No Name (A Thriller). Уилки Коллинз
deeper than usual. All the rest, Miss Garth included, found old Mr. Clare’s speech of welcome to his son quite irresistible. The noise and merriment were at their height when the servant came in, and struck the whole party dumb by the announcement of visitors in the drawing-room. “Mr. Marrable, Mrs. Marrable, and Miss Marrable; Evergreen Lodge, Clifton.”
Norah rose as readily as if the new arrivals had been a relief to her mind. Mrs. Vanstone was the next to leave her chair. These two went away first, to receive the visitors. Magdalen, who preferred the society of her father and Frank, pleaded hard to be left behind; but Miss Garth, after granting five minutes’ grace, took her into custody and marched her out of the room. Frank rose to take his leave.
“No, no,” said Mr. Vanstone, detaining him. “Don’t go. These people won’t stop long. Mr. Marrable’s a merchant at Bristol. I’ve met him once or twice, when the girls forced me to take them to parties at Clifton. Mere acquaintances, nothing more. Come and smoke a cigar in the greenhouse. Hang all visitors — they worry one’s life out. I’ll appear at the last moment with an apology; and you shall follow me at a safe distance, and be a proof that I was really engaged.”
Proposing this ingenious stratagem in a confidential whisper, Mr. Vanstone took Frank’s arm and led him round the house by the back way. The first ten minutes of seclusion in the conservatory passed without events of any kind. At the end of that time, a flying figure in bright garments flashed upon the two gentlemen through the glass — the door was flung open — flower-pots fell in homage to passing petticoats — and Mr. Vanstone’s youngest daughter ran up to him at headlong speed, with every external appearance of having suddenly taken leave of her senses.
“Papa! the dream of my whole life is realized,” she said, as soon as she could speak. “I shall fly through the roof of the greenhouse if somebody doesn’t hold me down. The Marrables have come here with an invitation. Guess, you darling — guess what they’re going to give at Evergreen Lodge!”
“A ball!” said Mr. Vanstone, without a moment’s hesitation.
“Private Theatricals!!!” cried Magdalen, her clear young voice ringing through the conservatory like a bell; her loose sleeves falling back and showing her round white arms to the dimpled elbows, as she clapped her hands ecstatically in the air. “‘The Rivals’ is the play, papa — ’The Rivals,’ by the famous what’s-his-name — and they want ME to act! The one thing in the whole universe that I long to do most. It all depends on you. Mamma shakes her head; and Miss Garth looks daggers; and Norah’s as sulky as usual — but if you say Yes, they must all three give way and let me do as I like. Say Yes,” she pleaded, nestling softly up to her father, and pressing her lips with a fond gentleness to his ear, as she whispered the next words. “Say Yes, and I’ll be a good girl for the rest of my life.”
“A good girl?” repeated Mr. Vanstone — ”a mad girl, I think you must mean. Hang these people and their theatricals! I shall have to go indoors and see about this matter. You needn’t throw away your cigar, Frank. You’re well out of the business, and you can stop here.”
“No, he can’t,” said Magdalen. “He’s in the business, too.”
Mr. Francis Clare had hitherto remained modestly in the background. He now came forward with a face expressive of speechless amazement.
“Yes,” continued Magdalen, answering his blank look of inquiry with perfect composure. “You are to act. Miss Marrable and I have a turn for business, and we settled it all in five minutes. There are two parts in the play left to be filled. One is Lucy, the waiting-maid; which is the character I have undertaken — with papa’s permission,” she added, slyly pinching her father’s arm; “and he won’t say No, will he? First, because he’s a darling; secondly, because I love him, and he loves me; thirdly, because there is never any difference of opinion between us (is there?); fourthly, because I give him a kiss, which naturally stops his mouth and settles the whole question. Dear me, I’m wandering. Where was I just now? Oh yes! explaining myself to Frank — ”
“I beg your pardon,” began Frank, attempting, at this point, to enter his protest.
“The second character in the play,” pursued Magdalen, without taking the smallest notice of the protest, “is Falkland — a jealous lover, with a fine flow of language. Miss Marrable and I discussed Falkland privately on the window-seat while the rest were talking. She is a delightful girl — so impulsive, so sensible, so entirely unaffected. She confided in me. She said: ‘One of our miseries is that we can’t find a gentleman who will grapple with the hideous difficulties of Falkland.’ Of course I soothed her. Of course I said: ‘I’ve got the gentleman, and he shall grapple immediately.’ — ’Oh heavens! who is he?’ — ’Mr. Francis Clare.’ — ’And where is he?’ — ’In the house at this moment.’ — ’Will you be so very charming, Miss Vanstone, as to fetch him?’ — ’I’ll fetch him, Miss Marrable, with the greatest pleasure.’ I left the window-seat — I rushed into the morning-room — I smelled cigars — I followed the smell — and here I am.”
“It’s a compliment, I know, to be asked to act,” said Frank, in great embarrassment. “But I hope you and Miss Marrable will excuse me — ”
“Certainly not. Miss Marrable and I are both remarkable for the firmness of our characters. When we say Mr. So-and-So is positively to act the part of Falkland, we positively mean it. Come in and be introduced.”
“But I never tried to act. I don’t know how.”
“Not of the slightest consequence. If you don’t know how, come to me and I’ll teach you.”
“You!” exclaimed Mr. Vanstone. “What do you know about it?”
“Pray, papa, be serious! I have the strongest internal conviction that I could act every character in the play — Falkland included. Don’t let me have to speak a second time, Frank. Come and be introduced.”
She took her father’s arm, and moved on with him to the door of the greenhouse. At the steps, she turned and looked round to see if Frank was following her. It was only the action of a moment; but in that moment her natural firmness of will rallied all its resources — strengthened itself with the influence of her beauty — commanded — and conquered. She looked lovely: the flush was tenderly bright in her cheeks; the radiant pleasure shone and sparkled in her eyes; the position of her figure, turned suddenly from the waist upward, disclosed its delicate strength, its supple firmness, its seductive, serpentine grace. “Come!” she said, with a coquettish beckoning action of her head. “Come, Frank!”
Few men of forty would have resisted her at that moment. Frank was twenty last birthday. In other words, he threw aside his cigar, and followed her out of the greenhouse.
As he turned and closed the door — in the instant when he lost sight of her — his disinclination to be associated with the private theatricals revived. At the foot of the housesteps he stopped again; plucked a twig from a plant near him; broke it in his hand; and looked about him uneasily, on this side and on that. The path to the left led back to his father’s cottage — the way of escape lay open. Why not take it?
While he still hesitated, Mr. Vanstone and his daughter reached the top of the steps. Once more, Magdalen looked round — looked with her resistless beauty, with her all-conquering smile. She beckoned again; and again he followed her — up the steps, and over the threshold. The door closed on them.
So, with a trifling gesture of invitation on one side, with a trifling act of compliance on the other: so — with no knowledge in his mind, with no thought in hers, of the secret still hidden under the journey to London — they took the way which led to that secret’s discovery, through many a darker winding that was yet to come.
Chapter V
Mr. Vanstone’S inquiries into the proposed theatrical entertainment