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I
When I closed the last leaf of the Count’s manuscript the half-hour during which I had engaged to remain at Forest Road had expired. Monsieur Rubelle looked at his watch and bowed. I rose immediately, and left the agent in possession of the empty house. I never saw him again — I never heard more of him or of his wife. Out of the dark byways of villainy and deceit they had crawled across our path — into the same byways they crawled back secretly and were lost.
In a quarter of an hour after leaving Forest Road I was at home again.
But few words sufficed to tell Laura and Marian how my desperate venture had ended, and what the next event in our lives was likely to be. I left all details to be described later in the day, and hastened back to St. John’s Wood, to see the person of whom Count Fosco had ordered the fly, when he went to meet Laura at the station.
The address in my possession led me to some “livery stables,” about a quarter of a mile distant from Forest Road. The proprietor proved to be a civil and respectable man. When I explained that an important family matter obliged me to ask him to refer to his books for the purpose of ascertaining a date with which the record of his business transactions might supply me, he offered no objection to granting my request. The book was produced, and there, under the date of “July 26th, 1850,” the order was entered in these words —
“Brougham to Count Fosco, 5 Forest Road. Two o’clock. (John Owen).”
I found on inquiry that the name of “John Owen,” attached to the entry, referred to the man who had been employed to drive the fly. He was then at work in the stable-yard, and was sent for to see me at my request.
“Do you remember driving a gentleman, in the month of July last, from Number Five Forest Road to the Waterloo Bridge station?” I asked.
“Well, sir,” said the man, “I can’t exactly say I do.”
“Perhaps you remember the gentleman himself? Can you call to mind driving a foreigner last summer — a tall gentleman and remarkably fat?” The man’s face brightened directly.
“I remember him, sir! The fattest gentleman as ever I see, and the heaviest customer as ever I drove. Yes, yes — I call him to mind, sir! We DID go to the station, and it WAS from Forest Road. There was a parrot, or summat like it, screeching in the window. The gentleman was in a mortal hurry about the lady’s luggage, and he gave me a handsome present for looking sharp and getting the boxes.”
Getting the boxes! I recollected immediately that Laura’s own account of herself on her arrival in London described her luggage as being collected for her by some person whom Count Fosco brought with him to the station. This was the man.
“Did you see the lady?” I asked. “What did she look like? Was she young or old?”
“Well, sir, what with the hurry and the crowd of people pushing about, I can’t rightly say what the lady looked like. I can’t call nothing to mind about her that I know of excepting her name.”
“You remember her name?”
“Yes, sir. Her name was Lady Glyde.”
“How do you come to remember that, when you have forgotten what she looked like?”
The man smiled, and shifted his feet in some little embarrassment.
“Why, to tell you the truth, sir,” he said, “I hadn’t been long married at that time, and my wife’s name, before she changed it for mine, was the same as the lady’s — meaning the name of Glyde, sir. The lady mentioned it herself. ‘Is your name on your boxes, ma’am?’ says I. ‘Yes,’ says she, ‘my name is on my luggage — it is Lady Glyde.’ ‘Come!’ I says to myself, ‘I’ve a bad head for gentlefolks’ names in general — but THIS one comes like an old friend, at any rate.’ I can’t say nothing about the time, sir, it might be nigh on a year ago, or it mightn’t. But I can swear to the stout gentleman, and swear to the lady’s name.”
There was no need that he should remember the time — the date was positively established by his master’s order-book. I felt at once that the means were now in my power of striking down the whole conspiracy at a blow with the irresistible weapon of plain fact. Without a moment’s hesitation, I took the proprietor of the livery stables aside and told him what the real importance was of the evidence of his order-book and the evidence of his driver. An arrangement to compensate him for the temporary loss of the man’s services was easily made, and a copy of the entry in the book was taken by myself, and certified as true by the master’s own signature. I left the livery stables, having settled that John Owen was to hold himself at my disposal for the next three days, or for a longer period if necessity required it.
I now had in my possession all the papers that I wanted — the district registrar’s own copy of the certificate of death, and Sir Percival’s dated letter to the Count, being safe in my pocketbook.
With this written evidence about me, and with the coachman’s answers fresh in my memory, I next turned my steps, for the first time since the beginning of all my inquiries, in the direction of Mr. Kyrle’s office. One of my objects in paying him this second visit was, necessarily, to tell him what I had done. The other was to warn him of my resolution to take my wife to Limmeridge the next morning, and to have her publicly received and recognised in her uncle’s house. I left it to Mr. Kyrle to decide under these circumstances, and in Mr. Gilmore’s absence, whether he was or was not bound, as the family solicitor, to be present on that occasion in the family interests.
I will say nothing of Mr. Kyrle’s amazement, or of the terms in which he expressed his opinion of my conduct from the first stage of the investigation to the last. It is only necessary to mention that he at once decided on accompanying us to Cumberland.
We started the next morning by the early train. Laura, Marian, Mr. Kyrle, and myself in one carriage, and John Owen, with a clerk from Mr. Kyrle’s office, occupying places in another. On reaching the Limmeridge station we went first to the farmhouse at Todd’s Corner. It was my firm determination that Laura should not enter her uncle’s house till she appeared there publicly recognised as his niece. I left Marian to settle the question of accommodation with Mrs. Todd, as soon as the good woman had recovered from the bewilderment of hearing what our errand was in Cumberland, and I arranged with her husband that John Owen was to be committed to the ready hospitality of the farm-servants. These preliminaries completed, Mr. Kyrle and I set forth together for Limmeridge House.
I cannot write at any length of our interview with Mr. Fairlie, for I cannot recall it to mind without feelings of impatience and contempt, which make the scene, even in remembrance only, utterly repulsive to me. I prefer to record simply that I carried my point. Mr. Fairlie attempted to treat us on his customary plan. We passed without notice his polite insolence at the outset of the interview. We heard without sympathy the protestations with which he tried next to persuade us that the disclosure of the conspiracy had overwhelmed him. He absolutely whined and whimpered at last like a fretful child. “How was he to know that his niece was alive when he was told that she was dead? He would welcome dear Laura with pleasure, if we would only allow him time to recover. Did we think he looked as if he wanted hurrying into his grave? No. Then, why hurry him?” He reiterated these remonstrances at every available opportunity, until I checked them once for all, by placing him firmly between two inevitable alternatives. I gave him his choice between doing his niece justice on my terms, or facing the consequence of a public assertion of her existence in a court of law. Mr. Kyrle, to whom he turned for help, told him plainly that he must decide the question then and there. Characteristically choosing the alternative which promised soonest to release him from all personal anxiety, he announced with a sudden outburst of energy, that he was not strong enough to bear any more bullying, and that we might do as we pleased.
Mr. Kyrle and I at once went downstairs, and agreed upon a form of letter which was to be sent round to the tenants who had attended the false funeral, summoning them, in Mr. Fairlie’s name, to assemble in Limmeridge House