Our Neighbours in the Corner House CHAPTER 18.
Back to Our Neighbors in the Corner House
Most unwisely, I did not heed that warning. It was sufficient to make any woman pause and startle back from a giddy height such as that upon which I was standing. Again it came to me, solemn and emphatic as at first. Only a single day intervened. The young friend who was to be my bridesmaid, had been with me all day, and left, about nightfall, to go home. I went to the garden gate with her, and stood talking there. After she left, I remained at the gate for a little while, but turned to go in as I saw a man approaching along the pavement. I was half way to the house, when the words —
"Remember, I have warned you!" were flung after me, in a deep undertone that chilled me like an Arctic atmosphere.
"What's the matter, dear?" asked Aunt Mary, with a look of alarm, as I came into the house. She happened to be standing in the hall.
Why did I not tell her the truth? Why did I keep from her news of that strange, repeated warning?
I answered in some evasive way, and got up to my room as quickly as possible. When the tea-bell rang, I was lying on the bed in only a half-conscious state. With an effort I aroused myself, but felt, as I attempted to control my state of mind, which was too disturbed for any outward appearance of calmness. I could not meet my father and Aunt Mary without drawing upon me a scrutiny that I wished to avoid, and so did not go down at the ringing of the bell. As I expected, a servant came after a while to summon me, but I sent word that I had a headache, and didn't wish to eat anything.
Aunt Mary came up immediately after supper, bringing me a cup of tea. My hand trembled as I raised it to my lips, in spite of a strong effort to hide the continued nervous disturbance from which I was suffering. Very little had been said on either side, when there was a tap at the door. A servant had come to say that Mr. Congreve was downstairs.
"I can't see him tonight, Aunt Mary," I said. "It is impossible! My head is aching wildly, and you see that I am all in a tremor. I don't know what has come over me!"
"You are not fit to meet anyone, and I will see Mr. Congreve and excuse you," she replied, leaving the room and going downstairs. She came back in a little while and said that Mr. Congreve asked, as a particular favor, that I would see him, if it was only for a minute. I could not refuse what seemed so small a request, and so, making a new effort to subdue the nervous excitement from which I was suffering, I left my room and descended to the parlor.
I did not understand the quick glance which rested upon me as I came into the room. Connecting it with Mr. Clyde's warning, the sound of which had not yet died in my ears, I felt it, as something strange.
"I am grieved to hear that you are indisposed." His voice was not quite clear and confident as he said this, taking my hand and drawing me across the room to a sofa which stood furthest away from the light. "Forgive me," he added, "for not taking your excuse, but I felt that I could not go away without seeing you for just a moment."
I did not say anything in reply. He looked troubled, I thought, or more like one in a state of perplexed uncertainty.
"Your hand trembles, Edith, and you are paler than usual." His manner changed to one of more anxiety.
"I do not feel at all well this evening," I made out to reply, but in a voice that no power I then possessed, could steady.
"Something has happened to disturb you, I'm afraid." His look of troubled perplexity returned.
I felt impelled to speak to him about Mr. Clyde, and the words were on my lips, when some thought or impression checked the forming utterance, and I kept silent. He saw that I was about speaking, and waited for a time. Then expectancy died on his face. Our fellowship, during the short time we were together on that evening, was constrained, even to embarrassment. In all Mr. Congreve said, it seemed to me that he was feeling into my thoughts to find if something were not there which he dreaded to discover; and I, from a kind of fatal stubbornness, hid what was there, completely from his sight.
Mr. Congreve stayed for half an hour, and then left me. His visit tended in no way to lessen the interior disturbance from which I was suffering. Mr. Clyde's last warning had completely unnerved me. Was it any wonder? Aunt Mary was satisfied that something more than bodily indisposition ailed me, and tried in many ways to reach the true cause. But with a persistent reserve that now seems unaccountable, I kept the secret fast locked in my own mind.
My recollection of the next day — that on which I made lip-promises to which my heart was false — is very indistinct; more like a dream than anything else. I have many times since tried to make myself believe that I was neither morally nor religiously bound by the acts of that time. They were not done with a clear reason and free will. I was impelledby a force too strong for any resistance which lay in me.
A marriage with Mr. Congreve did not lessen the repulsion I had always felt towards him; and it was not long before I let the veil drop by which I had endeavored to hide my real state of mind. He was kind, tender, and considerate in the beginning of our inharmonious union; but my stubbornness, antagonism, capriciousness, and coldness — at last provoked him to opposition. The prize he had sought so eagerly as a golden one — proved of little value in possession. He had taken me as a blessing — and I was already proving a curse.
My husband's large wealth enabled him to surround me with every luxury. We had, about a mile from the city, one of the most elegant residences in the neighborhood. I saw a great deal of fashionable company at first; but the circle gradually lessened, as my state of mind, from its morbid condition, repelled instead of attracting; and, in less than a year after our marriage, the festive gaiety that for a time went laughing through our house, was a thing of the past. Mr. Congreve was sadly disappointed. I saw this; but it in no way changed my deportment towards him.
On the birth of my little Florry, a new world of impressions was opened in my mind, and with a mother's love, came the mother's joy. I began from that time to feel differently towards my husband; to find repulsion diminishing. He was very fond of the babe, and thus a new bond of affection drew us nearer to each other. But for one thing, I believe this period of my life might have been negatively happy, if I may use such a forced term. Among our occasional visitors, was the Mr. Clyde, of whom I have spoken. To my husband, I could see that he was a most unwelcome visitor; and yet he was studiously attentive to him, and exceedingly guarded in the concealment of a dislike that I knew existed. What could this mean? Why had Mr. Clyde warned me, with solemn repetitions, not to consummate a marriage with Mr. Congreve? There lay in his warning, I felt sure, a reason which would have rendered our marriage impossible, had I known it. The thought troubled me more and more, the oftener it was suggested.
I did not see in any deportment of Mr. Clyde towards myself, the smallest sign of reference to the warnings he had given. He rather kept at a distance from me; but was easy and polite when we were thrown together. He did not come very often; perhaps not more frequently than once every three or four weeks; and then he always appeared to have somebusiness with my husband, who never seemed just like himself for two or three days afterwards.
What was the secret of his power over my husband? I could not push the question from my mind. There could be no orderly point of contact between them, I felt well assured. It was something of evil, not good, which held them in social contact. My thought brooded on the subject, and my peace was disturbed thereby.
One day Mr. Congreve was reading to me, as I sat with my baby asleep on my lap — she was nearly a year old — when our waiter came to the door, and said:
"A gentleman wishes to see you, sir."
"Who is it?" asked Mr. Congreve.
"Mr. Clyde, sir," answered the waiter.
I saw his countenance change instantly.
"Very well," he said, in a voice so different from that in which he had been reading, that it sounded almost strange.
"I wish the man were in Hell!" he exclaimed, as the servant withdrew, showing a degree of passion that I had never before witnessed in him. His face had grown suddenly dark, and I felt, from its expression, that he hated this man in his very heart. The look made me shudder. There was murder in it.
In half an hour, Mr. Congreve returned to the room where he had left me. I saw a great change in him.
"I am going to the city, Edith," he said, abruptly.
"Not with Mr. Clyde?" There was so much of surprise in my voice that he seemed struck by it, and said, in a quick, sharp way —
"Why not with him?" His eyes were on my face reading it closely. There was suspicion in them.
"You don't like him," I answered.
"For all that, I am going with him. He has come the bearer of unpleasant intelligence — in a business way — and I must go to the city immediately."
The tone in which he interpolated the words, "in a business way," caused me to doubt the reason they were meant to give. He did not linger in my presence, but went to his room and made a hurried preparation. Without seeing me again, he left the house and drove away with Mr. Clyde.
I puzzled myself in conjecture as to the real cause of Mr. Congreve's visit to the city, but puzzled, of course, in vain. He had given me no leading intimations, and I was, in the nature of things, all in the dark.
Back to Our Neighbors in the Corner House