Part 35 (1/2)
”My Ladi,--My consence druvs me to it, much again my will. I've tried hard, my ladi, not to speek, first acorse of miss B. as i heve knowed good and peur and also for the sakes of your evil usband that wulf in scheeps cloathin. But when i think on you my ladi a lorful legel wife gud and virtus and peur and of the things as i hev seen which is enuf to bring a blush to the face of a stater, I knows it is my holy dooty to rite your ladis.h.i.+pp as follers. Your ladis.h.i.+pp forgif me but on the nite of whittsundey last Miss B. Grainger wint after midnite inter the room of your bad usband--as I was to mi sham ther to se. Afterward more nor an hour, she c.u.m out ain being carred _in his harmes_. And if your ladis.h.i.+pp dont believ me, let your ladis.h.i.+pp rite to miss elizbeth, as had this same misfortune to see as your tru frend,
”The Riter.”
In due course this charming communication reached Lady Honoria, bearing a London post-mark. She read and re-read it, and soon mastered its meaning. Then, after a night's thought, she took the ”Riter's” advice and wrote to Elizabeth, sending her a copy of the letter (her own), vehemently repudiating all belief in it, and asking for a reply that should dissipate this foul slander from her mind for ever.
The answer came by return. It was short and artful.
”Dear Lady Honoria Bingham,” it ran, ”you must forgive me if I decline to answer the questions in your letter. You will easily understand that between a desire to preserve a sister's reputation and an incapacity (to be appreciated by every Christian) to speak other than the truth--it is possible for a person to be placed in the most cruel of positions--a position which I am sure will command even your sympathy, though under such circ.u.mstances I have little right to expect any from a wife believing herself to have been cruelly wronged. Let me add that nothing short of the compulsion of a court of law will suffice to unseal my lips as to the details of the circ.u.mstances (which are, I trust, misunderstood) alluded to in the malicious anonymous letter of which you inclose a copy.”
That very evening, as the Fates would have it, Lady Honoria and her husband had a quarrel. As usual, it was about Effie, for on most other subjects they preserved an armed neutrality. Its details need not be entered into, but at last Geoffrey, who was in a sadly irritable condition of mind, fairly lost his temper.
”The fact is,” he said, ”that you are not fit to look after the child.
You only think of yourself, Honoria.”
She turned on him with a dangerous look upon her cold and handsome face.
”Be careful what you say, Geoffrey. It is you who are not fit to have charge of Effie. Be careful lest I take her away from you altogether, as I can if I like.”
”What do you mean by that threat?” he asked.
”Do you want to know? Then I will tell you. I understand enough law to be aware that a wife can get a separation from an unfaithful husband, and what is more, can take away his children.”
”Again I ask what you mean,” said Geoffrey, turning cold with anger.
”I mean this, Geoffrey. That Welsh girl is your mistress. She pa.s.sed the night of Whit-Sunday in your room, and was carried from it in your arms.”
”It is a lie,” he said; ”she is nothing of the sort. I do not know who gave you this information, but it is a slanderous lie, and somebody shall suffer for it.”
”n.o.body will suffer for it, Geoffrey, because you will not dare to stir the matter up--for the girl's sake if not for your own. Can you deny that you were seen carrying her in your arms from your room on Whit-Sunday night? Can you deny that you are in love with her?”
”And supposing that I am in love with her, is it to be wondered at, seeing how you treat me and have treated me for years?” he answered furiously. ”It is utterly false to say that she is my mistress.”
”You have not answered my question,” said Lady Honoria with a smile of triumph. ”Were you seen carrying that woman in your arms and from your room at the dead of night? Of course it meant nothing, nothing at all.
Who would dare to asperse the character of this perfect, lovely, and intellectual schoolmistress? I am not jealous, Geoffrey----”
”I should think not, Honoria, seeing how things are.”
”I am not jealous, I repeat, but please understand that I will not have this go on, in your own interests and mine. Why, what a fool you must be. Don't you know that a man who has risen, as you have, has a hundred enemies ready to spring on him like a pack of wolves and tear him to pieces? Why many even of those who fawn upon you and flatter you to your face, hate you bitterly in secret, because you have succeeded where they have failed. Don't you know also that there are papers here in London which would give hundreds of pounds for the chance of publis.h.i.+ng such a scandal as this, especially against a powerful political opponent. Let it once come out that this obscure girl is your mistress----”
”Honoria, I tell you she is nothing of the sort. It is true I carried her from my room in a fainting fit, but she came there in her sleep.”
Lady Honoria laughed. ”Really, Geoffrey, I wonder that you think it worth while to tell me such nonsense. Keep it for the divorce court, if ever we get there, and see what a jury says to it. Look here; be sensible. I am not a moralist, and I am not going to play the outraged wife unless you force me to it. I do not mean to take any further notice of this interesting little tale as against you. But if you go on with it, beware! I will not be made to look a fool. If you are going to be ruined you can be ruined by yourself. I warn you frankly, that at the first sign of it, I shall put myself in the right by commencing proceedings against you. Now, of course, I know this, that in the event of a smash, you would be glad enough to be rid of me in order that you might welcome your dear Beatrice in my place. But there are two things to remember: first, that you could not marry her, supposing you to be idiot enough to wish to do so, because I should only get a judicial separation, and you would still have to support me. Secondly, if I go, Effie goes with me, for I have a right to claim her at law; and that fact, my dear Geoffrey, makes me mistress of the situation, because I do not suppose that you would part with Effie even for the sake of Miss Beatrice. And now I will leave you to think it over.”
And with a little nod she sailed out of the room, completely victorious.
She was indeed, reflected Geoffrey, ”mistress of the situation.”
Supposing that she brought a suit against him where would he be? She must have evidence, or she would not have known the story. The whole drama had clearly been witnessed by someone, probably either by Elizabeth or the servant girl, and that some one had betrayed it to Honoria and possibly to others. The thought made him sick. He was a man of the world, and a practical lawyer, and though, indeed, they were innocent, he knew that under the circ.u.mstances few would be found to believe it. At the very best there must be a terrible and shocking scandal, and Beatrice would lose her good name. He placed himself in the position of counsel for the pet.i.tioner in a like case, and thought how he would crush and crumple such a defence in his address to the jury. A probable tale forsooth!
Undoubtedly, too, Honoria would be acting wisely from her point of view.
Public sympathy would be with her throughout. He knew that, as it was, he was believed generally to owe much of his success to his handsome and high-born wife. Now it would be said that he had used her as a ladder and then thrown her over. With all this, however, he might cope; he could even bear with the vulgar attacks of a vulgar press, and the gibes and jeers of his political and personal enemies, but to lose Effie he could not bear. And if such a case were brought against him it was almost certain that he would lose her, for, if he was worsted, custody of the child would be given to the injured wife.