CHAPTER XLI.
THE STORY CONTINUED.
“I was married in a quaint old church outside Granada. My husband was enraptured with me; for a few short weeks I was the happiest of women. I thought the world so beautiful, so bright, that heaven could hardly surpass it. I thought my husband the perfection of knighthood, the truest gentleman and the noblest man I had ever met. He did not stay long in Granada. My eyes might have been open to his true character, his gross, cruel selfishness, but that I was blind, for he left the city without one word of advice to Donna Maria, without thanking her for the care she had taken of me, above all, without what I am sure that lady expected—making her a handsome present.
“I was blind then and for long afterward, until the cruel hour of my awakening came. Sir Alfred took me for a bridal tour through Italy; there was but one fault that I saw in him; that was a decided love of gambling.
“Play seemed to affect his temper; if he won largely, as was generally the case, he was always in the best of humors; if he lost, he was the very reverse. It was May when we reached England, and my husband took a beautiful house in one of the most fashionable quarters of London. I was presented at Court, introduced into high society, and was altogether exceedingly happy. As yet, I saw no flaw in the jewel I believed to be all my own. A conversation I had with my husband one day puzzled me; we were speaking of beauty in women.
“‘Of all things,’ I remarked, ‘beauty seems to me the most highly prized, yet worth the least.’
“He smiled, and there was something so sarcastic, so cynical in the smile that I could not refrain from asking him of what he was thinking. He laughed aloud.
“‘The idea had just occurred to me, Juliet, that I would derive some benefit from your beauty.’
“I thought at the time, in the vanity of my love, that he meant the pleasure of looking at me. I thanked him with loving words and kisses. Afterward I understood better what it meant.
“For some weeks all went merry as a marriage bell; then it struck me as strange that, although we had numbers of gentlemen constantly calling, our lady visitors were but few. I was vexed also to find that the récherché little dinners and elegant suppers had but one termination—that was play. Neither could I help seeing that my husband did in very truth hold out my society as an inducement for visitors to come.
“‘You must hear Lady Pelham sing,’ he would say to one; ‘she has a voice like a nightingale. If you want to study the true art of being eloquent with a fan, spend an evening with Lady Pelham. She makes her fan speak for her, as it might be.’
“‘You enjoy a good passage at arms, a tournament of words—drop in this evening and discuss affairs in general with Lady Pelham.’
“So many gentlemen complied with his invitations I could not help seeing that I was on this account useful to him, but whether they came ostensibly to hear me sing or to talk, the end was always the same—gaming until the early hours of morning. Still I never dreamed of anything wrong. Had I been a woman of the world instead of a child, I should have seen that there was much glitter but no gold. Among a certain set in society my husband shone as a brilliant, accomplished man; he was the descendant of an old and illustrious family; the heir of a grand old name. His estate, called Pelham Court, was mortgaged to its full value, but the world knew nothing of that, and Sir Alfred Pelham of Pelham Court was, by a certain portion of society, regarded as a most fortunate man. Had I been wiser, I should have understood that he was making use of what little share I had of beauty, and youth, and talent, to attract these men to his house in order to win money from them. I wish, Mr. Eyrle, that I could spare myself the shame of telling, and you of hearing, the rest of my story. Nay, a fear comes to me that you may disbelieve it, believing men cannot be so base. You read every day how men beat and kick their wives to death. Has it ever struck you how small was the punishment for such a crime? Not long since a man in London kicked his young wife, who loved him very dearly, to death, and received the sentence of six months’ imprisonment with hard labor. The same day a man was sentenced to fourteen years’ penal servitude for stealing a few hundred pounds’ worth of jewelry. Can you see any justice in that? Reading it made me think that in this boasted land with its laws, its far-famed systems of administering justice, there is really no justice at all. Bearing in mind all that you have read of the cruelty of men, of their inconstancy, their abuses of good and patient wives, can you doubt what I have to tell you? My husband never struck me; there were no bruises on my arm; but he did what was ten thousand times more cruel—he slew my fair name and branded me before all the world.
“It was early in June that there came to visit Sir Alfred one whose name is unhappily associated with mine—the Duke of Launceston. You, who know the world, Mr. Eyrle, know him. He is rich beyond compare and famous for his character, his private life. I cannot judge in all his relations; with me he was courteous, gentle and free from blame. He spent an evening with us; at Sir Alfred’s request I sang to him. He was, or professed himself to be, delighted with my singing, and being fond of music, offered to sing some duets with me.
“Looking back to that time I ask myself, did I like him? and my heart gives no answer. I was supremely indifferent to him, for I loved no one except my husband. I do not even remember that I felt more pleasure in seeing him than in seeing other people. I gave no thought to him. He came very often, and to my certain knowledge Sir Alfred won large sums of money from him. He would also call at times when Sir Alfred was from home and sing with me or talk to me. I can remember, too, that my husband would often leave me alone with him.
“One day I was much astonished. The footman was in the room; we were at lunch, and Sir Alfred asked me:
“‘Have you had any visitors this morning, Juliet?’
“I replied, with the greatest indifference:
“‘Only the Duke of Launceston.’
“To my intense surprise, Sir Alfred put on the darkest of frowns.
“‘Has he been here again? I wish he would not come so often.’
“Looking up suddenly, I caught a most significant smile on the servant’s face.
“‘You should tell him so,’ I replied, honestly believing that Sir Alfred was thinking only of the high play that went on when the duke was present. After that I can recall a hundred different times when, before the servants, he expressed displeasure at the duke’s visits and wished they would cease. I little dreamed to what it all tended. Among all my husband’s friends he had one confidant, Captain Pierrepont, a man I detested from the very first moment I ever saw him, a man devoid of honor, truth and principle. One evening I chanced to overhear a conversation between Sir Alfred and this worthy. It was an evening in June, and I was on the balcony, enjoying the fragrance of the mignonette, when I heard their voices in the drawing-room. I was about to stay where I was when my attention was attracted by what they were saying. It was Captain Pierrepont who began:
“‘Where is your lady wife, Sir Alfred?’
“‘My lady wife is out, I should imagine; I cannot find her.’
“‘I am glad of that; it is high time something or other was settled. I am getting anxious over these bills.’
“‘So am I, my worthy friend. In the language of the bard, “I am up a tree;” I have been hoping for some lucky coup, but fortune has been against me of late.’
“‘You must fall back upon the original plan and make my lady useful.’
“‘Yes, that must be done. I shall never have a finer chance than now. Launceston is decidedly taken, and he is the wealthiest man I know.’
“‘You must make your case a strong one, Sir Alfred.’
“‘I have sufficient evidence now—singing together, constant visits during my absence, remonstrances that I have made even in the presence of my servants. I have an invaluable footman who has seen and knows things unutterable. The British public always sides with the injured husband.’
“Then they both laughed heartily. You may imagine how simple I was when I tell you that I did not even understand what they were speaking of.
“‘When shall you manage it?’ asked Captain Pierrepont.
“‘We are going to the Court next week, and he visits us there. Then I shall commence my operations.’
“‘What amount of damages shall you go in for?’
“‘I shall ask twenty thousand and get five or ten; then we can pay those wretched bills and can have enough to float us once more.’
“There was silence some minutes, then Captain Pierrepont said:
“‘It seems rather hard on her. If we could but manage it in any other way.’
“‘There is no other way; sentimental pity will not help us. After all, what does it matter? Those kinds of things happen every day.’
“‘It seems like murder,’ said the captain, slowly.
“‘Not at all,’ replied my husband, cheerfully. ‘If you read the papers you would see such things happen every day.’
“‘But she is quite innocent.’
“‘Bah! who is innocent? You are sentimental, and you will find that sentiment does not pay.’
“‘Well,’ said the other, rising, ‘I wish you success. I am at your service, remember, for anything you may require.’
“They left the drawing-room together, and I sat silent among the mignonette and scarlet verbenas—not suspicious of any wrong—wondering what so strange a conversation might mean, yet never suspecting its true purport for one moment.
“I declare to Heaven,” she continued, passionately, “that even the pain of telling you these things is so great I would almost die sooner than repeat them. Judge, then, whether I was guilty or not.”