CHAPTER LIX.
MRS. BONTEEN.
At the time of the murder, Lady Eustace, whom we must regard as thewife of Mr. Emilius till it be proved that he had another wife whenhe married her, was living as the guest of Mr. Bonteen. Mr. Bonteenhad pledged himself to prove the bigamy, and Mrs. Bonteen had openedher house and her heart to the injured lady. Lizzie Eustace, asshe had always been called, was clever, rich, and pretty, and knewwell how to ingratiate herself with the friend of the hour. She wasa greedy, grasping little woman, but, when she had before her asufficient object, she could appear to pour all that she had intoher friend's lap with all the prodigality of a child. Perhaps Mrs.Bonteen had liked to have things poured into her lap. Perhaps Mr.Bonteen had enjoyed the confidential tears of a pretty woman. It maybe that the wrongs of a woman doomed to live with Mr. Emilius as hiswife had touched their hearts. Be that as it might, they had becomethe acknowledged friends and supporters of Lady Eustace, and she wasliving with them in their little house in St. James's Place on thatfatal night.
Lizzie Eustace.]
Lizzie behaved herself very well when the terrible tidings werebrought home. Mr. Bonteen was so often late at the House or at hisclub that his wife rarely sat up for him; and when the servants weredisturbed between six and seven o'clock in the morning, no surprisehad as yet been felt at his absence. The sergeant of police who hadbrought the news sent for the maid of the unfortunate lady, and themaid, in her panic, told her story to Lady Eustace before daring tocommunicate it to her mistress. Lizzie Eustace, who in former dayshad known something of policemen, saw the man, and learned from himall that there was to learn. Then, while the sergeant remained on thelanding place, outside, to support her, if necessary, with the maidby her side to help her, kneeling by the bed, she told the wretchedwoman what had happened. We need not witness the paroxysms of thewidow's misery, but we may understand that Lizzie Eustace was fromthat moment more strongly fixed than ever in her friendship with Mrs.Bonteen.
When the first three or four days of agony and despair had passedby, and the mind of the bereaved woman was able to turn itself fromthe loss to the cause of the loss, Mrs. Bonteen became fixed in hercertainty that Phineas Finn had murdered her husband, and seemedto think that it was the first and paramount duty of the presentGovernment to have the murderer hung,--almost without a trial.When she found that, at the best, the execution of the man she sovehemently hated could not take place for two months after the doingof the deed, even if then, she became almost frantic in her anger.Surely they would not let him escape! What more proof could beneeded? Had not the miscreant quarrelled with her husband, andbehaved abominably to him but a few minutes before the murder? Had henot been on the spot with the murderous instrument in his pocket? Hadhe not been seen by Lord Fawn hastening on the steps of her dear anddoomed husband? Mrs. Bonteen, as she sat enveloped in her new weeds,thirsting for blood, could not understand that further evidenceshould be needed, or that a rational doubt should remain in the mindof any one who knew the circumstances. It was to her as though shehad seen the dastard blow struck, and with such conviction as this onher mind did she insist on talking of the coming trial to her inmate,Lady Eustace. But Lizzie had her own opinion, though she was forcedto leave it unexpressed in the presence of Mrs. Bonteen. She knewthe man who claimed her as his wife, and did not think that PhineasFinn was guilty of the murder. Her Emilius,--her Yosef Mealyus, asshe had delighted to call him, since she had separated herself fromhim,--was, as she thought, the very man to commit a murder. He wasby no means degraded in her opinion by the feeling. To commit greatcrimes is the line of life that comes naturally to some men, and was,as she thought, a line less objectionable than that which confinesitself to small crimes. She almost felt that the audacity of herhusband in doing such a deed redeemed her from some of the ignominyto which she had subjected herself by her marriage with a runawaywho had another wife living. There was a dash of adventure aboutit which was almost gratifying. But these feelings she was obliged,at any rate for the present, to keep to herself. Not only must sheacknowledge the undoubted guilt of Phineas Finn for the sake of herfriend, Mrs. Bonteen; but she must consider carefully whether shewould gain or lose more by having a murderer for her husband. Shedid not relish the idea of being made a widow by the gallows. Shewas still urgent as to the charge of bigamy, and should she succeedin proving that the man had never been her husband, then she didnot care how soon they might hang him. But for the present it wasbetter for all reasons that she should cling to the Phineas Finntheory,--feeling certain that it was the bold hand of her own Emiliuswho had struck the blow.
She was by no means free from the solicitations of her husband, whoknew well where she was, and who still adhered to his purpose ofreclaiming his wife and his wife's property. When he was released bythe magistrate's order, and had recovered his goods from Mr. Meager'shouse, and was once more established in lodgings, humbler, indeed,than those in Northumberland Street, he wrote the following letter toher who had been for one blessed year the partner of his joys, andhis bosom's mistress:--
3, Jellybag Street, Edgware Road, May 26, 18--.
DEAREST WIFE,--
You will have heard to what additional sorrow and disgrace I have been subjected through the malice of my enemies. But all in vain! Though princes and potentates have been arrayed against me [the princes and potentates had no doubt been Lord Chiltern and Mr. Low], innocence has prevailed, and I have come out from the ordeal white as bleached linen or unsullied snow. The murderer is in the hands of justice, and though he be the friend of kings and princes [Mr. Emilius had probably heard that the Prince had been at the club with Phineas], yet shall justice be done upon him, and the truth of the Lord shall be made to prevail. Mr. Bonteen has been very hostile to me, believing evil things of me, and instigating you, my beloved, to believe evil of me. Nevertheless, I grieve for his death. I lament bitterly that he should have been cut off in his sins, and hurried before the judgment seat of the great Judge without an hour given to him for repentance. Let us pray that the mercy of the Lord may be extended even to him. I beg that you will express my deepest commiseration to his widow, and assure her that she has my prayers.
And now, my dearest wife, let me approach my own affairs. As I have come out unscorched from the last fiery furnace which has been heated for me by my enemies seven times hot, so shall I escape from that other fire with which the poor man who has gone from us endeavoured to envelop me. If they have made you believe that I have any wife but yourself they have made you believe a falsehood. You, and you only, have my hand. You, and you only, have my heart. I know well what attempts are being made to suborn false evidence in my old country, and how the follies of my youth are being pressed against me,--how anxious are proud Englishmen that the poor Bohemian should be robbed of the beauty and wit and wealth which he had won for himself. But the Lord fights on my side, and I shall certainly prevail.
If you will come back to me all shall be forgiven. My heart is as it ever was. Come, and let us leave this cold and ungenial country and go to the sunny south; to the islands of the blest,--
Mr. Emilius during his married life had not quite fathomed the depthsof his wife's character, though, no doubt, he had caught some pointsof it with sufficient accuracy.
--where we may forget these blood-stained sorrows, and mutually forgive each other. What happiness, what joys can you expect in your present mode of life? Even your income,--which in truth is my income,--you cannot obtain, because the tenants will not dare to pay it in opposition to my legal claims. But of what use is gold? What can purple do for us, and fine linen, and rich jewels, without love and a contented heart? Come, dearest, once more to your own one, who will never remember aught of the sad rupture which enemies have made, and we will hurry to the setting sun, and recline on mossy banks, and give up our souls to Elysium.
As Lizzie read this she uttered an exclamat
ion of disgust. Did theman after all know so little of her as to suppose that she, with allher experiences, did not know how to keep her own life and her ownpocket separate from her romance? She despised him for this, almostas much as she respected him for the murder.
If you will only say that you will see me, I will be at your feet in a moment. Till the solemnity with which the late tragical event must have filled you shall have left you leisure to think of all this, I will not force myself into your presence, or seek to secure by law rights which will be much dearer to me if they are accorded by your own sweet goodwill. And in the meantime, I will agree that the income shall be drawn, provided that it be equally divided between us. I have been sorely straitened in my circumstances by these last events. My congregation is of course dispersed. Though my innocence has been triumphantly displayed, my name has been tarnished. It is with difficulty that I find a spot where to lay my weary head. I am ahungered and athirst;--and my very garments are parting from me in my need. Can it be that you willingly doom me to such misery because of my love for you? Had I been less true to you, it might have been otherwise.
Let me have an answer at once, and I will instantly take steps about the money if you will agree.
Your truly most loving husband,
JOSEPH EMILIUS.
To Lady Eustace, wife of the Rev. Joseph Emilius.
When Lizzie had read the letter twice through she resolved that shewould show it to her friend. "I know it will reopen the floodgates ofyour grief," she said; "but unless you see it, how can I ask from youthe advice which is so necessary to me?" But Mrs. Bonteen was a womansincere at any rate in this,--that the loss of her husband had beento her so crushing a calamity that there could be no reopening of thefloodgates. The grief that cannot bear allusion to its causes hasgenerally something of affectation in its composition. The floodgateswith this widowed one had never yet been for a moment closed. It wasnot that her tears were ever flowing, but that her heart had neveryet for a moment ceased to feel that its misery was incapable ofalleviation. No utterances concerning her husband could make her morewretched than she was. She took the letter and read it through. "Idaresay he is a bad man," said Mrs. Bonteen.
"Indeed he is," said the bad man's wife.
"But he was not guilty of this crime."
"Oh, no;--I am sure of that," said Lady Eustace, feeling certain atthe same time that Mr. Bonteen had fallen by her husband's hands.
"And therefore I am glad they have given him up. There can be nodoubt now about it."
"Everybody knows who did it now," said Lady Eustace.
"Infamous ruffian! My poor dear lost one always knew what he was. Ohthat such a creature should have been allowed to come among us."
"Of course he'll be hung, Mrs. Bonteen."
"Hung! I should think so! What other end would be fit for him? Oh,yes; they must hang him. But it makes one think that the world is toohard a place to live in, when such a one as he can cause so great aruin."
"It has been very terrible."
"Think what the country has lost! They tell me that the Duke ofOmnium is to take my husband's place; but the Duke cannot do whathe did. Every one knows that for real work there was no one likehim. Nothing was more certain than that he would have been PrimeMinister,--oh, very soon. They ought to pinch him to death withred-hot tweezers."
But Lady Eustace was anxious at the present moment to talk about herown troubles. "Of course, Mr. Emilius did not commit the murder."
"Phineas Finn committed it," said the half-maddened woman, risingfrom her chair. "And Phineas Finn shall hang by his neck till he isdead."
"But Emilius has certainly got another wife in Prague."
"I suppose you know. He said it was so, and he was always right."
"I am sure of it,--just as you are sure of this horrid Mr. Finn."
"The two things can't be named together, Lady Eustace."
"Certainly not. I wouldn't think of being so unfeeling. But he haswritten me this letter, and what must I do? It is very dreadful aboutthe money, you know."
"He cannot touch your money. My dear one always said that he couldnot touch it."
"But he prevents me from touching it. What they give me only comesby a sort of favour from the lawyer. I almost wish that I hadcompromised."
"You would not be rid of him that way."
"No;--not quite rid of him. You see I never had to take that horridname because of the title. I suppose I'd better send the letter tothe lawyer."
"Send it to the lawyer, of course. That is what he would have done.They tell me that the trial is to be on the 24th of June. Why shouldthey postpone it so long? They know all about it. They alwayspostpone everything. If he had lived, there would be an end of thatbefore long."
Lady Eustace was tired of the virtues of her friend's martyred lord,and was very anxious to talk of her own affairs. She was stillholding her husband's letter open in her hand, and was thinking howshe could force her friend's dead lion to give place for a whileto her own live dog, when a servant announced that Mr. Camperdown,the attorney, was below. In former days there had been an old Mr.Camperdown, who was vehemently hostile to poor Lizzie Eustace; butnow, in her new troubles, the firm that had ever been true to herfirst husband had taken up her case for the sake of the family andher property--and for the sake of the heir, Lizzie Eustace's littleboy; and Mr. Camperdown's firm had, next to Mr. Bonteen, been thedepository of her trust. He had sent clerks out to Prague,--one whohad returned ill,--as some had said poisoned, though the poison hadprobably been nothing more than the diet natural to Bohemians. Andthen another had been sent. This, of course, had all been previousto Madame Goesler's self-imposed mission,--which, though it wasoccasioned altogether by the suspected wickednesses of Mr. Emilius,had no special reference to his matrimonial escapades. And now Mr.Camperdown was down stairs. "Shall I go down to him, dear Mrs.Bonteen?"
"He may come here if you please."
"Perhaps I had better go down. He will disturb you."
"My darling lost one always thought that there should be two presentto hear such matters. He said it was safer." Mr. Camperdown, junior,was therefore shown upstairs to Mrs. Bonteen's drawing-room.
"We have found it all out, Lady Eustace," said Mr. Camperdown.
"Found out what?"
"We've got Madame Mealyus over here."
"No!" said Mrs. Bonteen, with her hands raised. Lady Eustace satsilent, with her mouth open.
"Yes, indeed;--and photographs of the registry of the marriagefrom the books of the synagogue at Cracow. His signature was YosefMealyus, and his handwriting isn't a bit altered. I think we couldhave proved it without the lady; but of course it was better to bringher if possible."
"Where is she?" asked Lizzie, thinking that she would like to see herown predecessor.
"We have her safe, Lady Eustace. She's not in custody; but asshe can't speak a word of English or French, she finds it morecomfortable to be kept in private. We're afraid it will cost a littlemoney."
"Will she swear that she is his wife?" asked Mrs. Bonteen.
"Oh, yes; there'll be no difficulty about that. But her swearingalone mightn't be enough."
"Surely that settles it all," said Lady Eustace.
"For the money that we shall have to pay," said Mr. Camperdown, "wemight probably have got a dozen Bohemian ladies to come and swearthat they were married to Yosef Mealyus at Cracow. The difficulty hasbeen to bring over documentary evidence which will satisfy a jurythat this is the woman she says she is. But I think we've got it."
"And I shall be free!" said Lady Eustace, clasping her handstogether.
"It will cost a good deal, I fear," said Mr. Camperdown.
"But I shall be free! Oh, Mr. Camperdown, there is not a woman in allthe world who cares so little for money as I do. But I shall be freefrom the power of that horrid man who has entangled me in the meshesof his sinful life." Mr. Camperdown told her that he thought thatshe would be free, and
went on to say that Yosef Mealyus had alreadybeen arrested, and was again in prison. The unfortunate man had nottherefore long enjoyed that humbler apartment which he had found forhimself in Jellybag Street.
When Mr. Camperdown went, Mrs. Bonteen followed him out to the topof the stairs. "You have heard about the trial, Mr. Camperdown?" Hesaid that he knew that it was to take place at the Central CriminalCourt in June. "Yes; I don't know why they have put it off so long.People know that he did it--eh?" Mr. Camperdown, with funerealsadness, declared that he had never looked into the matter. "I cannotunderstand that everybody should not know it," said Mrs. Bonteen.