Sir Marmaduke.'

'I should be glad to see him or you, if I could entertain you,' said
Trevelyan. His voice was harsh and hard, and his words were uttered
with a certain amount of intended grandeur. 'Any of the family would be
welcome were it not--'

'Were it not what?' asked Mr Glascock.

'It can be nothing to you, sir, what troubles I have here. This is my
own abode, in which I had flattered myself that I could be free from
intruders. I do not want visitors. I am sorry that you should have had
trouble in coming here, but I do not want visitors. I am very sorry
that I have nothing that I can offer you, Mr Glascock.'

'Emily is in Florence,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'Who brought her? Did I tell her to come? Let her go back to her home.
I have come here to be free from her, and I mean to be free. If she
wants my money, let her take it.'

'She wants her child,' said Mr Glascock.

'He is my child,' said Trevelyan, 'and my right to him is better than
hers. Let her try it in a court of law, and she shall see. Why did she
deceive me with that man? Why has she driven me to this? Look here, Mr
Glascock my whole life is spent in this seclusion, and it is her
fault.'

'Your wife is innocent of all fault, Trevelyan,' said Mr Glascock.

'Any woman can say as much as that and all women do say it. Yet what
are they worth?'

'Do you mean, sir, to take away your wife's character?' said Sir
Marmaduke, coming up in wrath. 'Remember that she is my daughter, and
that there are things which flesh and blood cannot stand.'

'She is my wife, sir, and that is ten times more. Do you think that you
would do more for her than I would do drink more of Esill? You had
better go away, Sir Marmaduke. You can do no good by coming here and
talking of your daughter. I would have given the world to save her but
she would not be saved.'

'You are a slanderer!' said Sir Marmaduke, in his wrath.

Mr Glascock turned round to the father, and tried to quiet him. It was
so manifest to him that the balance of the poor man's mind was gone,
that it seemed to him to be ridiculous to upbraid the sufferer. He was
such a piteous sight to behold, that it was almost impossible to feel
indignation against him. 'You cannot wonder,' said Mr Glascock,
advancing close to the master of the house, 'that the mother should
want to see her only child. You do not wish that your wife should be
the most wretched woman in the world.'

'Am not I the most wretched of men? Can anything be more wretched than
this? Is her life worse than mine? And whose fault was it? Had I any
friend to whom she objected? Was I untrue to her in a single thought?'

'If you say that she was untrue, it is a falsehood,' said Sir
Marmaduke.

'You allow yourself a liberty of expression, sir, because you are my
wife's father,' said Trevelyan, 'which you would not dare to take in
other circumstances.'

'I say that it is a false calumny a lie! and I would say so to any man
on earth who should dare to slander my child's name.'

'Your child, sir! She is my wife my wife my wife!' Trevelyan, as he
spoke, advanced close up to his father-in-law; and at last hissed out
his words, with his lips close to Sir Marmaduke's face. 'Your right in
her is gone, sir. She is mine mine mine! And you see the way in which
she has treated me, Mr Glascock. Everything I had was hers; but the
words of a grey-haired sinner were sweeter to her than all my love. I
wonder whether you think that it is a pleasant thing for such a one as
I to come out here and live in such a place as this? I have not a
friend a companion hardly a book. There is nothing that I can eat or
drink! I do not stir out of the house and I am ill very ill! Look at
me. See what she has brought me to! Mr Glascock, on my honour as a man,
I never wronged her in a thought or a word.'

Mr Glascock had come to think that his best chance of doing any good
was to get Trevelyan into conversation with himself, free from the
interruption of Sir Marmaduke. The father of the injured woman could
not bring himself to endure the hard words that were spoken of his
daughter. During this last speech he had broken out once or twice; but
Trevelyan, not heeding him, had clung to Mr Glascock's arm.'sir
Marmaduke,' said he, 'would you not like to see the boy?'

'He shall not see the boy,' said Trevelyan. 'You may see him. He shall
not. What is he that he should have control over me?'

'This is the most fearful thing I ever heard of,' said Sir Marmaduke.
'What are we to do with him?'

Mr Glascock whispered a few words to Sir Marmaduke, and then declared
that he was ready to be taken to the child. 'And he will remain here?'
asked Trevelyan.. A pledge was then given by Sir Marmaduke that he
would not force his way farther into the house, and the two other men
left the chamber together. Sir Marmaduke, as he paced up and down the
room alone, perspiring at every pore, thoroughly uncomfortable and ill
at ease, thought of all the hard positions of which he had ever read,
and that his was harder than them all. Here was a man married to his
daughter, in possession of his daughter's child, manifestly mad and yet
he could do nothing to him! He was about to return to the seat of his
government, and he must leave his own child in this madman's power! Of
course, his daughter could not go with him, leaving her child in this
madman's hands. He had been told that even were he to attempt to prove
the man to be mad in Italy, the process would be slow; and, before it
could be well commenced, Trevelyan would be off with the child
elsewhere. There never was an embarrassment, thought Sir Marmaduke, out
of which it was so impossible to find a clear way.

In the meantime, Mr Glascock and Trevelyan were visiting the child. It
was evident that the father, let him be ever so mad, had discerned the
expediency of allowing some one to see that his son was alive and in
health. Mr Glascock did not know much of children, and could only say
afterwards that the boy was silent and very melancholy, but clean, and
apparently well. It appeared that he was taken out daily by his father
in the cool hours of the morning, and that his father hardly left him
from the time that he was taken up till he was put to bed. But Mr
Glascock's desire was to see Trevelyan alone, and this he did after
they had left the boy. 'And now, Trevelyan,' he said, 'what do you mean
to do?'

'To do?'

'In what way do you propose to live? I want you to be reasonable with
me.'

'They do not treat me reasonably.'

'Are you going to measure your own conduct by that of other people? In
the first place, you should go back to England. What good can you do
here?' Trevelyan shook his head, but remained silent. 'You cannot like
this life.'

'No, indeed. But whither can I go now that I shall like to live?'

'Why not home?'

'I have no home.'

'Why not go back to England? Ask your wife to join you, and return with
her. She would go at a word.' The poor wretch again shook his head. 'I
hope you think that I speak as your friend,' said Mr Glascock.

'I believe you do.'

'I will say nothing of any imprudence; but you cannot believe that she
has been untrue to you?' Trevelyan would say nothing to this, but stood
silent waiting for Mr Glascock to continue. 'Let her come back to you
here; and then, as soon as you can arrange it, go to your own home.'

'Shall I tell you something?' said Trevelyan.

'What is it?'

He came up close to Mr Glascock, and put his hand upon his visitor's
shoulder. 'I will tell you what she would do at once. I dare say that
she would come to me. I dare say that she would go with me. I am sure
she would. And directly she got me there, she would say that I was mad!
She my wife, would do it! He that furious, ignorant old man below,
tried to do it before. His wife said that I was mad.' He paused a
moment, as though waiting for a reply; but Mr Glascock had none to
make. It had not been his object, in the advice which he had given, to
entrap the poor fellow by a snare, and to induce him so to act that he
should deliver himself up to keepers; but he was well aware that
wherever Trevelyan might be, it would be desirable that he should be
placed for awhile in the charge of some physician. He could not bring
himself at the spur of the moment to repudiate the idea by which
Trevelyan was actuated. 'Perhaps you think that she would be right?'
said Trevelyan.

'I am quite sure that she would do nothing that is not for the best,'
said Mr Glascock.

'I can see it all. I will not go back to England, Mr Glascock. I intend
to travel. I shall probably leave this and go to to to Greece, perhaps.
It is a healthy place, this, and I like it for that reason; but I shall
not stay here. If my wife likes to travel with me, she can come. But to
England I will not go.'

'You will let the child go to his mother?'

'Certainly not. If she wants to see the child, he is here. If she will
come without her father she shall see him. She shall not take him from
hence. Nor shall she return to live with me, without full
acknowledgment of her fault, and promises of an amended life. I know
what I am saying, Mr Glascock, and have thought of these things perhaps
more than you have done. I am obliged to you for coming to me; but now,
if you please, I would prefer to be alone.'

Mr Glascock, seeing that nothing further could be done, joined Sir
Marmaduke, and the two walked down to their carriage at the bottom of
the hill. Mr Glascock, as he went, declared his conviction that the
unfortunate man was altogether mad, and that it would be necessary to
obtain some interference on the part of the authorities for the
protection of the child. How this could be done, or whether it could be
done in time to intercept a further flight on the part of Trevelyan, Mr
Glascock could not say. It was his idea that Mrs Trevelyan should
herself go out to Casalunga, and try the force of her own persuasion.

'I believe that he would murder her,' said Sir Marmaduke.

'He would not do that. There is a glimmer of sense in all his madness,
which will keep him from any actual violence.'

CHAPTER LXXIX - 'I CAN SLEEP ON THE BOARDS'

Three days after this there came another carriage to the bottom of the
hill on which Casalunga stood, and a lady got out of it all alone. It
was Emily Trevelyan, and she had come thither from Siena in quest of
her husband and her child. On the previous day Sir Marmaduke's courier
had been at the house with a note from the wife to the husband, and had
returned with an answer, in which Mrs Trevelyan was told that, if she
would come quite alone, she should see her child. Sir Marmaduke had
been averse to any further intercourse with the man, other than what
might be made in accordance with medical advice, and, if possible, with
government authority. Lady Rowley had assented to her daughter's wish,
but had suggested that she should at least be allowed to go also at any
rate, as far as the bottom of the hill. But Emily had been very firm,
and Mr Glascock had supported her. He was confident that the man would
do no harm to her, and he was indisposed to believe that any
interference on the part of the Italian Government could be procured in
such a case with sufficient celerity to be of use. He still thought it
might be possible that the wife might prevail over the husband, or the
mother over the father. Sir Marmaduke was at last obliged to yield, and
Mrs Trevelyan went to Siena with no other companion but the courier.
From Siena she made the journey quite alone; and having learned the
circumstances of the house from Mr Glascock, she got out of the
carriage, and walked up the hill. There were still the two men
coopering at the vats, but she did not stay to speak to them. She went
through the big gates, and along the slanting path to the door, not
doubting of her way for Mr Glascock had described it all to her, making
a small plan of the premises, and even explaining to her the position
of the room in which her boy and her husband slept. She found the door
open, and an Italian maid-servant at once welcomed her to the house,
and assured her that the signor would be with her immediately. She was
sure that the girl knew that she was the boy's mother, and was almost
tempted to ask questions at once as to the state of the household; but
her knowledge of Italian was slight, and she felt that she was so
utterly a stranger in the land that she could dare to trust no one.
Though the heat was great, her face was covered with a thick veil. Her
dress was black, from head to foot, and she was as a woman who mourned
for her husband. She was led into the room which her father had been
allowed to enter through the window; and here she sat, in her husband's
house, feeling that in no position in the world could she be more
utterly separated from the interests of all around her. In a few
minutes the door was opened, and her husband was with her, bringing the
boy in his hand. He had dressed himself with some care; but it may be
doubted whether the garments which he wore did not make him appear
thinner even and more haggard than he had looked to be in his old
dressing-gown. He had not shaved himself, but his long hair was brushed
back from his forehead, after a fashion quaint and very foreign to his
former ideas of dress. His wife had not expected that her child would
come to her at once had thought that some entreaties would be
necessary, some obedience perhaps exacted from her, before she would be
allowed to see him; and now her heart was softened, and she was
grateful to her husband. But she could not speak to him till she had
had the boy in her arms. She tore off her bonnet, and then clinging to
the child, covered him with kisses. 'Louey, my darling! Louey; you
remember mamma?' The child pressed himself close to his mother's bosom,
but spoke never a word. He was cowed and overcome, not only by the
incidents of the moment, but by the terrible melancholy of his whole
life. He had been taught to understand, without actual spoken lessons,
that he was to live with his father, and that the former woman-given
happinesses of his life were at an end. In this second visit from his
mother he did not forget her. He recognised the luxury of her love; but
it did not occur to him even to hope that she might have come to rescue
him from the evil of his days. Trevelyan was standing by, the while,
looking on; but he did not speak till she addressed him.