Chapter 2

"MRS. PURCELL."

After his interview with Mrs. Dacre, Mallow's first impulse was to see Semberry and tax him with the deception he had practised upon Olive. But he was not a man who gave way to his impulses. He quickly realized that to do that at this stage would simply be to put the Major on his guard. Plainly he was connected in some way with Mrs. Arne, and it seemed more than likely, from the description of her given by Mrs. Dacre, that this so-called dressmaker was identical with the so-called housekeeper of Athelstane Place. In dealing with people so astute and so dangerous, Mallow saw that his only chance lay in gaining their confidence in some way. His next move must be to see Drabble, if necessary, in the character of a convert to his views. The doctor's vanity would be flattered, and in his enthusiasm he would not hesitate to welcome him as a member of the band. Once let him become acquainted with the schemes of these Anarchists, and he might hope for much knowledge which, by any other means, would be unattainable. The risk was considerable, that he knew well--for thus to connect himself with a set of fearless fanatics, was to play with fire with a vengeance. Once the oath taken, he was the tool of these ruffians; if he broke it--and that might be necessary for Olive's sake--he became their prey. He had no fancy to be blown to pieces or to be stabbed in the dark. But that was a risk he must perforce accept if he was to carry the thing through. He decided to take it, and affiliate himself with the brotherhood. His mind made up on that point, he found himself even looking forward with a certain thrill of excitement to the risks he was about to run. Plainly speaking, he was a spy venturing into an unknown land of snares and pitfalls. The least false step might prove fatal, not only to his hopes, but to his life. However, before actually involving himself, he called on Mrs. Purcell. He was anxious to tell her all about Olive, and to induce her to take the girl under her protection for the time being. He presented himself at Campden Hill one afternoon about five o'clock, and was graciously received by the old lady, with whom he was an especial favourite. Tui and Miss Slarge had already arrived, and were established there as Mrs. Purcell's guests, but Olive was still at Sandbeach. She shunned meeting even Tui and Miss Slarge. She knew that they would ask questions which would necessitate her explaining the invidious position in which she was placed. They were still under the impression that her husband was with her, and wondered why the happy pair did not return to the Manor House. On this point Mallow preserved a judicious silence for the present, though he had fully made up his mind to take Mrs. Purcell into his confidence. That would be necessary in order to enlist her sympathies for Olive, and to carry out his purpose. The subject was a delicate one, and would require careful handling.

A majestic female was Mrs. Purcell, with a haughty eye and a Roman nose. She was as stout as her sister was lean, and was draped with funereal pomp in silk and crape, and ornaments of glistening jet. She moved slowly and spoke slowly, and she modelled her speech on the best traditions of her hero, Dr. Johnson. Her looks were monumental, her conversations ponderous. She resembled the ideal Britannia--without, be it said, helmet or trident--in domestic life. She had flippantly been compared to Gibbon's "Decline and Fall," and, indeed, there was something of the epic about her, awe-inspiring and stately. She had never made or enjoyed a joke in her life. Pallas, Lady Macbeth, Hannah More--Mrs. Purcell was a combination of all three.

"Mr. Mallow," she said, bearing down on the visitor with full canvas, "I am glad to welcome you to my temporary hearth. With my sister, as with the vivacious Miss Ostergaard, you are already acquainted. We expect Lord Aldean, but for the time being our circle is limited, as you observe."

Mallow greeted the two ladies.

"And how is your book getting on?"

The authoress sighed.

"Only moderately well, Mr. Mallow," she said wearily. "I am at present employed in identifying the Etruscan lituus with the Pontifical crosier, and some of the accounts are so contradictory that it is not easy to reconcile them."

"How is Olive?" demanded Tui, irrelevantly. "Is she well and happy?"

"Is not that a superfluous question, under the circumstances?" replied Mallow, evasively.

Tui looked at him.

"Hardly, or I would not have asked it. On the contrary, her letters give me a different impression. I fear from them that she does not get on well with her husband."

"Tis difficult," observed Mrs. Purcell, who had returned to the tea-table, "for a newly-married pair to live in complete accord with one another. The effect of their respective trainings has to be taken into account, and only the influence of time, coupled with forbearance on either side, can adapt the idiosyncrasies of one to those of the other. Olive has been reared in our island home, Mr. Carson has not. Therefore it is not unlikely that they experience some difficulty in blending their respective dispositions into one harmonious whole."

"East is east, and west is west," said Mallow, "and two parallel straight lines cannot meet."

"Let us hope that, in this case, judicious yielding on the part of each of these young people will create an exception to the invariable truth of that axiom, Mr. Mallow. Can I give you a dish of tea?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Purcell. Ah, here comes our mutual friend."

Aldean entered. He was welcomed by Mrs. Purcell with all the pomp she considered due to a member of the nobility.

Tui was joyous. "I thought you were never coming," she said. "I see that it is out 'of sight, out of mind' with you."

"By Jove! I wish it were," sighed Jim; "I should be a happier man."

"Oh, surely I don't make you miserable?"

"Never mind; it is misery I would not be without. Tell me, how is Major Semberry?"

"Good gracious, Lord Aldean, how should I know? I have not seen him for years."

"'Tis to be hoped that you will not again come into contact with Major Semberry," said Mrs. Purcell, wagging her turban; "he is not a suitable acquaintance for a young lady."

"No, I am quite sure he is not," assented Aldean; upon which Tui at once took up arms on behalf of the absent.

"Major Semberry is the most charming of men," she declared, with a pout.

"The serpent," rebuked Mrs. Purcell, "is ever beautiful to the eye but unfortunately is possessed of noxious qualities which far exceed his beauty. Rubina, in my letter to you I think I stated my opinion of Major Semberry. From that opinion I have seen no reason to depart."

"In plain English, Mrs. Purcell, you consider Semberry a rascal?"

"Mr. Mallow, I consider him a profligate and an undesirable acquaintance. How Dr. Carson came to entrust his son to such a man I cannot understand."

"They got on very well together."

"Then the one or the other must have changed very much, Lord Aldean. In Bombay, Mr. Carson was by no means friendly with his travelling companion. His rigid sense of right and wrong did not allow him to countenance Major Semberry's laxity of principle."

"You like Mr. Carson?" asked Mallow, quickly.

"My acquaintance with him was not of sufficient duration to enable me to speak quite so definitely as that, but I consider Mr. Carson to be an admirably conducted young man, calculated to render any woman happy in the matrimonial state."

"Oh, lor!" muttered Jim; "how he must have altered!"

"Well," said Tui, outright, "I don't like Mr. Carson at all. I never did."

"You surprise me," said Mrs. Purcell, in her most majestic manner. "My judgment is seldom at fault, and I considered Mr. Carson, when I saw him in Bombay, to be the type of all that is most excellent in the male sex."

The discussion had not the remotest interest for Miss Slarge. Indeed, she had already drifted back to Babylon. Observing vaguely that the great red dragon of Revelations was the fiery serpent of Chaldean worship, she left the room to return to her beloved studies, and Mrs. Purcell was left with her three guests. Lord Aldean was carried off by Tui to a distant corner where she could torment him without fear of interruption, and Mallow at once seized the opportunity for a talk with his hostess about Olive. It took all Mrs. Purcell's philosophy to hear unmoved his tale of Carson's treachery.

"Mrs. Purcell," said Mallow, plunging at once in medias res, "you are aware that I have known Mrs. Carson for many years, and that I take a deep interest in her welfare. I am sorry to tell you that she is very unhappy in her marriage."

"Did she inform you of this fact?" said Mrs. Purcell, with some displeasure.

"She did. I received a letter from her asking me to go to Sandbeach, where she was spending her honeymoon. On arriving there I found that her husband had left her."

"Mr. Carson has left Olive!"

"Yes; he is now in Italy, and, I believe, with another woman."

"You amaze me, Mr. Mallow; I may say, you pain me. What is the meaning of this terrible state of affairs?"

"Ah! that is a difficult question for me to answer. My only way of doing so is to tell you all that I have learned concerning Mr. Carson and Major Semberry, and leave you to judge for yourself."

"That will be best, Mr. Mallow. I shall then be enabled to deliver my unbiassed judgment."

Thereupon Laurence related all that had taken place since Carson's arrival at Casterwell, and particularly detailed the steps which had led to the engagement of Clara Trall.

"So you see, Mrs. Purcell," he concluded, "she can hardly help being unhappy. Her husband has left her, and has taken her money--to spend it, I presume, on another woman. She is now alone and worried, at Sandbeach. I want you to ask her up here and take her under your wing. She needs a friend. You will be that friend?"

"You may depend upon my doing what is just and right," said Mrs. Purcell, vigorously. "I will communicate with Olive at once; yes, and I will invite her to come here. That Mr. Carson should behave so basely is a matter of the most profound astonishment to me. I had read his character otherwise. I can but ascribe this deterioration to the counsel and wiles of Major Semberry."

"That is one way of explaining it," said Mallow, taking out his pocket-book; "but there is yet another and more conclusive one. This is a portrait which Mr. Carson had taken at Sandbeach. May I ask you to look at it carefully, and to tell me what you think of it?"

Mrs. Purcell took the photograph and examined it.

"This is either an extremely bad portrait, or Mr. Carson has altered sadly for the worse," she said at length.

Mallow felt his heart beating furiously.

"In what way has Mr. Carson altered?" he asked, anxiously.

"Oh, his whole expression is quite different, Mr. Mallow. When last I saw him, Mr. Carson's face was replete with intellectual vigour; he was sad and sombre, too, not bright and smiling as he is depicted here. His moustache was very much heavier, and he certainly was not so tall as this picture represents him to be."

"It would not surprise you then, Mrs. Purcell, if I were to tell you that this was not Mr. Carson's portrait at all?"

"No, Mr. Mallow, it would not. At first glance, I did not notice many things that appear to me as I look into it. Mr. Carson's face may, of course, have changed. The circumstances of his life may have caused his expression to brighten. It is possible, too, that his moustache may be of less luxuriant growth, but I confess I do not understand how he can have become less of stature. No, Mr. Mallow, the man here represented is not Mr. Angus Carson!"