University of Virginia Library

40. CHAPTER XL.
A DRAWING-ROOM POISONER.

About one o'clock on the next day, a light vehicle drove up to
the door of Blandfield, and there emerged therefrom a lady of full
figure, elaborate toilet, and a generally “stunning” appearance. It
is always to be regretted when a grave historian is driven to the
employment of inelegant terms; but the word stunning best describes
human beings of the appearance and bearing of Miss Fulkson.

Unmarried, but extremely fond of society, admiration, and gossip,
Miss Fulkson went out a great deal—conversation being a necessity
of her nature; and her strongest trait, after her love of gaudy costume
and male admiration, may be conveyed in the statement that,
like the ancient Athenians, she took her chiefest pleasure in hearing
and repeating some “new thing.”

Miss Fulkson lived only a few miles from Blandfield, and was
intimate with Miss Clementina—the two having indulged in many
a delicious dish of gossip, with their dishes of tea. When Miss
Fulkson now got out of her vehicle, and walked up the steps as
rapidly as her portly form would permit—a fascinating smile upon
her florid face, above which nodded a brilliant cluster of artificial
roses—Miss Clementina, seeing her from an upper window, said,

“Clara has something to tell me.”

She was not mistaken.

“Oh! my dear Clementina!” said Miss Fulkson, rushing forward
and kissing her friend with effusion, as the latter entered the
drawing-room, “I am so glad to see you! Where did you get that
love of a neck-tie? It just suits your style. I have always advised
you to wear blue—it becomes you immensely! Well—here I am at
Blandfield, after being up all night nearly! I was at the assembly,
as Evelyn may have told you. It was an accident—entirely an
accident, I assure you—I was persuaded to go against my will.”

And Miss Fulkson, who had gone by herself, with her old driver,
looked coy and mysterious, as if some ardent admirer had induced
her reluctantly to accompany him.

She then continued. Long experience told Miss Clementina that
a certain amount of conversational gushing forth was necessary to
relieve her friend's mind when they met. She therefore contented
herself with throwing in an occasional exclamation, which sufficed

to indicate that she was listening with deep interest; and the current
of Miss Fulkson's observations rushed along, broken into foam
by the oh's! and ah's! which were habitual with her. She exclaimed,
dilated, described—the party lived again on her vivid canvas—then
she paused for want of breath.

“It must have been quite delightful,” said Miss Clementina,
seizing her opportunity.

“Oh—h—h!”

And when Miss Fulkson said “Oh!” she uttered the word with
a little scream and a drawl, and her face burst into smiles.

“Oh!—delightful! delightful, I do assure you! Everybody was
there, as I said, my dear Clementina—even that singular-looking
Mr. Justin Harley, who it seems has made up his mind to go into
society again.”

“Yes, he seems much less unsocial than on his first return from
Europe, Clara.”

“Much less!—very much less! From all that I could hear, he
was a perfect solitary before he went away, and almost as much so
when he came back. What did it mean? Of course, Clementina,
I never gave any credit to the reports about him.”

“You mean—”

“The reports that he was married, my dear. It is said that he
was married—I really know nothing about it, but so much has been
said on the subject by people, that I do not know what to believe.
You see I am inconsistent—very inconsistent. Sometimes I believe
it and sometimes I disbelieve it.”

“The reports—”

“Of his marriage, of course. And now they say, as you are
aware, that his wife is still living, and was even seen in this neighborhood.”

“Yes.”

“Oh! my dear, how dreadful! How very dreadful! Married!—
he, a young geneleman going into society, and paying his addresses,
it would seem, to people! Can anybody imagine anything so very
romantic as that? One wife living, and another in prospect.
What do they call it, dear Clementina. Big—big—”

“Bigamy.”

“Yes—bigamy. How dreadful!”

“Did you say that he was paying his addresses to any one, Clara?”

“Well—I really cannot say that he is actually addressing any
one—but—do not give me as your authority now, dear—I never
repeat things—but—”

Miss Fulkson actually stopped. But she shook her head in a
manner which said far more than any words.

“No one would charge you with malicious repetition of anything,
my dear Clara,” said Miss Clementina, waving her fan a little nervously;
for she perfectly well understood what her friend meant,
and knew that she would speedily come to particulars.

“Malicious! I repeat a thing maliciously, dear? Never! I never
repeat anything, and if I ever speak of anything, it is from seeing
it.”

“You mean that you have seen Mr. Harley—”

“No! Oh! no! Do not misunderstand me, dear. But can you
be entirely blind? Is not Mr. Harley very fond of—our dear
Evelyn?”

“I fear so,” said Miss Clementina, sighing.

“You acknowledge it.”

“I cannot deny it, at least.”

“But it is so dreadful.”

Miss Clementina sighed.

“With one wife living. Oh! my dear. Think! With one wife
living!

Miss Fulkson paused to catch her breath, and having caught it,
said that it was very dreadful!

“I hope it is not true—this report about Mr. Harley, Clara; and
if he has indeed formed an unfortunate union, and has a wife still
living, I am sure he would not be so dishonorable as to pay his
addresses to Evelyn.”

“Oh! I hope not, I trust not, I believe not! I am sure he would
not. But you know, my dear, these men are strange creatures.
They have a—what do the lawyers call it—yes!—a code—they have
a code of their own. Mr. Harley would never act dishonorably—
but—”

“I am sure he would not.”

“But suppose he considers himself morally if not legally divorced—
divorced, Clementina! He might not even then address our dear
Evelyn or any other young lady, but he might—fall in love with
her.”

Miss Clementina knit her brows.

“Meaning nothing my dear!—only to pass the time pleasantly!
Men are made in that way, my dear. They are very, very loose in
their views.”

This theory of Harley's course evidently made an impression
on Miss Clementina. She looked very much troubled—to Miss
Fulkson's obvious satisfaction.

“Whatever may be Mr. Harley's intentions,” said Miss Fulkson,
in continuation, “I freely acknowledge, dear, that he cannot mean
anything wrong. He is either unmarried, or is divorced, or his

wife is dead, or he thinks she is dead—or—something,” said Miss
Fulkson, vaguely. “What is certain is, that people are connecting
his name with our dear Evelyn's.”

This was significant. Miss Clementina turned her head quietly,
and listened.

“But I ought not to be gossiping about this to you, dear,” said
Miss Fulkson. “Of course, I have contradicted these unfeeling
reports—”

“What reports, dear Clara?”

“That our dear Evelyn—but really it is too painful.”

“Please be plain.”

“Well, dear—now do not be hurt.”

“I will not.”

“People are saying that whether Mr. Harley cares anything for
dear Evelyn or not, it is very plain that she cares a great deal for
him!”

“A very harsh and unfeeling speech!” said Miss Clementina,
flushing.

“Is it not! Oh! dear Clementina, how angry it made me!”

“It was made to you?”

“Yes—don't ask me who said it. I have said too much. I am
very, very indiscreet; but then my intentions are always good, you
know, dear—I am so devoted to dear Evelyn; and to hear that she
is fond of a gentleman whether a gentleman cares for her or not—it
is too dreadful!”

“Indeed it is!”

Miss Clementina uttered these words with real pain.

“I must speak to Evelyn about it.”

“Do so, dear—it is certainly much the best course. Oh! how it
pained me. I thought it my duty to tell you—but don't give me as
your authority. It would make our dear Evelyn so angry with
me.”

“I must certainly know if there is any foundation for these
reports. I fear—”

Miss Clementina stopped in great trouble. Miss Fulkson significantly
shook her head.

“It was painful to see what went on last night,” she said.

“Last night?”

“I did not speak of it—perhaps it would be best not to do so. I
fear I am indiscreet.”

This was Miss Fulkson's ordinary prelude. Her friend waited as
usual.

“It was nothing that anybody could take exception to.”

“I trust not.”

“Our dear Evelyn and Mr. Harley were—walking out together—
in the shrubbery,” said Miss Fulkson, with solemn significance,
“and I do not think this is advisable, do you?—at least when gentlemen
are reported to be already married. Oh! my dear Clementina,
you should have seen the look they exchanged once as they
passed each other! I fear our dear Evelyn's feelings are certainly
engaged, and I would warn her to beware. People are talking—
that is very dreadful, you know. I hear they have been riding out
together—and now walking out together by moonlight—and that
dreadful report—a wife already living!—and to have our dear Evelyn's
name bandied about as fond of—what did you call it, dear?
—of a big—big—bigamist!”

An hour afterwards, Miss Fulkson returned homeward with a
tranquil brow. She had relieved her mind.

Her last words had been uttered with a little scream.

“Oh!!! my dear, dear Clementina! Isn't it dreadful, dreadful!”