The Child Wife

Swinton settled down into an attitude of obsequious attention.

His patron proceeded:

“Directly opposite lives a man, whose name is already known to you.”

Without the name being mentioned, the listener nodded assent. He knew it was Kossuth.

“You will observe, ere long, that this man has many visitors.”

“I have noticed that already, my lord. All day they have been coming and going.”

“Just so. And among them are men of note; many who have played an important part in the politics of Europe. Now, sir; it is deemed convenient, for the cause of order, that the movements of these men should be known; and for this it is necessary that a watch be kept upon them. From Sir Robert Cottrell’s recommendation, we’ve chosen you for this delicate duty. If I mistake not, sir, you will know how to perform it?”

“My lord, I make promise to do my best.”

“So much then for the general purpose. And now to enter a little more into details.”

Swinton resumed his listening attitude.

“You will make yourself acquainted with the personal appearance of all who enter the opposite house; endeavour to ascertain who they are; and report on their goings and comings – taking note of the hour. For this purpose you will require two assistants; whom I authorise you to engage. One of them may appear to act as your servant; the other, appropriately dressed, should visit you as an intimate acquaintance. If you could find one who has access to the camp of the enemy, it would be of infinite importance. There are some of these refugees in the habit of visiting your neighbour, who may not be altogether his friends. You understand me?”

“I do, your lordship.”

“I see, Mr Swinton, you are the man we want. And now for a last word. Though you are to take note of the movements of Kossuth’s guests, still more must you keep your eye upon himself. Should he go out, either you or your friend must follow and find where he goes to. Take a cab if necessary; and on any such occasion report directly and without losing time. Make your report to my private secretary; who will always be found at my residence in Park Lane. This will be sufficient for the present. When you are in need of funds, let my secretary know. He has orders to attend to the supply department. Any further instructions I shall communicate to you myself. I may have to come here frequently; so you had better instruct your servant about admitting me.”

“My lord, would you accept of a key? Excuse me for asking. It would save your lordship from the disagreeable necessity of waiting outside the gate, and perhaps being recognised by the passers, or those opposite?”

Without showing it, Swinton’s patron was charmed with the proposal. The key might in time become useful, for other purposes than to escape recognition by either “the passers or those opposite.” He signified his consent to accept it.

“I see you are clever, Mr Swinton,” he said, with a peculiar, almost sardonic smile. “As you say, a key will be convenient. And now, I need scarce point out to you the necessity of discretion in all that you do. I perceive that your windows are furnished with movable Venetians. That is well, and will be suitable to your purpose. Fortunately your own personal appearance corresponds very well to such an establishment as this – a very snug affair it is – and your good lady – ah! by the way, we are treating her very impolitely. I owe her an apology for keeping you so long away from her. I hope you will make it for me, Mr Swinton. Tell her that I have detained you on business of importance.”

“My lord, she will not believe it, unless I tell her whom I’ve had the honour of receiving. May I take that liberty?”

“Oh! certainly – certainly. Were it not for the hour, I should have asked you to introduce me. Of course, it is too late to intrude upon a lady.”

“There’s no hour too late for an introduction to your lordship. I know the poor child would be delighted.”

“Well, Mr Swinton, if it’s not interfering with your domestic arrangements, I, too, would be delighted. All hours are alike to me.”

“My wife is upstairs. May I ask her to come down?”

“Nay, Mr Swinton; may I ask you to bring her down?”

“Such condescension, my lord! It is a pleasure to obey you.”

With this speech, half aside, Swinton stepped out of the room; and commenced ascending the stairway.

He was not gone long. Fan was found upon the first landing, ready to receive the summons.

He returned almost too soon for his sexagenarian visitor, who had placed himself in front of the mantel mirror, and was endeavouring with dyed locks to conceal the bald spot upon his crown!

The introduction was followed by Mr Swinton’s guest forgetting all about the lateness of the hour, and resuming his seat. Then succeeded a triangular conversation, obsequious on two rides, slightly patronising on the third; becoming less so, as the speeches were continued; and then there was an invitation extended to the noble guest to accept of some refreshment, on the plea of his long detention – a courtesy he did not decline.

And the Abigail was despatched to the nearest confectionery, and brought back sausage rolls and sandwiches, with a Melton Mowbray pie; and these were placed upon the table, alongside a decanter of sherry; of which his lordship partook with as much amiable freedom as if he had been a jolly guardsman!

And it ended in his becoming still more amiable; and talking to Swinton as to an old bosom friend; and squeezing the hand of Swinton’s wife, as he stood in the doorway repeatedly bidding her “good-night” – a bit of by-play that should have made Swinton jealous, had the hall-lamp been burning bright enough for him to see. He only guessed it, and was not jealous!

“She’s a delicious creature, that!” soliloquised the titled roué, as he proceeded to the Park Road, where a carriage, drawn up under the shadow of the trees, had been all the while waiting for him. “And a trump to boot! I can tell that by the touch of her taper fingers.”

“She’s a trump and a treasure!” was the almost simultaneous reflection of Swinton, with the same woman in his thoughts – his own wife!

He made it, after closing the door upon his departing guest; and then, as he sat gulping another glass of sherry, and smoking another cigar, he repeated it with the continuation:

“Yes; Fan’s the correct card to play. What a stupid I’ve been not to think of this before! Hang it! it’s not yet too late. I’ve still got hold of the hand; and this night, if I’m not mistaken, there’s a game begun that’ll give me all I want in this world – that’s Julia Girdwood.”

The serious tone in which the last three words were spoken told he had not yet resigned his aspirations after the American heiress.

Chapter Fifty Eight.

Improved Prospects

To those who take no note of social distinctions, Swinton’s scheme in relation to Julia Girdwood will appear grotesque. Not so much on account of its atrocity, but from the chances of its success seeming so problematical.

Could he have got the girl to love him, it would have changed the aspect of affairs. Love breaks down all barriers; and to a mind constituted as hers, no obstacle could have intervened – not even the idea of danger.

She did not love him; but he did not know it. A guardsman, and handsome to boot, he had been accustomed to facile conquests. In his own way of thinking, the time had not arrived when these should be deemed difficult.

He was no longer in the Guards; but he was still young, and he knew he was still handsome English dames thought him so. Strange if a Yankee girl should have a different opinion!

This was the argument on his side; and, trusting to his attractions, he still fancied himself pretty sure of being able to make a conquest of the American – even to making her the victim of an illegal marriage.

And if he should succeed in his bigamous scheme, what then? What use would she be as a wife, unless her mother should keep that promise he had overheard: to endow her with the moiety of her own life-interest in the estate of the deceased storekeeper?

To many Julia Girdwood against her mother’s wish would be a simple absurdity. He did not dread the danger that might accrue from the crime. He did not think of it. But to become son-in-law to a woman, whose daughter might remain penniless as long as she herself lived, would be a poor speculation. A woman, too, who talked of living another half-century! The jest was not without significance; and Swinton thought so.

He felt confident that he could dupe the daughter into marrying him; but to get that half-million out of the mother, he must stand before the altar as a lord!

These were Mrs Girdwood’s original conditions. He knew she still adhered to them. If fulfilled, she would still consent; but not otherwise.

To go on, then, the sham incognito must be continued – the deception kept up.

But how?

This was the point that puzzled him.

The impersonation had become difficult. In Newport and New York it had been easy; in Paris still easier; but he was at length in London, where such a cheat would be in danger of being detected.

Moreover, in his last interview with the ladies, he had been sensible of some change in their behaviour toward him – an absence of the early congeniality. It was shown chiefly by Mrs Girdwood herself! Her warm friendship suddenly conceived at Newport, continued in New York, and afterwards renewed in Paris, appeared to have as suddenly grown cool.