A tragedy of love and hate

“Right against might does not always prevail.

“I need not tell you the story of the trial that amused all England. You may have read it. Fine ladies asked eagerly for the morning papers then; they enjoyed the ‘Pelham divorce case’ as much as they did a fashionable novel; was necessary as breakfast to them. Men met at their clubs and discussed it—was I guilty or was I not? My portrait, or rather what was a caricature of me, was published in the Workingmen’s Journal, every man and woman in England had flung a stone at me, and I was guiltless, innocent as a child at its mother’s breast.

“The radical papers made me the text of long articles, written to prove that the English aristocracy were all corrupt and bad; in short, my name was notorious.

“I cannot tell you my despair when that trial came off. With fiendish ingenuity, the smallest circumstances were made into mighty proofs against me. Men, strangers to me, came to swear that I had been in the habit of meeting the duke out of doors. The two accidental rencontres I have told you about were sworn to be pre-arranged interviews; every circumstance, the most thrilling actions, were tortured into proofs of deadly crime.

“Captain Pierrepont swore to having overheard a conversation between the Duke of Launceston and myself that I swear solemnly never took place. But the strongest witness in my husband’s cause was the footman, George Olte. I cannot sully my lips by telling you what infamous things he said—so cruelly, so wickedly false. The little incident of his finding me in the library was construed into a certain proof of my guilt. God pardon them, one and all! They swore an innocent woman’s fair name away.

“I was amazed by the ingenuity displayed, but my surprise reached its height when I heard the eloquent speech made by my husband’s counsel. I wonder that I have faith left in any one thing. I am tempted, when I remember that, to ask myself if all the world is one grand lie, if there be truth, justice, mercy or love out of heaven.

“If you had heard him dwell upon my husband’s love for me, the Arcadian happiness of our home before what he chose to call the destroyer entered it. How pathetically he depicted my youth—the force of temptation, my fall, the agony of the injured husband driven to such redress from the laws of his country! If you had heard his appeal to English fathers and brothers! Heaven grant me patience! It was the finest parody of justice I ever heard; it was a caricature, a crying shame, that rose from earth to heaven.

“What had I to say in my own defense? Nothing, but that I was innocent. I heard that the Duke of Launceston was so angry that he threatened to shoot Sir Alfred Pelham. Of course, he swore to my entire innocence. But the world must love sin. I think where one believed in me, and thought me cruelly outraged and wronged, one hundred believed in my guilt.

“You remember, perhaps, how the Pelham divorce case ended. The judge in his summing up said that appearances were certainly against me, but there was no actual proof of my guilt. So strong, so subtle, so clever was the evidence against me, so skillfully was the plot woven, so greatly were circumstances in my husband’s favor, that the keenest, the most prudent, the most just and talented judge in England had nothing better to say for me than that my guilt was not clearly proven.

“It was like the old Scotch verdict of ‘Not proven;’ and then the trial ended. My husband had not won, but I remained with a dark stain of guilt still upon me. My lawyers advised me to bring an action for perjury against those who had so falsely sworn my fair name away. I said to myself: ‘Oh, what use? God may in His own good time make my innocence clear.’ I cannot do anything for myself; the more notorious the case became, the greater the scandal for me.

“I can give you no idea of my tortures. Every hour I lived I died. The death of the body has no pain compared with that I suffered while my reputation was slowly slain. My life had been a very quiet one. I had been a child lisping its prayers at its mother’s knees. I had been a young girl wrapped in the ecstasy of my first love. Suddenly I became a woman, whose soul was filled with passionate anguish; suddenly, too, I became the public scandal of the whole nation. Think what you should feel if a similar fate had overtaken your mother or sister, Mr. Eyrle.”

“I would have slain the villain who wronged you!” he said.

“There was no knightly hand raised in my defense; no man stood forward to defend me; few believed even in my innocence, many in my guilt. The Pelham divorce case was ended, but the consequences still remained for me. I saw myself shunned and avoided; women turned their faces slowly from me; men looked at me with an insolent leer.

“When I think of it,” she cried, passionately, “of my unmerited shame, my cruel suffering, I am beside myself with rage! I am mad with the sense of my own wrongs.”

Her face flew crimson, her eyes flashed, her whole figure seemed to vibrate with angry, yet righteous, wrath. Miss Hanson laid her hand on her shoulder.

“Patience, my dear, patience,” she said. “Remember, it will be made clear in God’s good time.”

“You are right,” replied Lady Pelham. “I have that much trust and faith left. There is not much more to tell you, Mr. Eyrle. My husband wrote to me after the trial. A more insulting letter no man ever penned. He said my own cleverness had saved me this time, and had defeated him; but that he would watch me closely, and he should most certainly renew his application for a divorce. He added that, although the law had not proved me guilty, his opinion was unaltered, and that in consequence of it he should refuse to see or even speak to me again, nor need I hope to receive the least pecuniary assistance from him. That was the man who had wooed me, who had brought me from my own land and my own friends into the midst of strangers; the man I had loved with a passionate love. I declare that I do not think a greater, meaner or more cruel villain lives on the face of the earth. He did not know that I had money, and he deliberately left me to starve.

“This was my only friend,” she said, taking Miss Hanson’s hand in hers. “We went together to a pretty little seaside town on the southern coast. No life could be quieter than ours was there, and so far as possible for one who had been cruelly outraged, I was content. But one day I saw there the face of the man who had been employed to watch me—Johnson, the detective—and I fled away. I asked my lawyer to find me some secluded spot in the country, where I could hide myself and never be known or recognized. He found this retreat for me, and I have been happy here. I thought I had a refuge for life; that here, where strange feet so seldom tread—here among trees and flowers, I might live and die in peace. But my enemy has tracked me; he has discovered my refuge, and I must go again. The man whose face I saw this morning is the detective whose evidence was so strong against me—the detective Sir Alfred has engaged to watch me, in the hope of finding out something that will justify him in renewing the action.

“I must go!” she cried, wildly wringing her hands. “I must leave the pleasant home where I was learning to be happy; the friend whose value I was just beginning to discover.”

“Why must you go?” asked Kenelm.

“You do not see; you do not understand. I must go, lest I drag you into the peril that menaces me. That man saw you with me, and you will be the next object of attack.”

“If it were not for distressing you, I should say that I wish he would attack me. I would give him a lesson that would last his life, the cowardly villain! I would begin by lashing him like a whipped hound until he cried for mercy. You shall not leave here, Lady Pelham!”

She sank back, faint and trembling.

“The disgrace,” she said, piteously; “think of the disgrace and the shame!”

“It shall recoil upon him!” he cried. “Such injustice shall not be done. You are happy here, Lady Pelham, and here you shall remain. For your sake, I will discontinue my visits, or make them at such long intervals that they cannot raise suspicion in a detective’s mind. But you shall not go. I hope I may see the man who dares to act the spy upon you. He shall have cause to remember my name. Do not tremble, do not fear; you are safe here as though you were in the sanctuary of your mother’s home.”

She looked at him, tears shining in her eyes.

“Have I found a friend and protector at last? I thank Heaven, for if any one sorely needs such a friend, I am that one. You are very good to me; you believe in me, Mr. Eyrle—you believe in my innocence?”

“As I believe in Heaven,” he replied, reverently. “You have trusted me; you shall find that your trust is not in vain. I will befriend you, yet so as not to injure you. Before I go, promise me that you will not make any attempt to go from here.”

“I promise,” she said, thoughtfully.

“Trust me,” he continued. “The best thing for you and the worst for himself would be that your husband should renew the attack with me for his opponent. Have no fear, Lady Pelham.”

“You will keep my story a secret—that is, you will tell my real name to no one?”

“I will not. Good-by! Send Miss Hanson to tell me if any new trouble should menace you. I will make it my own.”

He held her hand for one minute in his own; he saw the tears in her eyes, and then turned away without another word.