CHAPTER XI.
CONCERNS MY PRIVATE AFFAIRS.
"What have you found there?" inquired Ambler Jevons, quicklyinterested, and yet surprised at my determination to conceal it fromhim.
"Something that concerns me," I replied briefly.
"Concerns you?" he ejaculated. "I don't understand. How can anythingamong the old man's private papers concern you?"
"This concerns me personally," I answered. "Surely that is sufficientexplanation."
"No," my friend said. "Forgive me, Ralph, for speaking quite plainly,but in this affair we are both working towards the same end--namely,to elucidate the mystery. We cannot hope for success if you are bentupon concealing your discoveries from me."
"This is a private affair of my own," I declared doggedly. "What Ihave found only concerns myself."
He shrugged his shoulders with an air of distinct dissatisfaction.
"Even if it is a purely private matter we are surely good friendsenough to be cognisant of one another's secrets," he remarked.
"Of course," I replied dubiously. "But only up to a certain point."
"Then, in other words, you imply that you can't trust me?"
"I can trust you, Ambler," I answered calmly. "We are the best offriends, and I hope we shall always be so. Will you not forgive me forrefusing to show you these letters?"
"I only ask you one question. Have they anything to do with the matterwe are investigating?"
I hesitated. With his quick perception he saw that a lie was not readyupon my lips.
"They have. Your silence tells me so. In that case it is your duty toshow me them," he said, quietly.
I protested again, but he overwhelmed my arguments. In common fairnessto him I ought not, I knew, keep back the truth. And yet it was thegreatest and most terrible blow that had ever fallen upon me. He sawthat I was crushed and stammering, and he stood by me wondering.
"Forgive me, Ambler," I urged again. "When you have read this letteryou will fully understand why I have endeavoured to conceal it fromyou; why, if you were not present here at this moment, I would burnthem all and not leave a trace behind."
Then I handed it to him.
He took it eagerly, skimmed it through, and started just as I hadstarted when he saw the signature. Upon his face was a blankexpression, and he returned it to me without a word.
"Well?" I asked. "What is your opinion?"
"My opinion is the same as your own, Ralph, old fellow," heanswered slowly, looking me straight in the face. "It isamazing--startling--tragic."
"You think, then, that the motive of the crime was jealousy?"
"The letter makes it quite plain," he answered huskily. "Give me theothers. Let me examine them. I know how severe this blow must be toyou, old fellow," he added, sympathetically.
"Yes, it has staggered me," I stammered. "I'm utterly dumfounded bythe unexpected revelation!" and I handed him the packet ofcorrespondence, which he placed upon the table, and, seating himself,commenced eagerly to examine letter after letter.
While he was thus engaged I took up the first letter, and read itthrough--right to the bitter end.
It was apparently the last of a long correspondence, for all theletters were arranged chronologically, and this was the last of thepacket. Written from Neneford Manor, Northamptonshire, and vaguelydated "Wednesday," as is a woman's habit, it was addressed to Mr.Courtenay, and ran as follows:--
_"Words cannot express my contempt for a man who breaks his word as easily as you break yours. A year ago, when you were my father's guest, you told me that you loved me, and urged me to marry you. At first I laughed at your proposal; then when I found you really serious, I pointed out the difference of our ages. You, in return, declared that you loved me with all the ardour of a young man; that I was your ideal; and you promised, by all you held most sacred, that if I consented I should never regret. I believed you, and believed the false words of feigned devotion which you wrote to me later under seal of strictest secrecy. You went to Cairo, and none knew of our secret--the secret that you intended to make me your wife. And how have you kept your promise? To-day my father has informed me that you are to marry Mary! Imagine the blow to me! My father expects me to rejoice, little dreaming how I have been fooled; how lightly you have treated a woman's affections and aspirations. Some there are who, finding themselves in my position, would place in Mary's hands the packet of your correspondence which is before me as I write, and thus open her eyes to the fact that she is but the dupe of a man devoid of honour. Shall I do so? No. Rest assured that I shall not. If my sister is happy, let her remain so. My vendetta lies not in that direction. The fire of hatred may be stifled, but it can never be quenched. We shall be quits some day, and you will regret bitterly that you have broken your word so lightly. My revenge--the vengeance of a jealous woman--will fall upon you at a moment and in a manner you will little dream of. I return you your letters, as you may not care for them to fall into other hands, and from to-day I shall never again refer to what has passed. I am young, and may still obtain an upright and honourable man as husband. You are old, and are tottering slowly to your doom. Farewell._
"ETHELWYNN MIVART."
The letter fully explained a circumstance of which I had been entirelyignorant, namely, that the woman I had loved had actually beenengaged to old Mr. Courtenay before her sister had married him. Itstenor showed how intensely antagonistic she was towards the man whohad fooled her, and in the concluding sentence there was a distinct ifcovert threat--a threat of bitter revenge.
She had returned the old man's letters apparently in order to showthat in her hand she held a further and more powerful weapon; she hadnot sought to break off his marriage with Mary, but had rather stoodby, swallowed her anger, and calmly calculated upon a fierce vendettaat a moment when he would least expect it.
Truly those startling words spoken by Sir Bernard had been full oftruth. I remembered them now, and discerned his meaning. He was atleast an honest upright man who, although sometimes a trifleeccentric, had my interests deeply at heart. In the progress I hadmade in my profession I owed much to him, and even in my privateaffairs he had sought to guide me, although I had, alas! disregardedhis repeated warnings.
I took up one after another of the letters my friend had examined, andfound them to be the correspondence of a woman who was either anglingafter a wealthy husband, or who loved him with all the strength of heraffection. Some of the communications were full of passion, andbetrayed that poetry of soul that was innate in her. The letters weredated from Neneford, from Oban, and from various Mediterranean ports,where she had gone yachting with her uncle, Sir Thomas Heaton, thegreat Lancashire coal-owner. Sometimes she addressed him as "Dearest,"at others as "Beloved," usually signing herself "Your Own." So fullwere they of the ardent passion characteristic of her that they heldme in amazement. It was passion developed under its most profound andserious aspects; they showed the calm and thoughtful, not thebrilliant side of intellect.
In Ethelwynn's character the passionate and the imaginative wereblended equally and in the highest conceivable degree as combined withdelicate female nature. Those letters, although written to a man inwhose heart romance must long ago have been dead, showed how complexwas her character, how fervent, enthusiastic and self-forgetting herlove. At first I believed that those passionate outpourings weremerely designed to captivate the old gentleman for his money; but whenI read on I saw how intense her passion became towards the end, andhow the culmination of it all was that wild reproachful missivewritten when the crushing blow fell so suddenly upon her.
Ethelwynn was a woman of extraordinary character, full of picturesquecharm and glowing romance. To be tremblingly alive to the gentleimpressions, and yet be able to preserve, when the prosecution of adesign requires it, an immovable heart, amidst even the most imperiouscauses of subduing emotion, is perh
aps not an impossible constitutionof mind, but it is the utmost and rarest endowment of humanity. I knewher as a woman of highest mental powers touched with a melancholysweetness. I was now aware of the cause of that melancholy.
Yet it was apparent that the serious and energetic part of hercharacter was founded on deep passion, for after her sister's marriagewith the man she had herself loved and had threatened, she hadactually come there beneath their roof, and lived as her sister'scompanion, stifling all the hatred that had entered her heart, andpreserving an outward calm that had no doubt entirely disarmed him.
Such a circumstance was extraordinary. To me, as to Ambler Jevons whoknew her well, it seemed almost inconceivable that old Mr. Courtenayshould allow her to live there after receiving such a wildcommunication as that final letter. Especially curious, too, that Maryhad never suspected or discovered her sister's jealousy. Yet soskilfully had Ethelwynn concealed her intention of revenge that bothhusband and wife had been entirely deceived.
Love, considered under its poetical aspect, is the union of passionand imagination. I had foolishly believed that this calm, sweet-voicedwoman had loved me, but those letters made it plain that I had beenutterly fooled. "Le mystere de l'existence," said Madame de Stael toher daughter, "c'est la rapport de nos erreurs avec nos peines."
And although there was in her, in her character, and in her terriblesituation, a concentration of all the interests that belong tohumanity, she was nevertheless a murderess.
"The truth is here," remarked my friend, laying his hand upon the heapof tender correspondence which had been brought to such an abruptconclusion by the letter I have printed in its entirety. "It is astrange, romantic story, to say the least."
"Then you really believe that she is guilty?" I exclaimed, hoarsely.
He shrugged his shoulders significantly, but no word escaped his lips.
In the silence that fell between us, I glanced at him. His chin wassunk upon his breast, his brows knit, his thin fingers toying idlywith the plain gold ring.
"Well?" I managed to exclaim at last. "What shall we do?"
"Do?" he echoed. "What can we do, my dear fellow? That woman's futureis in your hands."
"Why in mine?" I asked. "In yours also, surely?"
"No," he answered resolutely, taking my hand and grasping it warmly."No, Ralph; I know--I can see how you are suffering. You believed herto be a pure and honest woman--one above the common run--a woman fitfor helpmate and wife. Well, I, too, must confess myself very muchmisled. I believed her to be all that you imagined; indeed, if herface be any criterion, she is utterly unspoiled by the world and itswickedness. In my careful studies in physiognomy I have found thatvery seldom does a perfect face like hers cover an evil heart. Hence,I confess, that this discovery has amazed me quite as much as it hasyou. I somehow feel----"
"I don't believe it!" I cried, interrupting him. "I don't believe,Ambler, that she murdered him--I can't believe it. Her's is not theface of a murderess."
"Faces sometimes deceive," he said quietly. "Recollect that a cleverwoman can give a truthful appearance to a lie where a man utterlyfails."
"I know--I know. But even with this circumstantial proof I can't andwon't believe it."
"Please yourself, my dear fellow," he answered. "I know it is hard tobelieve ill of a woman whom one loves so devotedly as you've lovedEthelwynn. But be brave, bear up, and face the situation like a man."
"I am facing it," I said resolutely. "I will face it by refusing tobelieve that she killed him. The letters are plain enough. She wasengaged secretly to old Courtenay, who threw her over in favour of hersister. But is there anything so very extraordinary in that? One hearsof such things very often."
"But the final letter?"
"It bears evidence of being written in the first moments of wild angeron realising that she had been abandoned in favour of Mary. Probablyshe has by this time quite forgotten the words she wrote. And in anycase the fact of her living beneath the same roof, supervising thehousehold, and attending to the sick man during Mary's absence,entirely negatives any idea of revenge."
Jevons smiled dubiously, and I myself knew that my argument was notaltogether logical.
"Well?" I continued. "And is not that your opinion?"
"No. It is not," he replied, bluntly.
"Then what is to be done?" I asked, after a pause.
"The matter rests entirely with you, Ralph," he replied. "I know whatI should do in a similar case."
"What would you do? Advise me," I urged eagerly.
"I should take the whole of the correspondence, just as it is, placeit in the grate there, and burn it," he said.
I was not prepared for such a suggestion. A similar idea had occurredto me, but I feared to suggest to him such a mode of defeating theends of justice.
"But if I do that will you give me a vow of secrecy?" I asked,quickly. "Recollect that such a step is a serious offence against thelaw."
"When I pass out of this room I shall have no further recollection ofever having seen any letters," he answered, again giving me his hand."In this matter my desire is only to help you. If, as you believe,Ethelwynn is innocent, then no harm can be done in destroying theletters, whereas if she is actually the assassin she must, sooner orlater, betray her guilt. A woman may be clever, but she can neversuccessfully cover the crime of murder."
"Then you are willing that I, as finder of those letters, shall burnthem? And further, that no word shall pass regarding this discovery?"
"Most willing," he replied. "Come," he added, commencing to gatherthem together. "Let us lose no time, or perhaps the constable on dutybelow or one of the plain-clothes men may come prying in here."
Then at his direction and with his assistance I willingly tore up eachletter in small pieces, placed the whole in the grate where deadcinders still remained, and with a vesta set a light to them. For afew moments they blazed fiercely up the chimney, then died out,leaving only black tinder.
"We must make a feint of having tried to light the fire," said Jevons,taking an old newspaper, twisting it up, and setting light to it inthe grate, afterwards stirring up the dead tinder with the tinder ofthe letters. "I'll remark incidentally to the constable that we'vetried to get a fire, and didn't succeed. That will prevent Thorpepoking his nose into it."
So when the whole of the letters had been destroyed, all traces oftheir remains effaced and the safe re-locked, we went downstairs--not,however, before my companion had made a satisfactory explanation tothe constable and entirely misled him as to what we had been doing.