Miss Montressor was very much pleased with the aspect of affairs in New York. For the first time in her life, she felt herself a person of real and indubitable importance; the reception had pleased her; she was charmed with the look of the city, and delighted with her quarters at Fifth-avenue Hotel; the largeness and liberality of all the arrangements for public comfort, which cannot fail to strike the newly-arrived visitor in New York, duly impressed themselves upon Miss Montressor, and she had hardly become accustomed to her large and pleasant rooms, she was still discovering new perfections in them, and finding out points of advantage in everything American over everything English, when she was told that a person wished to see her.
Visions of eager strangers bent on obtaining her autograph and photograph, dreams of interviewing, even notions of a sharp contention between rival managers, flashed in a moment across her lively imagination, as she requested that the person--no indication of the sex of the applicant had been given--should be invited to walk up.
Miss Montressor was already very handsomely dressed, so that nothing remained but for her to assume a statuesque and striking attitude in which to await the arrival of her visitor. Half a minute sufficed to show her that her preparations were thrown away: no fashionable lounger, no splendidly-dressed lady, no eager man of business, was this visitor who thus early claimed admittance to her; only a plainly-dressed woman, carrying an infant in her arms, who stretched her disengaged hand eagerly towards her with a glad cry of, 'Clara! Clara!'
Miss Montressor recoiled--to do her justice, it was only for a moment--the next she took the woman's hand, and saying, 'Hush! do not speak so loud,' kissed her.
'O, how glad I am to see you, Clara! You see, your grand new name comes quite easy to me. I have never forgotten that you told me not to call you Matty any more. How glad I was when I heard you were coming out, and though at first I took it very unkind that you did not write to tell me, I soon knew it was because you were sure I should see it in the papers.'
The speaker had seated herself, loosened her shawl, and taken off her bonnet before Miss Montressor had recovered from the slight constraint of the first surprise.
'Yes,' she said, 'I am very glad, indeed, to see you; but you have put me in a mortal fright. I don't want to be unkind, you know--and you're a sensible woman--only think how it would ruin me if Jenkins came about after me here.'
'Jenkins can't, my dear soul.' said the other. 'He is away, he ain't in New York; and if he was he would do nothing to harm you, bless you. He and I both understand that we must keep our distance from you now--not that you're not a good sister, as you always was and always will be, but for your sake and ourselves too--only you must forgive my coming to you. I really couldn't bear it, and I knew it was all safe; it is such a time since I have seen you, and you have done such a deal in the time. Only to think, Clara, of your being a regular star, and leading lady at the Thespian.'
Miss Montressor laughed a good-natured laugh, but with a peculiar sound in it, which comes of a superior knowledge of the world and a truer test of greatness than that of the speaker.
'My dear, you have got very funny notions about me. I have not done badly; but as to the great things, I have not many of them to count up, and this is the very first really big chance I have had.'
'Don't be afraid that I shall spoil it,' said Bess, laying the sleeping child comfortably in a corner of a luxurious settee, and seating herself beside Miss Montressor, with one arm placed fondly round her neck, while her honest gray eyes, full of tears, looked searchingly in the other's face. 'I would rather never see you for half my life than harm you, dear; and I suppose it would harm you, even in this country, where everybody is free and equal, they say, if you were known to have a servant for a sister?'
'A servant, Bess!' said Miss Montressor with surprise and displeasure. 'How is that? What do you mean?'
'Just what I say to you. I am a servant. I am a nurse in a very good family here in town; it is a good place, and I am happy, trusted, useful, and comfortable.'
'Nurse!' said Miss Montressor; 'is that your nurse-child, then? I thought it was your own.'
'Mine? O dear no. My baby was a poor little cripple, and he was taken away from all his troubles a little while ago. Jenkins was leaving me for a profitable job he had got, and I could not stand the loneliness; besides we were very poor, and so I took a place. It is Mrs. Griswold's, in Fifth-avenue, and I get along very well indeed. Mrs. Griswold is alone, like myself. Her husband is in Europe; and she gave me leave to come here to-day, and to bring the child, so as I might be free, as kind as possible.'
'Fifth-avenue?' said Miss Montressor; 'why, that's a fashionable part of New York. I know that much, though I have only been one night in the place. I knew it before, however. This lady must be a person of importance. My dear Bess, you didn't let out to her where you were coming to?'
'I did not,' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'I only told her some one had come to New York that I wanted to see, and she never asked another question. She is a perfect lady, is Mrs. Griswold, and respects everybody's confidence. She will ask me nothing when I get back; and when you meet her, I am sure you need not be afraid she will know that the famous Miss Montressor is her nurse's sister.'
There was just the slightest tone of hurt feeling in Mrs. Jenkins's kindly voice, and Miss Montressor, who was as kindly as herself at bottom--only a little overlaid by the affectation of her profession and her associations--sympathetically perceived it. 'The gentleman talked nonsense, Bess,' she said, bestowing on her sister a hearty hug, to which the other responded. 'Here we are now, and here we may not be long uninterrupted, so let us have a talk while we may. What's Jenkins about?'
'I don't know, darling. No harm, but some business of a private nature, which will keep him away for some time--it's only a commission agency, but I don't know in what.'
Mrs. Jenkins was the most loyal of wives, and even to her beloved sister, the pride and delight of her life, would not have betrayed her husband's confidence, and Miss Montressor was in reality profoundly indifferent to the answer to the question which she had just asked. She did not care one straw where Jenkins was, provided he was not in New York, or what he was doing, provided his occupation was not of a nature to expose her to any risk of contact with him. Satisfied on this point, she was quite ready to respond to her sister's affectionate inquisitiveness respecting herself and her concerns, and the two plunged immediately into an animated and confidential conversation, which brought out the best sides of the characters of both.
Miss Montressor gave her sister a tolerably correct and exceedingly pleasant description of her career during the years which had parted them--years which had been very prosperous on the whole for the friendless young actress, and not unmarked by acts of generosity towards her sister, whose lot had been very different. That Mrs. Jenkins was so poor as she had been when we first made her acquaintance in Bleeker-street was not Miss Montressor's fault; she had frequently assisted her sister and her good-for-nothing husband out of her, at first, very moderate means; but when Bess saw that Jenkins's good-for-nothingness was an established fact, her honesty of purpose and truthfulness of mind made her make a resolution to accept no more assistance from Clara. 'I don't mind working hard,' was her mental comment on the situation, 'that he may have money to waste--I am his wife; but Clara shall not do it. I will never touch a shilling of her earnings more;' and she had written to Clara asking her to abstain from sending them money.
This, to tell the truth, Miss Montressor, who had had an instinctively bad opinion of her brother-in-law, was not sorry to do; and so her knowledge of the Jenkinses' circumstances became slight and confused. Her sister could not very well keep her informed of them without appearing to ask for the aid which she had deprecated; she therefore wrote vaguely and seldom, and Miss Montressor had acquiesced in this latterly, contenting herself with the reflection that she was now so extensively reported in the newspapers as being here or there, and playing this or that engagement to more or less appreciative audiences, that really Bess would know as much about her from the journals as she cared to tell, for there were one or two things she did not wish to tell. But she was brimful of news now, and Mrs. Jenkins's impression that Miss Montressor was by far the finest actress in existence was deepened by the narrative of triumphs which her sister poured into her ear. It was not an untrue narrative, it was only coloured; and yet, with all their confidence, with all their eager talk, there was a reticence on both sides.
Miss Montressor never mentioned Mr. Dolby.
Mrs. Jenkins made no allusion to Trenton Warren.
Bess had a great deal to say respecting Mrs. Griswold; and here told her sister, with lively pleasure, of that lady's promise to take her with herself to the play. 'But,' she added, 'she will have the satisfaction of seeing you before I shall, Clara. You see, I didn't care to press her so much as asking to go on the first or second night would have done--I thought it would not seem reasonable, and might arouse a suspicion; and if it did not do you harm, it might make you angry; and I would rather know you were playing for a whole week to all New York, and turning the place upside down about you, and sit at home without the chance of seeing you, than vex you; and so I have got to wait patiently until my betters are served. But I know she will keep her word; and, as I was going to say, she will see you before I shall, for she is going to-night.'
'To-night?' said Miss Montressor; 'that's quick! Is she as fond of the play as you are?'
'I think she is very fond of it. She tells me she and Mr. Griswold always went to see anything that was worth seeing. But now that he is away she is very particular indeed. She never goes anywhere except amongst old friends, and she does that very sparingly; and as to a theatre or concert, she has never put her foot in one since he left.'
'O, then, Mr. Griswold is not at home?' said Miss Montressor.
'O dear no! he went away before I came. I have never seen him.'
'Where is he?'
'He is in London, I believe, doing some business in a very large way. People say Griswold is a very rich man; and I suppose he wants to be richer, like all the rest of them, and must pay a price for it--pretty big price too, going to the other end of the world, and leaving his young wife alone so long. She mopes dreadfully; I am quite glad she is going to-night, if it is only to cheer her up. She was in great spirits at getting so good a place. It was bespoke long before you came.'
'You had been talking about me, I suppose?'
'Of course I had. I had just told her you were the finest actress in the world, and she had better make haste to see you.'
'Have you any idea in what part of the theatre Mrs. Griswold would be sitting?' said Miss Montressor. 'I very seldom try to see any one from the stage; and most times, when one does try, one cannot do it. But I will have a look at her, if you will tell me where she will sit.'
'I can tell you,' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'She will be right at the end of the dress circle, last seat but two, right-hand side; and I know what she is going to wear, so that you can tell her by her dress. An old gentleman and an old lady and their son are going with her--it is just a party of four.'
'Tell me about her dress,' said Miss Montressor, 'and the colour of her hair.'
'She has a quantity of very fine brown hair,' said Mrs. Jenkins, 'which matches her eyes, and she never wears any ornaments in it. The dress she is going to wear to-night is pale blue velvet, square cut, with turnovers, and very fine guipure lace. She always wears plain gold ornaments with that gown, and a blue-and-gold fan.'
'Very well,' said Miss Montressor; 'I will look out for the blue velvet and the guipure, for the gold ornaments, and the blue-and-gold fan.'
A timepiece rang out the hour.
'Dear me, how late it is!' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'I had no notion I had been here so long. I think I must go now, Clara; but I shall get down to see you again before long, and you will come to see me, won't you?'
'My dear Bess, what are you thinking of?' replied her sister. 'How do you suppose I am to keep the secret, which you see I cannot help keeping? It is not unkindness and it is not snobbishness; it is only for the sake of the interests which I cannot afford to throw over. If I am seen going to Mrs. Griswold's house to visit Mrs. Griswold's nurse, why, if she didn't find it out, as I suppose she need not--no doubt I could always see you in a room to ourselves--just fancy how the servants would talk. There is not one in New York, I suppose, by this time who does not know my face; and it would be all over the place in a few hours. No, no you must come and see me when you can. It is muck safer, and just as easy.'
'I really think you might let me tell Mrs. Griswold,' said Mrs. Jenkins; 'you have no notion how kind she is, and how free from nonsense and pretence of all sorts. Her heart would be touched if I told her how we two were left poor motherless children to the care of our old aunt, who pushed us out into the world when we were almost babies, to do the best we could each for ourselves, and how you did the best, and it was very good, and I did--well, not quite the worst after all.'
A sweet smile, though sad, passed over the frank features of the speaker, a spark of the ever-burning lamp of life within her, that light which glorified even so mean an object as Ephraim Jenkins.
'Good Heavens,' thought Miss Montressor, 'she actually believes in that vagabond still, and is as fond of him as ever; she is perfectly incorrigible!' She did not give utterance to these sentiments, but took a most affectionate leave of her sister, even bestowing some transient expressions of admiration upon little Mary Griswold, who was wide awake by this time, and staring about her with a greedy curiosity which succeeds the first stages of stolid indifference incidental to babyhood. She did not kiss the child, she was not quite equal to that--Mrs. Jenkins wondered how she could deny herself the indulgence--but she patted her and chirped to her, and sent her sister away delighted with her amiability and her affability.
How hard it was for Bess to keep from talking of her visit when she went to assist at Mrs. Griswold's evening toilette nobody but Bess knew. When Mrs. Griswold had gone down-stairs, and driven away in the carriage which her friends had brought to fetch her, arrayed and looking very handsome in the pale blue velvet gown, with the guipure trimming, in the gold ornaments, and carrying her blue-and-gold fan, Mrs. Jenkins indemnified herself for the unnatural restraint by talking rapturously to the baby.
An enormous crowd of well-dressed people was flocking into Van Buren's Varieties, to the great delight of Mr. Van Buren himself, who stood at the checktaker's wicket, with his friend Mr. Morris Jacobs by his side. Mr. Van Buren had that amount of vanity which is inseparable from the theatrical profession, and to see himself recognised by members of the crowd, to hear the flattering remarks made on his personal appearance and his histrionic talents, rendered him supremely happy. Mr. Jacobs, who had no pretensions to manly beauty, being a short stout man, with an enormous head and an exaggerated Jewish cast of countenance, contented himself with silently counting the people as they came in, and keeping a wary eye upon the checktaker. It was a long time since the Varieties had boasted such an audience; every seat was taken, and the large lobbies at the back of the circles were inconveniently crowded. There was scarcely one in the many-sided phases of New York society which was not represented. The journals had done their work so well, and Mr. Van Buren and Mr. Jacobs had worked their various agencies with such success, that a desire to see the English actress and renew acquaintance with the handsome tragedian had been generated amongst people who had not visited the theatre for years. Good old Knickerbocker families, prouder of the 'Van' before their names than of the enormous fortunes which had accrued to them from the sale of the lands which had once formed the gardens and grounds of their old red-brick houses, and which now formed avenues and streets in the most fashionable districts; steady church-goers, whose wildest idea of dissipation was attendance at a lecture or a mass meeting; men who passed their days in Wall-street, and their evenings at the extemporised exchange in the hall of the Fifth-avenue Hotel--all these classes seemed to have caught the infection, and were largely represented. The regular attendants at theatrical representations--the club men, Fifth-avenue families, the people who wished to be thought 'in the style,' and whose newly-gotten wealth has made of them a plutocracy as imperious, as intolerant, and as hollow as any aristocracy in the Old World--all these were in fullest force. Such a reunion was seldom to be seen at so late a period; and the buzzing conversation of friends which took place before the commencement of the play was not, as usual, about the balls and entertainments to which they were invited, but treated rather of their intended summer flights; the various merits of style at Saratoga, rural quiet at Lake George, boisterous frivolity at Long Branch, or sea breezes at Newport being fully discussed.
Behind the scenes, too, there was very great excitement. Bryan Duval knew exactly the kind of audience he might expect to welcome his return and Miss Montressor's first appearance; he knew that on such an occasion his appeal ought to be made rather to the sympathies than the intelligence of the people; and so, reserving for a further occasionRomeo and Juliet, and other specimens of poetical drama in which he knew that he and Miss Montressor could help each other largely, and make themselves appreciated by the critical and the educated, he had determined upon commencing his campaign with the celebrated Irish drama,Cruiskeen Lawn. The American version of this play--it underwent considerable modification when acted in the United Kingdom--contained a goodly amount of treasonable speeches, denunciation of British kings and British government, and therefore greatly acceptable to that portion of the New York population which made their entry into America through the fair haven of Castle Garden; the dialogue, too, was sprinkled with numerous tropes and metaphors which Bryan had carefully culled from Tom Moore's poetical works. When there is to be added to this that it gave scope for pretty scenery, quaint coquettish peasant dresses for Miss Montressor, much love-making, and various astonishing feats, such as diving down a well and rushing through a blazing cottage, for Mr. Duval himself, it was evident that those who loved sensation were likely to be gratified.
Mr. Duval had arrived at the theatre early, donned his stage costume, and was occupying himself in looking after the members of his troupe. He found Mr. Covington, like most novices, in deep distress as regards his costume, and assisted that young gentleman to make up his face, and showed him how to wear his sword. He gave Mr. Skrymshire a little more red eyebrow, and threw a Hibernian expression into the low comedian's somewhat long face by the simple process of making two thick black streaks under his nose, which imparted to that organ a turn-up appearance. With Mrs. Regan, on the contrary, he had to tone down the Hibernianism, that worthy old woman being desirous of expressing her nationality by entering into a fight with her attendant dresser. Finally, Mr. Duval knocked at Miss Montressor's dressing-room, and being bidden to come in, stood in the doorway and expressed his delight by clapping his hands.
'Nothing could be better, my dear,' said he. 'Why on earth didn't I have you for the original Kathleen Mavourneen in London? If I had, I should have made 32,000l. by this time. The rouge a little higher up on the left cheek, dear, I think, and the right eyebrow, too, a hair's-breadth longer--that will do nicely! You must take off your rings, dear; peasant girls in Kerry don't wear blue silk stockings either, but that's a poetical license; but I do not think the public will stand the rings. That's right! Now just remember one thing, that the Irish brogue is permanent, and not a temporary affliction, and that you are sometimes in the habit of forgetting it, and talking in your native Regent-street accent; think of that, and hold to it all through; and if you stick at all for words--I don't think you will, for you struck me as being letter perfect--but if you do, just say "Arrah!" and "Bedad!" until I can get alongside and prompt you. Now, then, it is my time to go on.'
Two minutes after, an enormous roar of applause welcomed Mr. Bryan's return to the United States, a roar which very speedily was exceeded twenty fold by the greeting given to Miss Montressor. There is an idea that an American audience is not enthusiastic, but it is a false one, for if you please them there is no people so lavish in their favour. The ladies waved their handkerchiefs, the gentlemen cheered and clapped their hands, the rougher portion of the community roared and shrieked until they were hoarse, and Miss Montressor stood curtsying and curtsying, her hands crossed over her little blue bodice, and her eyes demurely cast upon the ground.
When silence was restored and the business of the play recommenced, she took advantage of the first opportunity to look in the direction where, according to Bess's information, she expected to see Mrs. Griswold. There, accordingly, at the end of the first circle, in the last seat but one on the right-hand side, sat a lady with a quantity of fine brown hair, dressed in plain blue velvet and guipure lace, and bearing a blue-and-gold fan. What caused Miss Montressor to start as she gazed upon this face? What rendered her so oblivious for the moment that Bryan Duval had to prompt her? Mrs. Griswold had never been out of America, and yet Miss Montressor could have sworn she had seen her before. Whenever she could she stole a glance at the face, and still found it familiar to her; but it was not until nearly the close of the play that the right idea came to her.
It came like an inspiration. 'The portrait!' she said to herself; 'the portrait! That woman may or may not be Mrs. Griswold, but assuredly she is the original of the portrait set in the watch which was shown to me on the terrace at Richmond by Mr. Foster.'
The curtain had fallen upon the happy marriage of Kathleen Mavourneen and Comether O'Shaughnessy. The talented representatives of the two characters had been called forward several times amidst huzzahs, and most of the audience had quitted the theatre; and Miss Montressor had retired to her dressing-room, where, throwing herself into a chair, she fell into a reverie.
'What could be the meaning of that extraordinary resemblance between the lady who had sat in the very seat which Bess had assured her had been taken by Mrs. Griswold, and the portrait which Mr. Foster had shown her on the terrace at Richmond, as that of his wife? There must have been some mistake; Bess must have made a blunder about the exact position in the circle, or Mrs. Griswold must have been unable to obtain the seat on which she had first set her mind!' But then came the identity of the costume the lady in the circle wore--the exact dress which Bess had described as that which her mistress was about to wear; the blue velvet and guipure lace, the plain gold ornaments, the blue-and-gold fan--all were there. It was most astonishing--Miss Montressor admitted that; but she could not understand why, as she admitted it, a sombre presentiment, a sense of some impending calamity, seemed to come across her.
She was roused by a knock at the door, following immediately on which Mr. Bryan Duval put in his head.
'Clara, my clear,' said he, 'I will get dressed as quickly as possible; I have got a room at Delmonico's.'
'Delmonico's!' echoed Miss Montressor. 'What's that?
'Something very nice,' said Mr. Duval; 'the best restaurant in the world. The piece has been such a go, that I could not do less than ask a few people to an improvised supper--Van Buren and two or three of the press people, you know. Of course we must have you, and old Mrs. Regan will come as chaperone. It will be remarkably jolly, and I shouldn't wonder if there were a few lines about it in to-morrow morning's paper, which will be quite worth the expense.'
Supper was a weakness with Miss Montressor. When she was acting she didn't care particularly about dinner, invariably refused all invitations to that meal, and ate sparingly at a comparatively early hour; but supper had always been her favourite amusement. In the early days of her stage apprenticeship, long before her Christian name was Clara or her surname Montressor, when she was a struggling, raw-boned, weak-eyed girl, playing chambermaids and general utility in a provincial theatre, with a salary of eighteen shillings a week, she used to devote a portion of that modest sum to the purchase of pigs' pettitoes and polonies, on which, with a pint of very flat porter, she used to regale herself in her wretched garret after her return from the theatre. After she had established herself, and made a success in later life, she kept up the same practice, the Brompton villa being substituted for the garret, boned turkeys,pâté de foie gras, and cold game for the delicacies above mentioned, and the society of pleasant Bohemians for the cruel solitude. So Miss Montressor intimated to Bryan Duval her acceptance of his invitation, and made all possible haste to get ready for the scene of action.
As soon as she was dressed she joined Mr. Duval and Mrs. Regan, and the three drove off in a carriage together.
Miss Montressor thought there was an air of comfort as she stepped across the little garden and entered the bright cheery hall at Delmonico's, with its bureau immediately fronting the street, its glimpse of well-dressed men and women, attentive waiters, steaming dishes, and silver-necked flasks lolling out of ice-pails, in the large room on the left, and its broad staircase, up and down which the nimble attendants were flitting. But when she found herself on the first floor, in the room furnished with extravagant richness, but in perfect French taste, and looked through the open folding-doors into another room, where the round table for a dozen convives was already spread, and shimmering with its accumulation of plate and glass, she could not resist clapping and giving a little scream of delight.
'Welcome to the star of the evening,' cried Mr. Van Buren, his hair poodled up into a magnificent curling crop, his moustache lacquered and pointed in the latest fashion, advancing to do homage. 'I have to thank you, my dear young lady, for your performance to-night.'
'If you were pleased,' said Miss Montressor, with a sweet smile, which went straight to the heart of the inflammable manager, 'I have every reason to be satisfied.'
'Pleased!' cried he. 'I not merely look upon the success as certain, but I regard this as the first of a series of visits which you shall pay to this country, and by which I shall be enabled to help you to realise a fortune; and there is something selfish in the thought,' he added, 'for it will not merely give me the assurance of seeing you constantly, but enable me to support your absence with the certain idea of your return.'
Miss Montressor smiled upon him again, and Mr. Van Buren immediately began to calculate how he could dispose of the thirty-fourth Mrs. Van Buren, who was at that moment on his hands, and substitute the new favourite for her.
'Now,' said Mr. Duval, bustling about, 'let us get to table as soon as possible. Those who have not been introduced to Miss Montressor already had better come to me, and I will perform the ceremony. My dear Clara, I think you already know Mr. Willy Webster of theDemocrat' he added, pushing forward a dirty little man with soiled shirt, and clothes shining with grease--'not clean, perhaps, but decidedly clever,' said Bryan, dropping his voice; 'and you must shake hands with him.'
Mr. Looby of theScarifierand Mr. O'Gog of theGrowl, came forward and made their obeisance; Henry P. Remington and Samuel D. Silliman, two young men about town, who had more money than brains, and less manners than either; a gray-headed man, with a thin keen face, who seemed to know everything and every one, and who was universally addressed as Uncle William, completed the party.
'Now are we all here?' said Bryan Duval, who had seated Miss Montressor between himself and Mr. Van Buren, and who was compelled to stand up to look round the table, so large and luxurious was the basket of flowers in the centre--'are we all here?'
'No,' said Willy Webster from the other side of the table. 'Here, next me, is a chair for our good friend Banquo.'
'Who is our good friend Banquo on this occasion? Let me see,' said Bryan Duval. 'Looby, O'Gog--'pon my word, I can't recollect.'
'I thought you told me you had sent round to theGlobeoffice to tell Brighthurst to come up?' said Van Buren.
'To be sure,' cried Bryan. 'Brighthurst is Banquo. Why on earth is he not here?'
'I sincerely hope he will come,' said Willy Webster.
'And I--and I!' cried several others.
'Mr. Brighthurst seems to be a general favourite,' said Miss Montressor to her neighbour--'what are his particular attractions?'
'I am sure I don't know,' said Mr. Van Buren, a little piqued; 'he is a good sort of fellow, I believe.'
'Brighthurst, my dear,' said Duval, 'is one of the cleverest men on the press of this or any other country. He has written everything in his time--five-act plays, political pamphlets, orthodox sermons, and hymns which would draw tears from a hard-shell Baptist--then he's very good-looking and capital talk. I shall be sincerely disappointed if he doesn't come soon. I am sure you and he would get on well together.'
'Do you think he would be horrified at seeing me eating these enormous oysters?' said Miss Montressor, with a little playfulness, turning to her other neighbour.
'I don't know whetherhewould, but I am not,' said Mr. Van Buren. 'Everything you do is done with a grace possessed by no other woman in the world.'
'O, Mr. Van Buren,' said the actress with an upward glance, 'that compliment is even more difficult to swallow than the large oysters.'
'Now, boys,' cried Bryan Duval, as the first crack of the champagne corks was heard, 'there must be an exception to the general rule in America to-night--we will have no speech-making.'
'We must have one toast,' cried Willy Webster. 'You won't refuse to drink this--Success to theCruiskeen Lawn.'
'Stay!' cried Van Buren, holding up his hand; 'add this to it--And all our thanks to the lovely Kathleen!'
The men rose to their feet to drink the toast, and had not resumed their seats when the door opened, and a tall middle-aged man, with a bald head, aquiline nose, and large grizzled whiskers, entered the room. He made straight for Duval, and shook hands with him warmly.
'My dear Brighthurst,' cried the host, 'I am delighted to see you. We were all just now regretting your absence, and if you had not been so erratic a being, should have wondered at its cause. However, here you are--let me present you to Miss Montressor.'
After his introduction, Mr. Brighthurst took the vacant seat, and bending over to the young actress, said:
'You must not fully believe all these gentlemen say about my Bohemianism and erratic propensities, Miss Montressor; living in crystal palaces themselves, they should be the last to throw stones. They cannot understand, these frivolous butterflies, that I am a steady man, and that I was prevented from coming here by attention to my duty.'
'No, we certainly cannot understand that,' said Mr. Looby.
'No, indeed, bedad,' said Mr. O'Gog; 'that is not your usual form, Brighthurst, anyhow!'
'It may not be my usual form, sweet flower of Erin,' said Mr. Brighthurst; 'but what I say happens to be correct as regards to-night. I was detained at the office to write a short editorial upon some news which just came in.'
'News!' cried Willy Webster. 'And what was it, pray? Has Tweed been nominated for the Presidency, or has A.T. Stewart proved to be nothing but a dead head? Has the Commodore issued a new lot of central stock, or has John Morrissy joined the Particular Baptists? Speak the word, Brighthurst, and ease our impatient minds.'
'What I speak of is English news from the latest files of London papers, which were delivered this evening, my dear Willy,' said Brighthurst quietly.
'European news!' cried Webster. 'Has Queen Victoria sent for Sam Ward at last, or is the Prince Imperial going to be united to Queen Isabella, and thus consolidate the two thrones?'
'The news does not treat of any such important personages or subjects,' said Brighthurst; 'it simply sends us details of the English murder, information of which was cabled some days ago.'
'A murder!' cried Bryan Duval. 'You cannot possibly have the joyful news for me that the victim was a tailor living in the neighbourhood of Bond-street?'
'No,' said Brighthurst with a slight smile; 'nor was the crime committed in London. The victim was an American gentleman of the name of Foster.'
Miss Montressor turned deadly pale, and set down untasted the glass she was in the act of raising to her lips.
'What name did you say, Brighthurst?' said Duval, turning quickly to him. 'Foster, an American? Where was the murder committed?'
'In Liverpool,' said Brighthurst. 'He had been staying at the Adelphi Hotel.'
'Great Heavens,' cried Duval, 'this is most terrific!'
Miss Montressor buried her face in her handkerchief, and sobbed silently.
'What is the meaning of this?' asked Mr. Van Buren, while a look of inquiry passed round the table.
'The meaning is simply that this unfortunate gentleman was well known to me and all my party. He took a great interest in theatricals, and actually accompanied us to Liverpool to see the last of us before we sailed. It must have been about that time that his murder took place.'
'It was within a day or two of your sailing,' said Mr. Brighthurst.
'But what was the name of the assassin? What was the motive for his crime? For God's sake, my dear fellow, tell us more about it!' cried Bryan.
'I am very sorry, my dear Duval, that I cannot give you any particulars of your poor friend's fate,' said Brighthurst. 'The coroner's jury have returned a verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, and no trace of the assassin had been discovered up to the time of the papers going to press. I know this much, for I made it the text of my editorial, that the English police do not seem more active in discovering the perpetrators of great crimes than our detectives here. I shall, however, be able to let you know all about it in a few minutes, as I instructed a boy to bring a proof of my article here, and with it a copy of the LondonTimes, containing the account of the coroner's inquest, which I proposed reading in bed tonight.'
'I shall await it with the greatest anxiety,' said Bryan. Then turning to Miss Montressor, whose face was still buried in her handkerchief, and dropping his voice, he said: 'There is no occasion yet, at all events, to be so overwhelmed, my dear Clara. Foster is by no means an uncommon American name. Liverpool is even more frequented by Americans than London, and all of them who visit Liverpool of course go to the Adelphi. The victim in this awful case may not be our poor friend, after all.'
'But the date,' whispered poor Miss Montressor; 'the date of the murder concurs just with the time when he would be at Liverpool; though, by the way, he told me he intended to return to London on the evening of our departure. Something, however, may have detained him; and, besides, I have a kind of presentiment--something which I cannot shake off--that we shall discover it was our friend Mr. Foster, and no one else.'
'I confess I feel very uncomfortable and desponding about it myself,' said Bryan; 'and I should not be surprised if-- What is this?' he cried, as the waiter entered, bringing a packet for Mr. Brighthurst. 'O, the newspaper at last!'
'Pray take it, my dear Duval, and satisfy yourself at once,' said Brighthurst, handing the paper across to Bryan; 'I can fully apprehend your anxiety.'
Bryan took the journal, and, in the midst of a sympathetic silence, turned it over until he came upon the spot which he was seeking--a description of the proceedings at the coroner's inquest. In a broken voice he read out certain details with which the readers of this story are already familiar: the finding of the body on the landing-place of the warehouse, the evidence of the outdoor clerk, the two policemen, and the various persons present at the scene, the fly-driver, who recognised the victim as one of his customers, and the manager of the Adelphi, who gave evidence that the body was that of Mr. Foster, who had been staying at the hotel.
'There is no doubt at all about it,' said Bryan Duval, laying down the paper for a minute, his eyes filling with tears. 'It was poor Foster; it was our poor friend!'
'It is too dreadful to think of,' said Miss Montressor, giving way to her grief.
'Who can the murderer be? What can have been the motive for such a deed?' cried Duval, after reading a little farther. 'Foster was the kindest, gentlest soul in the world--a man who could not possibly have had an enemy; besides, he knew but few people in England, and none, I should have thought, in Liverpool.'
'Perhaps he was in the habit of sporting his money,' said Mr. O'Gog; 'there are terrible thieves in them Liverpool taverns.'
'No, that could not have been,' said Bryan, pointing to a passage in the paper; 'for it says here that though no papers, cards, or letters were found upon the body, his purse, containing several sovereigns and some silver, keys, penknife, and pencil, were found in the pockets untouched.'
'That's a strange circumstance,' said Mr. Brighthurst, looking at it with the professional eye of an editorial writer. 'My experience leads me to believe that there are two principal motives which lead to the commission of murder--lust of gain or desire for vengeance. By the finding of the purse, the first motive is wanting in this instance; and as regards the second, you tell me he had very few acquaintances in England, and was the last man in the world likely to have any enemies, much less one fierce and implacable enough to do such a deed as this.'
'He was the kindest-hearted man in the world,' sobbed Miss Montressor; 'always willing to do everybody a service, and more like a woman than a man in the soft sweetness of his disposition.'
'Stay,' said Bryan, who had again taken up the paper; 'here are some farther particulars. The manager of the hotel deposed that, on examining the room occupied by the deceased, he found a small American valise, containing a suit of clothes, some linen, and the usual dressing apparatus; a valuable gold watch had been left on the dressing-table, which, at the request of the jury, was handed to them. Here,' continued Bryan, still reading the newspaper, 'a curious incident occurred. One of the jury was our well-known townsman, Mr. Hand, the watch and clock maker, who served his time in America. On examining this watch, Mr. Hand declared, without hesitation, that a certain portion of its works was made under the patent of the celebrated house of Tiffany, in New York. All possible search and inquiry seems to have been made by the police and others concerned, but without any effect. The conclusion of the story is to be found in the verdict of wilful murder against some person or persons unknown, so we must wait and see what time will bring forth. Poor Foster--poor fellow!'
'Poor dear Mr. Foster!' sobbed Miss Montressor, in great agitation. 'I declare it is one of the most horrible things I ever knew. What will his poor wife say, when she hears the news?'
'Has he a wife?' asked Mr. Brighthurst.
'O dear yes; a sweetly pretty woman, with one young child.'
'It's pretty rough on her, poor thing,' said Mr. Brighthurst, a shadow stealing over his handsome features.
'Yes; and the most awful part of it is, that even now she must be in complete ignorance of what has happened, for I saw her this very night at the theatre.'
'At the theatre?' cried several.
'At the theatre, not two hours since,' cried Miss Montressor. 'I have most excellent reasons for believing that the lady I saw was Mrs. Foster.'
'My dear Miss Montressor,' said Mr. Brighthurst, leaning forward, 'I think, I trust, you are mistaken. The news that an American gentleman named Foster had been found murdered in Liverpool was received here by cable, without any particulars, several days since, and was published in all the newspapers. It would have been impossible that Mrs. Foster, or some of her family or friends, should not have seen it.'
'It may be that I am mistaken,' said Miss Montressor. 'I trust I am, for it is an awful thing to think of that pretty creature amusing herself at the theatre with this awful thunder-cloud ready to break over her head.' And Miss Montressor's tears again began to flow.
Bryan Duval, who had been listening silently but most attentively to this colloquy, then roused himself.
'I think, my dear Clara, you had better retire for a few minutes, and endeavour to compose yourself. Gentlemen, I am sure you will excuse Miss Montressor for a time; this news has been too much for her. We will rejoin you later.'
All rose as he spoke, and Bryan Duval, taking the actress by the arm, led her through the folding-doors into the adjoining apartment, and carefully closed the doors behind him.
'Try to quiet yourself,' said Bryan Duval, as he placed her in a chair beside an open window, and, seating himself alongside of her, assumed a perfectly tranquil air. 'This is a very serious business, and I want to speak to you about it without delay, and out of hearing of these people. It is better they should not get hold of such facts as may be hidden under the surface of this horrible event prematurely. Will you tell me as quietly as you can exactly what you mean about the lady whom you saw at the theatre to-night? That's right; you are quieter now; don't speak for a minute, until you can do so without sobbing; try to recollect every circumstance, and to be perfectly exact.'
The purpose-like composure of his manner had its due effect upon the excitable but not foolish woman to whom he spoke. She made a steady effort, and subdued the rising hysterical agitation, and after a minute or two was quite able to speak plainly.
'You remember,' she said, 'the dinner Mr. Foster gave us at Richmond, and that I had a good deal of talk with him both down at Richmond and in the carriage as we came home?'
Bryan Duval nodded.
'He told me a good deal about himself, and spoke much of his wife, to whom he seemed to be quite unusually attached. He said he would introduce me to her, as he knew she would like me; that she was very fond of the stage, had a passion for artistes' society, and a great many other things of the same kind. Of course I asked him what she was like, and he gave me a great description of her beauty and grace. I suppose I did not keep down a smile of something like incredulity, or at least of a suspicion of some exaggeration, in this description, for he said, "You shall see for yourself, Miss Montressor, whether I am exaggerating like an absent lover my Helen's charms;" and he took out a watch--one of a very peculiar construction; I had never seen one like it--and opened it by touching a spring so carefully concealed that, when he put it into my hands afterwards, and told me to try if I could open it, I could not even perceive where the spring lay. The cover flew back and disclosed a miniature of a woman who was certainly very pretty, and had the kind of face which one does not forget. I looked at it for a good while: held it in my hand--for Mr. Foster had taken it off his watch-chain--as we walked up and down on the terrace, and made myself perfectly familiar with the features; the arrangement of the hair particularly struck me, and I remarked to him how well it suited the face. He said yes, he had always thought so; that his wife had very good taste, and was her own hairdresser. You will see presently why I tell you these particulars.'
'I especially wish you to tell me every particular you can recollect,' said Bryan Duval.
'I do not think there was anything remarkable except that in what he said to me,' said Miss Montressor. 'The subject was again referred to during our drive home, and he told me the watch containing the portrait was a parting gift from his wife. She had given it to him on the very evening before he had left New York, and he had promised always to wear it. I thought it a little unusual for a man to speak so frankly and so freely of a thing of the kind, and I suppose I said it or looked it. I do not remember that, but I do recollect his saying, "Out of the fulness of the heart, you know. Miss Montressor, the mouth speaketh," when neither a lack of sympathy nor ridicule was to be apprehended. I thought him a man of considerable feeling, and that he found his sojourn in England very wearisome, so that he was relieved by finding any one, even a stranger, to whom he might talk of his home.'
'He was not a reticent man,' said Bryan Duval, 'as I have good reason to know; a reason which I shall tell you presently if, as I fear, there is more in this matter than meets the eye, and I have to ask your help in a painful duty that may fall to my share. But pray go on, and tell me what is the connection between Mr. Foster's confidence to you and the lady whom you saw tonight.'
Miss Montressor hesitated for just one moment. Could she explain herself fully without the revelation of the family secret she had strongly desired to preserve? Not if Bryan Duval were to question her very closely on material issues. 'Never mind,' she thought, 'I must risk it. I won't tell it unless I am forced, but I cannot hold my tongue here--it is too serious.'
'I have a friend in New York,' she said, 'who came to see me yesterday, and in the course of some gossip about this place and the people in it she happened to mention a certain Mrs. Griswold, who holds a high position here, and who is a great admirer of the drama. My friend told me that Mrs. Griswold had been particularly anxious to see me in one of my best parts, and had taken places for our first appearance. This Mrs. Griswold, it appears, was very handsome, very charming, and altogether a somebody. I fancied I should like to recognise her, if possible, among the audience; and as my friend knew where she was going to sit, she gave me a description of her appearance and dress, which would have enabled me to recognise her, had this lady occupied the place my friend knew she had taken. The description was--brown hair, worn plain, without flowers or jewels, brown eyes, pale blue velvet dress, gold ornaments, and a blue-and-gold fan. Not very distinct, after all, when you come to think of it, now that pale blue velvet is so fashionable; but true enough, when I looked at the place my friend had directed my attention to--the last seat but two, dress circle, right-hand side--I saw a lady who was watching the play intently, and whose appearance and dress entirely coincided with my friend's description--but the lady was not Mrs. Griswold.'
'Not Mrs. Griswold!' exclaimed Bryan Duval. 'How do you know?'
'Because,' returned Miss Montressor impressively, 'the face was the face of Mr. Foster's wife, as I saw it in the miniature enclosed in the watch-cover; the hair and the eyes were quite unmistakable. That she was the woman who had sat for that miniature I cannot entertain the smallest doubt. It is Mrs. Foster, and thereforenotMrs. Griswold!'
Bryan Duval had listened to the latter part of Miss Montressor's narrative with intense, even painful, eagerness. It was evident that he attached immense importance to the apparently insignificant mistake made by Miss Montressor; a mistake easily to be explained on the theory that her friend had given her an erroneous indication of Mrs. Griswold's place in the house. Not so did Bryan Duval interpret it.
'You are quite sure,' he repeated, 'that you looked at the place where you were told to look for Mrs. Griswold?'
'I am quite sure.'
'You are quite sure that the lady you saw in that place bore a close resemblance to the miniature likeness of Mr. Foster's wife?'
'I am perfectly certain of it,' returned Miss Montressor; 'every feature and line was identical, and the peculiar unornamented mode in which the hair was dressed was a conclusive proof to my mind. Stay a moment,' she said, with a start like one catching at a suddenly suggested point, and laying her hand upon his arm, 'there is a curious coincidence in this. My friend told me that Mrs. Griswold had beautiful brown hair, in which she never wore any ornament.'
Bryan Duval rose, walked slowly up and down the room twice, and then returned to Miss Montressor's side. His face was very pale, and his voice sounded hoarsely, as he said to her:
'There is far more than ordinary villany in this atrocious murder, and perhaps the only way by which it can be exposed rests with you and with me. I think you will be discreet, and if it be necessary to ask you to take any part in this terrible matter, I think you will consent to do so, and to act under orders.'
'Certainly,' replied Miss Montressor, looking considerably frightened. 'I wish you would explain what you mean, and what part in it can possibly fall to me.'
'I will explain,' said Bryan Duval. 'I fear I shall soon have to violate a dead man's confidence more extensively than by telling the story to you. Foster took, as you know, a great fancy to me, and even before that day when we went down to Richmond he had told me a great deal about himself; but his confidences with me took a different form from those in which he indulged on that day with you--they chiefly related to business matters. He told me what was the object of his journey to London--with which I need not trouble you, it has no immediate bearing on the case: he told me how unexpectedly and rapidly successful he had been in the accomplishment of that object, and that he had good hopes of being able to return to New York at a much earlier date than that fixed at his departure. I remember that he did say he hadn't as yet announced to his wife that such a prospect had opened up to him, preferring to make quite sure rather than run the risk of keeping her in suspense, which might possibly end in disappointment. The details were rather complicated, and it struck me at the time that there was a good deal, not only of fair business competition, but of equivocal manoeuvring to be apprehended in the carrying through of the enterprise. That it was by no means smooth sailing for Foster was particularly borne in upon me by one fact, which he communicated to me in the strictest confidence, now unhappily dispersed. It was this'--Bryan Duval now spoke in a whisper, and with great intentness--'he had come to England under a false name.'
Miss Montressor looked up wonderingly. 'Under a false name?' she repeated. 'His name was not Foster? What was it, then?'
'I do not know,' returned Bryan Duval. 'But an awful surmise as to what it might have been came to me with your first words, when this horrid news was conveyed to us just now.'
'I don't understand you,' said Miss Montressor, with a somewhat confused and wondering look. She had not caught at the chain of probabilities which had presented itself to Bryan Duval.
'I have a horrible conviction,' said he, 'that Foster's name really was Griswold.'
'My God,' exclaimed Miss Montressor, moved to the exclamation by more feelings than the one which could be easily interpreted by her hearer, 'can it be?'
'It struck me in an instant, and every word that you have spoken has confirmed the suspicion. He told me that his wife had no notion that he had been obliged to assume a false name; he spoke of her to me only casually--with great affection it is true--but my only distinct recollection of any quality which he assigned to her was a negative one: that she knew nothing about business, and that, therefore, he could not have told her that the assumption of a name not his own was a necessary precaution without alarming her. He had, not very wisely I thought at the time, kept her in ignorance of this detail, and arranged for her letters to him passing through the hands of a friend, who was to redirect them to him under his assumed appellation, known only to this friend. How well I recollect that the whole story struck me as the sort of thing which, had it occurred in a play or a book, would have been pronounced rather unnatural, and likely to involve so much confusion of detail as to hamper rather than aid business operations! How little I dreamt of such a complication as that which has arisen now! I do not think you see it?'
'I confess I do not,' said Miss Montressor.
'Well, it is simply this: the lady you saw in the theatre to-night was Mrs. Griswold, but none the less was she the original of the miniature which Mr. Foster showed you as that of his wife. The unhappy woman has no conception that the news with which all New York is ringing concerns her--that the murdered man is her husband.'
'I see it now, I see it now!' said Miss Montressor.
'You do not see it all even yet,' resumed Bryan Duval impressively. 'You don't see how it touches us. We two are the only people in this city who know the truth--we two are the only people on whom the task of making the truth known can possibly devolve, except, indeed, the friend through whom Foster received his wife's letters; and I know neither his name, his address, nor his business--I have, indeed, no clue whatever to him. The position of this unfortunate man's wife is one of the most terrible and tragic that can be conceived. What is to be done?'
'What, indeed!' said Miss Montressor, whose mind, however, glanced rapidly towards her sister. 'I suppose you must communicate with the authorities.'
'Of course, of course!' said Bryan Duval. 'But I am not thinking so much of the public and official steps to be taken in this horrible affair; it is the wife, whose position, poor unconscious creature, is so very awful.'
To this Miss Montressor assented with ready sympathy, but it was agreed between them, as at that late hour nothing whatever could be done until the morning, there was nothing for it but that they should keep their own counsel. Bryan Duval impressed upon Miss Montressor the absolute necessity of appearing to be totally unconcerned in the matter, lest she should expose herself to indiscreet questioning by any member of the party, which it had now become necessary they should rejoin.
'If I could avoid seeing them at all,' she said, 'it would be better, and, indeed, I hardly feel equal to the exertion. I cannot forget the face I saw to-night, so full of interest and delight, beaming with youth, beauty, and happiness; I cannot forget the pride and pleasure with which that poor fellow showed me its miniature presentment in the watch, which was his wife's parting gift. The two pictures will haunt me all night, and when the morn comes, what shall we do?'
'I do not know,' said Bryan Duval, 'what my part may have to be; I must be well advised in that matter: but one grand object would be to secure access to Mrs. Griswold. How well I remember poor Foster talking of the pleasure it would give his wife to make our acquaintance, and telling me that he could not give me a letter of introduction to her, because it might lead to the leaking out, through some other members of the company, of the fact that they had known him as Mr. Foster. If the poor fellow had only made his confidence in me complete, if he had told me what was the real name which he had hidden under a false one, it might be easier for me now to help in this terrible calamity. There is no way of getting at Mrs. Griswold without startling her, if, indeed, we must be the persons to reveal the truth.'
'Perhaps we may devise one,' said Miss Montressor; 'but we must break up now. I am quite worn out.'
'Do not return to the supper-room at all,' said Bryan Duval; 'here is a side door by which you can get away. I will apologise for you, though, indeed, no apology is needed.'
During the conversation the hum of voices in the next room had been distinctly audible. The English actors had suddenly found themselves invested with a new importance and interest in New York; the very latest intelligence of the murdered man was to be had from them; and when Bryan Duval returned, he found his companions the centre of an eager group, who were all listening with absorbed avidity to every detail which could be furnished by the party concerning their acquaintance with Mr. Foster. The telegraph had given accurate particulars of the place and time at which the murder had been committed, which had so immediately followed the farewell scene on board the Cuba, that every utterance of Mr. Foster's which could be retailed by his companions on that occasion was regarded and noted with all the impressiveness due to last words.