The Testing of Diana Mallory Page 11

  CHAPTER XI

  "Her ladyship will be here directly, sir." Lady Lucy's immaculate butleropened the door of her drawing-room in Eaton Square, ushered in SirJames Chide, noiselessly crossed the room to see to the fire, and thenas noiselessly withdrew.

  "Impossible that any one should be as respectable as that man looks!"thought Sir James, impatiently. He walked forward to the fire, warmedhands and feet chilled by a nipping east wind, and then, with his backto the warmth, he examined the room.

  It was very characteristic of its mistress. At Tallyn Henry Marsham hadworked his will; here, in this house taken since his death, it was thewill and taste of his widow which had prevailed. A gray paper with asmall gold sprig upon it, sofas and chairs not too luxurious, a Brusselscarpet, dark and unobtrusive, and chintz curtains; on the walls,drawings by David Cox, Copley Fielding, and De Wint; a few books withMudie labels; costly photographs of friends and relations, especially ofthe relations' babies; on one table, and under a glass case, a model inpith of Lincoln Cathedral, made by Lady Lucy's uncle, who had been aCanon of Lincoln; on another, a set of fine carved chessmen; such wasthe furniture of the room. It expressed--and with emphasis--the tastesand likings of that section of English society in which, firmly based asit is upon an ample supply of all material goods, a seemly andintelligent interest in things ideal and spiritual is also to be found.Everything in the room was in its place, and had been in its place foryears. Sir James got no help from the contemplation of it.

  The door opened, and Lady Lucy came quietly in. Sir James looked at hersharply as they shook hands. She had more color than usual; but theresult was to make the face look older, and certain lines in itdisagreeably prominent. Very likely she had been crying. He hopedshe had.

  "Oliver told you to expect me?"

  She assented. Then, still standing, she looked at him steadily.

  "This is a very terrible affair, Sir James."

  "Yes. It must have been a great shock to you."

  "Oh! that does not matter," she said, impatiently. "I must not think ofmyself. I must think of Oliver. Will you sit down?"

  She motioned him, in her stately way, to a seat. He realized, as hefaced her, that he beheld her in a new aspect. She was no longer thegracious and smiling hostess, as her familiar friends knew her, both atTallyn and in London. Her manner threw a sudden light on certainfeatures in her history: Marsham's continued dependence on his motherand inadequate allowance, the autocratic ability shown in the managementof the Tallyn household and estates, management in which Marsham wasallowed practically no share at all, and other traits and facts longknown to him. The gentle, scrupulous, composed woman of every day hadvanished in something far more vigorously drawn; he felt himselfconfronted by a personality as strong as, and probably more stubbornthan his own.

  Lady Lucy seated herself. She quietly arranged the folds of her blacksatin dress; she drew forward a stool, and rested her feet upon it. SirJames watched her, uncertain how to begin. But she saved himthe decision.

  "I have had a painful interview with my son" she said, quietly. "Itcould not be otherwise, and I can only hope that in a little while hewill do me justice. Oliver will join us presently. And now--first, SirJames, let me ask you--you really believe that Miss Mallory has beentill now in ignorance of her mother's history?"

  Sir James started.

  "Good Heavens, Lady Lucy! Can you--do you--suppose anything else?"

  Lady Lucy paused before replying.

  "I cannot suppose it--since both you and my son--and Mr. Ferrier--haveso high an opinion of her. But it is a strange and mysterious thing thatshe should have remained in this complete ignorance all these years--anda cruel thing, of course--to everybody concerned."

  Sir James nodded.

  "I agree. It was a cruel thing, though it was done, no doubt, from thetenderest motives. The suffering was bound to be not less but more,sooner or later."

  "Miss Mallory is very greatly to be pitied. But it is, of course, clearthat my son proposed to her, not knowing what it was essential that heshould know."

  Sir James paused.

  "We are old friends, Lady Lucy--you and I," he said at last, withdeliberation; and as he spoke he bent forward and took her hand. "I amsure you will let me ask you a few questions."

  Lady Lucy made no reply. Her hand--without any movement of withdrawalor rebuff--gently dropped from his.

  "You have been, I think, much attracted by Miss Mallory herself?"

  "Very much attracted. Up to this morning I thought that she would makean excellent wife for Oliver. But I have been acting, of course,throughout under a false impression."

  "Is it your feeling that to marry her would injure Oliver's career?"

  "Certainly. But that is not what weighs with me most heavily."

  "I did not for a moment believe that it would. However, let us take thecareer first. This is how I look at it. If the marriage went forward,there would no doubt be some scandal and excitement at first, when thetruth was known. But Oliver's personality and the girl's charm wouldsoon live it down. In this strange world I am not at all sure it mightnot in the end help their future. Oliver would be thought to have done agenerous and romantic thing, and his wife's goodness and beauty would beall the more appreciated for the background of tragedy."

  Lady Lucy moved impatiently.

  "Sir James--I am a plain person, with plain ideas. The case wouldpresent itself to me very differently; and I believe that my view wouldbe that of the ordinary man and woman. However, I repeat, that is notwhat I think of first--by any means."

  "You think of the criminal taint?--the risk to Oliver--and to Oliver'schildren?"

  She made a sign of assent.

  "Character--and the protection of character--is not that what we haveto think of--above all--in this world of temptation? We can none of usafford to throw away the ordinary helps and safeguards. How can Ipossibly aid and abet Oliver's marriage with the daughter of a woman whofirst robbed her own young sister, in a peculiarly mean and cruel way,and then committed a deliberate and treacherous murder?"

  "Wait a moment!" exclaimed Sir James, holding up his hand. "Thoseadjectives, believe me, are unjust."

  "I know that you think so," was the animated reply. "But I remember thecase; I have my own opinion."

  "They are unjust," repeated Sir James, with emphasis. "Then it is reallythe horror of the thing itself--not so much its possible effect onsocial position and opinion, which decides you?"

  "I ask myself--I must ask myself," said his companion, with equalemphasis, forcing the words: "can I help Oliver to marry thedaughter--of a convicted murderess--and adulteress?"

  "No!" said Sir James, holding up his hand again--"_No!"_

  Lady Lucy fell back in her chair. Her unwonted color had disappeared,and the old hand lying in her lap--a hand thin to emaciation--shooka little.

  "Is not this too painful for us both, Sir James?--can we continue it? Ihave my duty to think of; and yet--I cannot, naturally, speak to youwith entire frankness. Nor can I possibly regard your view as animpartial one. Forgive me. I should not have dreamed of referring to thematter in any other circumstances."

  "Certainly, I am not impartial," said Sir James, looking up. "You knowthat, of course, well enough."

  He spoke in a strong full voice. Lady Lucy encountered a singularvivacity in the gray eyes, as though the whole power of the man'spersonality backed the words.

  "Believe me," she said, with dignity, and not without kindness, "it isnot I who would revive such memories."

  Sir James nodded quietly.

  "I am not impartial; but I am well informed. It was my view whichaffected the judge, and ultimately the Home Office. And since thetrial--in quite recent years--I have received a strange confirmation ofit which has never been made public. Did Oliver report this to you?"

  "He told me certain facts," said Lady Lucy, unwillingly; "but I did notsee that they made much difference."

  "Perhaps he did not give them the right emphasis," said Si
r James,calmly. "Will you allow _me_ to tell you the whole story?--as itappears to me."

  Lady Lucy looked distressed.

  "Is it worth while," she said, earnestly, "to give yourself so muchpain? I cannot imagine that it could alter the view I take of my duty."

  Sir James flushed, and sternly straightened himself. It was a well-knowngesture, and ominous to many a prisoner in the dock.

  "Worth while!" he said. "Worth while!--when your son's future may dependon the judgment you form."

  The sharpness of his tone called the red also to Lady Lucy's cheek.

  "Can anything that may be said now alter the irrevocable?" she asked, inprotest.

  "It cannot bring the dead to life; but if you are really moreinfluenced in this matter by the heinousness of the crime itself, by themoral infection, so to speak--that may spring from any kinship withJuliet Sparling or inheritance from her--than by any dread of socialdisgrace or disadvantage--if that be true!--then for Oliver's sake--forthat poor child's sake--you _ought_ to listen to me! There, I can meetyou--there, I have much to say."

  He looked at her earnestly. The slight, involuntary changes ofexpression in Lady Lucy, as he was speaking, made him say to himself:"She is _not_ indifferent to the social stigma--she deceives herself!"But he made no sign of his perception; he held her to her word.

  She paused, in evident hesitation, saying at last, with some coldness:

  "If you wish it, Sir James, of course I am quite ready to listen. Idesire to do nothing harshly."

  "I will not keep you long."

  Bending forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes upon the ground, hethought a moment. When he began to speak, it was in a quiet andperfectly colorless tone.

  "I knew Juliet Wentworth first--when she was seventeen. I was on theMidland Circuit, and went down to the Milchester Assizes. Her father wasHigh Sheriff, and asked me, with other barristers of the Circuit, notonly to his official dinner in the county town, but to luncheon at hishouse, a mile or two away. There I saw Miss Wentworth. She made a deepimpression on me. After the Assizes were over, I stayed at her father'shouse and in the neighborhood. Within a month I proposed to her. Sherefused me. I merely mention these circumstances for the sake ofreporting my first impressions of her character. She was very young, andof an extraordinarily nervous and sensitive organization. She used toremind me of Horace's image of the young fawn trembling and starting inthe mountain paths at the rustling of a leaf or the movement of alizard. I felt then that her life might very well be a tragedy, and Ipassionately desired to be able to protect and help her. However, shewould have nothing to do with me, and after a little while I lost sightof her. I did happen to hear that her father, having lost his firstwife, had married again, that the girl was not happy at home, and hadgone off on a long visit to some friends in the United States. Then foryears I heard nothing. One evening, about ten years after my firstmeeting with her, I read in the evening papers the accounts of a'Supposed Murder at Brighton.' Next morning Riley & Bonner retained mefor the defence. Mr. Riley came to see me, with Mr. Sparling, thehusband of the incriminated lady, and it was in the course of myconsultation with them that I learned who Mrs. Sparling was. I had toconsider whether to take up the case or not; I saw at once it would be afight for her life, and I accepted it."

  "What a terrible--terrible--position!" murmured Lady Lucy, who wasshading her eyes with her hand.

  Sir James took no notice. His trained mind and sense were now whollyconcerned with the presentation of his story.

  "The main facts, as I see them, were these. Juliet Wentworth hadmarried--four years before this date--a scholar and archaeologist whomshe had met at Harvard during her American stay. Mr. Sparling was anEnglishman, and a man of some means who was devoting himself toexploration in Asia Minor. The marriage was not really happy, thoughthey were in love with each other. In both there was a temperamenttouched with melancholy, and a curious incapacity to accept the commonfacts of life. Both hated routine, and were always restless for newexperience. Mrs. Sparling was brilliant in society. She was wonderfullyhandsome, in a small slight way; her face was not unlike Miss Curran'spicture of Shelley--the same wildness and splendor in the eyes, the samedelicacy of feature, the same slight excess of breadth across thecheek-bones, and curly mass of hair. She was odd, wayward,eccentric--yet always lovable and full of charm. He was a fine creaturein many ways, but utterly unfit for practical life. His mind was alwaysdreaming of buried treasure--the treasure of the archaeologist: tombs,vases, gold ornaments, papyri; he had the passion of the excavatorand explorer.

  "They came back to England from America shortly after their marriage,and their child was born. The little girl was three years old whenSparling went off to dig in a remote part of Asia Minor. His wiferesented his going; but there is no doubt that she was still deeply inlove with him. She herself took a little house at Brighton for thechild's sake. Her small startling beauty soon made her remarked, and heracquaintances rapidly increased. She was too independent andunconventional to ask many questions about the people that amused her;she took them as they came--"

  "Sir James!--dear Sir James." Lady Lucy raised a pair of imploringhands. "What good can it do that you should tell me all this? It showsthat this poor creature had a wild, undisciplined character. Could anyone ever doubt it?"

  "Wild? undisciplined?" repeated Sir James. "Well, if you think that youhave disposed of the mystery of it by those adjectives! For me--lookingback--she was what life and temperament and heredity had made her. Upto this point it was an innocent wildness. She could lose herself in artor music; she did often the most romantic and generous things; sheadored her child; and but for some strange kink in the tie that boundthem, she would have adored her husband. Well!"--he shrugged hisshoulders mournfully--"there it is: she was alone--she wasbeautiful--she had no doubt a sense of being neglected--she wasthirsting for some deeper draught of life than had yet been hers--and bythe hideous irony of fate she found it--in gambling!--and in thefriendship which ruined her!"

  Sir James paused. Rising from his chair, he began to pace the largeroom. The immaculate butler came in, made up the fire, and placed thetea: domestic and comfortable rites, in grim contrast with the storythat held the minds of Lady Lucy and her guest. She sat motionlessmeanwhile; the butler withdrew, and the tea remained untouched.

  "Sir Francis and Lady Wing--the two fiends who got possession ofher--had been settled at Brighton for about a year. Their debts hadobliged them to leave London, and they had not yet piled up a sufficientmountain of fresh ones to drive them out of Brighton. The man was thedisreputable son of a rich and hard-working father who, in the usualway, had damned his son by removing all incentives to work, and turninghim loose with a pile of money. He had married an adventuress--a girlwith a music-hall history, some beauty, plenty of vicious ability, andno more conscience than a stone. They were the centre of a gambling andracing set; but Lady Wing was also a very fine musician, and it wasthrough this talent of hers that she and Juliet Sparling becameacquainted. They met, first, at a charity concert! Mrs. Sparling had afine voice, Lady Wing accompanied her. The Wings flattered her, andprofessed to adore her. Her absent whimsical character prevented herfrom understanding what kind of people they were; and in her greatignorance of the world, combined with her love of the romantic and theextreme, she took the persons who haunted their house for Bohemians,when she should have known them--the majority of them--for scoundrels.You will remember that baccarat was then the rage. The Wings played itincessantly, and were very skilful in the decoying and plunder of youngmen. Juliet Sparling was soon seized by the excitement of the game, andher beauty, her evident good breeding and good faith, were ofconsiderable use to the Wings' _menage_. Very soon she had lost all themoney that her husband had left to her credit, and her bankers wrote tonotify her that she was overdrawn. A sudden terror of Sparling'sdispleasure seized her; she sold a bracelet, and tried to win back whatshe had lost. The result was only fresh loss, and in a panic she playedon and on, till one disastrous
night she got up from the baccarat-tableheavily in debt to one or two persons, including Sir Francis Wing. Withthe morning came a letter from her husband, remonstrating in a rathersharp tone on what her own letters--and probably an account from someother source--had told him of her life at Brighton; insisting on theneed for economy, owing to his own heavy expenses in the greatexcavation he was engaged upon; and expressing the peremptory hope thatshe would make the money he had left her last for another two months--"

  Sir James lingered in his walk. He stared out of window at the squaregarden for a few moments, then turned to look frowning at his companion.

  "Then came her temptation. Her father had died a year before, leavingher the trustee of her only sister, who was not yet of age. It had takensome little time to wind up his affairs; but on the day after shereceived her husband's letter of remonstrance, six thousand pounds outof her father's estate was paid into her banking account. By this timeshe was in one of those states of excitement and unreasoning terror towhich she had been liable from her childhood. She took the trust moneyin order to pay the debts, and then gambled again in order to replacethe trust money. Her motive throughout was the motive of the huntedcreature. She was afraid of confessing to her husband, especially byletter. She believed he would cast her off--and in her despair andremorse she clung to his affection, and to the hope of his coming home,as she had never yet done.

  "In less than a month--in spite of ups and downs of fortune, probablyskilfully contrived by Francis Wing and his accomplices--for there canbe no question that the play was fraudulent--she had lost four thousandout of the six; and it is clear that more than once she thought ofsuicide as the only way out, and nothing but the remembrance of thechild restrained her. By this time Francis Wing, who was a mosthandsome, well-bred, and plausible villain, was desperately in love withher--if one can use the word love for such a passion. He began to lendher money in small sums. She was induced to look upon him as her onlyfriend, and forced by the mere terror of the situation in which shefound herself to propitiate and play him as best she might. One day, inan unguarded moment of remorse, she let him guess what had happenedabout the trust money. Thenceforward she was wholly in his power. Hepressed his attentions upon her; and she, alternately civil andrepellent, as her mood went, was regarded by some of the guests in thehouse as not unlikely to respond to them in the end. Meanwhile he hadtold his wife the secret of the trust money for his own purposes. LadyWing, who was an extremely jealous woman, believed at this time that hewas merely pretending a passion for Mrs. Sparling in order the moresecurely to plunder what still remained of the six thousand pounds. Shetherefore aided and abetted him; and _her_ plan, no doubt, was to waittill they and their accomplices had absorbed the last of Mrs. Sparling'smoney, and then to make a midnight flitting, leaving their victim toher fate.

  "The _denouement_, however, came with frightful rapidity. The Wings hadtaken an old house at the back of the downs for the summer, no doubt toescape from some of the notoriety they had gained in Brighton. There--toher final ruin--Juliet Sparling was induced to join them, and gamblingbegan again; she still desperately hoping to replace the trust money,and salving her conscience, as to her sister, by drawing for the time onthe sums lent her by Francis Wing.--Here at last Lady Wing's suspicionwas aroused, and Mrs. Sparling found herself between the hatred of thewife and the dishonorable passion of the husband. Yet to leave themwould be the signal for exposure. For some time the presence of otherguests protected her. Then the guests left, and one August night afterdinner, Francis Wing, who had drunk a great deal of champagne, madefrantic love to her. She escaped from him with difficulty, in a passionof loathing and terror, and rushed in-doors, where she found Lady Wingin the gallery of the old house, on the first floor, walking up and downin a jealous fury. Juliet Sparling burst in upon her with the reproachesof a woman driven to bay, threatening to go at once to her husband andmake a clean breast of the whole history of their miserableacquaintance. She was practically beside herself--already, as the sequelshowed, mortally ill, worn out by remorse and sleeplessness, andquivering under the insult which had been offered her. Lady Wingrecovered her own self-possession under the stimulus of Juliet'sbreakdown. She taunted her in the cruelest way, accused her of being thetemptress in the case of Sir Francis, and of simulating a hypocriticalindignation in order to save herself with her husband, and finallycharged her with the robbery of her sister's money, declaring that assoon as daylight came she would take steps to set the criminal law inmotion, and so protect both herself and her husband from any charge sucha woman might bring against them. The threat, of course, was mere bluff.But Mrs. Sparling, in her frenzy and her ignorance, took it for truth.Finally, the fierce creature came up to her, snatching at a brooch inthe bosom of her dress, and crying out in the vilest language that itwas Sir Francis's gift. Juliet, pushed up against the panelling of thegallery, caught at a dagger belonging to a trophy of Eastern armsdisplayed on the wall, close to her hand, and struck wildly at hertormentor. The dagger pierced Lady Wing's left breast--she was inevening dress and _decolletee_; it penetrated to the heart, and she felldead at Juliet's feet as her husband entered the gallery. Juliet droppedthe dagger; and as Sir Francis rushed to his wife, she fled shrieking upthe stairs--her white dress covered with blood--to her own room, fallingunconscious before she reached it. She was carried to her room by theservants--the police were sent for--and the rest--or most of therest--you know."

  Sir James ceased speaking. A heavy silence possessed the room.

  Sir James walked quickly up to his companion.

  "Now I ask you to notice two points in the story as I have told it. Mycross-examination of Wing served its purpose as an exposure of theman--except in one direction. He swore that Mrs. Sparling had madedishonorable advances to him, and had finally become his mistress, inorder to buy his silence on the trust money and the continuance of hisfinancial help. On the other hand, the case for the defence was that--asI have stated--it was in the maddened state of feeling, provoked by hisattack upon her honor, and made intolerable by the wife's taunts andthreats, that Juliet Sparling struck the fatal blow. At the trial thejudge believed me; the jury--and a large part of the public--you, I haveno doubt among them--believed Wing. The jury were probably influenced bysome of the evidence given by the fellow-guests in the house, whichseemed to me simply to amount to this--that a woman in the strait inwhich Juliet Sparling was will endeavor, out of mortal fear, to keep theruffian who has her in his power in a good-humor."

  "However, I have now confirmatory evidence for my theory of thematter--evidence which has never been produced--and which I tell you nowsimply because the happiness of her child--and of your son--isat stake."

  Lady Lucy moved a little. The color returned to her cheeks. Sir James,however, gave her no time to interrupt. He stood before her, smitingone hand against another, to emphasize his words, as he continued:

  "Francis Wing lived for some eighteen years after Mrs. Sparling's death.Then, just as the police were at last on his track as the avengers of along series of frauds, he died at Antwerp in extreme poverty anddegradation. The day before he died he dictated a letter to me, whichreached me, through a priest, twenty-four hours after his death. For hisson's sake, he invited me to regard it as confidential. If Mrs. Sparlinghad been alive I should, of course, have taken no notice of the request.But she had been dead for eighteen years; I had lost sight completely ofSparling and the child, and, curiously enough, I knew something ofWing's son. He was about ten years old at the death of his mother, andwas then rescued from his father by the Wing kindred and decentlybrought up. At the time the letter reached me he was a promising youngman of eight-and-twenty, he had just been called to the Bar, and he wasin the chambers of a friend of mine. By publishing Wing's confession Icould do no good to the dead, and I might harm the living. So I held mytongue. Whether, now, I should still hold it is, no doubt, a question.

  "However, to go back to the statement. Wing declared to me in thisletter that Juliet Sparling's relat
ion to him had been absolutelyinnocent, that he had persecuted her with his suit, and she had nevergiven him a friendly word, except out of fear. On the fatal evening hehad driven her out of her mind, he said, by his behavior in the garden;she was not answerable for her actions; and his evidence at the trialwas merely dictated either by the desire to make his own case look lessblack or by the fiendish wish to punish Juliet Sparling for herloathing of him.

  "But he confessed something else!--more important still. I must go backa little. You will remember my version of the dagger incident? Irepresented Mrs. Sparling as finding the dagger on the wall as she waspushed or dragged up against the panelling by her antagonist--as itwere, under her hand. Wing swore at the trial that the dagger was notthere, and had never been there. The house belonged to an old travellerand sportsman who had brought home arms of different sorts from allparts of the world. The house was full of them. There were twocollections of them on the wall of the dining-room, one in the hall, andone or two in the gallery. Wing declared that the dagger used was takenby Juliet Sparling from the hall trophy, and must have been carriedup-stairs with a deliberate purpose of murder. According to him, theirquarrel in the garden had been a quarrel about money matters, and Mrs.Sparling had left him, in great excitement, convinced that the chiefobstacle in the way of her complete control of Wing and his money lay inthe wife. There again--as to the weapon--I had no means of refuting him.As far as the appearance--after the murder--of the racks holding thearms was concerned, the weapon might have been taken from either place.And again--on the whole--the jury believed Wing. The robbery of thesister's money--the incredible rapidity of Juliet Sparling'sdeterioration--had set them against her. Her wild beauty, her proud anddumb misery in the dock, were of a kind rather to alienate the plain manthan to move him. They believed her capable of anything--and it wasnatural enough.

  "But Wing confessed to me that he knew perfectly well that the daggerbelonged to the stand in the gallery. He had often examined the armsthere, and was quite certain of the fact. He swore this to the priest.Here, again, you can only explain his evidence by a desire for revenge."

  Sir James paused. As he moved a little away from his companion hisexpression altered. It was as though he put from him the externalincidents and considerations with which he had been dealing, and thevivacity of manner which fitted them. Feelings and forces of anotherkind emerged, clothing themselves in the beauty of an incomparablevoice, and in an aspect of humane and melancholy dignity.

  He turned to Lady Lucy.

  "Now then," he said, gently, "I am in a position to put the matter toyou finally, as--before God--it appears to me. Juliet Sparling--as Isaid to Oliver last night--was not a bad woman! She sinned deeply, butshe was never false to her husband in thought or deed; none of herwrong-doing was deliberate; she was tortured by remorse; and hermurderous act was the impulse of a moment, and partly in self-defence.It was wholly unpremeditated; and it killed her no less than her victim.When, next day, she was removed by the police, she was already a dyingwoman. I have in my possession a letter--written to me by her--after herrelease, in view of her impending death, by the order of the HomeOffice--a few days before she died. It is humble--it isheart-rending--it breathes the sincerity of one who had turned all herthoughts from earth; but it thanked me for having read her aright; andif ever I could have felt a doubt of my own interpretation of thecase--but, thank God, I never did!--that letter would have shamed itout of me! Poor soul, poor soul! She sinned, and she suffered--agonies,beyond any penalty of man's inflicting. Will you prolong her punishmentin her child?"

  Lady Lucy had covered her face with her hand. He saw her breath flutterin her breast. And sitting down beside her, blanched by the effort hehad made, and by the emotion he had at last permitted himself, yetfixing his eyes steadily on the woman before him, he waited forher reply.