CHAPTER XVIII. THIRD QUESTION--WHAT WAS HIS MOTIVE?
THE first question (Did the Woman Die Poisoned?) had been answered,positively. The second question (Who Poisoned Her?) had been answered,apparently. There now remained the third and final question--What wasHis Motive? The first evidence called in answer to that inquiry was theevidence of relatives and friends of the dead wife.
Lady Brydehaven, widow of Rear-Admiral Sir George Brydehaven, examinedby Mr. Drew (counsel for the Crown with the Lord Advocate), gaveevidence as follows:
"The deceased lady (Mrs. Eustace Macallan) was my niece. She was theonly child of my sister, and she lived under my roof after the time ofher mother's death. I objected to her marriage, on grounds which wereconsidered purely fanciful and sentimental by her other friends. It isextremely painful to me to state the circumstances in public, but I amready to make the sacrifice if the ends of justice require it.
"The prisoner at the bar, at the time of which I am now speaking, wasstaying as a guest in my house. He met with an accident while he wasout riding which caused a serious injury to one of his legs. The leg hadbeen previously hurt while he was serving with the army in India. Thiscircumstance tended greatly to aggravate the injury received in theaccident. He was confined to a recumbent position on a sofa for manyweeks together; and the ladies in the house took it in turns to sit withhim, and while away the weary time by reading to him and talking to him.My niece was foremost among these volunteer nurses. She played admirablyon the piano; and the sick man happened--most unfortunately, as theevent proved--to be fond of music.
"The consequences of the perfectly innocent intercourse thus begun weredeplorable consequences for my niece. She became passionately attachedto Mr. Eustace Macallan, without awakening any corresponding affectionon his side.
"I did my best to interfere, delicately and usefully, while it was stillpossible to interfere with advantage. Unhappily, my niece refusedto place any confidence in me. She persistently denied that she wasactuated by any warmer feeling toward Mr. Macallan than a feeling offriendly interest. This made it impossible for me to separate themwithout openly acknowledging my reason for doing so, and thus producinga scandal which might have affected my niece's reputation. My husbandwas alive at that time; and the one thing I could do under thecircumstances was the thing I did. I requested him to speak privatelyto Mr. Macallan, and to appeal to his honor to help us out of thedifficulty without prejudice to my niece.
"Mr. Macallan behaved admirably. He was still helpless. But he made anexcuse for leaving us which it was impossible to dispute. In two daysafter my husband had spoken to him he was removed from the house.
"The remedy was well intended; but it came too late, and it utterlyfailed. The mischief was done. My niece pined away visibly; neithermedical help nor change of air and scene did anything for her. Incourse of time--after Mr. Macallan had recovered from the effects of hisaccident--I found that she was carrying on a clandestine correspondencewith him by means of her maid. His letters, I am bound to say, were mostconsiderately and carefully written. Nevertheless, I felt it my duty tostop the correspondence.
"My interference--what else could I do but interfere?--brought mattersto a crisis. One day my niece was missing at breakfast-time. The nextday we discovered that the poor infatuated creature had gone to Mr.Macallan's chambers in London, and had been found hidden in his bedroomby some bachelor friends who came to visit him.
"For this disaster Mr. Macallan was in no respect to blame. Hearingfootsteps outside, he had only time to take measures for saving hercharacter by concealing her in the nearest room--and the nearest roomhappened to be his bedchamber. The matter was talked about, of course,and motives were misinterpreted in the vilest manner. My husbandhad another private conversation with Mr. Macallan. He again behavedadmirably. He publicly declared that my niece had visited him as hisbetrothed wife. In a fortnight from that time he silenced scandal in theone way that was possible--he married her.
"I was alone in opposing the marriage. I thought it at the time what ithas proved to be since--a fatal mistake.
"It would have been sad enough if Mr. Macallan had only married herwithout a particle of love on his side. But to make the prospect morehopeless still, he was at that very time the victim of a misplacedattachment to a lady who was engaged to another man. I am well awarethat he compassionately denied this, just as he compassionately affectedto be in love with my niece when he married her. But his hopelessadmiration of the lady whom I have mentioned was a matter of factnotorious among his friends. It may not be amiss to add that _her_marriage preceded _his_ marriage. He had irretrievably lost the womanhe really loved--he was without a hope or an aspiration in life--when hetook pity on my niece.
"In conclusion, I can only repeat that no evil which could have happened(if she had remained a single woman) would have been comparable, inmy opinion, to the evil of such a marriage as this. Never, I sincerelybelieve, were two more ill-assorted persons united in the bonds ofmatrimony than the prisoner at the bar and his deceased wife."
The evidence of this witness produced a strong sensation amongthe audience, and had a marked effect on the minds of the jury.Cross-examination forced Lady Brydehaven to modify some of her opinions,and to acknowledge that the hopeless attachment of the prisoner toanother woman was a matter of rumor only. But the facts in her narrativeremained unshaken, and, for that one reason, they invested the crimecharged against the prisoner with an appearance of possibility, which ithad entirely failed to assume during the earlier part of the Trial.
Two other ladies (intimate friends of Mrs. Eustace Macallan) werecalled next. They differed from Lady Brydehaven in their opinions on thepropriety of the marriage but on all the material points they supportedher testimony, and confirmed the serious impression which the firstwitness had produced on every person in Court.
The next evidence which the prosecution proposed to put in was thesilent evidence of the letters and the Diary found at Gleninch.
In answer to a question from the Bench, the Lord Advocate stated thatthe letters were written by friends of the prisoner and his deceasedwife, and that passages in them bore directly on the terms on which thetwo associated in their married life. The Diary was still more valuableas evidence. It contained the prisoner's daily record of domesticevents, and of the thoughts and feelings which they aroused in him atthe time.
A most painful scene followed this explanation.
Writing, as I do, long after the events took place, I still cannotprevail upon myself to describe in detail what my unhappy husband saidand did at this distressing period of the Trial. Deeply affectedwhile Lady Brydehaven was giving her evidence, he had with difficultyrestrained himself from interrupting her. He now lost all controlover his feelings. In piercing tones, which rang through the Court,he protested against the contemplated violation of his own most sacredsecrets and his wife's most sacred secrets. "Hang me, innocent as I am!"he cried, "but spare me _that!_" The effect of this terrible outbreak onthe audience is reported to have been indescribable. Some of the womenpresent were in hysterics. The Judges interfered from the Bench,but with no good result. Quiet was at length restored by the Dean ofFaculty, who succeeded in soothing the prisoner, and who then addressedthe Judges, pleading for indulgence to his unhappy client in mosttouching and eloquent language. The speech, a masterpiece of impromptuoratory, concluded with a temperate yet strongly urged protest againstthe reading of the papers discovered at Gleninch.
The three Judges retired to consider the legal question submitted tothem. The sitting was suspended for more than half an hour.
As usual in such cases, the excitement in the Court communicated itselfto the crowd outside in the street. The general opinion here--led, as itwas supposed, by one of the clerks or other inferior persons connectedwith the legal proceedings--was decidedly adverse to the prisoner'schance of escaping a sentence of death. "If the letters and the Diaryare read," said the brutal spokesman of the mob, "the letters and theDiary will hang him."
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br /> On the return of the Judges into Court, it was announced that they haddecided, by a majority of two to one, on permitting the documents indispute to be produced in evidence. Each of the Judges, in turn, gavehis reasons for the decision at which he had arrived. This done, theTrial proceeded. The reading of the extracts from the letters and theextracts from the Diary began.
The first letters produced were the letters found in the Indian cabinetin Mrs. Eustace Macallan's room. They were addressed to the deceasedlady by intimate (female) friends of hers, with whom she was accustomedto correspond. Three separate extracts from letters written by threedifferent correspondents were selected to be read in Court.
FIRST CORRESPONDENT: "I despair, my dearest Sara, of being able to tellyou how your last letter has distressed me. Pray forgive me if I own tothinking that your very sensitive nature exaggerates or misinterprets,quite unconsciously, of course, the neglect that you experience at thehands of your husband. I cannot say anything about _his_ peculiaritiesof character, because I am not well enough acquainted with him to knowwhat they are. But, my dear, I am much older than you, and I have had amuch longer experience than yours of what somebody calls 'the lights andshadows of married life.' Speaking from that experience, I must tell youwhat I have observed. Young married women, like you, who are devotedlyattached to their husbands, are apt to make one very serious mistake. Asa rule, they all expect too much from their husbands. Men, my poor Sara,are not like _us._ Their love, even when it is quite sincere, is notlike our love. It does not last as it does with us. It is not theone hope and one thought of their lives, as it is with us. We have noalternative, even when we most truly respect and love them, but to makeallowance for this difference between the man's nature and the woman's.I do not for one moment excuse your husband's coldness. He is wrong,for example, in never looking at you when he speaks to you, and innever noticing the efforts that you make to please him. He is worse thanwrong--he is really cruel, if you like--in never returning your kisswhen you kiss him. But, my dear, are you quite sure that he is always_designedly_ cold and cruel? May not his conduct be sometimes theresult of troubles and anxieties which weigh on his mind, and which aretroubles and anxieties that you cannot share? If you try to look at hisbehavior in this light, you will understand many things which puzzleand pain you now. Be patient with him, my child. Make no complaints,and never approach him with your caresses at times when his mind ispreoccupied or his temper ruffled. This may be hard advice to follow,loving him as ardently as you do. But, rely on it, the secret ofhappiness for us women is to be found (alas! only too often) in suchexercise of restraint and resignation as your old friend now recommends.Think, my dear, over what I have written, and let me hear from youagain."
SECOND CORRESPONDENT: "How can you be so foolish, Sara, as to waste yourlove on such a cold-blooded brute as your husband seems to be? To besure, I am not married yet, or perhaps I should not be so surprised atyou. But I shall be married one of these days, and if my husband evertreat me as Mr. Macallan treats you, I shall insist on a separation. Ideclare, I think I would rather be actually beaten, like the women amongthe lower orders, than be treated with the polite neglect and contemptwhich you describe. I burn with indignation when I think of it. It mustbe quite insufferable. Don't bear it any longer, my poor dear. Leavehim, and come and stay with me. My brother is a lawyer, as you know. Iread to him portions of your letter, and he is of opinion that you mightget what he calls a judicial separation. Come and consult him."
THIRD CORRESPONDENT: "YOU know, my dear Mrs. Macallan, what _my_experience of men has been. Your letter does not surprise me in theleast. Your husband's conduct to you points to one conclusion. He is inlove with some other woman. There is Somebody in the dark, who gets fromhim everything that he denies to you. I have been through it all--and Iknow! Don't give way. Make it the business of your life to find out whothe creature is. Perhaps there may be more than one of them. It doesn'tmatter. One or many, if you can only discover them, you may make hisexistence as miserable to him as he makes your existence to you. If youwant my experience to help you, say the word, and it is freely at yourservice. I can come and stay with you at Gleninch any time after thefourth of next month."
With those abominable lines the readings from the letters of the womencame to an end. The first and longest of the Extracts produced themost vivid impression in Court. Evidently the writer was in this casea worthy and sensible person. It was generally felt, however, that allthree of the letters, no matter how widely they might differ in tone,justified the same conclusion. The wife's position at Gleninch (if thewife's account of it were to be trusted) was the position of a neglectedand an unhappy woman.
The correspondence of the prisoner, which had been found, with hisDiary, in the locked bed-table drawer, was produced next. The letters inthis case were with one exception all written by men. Though the tone ofthem was moderation itself as compared with the second and third of thewomen's letters, the conclusion still pointed the same way. The life ofthe husband at Gleninch appeared to be just as intolerable as the lifeof the wife.
For example, one of the prisoner's male friends wrote inviting him tomake a yacht voyage around the world. Another suggested an absenceof six months on the Continent. A third recommended field-sports andfishing. The one object aimed at by all the writers was plainly tocounsel a separation, more or less plausible and more or less complete,between the married pair.
The last letter read was addressed to the prisoner in a woman'shandwriting, and was signed by a woman's Christian name only.
"Ah, my poor Eustace, what a cruel destiny is ours!" the letter began."When I think of your life, sacrificed to that wretched woman, my heartbleeds for you. If _we_ had been man and wife--if it had been _my_unutterable happiness to love and cherish the best, the dearest ofmen--what a paradise of our own we might have lived in! what delicioushours we might have known! But regret is vain; we are separated in thislife--separated by ties which we both mourn, and yet which we must bothrespect. My Eustace, there is a world beyond this. There our souls willfly to meet each other, and mingle in one long heavenly embrace--ina rapture forbidden to us on earth. The misery described in yourletter--oh, why, why did you marry her?--has wrung this confession offeeling from me. Let it comfort you, but let no other eyes see it. Burnmy rashly written lines, and look (as I look) to the better life whichyou may yet share with your own
"HELENA."
The reading of this outrageous letter provoked a question from theBench. One of the Judges asked if the writer had attached any date oraddress to her letter.
In answer to this the Lord Advocate stated that neither the one nor theother appeared. The envelope showed that the letter had been posted inLondon. "We propose," the learned counsel continued, "to read certainpassages from the prisoner's Diary, in which the name signed at theend of the letter occurs more than once; and we may possibly find othermeans of identifying the writer, to the satisfaction of your lordships,before the Trial is over."
The promised passages from my husband's private Diary were now read. Thefirst extract related to a period of nearly a year before the date ofMrs. Eustace Macallan's death. It was expressed in these terms:
"News, by this morning's post, which has quite overwhelmed me. Helena'shusband died suddenly two days since of heart-disease. She is free--mybeloved Helena is free! And I?
"I am fettered to a woman with whom I have not a single feeling incommon. Helena is lost to me, by my own act. Ah! I can understand now,as I never understood before, how irresistible temptation can be, andhow easily sometimes crime may follow it. I had better shut up theseleaves for the night. It maddens me to no purpose to think of myposition or to write of it."
The next passage, dated a few days later, dwelt on the same subject.
"Of all the follies that a man can commit, the greatest is acting onimpulse. I acted on impulse when I married the unfortunate creature whois now my wife.
"Helena was then lost to me, as I too hastily supposed. She had marrie
dthe man to whom she rashly engaged herself before she met with me. Hewas younger than I, and, to all appearance, heartier and strongerthan I. So far as I could see, my fate was sealed for life. Helena hadwritten her farewell letter, taking leave of me in this world for good.My prospects were closed; my hopes had ended. I had not an aspirationleft; I had no necessity to stimulate me to take refuge in work. Achivalrous action, an exertion of noble self-denial, seemed to be allthat was left to me, all that I was fit for.
"The circumstances of the moment adapted themselves, with a fatalfacility, to this idea. The ill-fated woman who had become attached tome (Heaven knows--without so much as the shadow of encouragement on mypart!) had, just at that time, rashly placed her reputation at the mercyof the world. It rested with me to silence the scandalous tongues thatreviled her. With Helena lost to me, happiness was not to be expected.All women were equally indifferent to me. A generous action would bethe salvation of this woman. Why not perform it? I married her on thatimpulse--married her just as I might have jumped into the water andsaved her if she had been drowning; just as I might have knocked a mandown if I had seen him ill-treating her in the street!
"And now the woman for whom I have made this sacrifice stands between meand my Helena--my Helena, free to pour out all the treasures of her loveon the man who adores the earth that she touches with her foot!
"Fool! madman! Why don't I dash out my brains against the wall that Isee opposite to me while I write these lines?
"My gun is there in the corner. I have only to tie a string to thetrigger and to put the muzzle to my mouth--No! My mother is alive; mymother's love is sacred. I have no right to take the life which she gaveme. I must suffer and submit. Oh, Helena! Helena!"
The third extract--one among many similar passages--had been writtenabout two months before the death of the prisoner's wife.
"More reproaches addressed to me! There never was such a woman forcomplaining; she lives in a perfect atmosphere of ill-temper anddiscontent.
"My new offenses are two in number: I never ask her to play to me now;and when she puts on a new dress expressly to please me, I never noticeit. Notice it! Good Heavens! The effort of my life is _not_ to noticeher in anything she does or says. How could I keep my temper, unless Ikept as much as possible out of the way of private interviews withher? And I do keep my temper. I am never hard on her; I never use harshlanguage to her. She has a double claim on my forbearance---she isa woman, and the law has made her my wife. I remember this; but I amhuman. The less I see of her--except when visitors are present--themore certain I can feel of preserving my self-control.
"I wonder what it is that makes her so utterly distasteful to me? Sheis a plain woman; but I have seen uglier women than she whose caressesI could have endured without the sense of shrinking that comes over mewhen I am obliged to submit to _her_ caresses. I keep the feeling hiddenfrom her. She loves me, poor thing--and I pity her. I wish I could domore; I wish I could return in the smallest degree the feeling withwhich she regards me. But no--I can only pity her. If she wouldbe content to live on friendly terms with me, and never to exactdemonstrations of tenderness, we might get on pretty well. But she wantslove. Unfortunate creature, she wants love!
"Oh, my Helena! I have no love to give her. My heart is yours.
"I dreamed last night that this unhappy wife of mine was dead. The dreamwas so vivid that I actually got out of my bed and opened the door ofher room and listened.
"Her calm, regular breathing was distinctly audible in the stillness ofthe night. She was in a deep sleep: I closed the door again and lightedmy candle and read. Helena was in all my thoughts; it was hard work tofix my attention on the book. But anything was better than going to bedagain, and dreaming perhaps for the second time that I too was free.
"What a life mine is! what a life my wife's is! If the house were totake fire, I wonder whether I should make an effort to save myself or tosave her?"
The last two passages read referred to later dates still.
"A gleam of brightness has shone over this dismal existence of mine atlast.
"Helena is no longer condemned to the seclusion of widowhood. Timeenough has passed to permit of her mixing again in society. She ispaying visits to friends in our part of Scotland; and, as she and I arecousins, it is universally understood that she cannot leave the Northwithout also spending a few days at my house. She writes me wordthat the visit, however embarrassing it may be to us privately, isnevertheless a visit that must be made for the sake of appearances.Blessings on appearances! I shall see this angel in my purgatory--andall because Society in Mid-Lothian would think it strange that my cousinshould be visiting in my part of Scotland and not visit Me!
"But we are to be very careful. Helena says, in so many words, 'I cometo see you, Eustace, as a sister. You must receive me as a brother, ornot receive me at all. I shall write to your wife to propose the dayfor my visit. I shall not forget--do you not forget--that it is by yourwife's permission that I enter your house.'
"Only let me see her! I will submit to anything to obtain theunutterable happiness of seeing her!"
The last extract followed, and consisted of these lines only:
"A new misfortune! My wife has fallen ill. She has taken to her bed witha bad rheumatic cold, just at the time appointed for Helena's visitto Gleninch. But on this occasion (I gladly own it!) she has behavedcharmingly. She has written to Helena to say that her illness is notserious enough to render a change necessary in the arrangements, and tomake it her particular request that my cousin's visit shall take placeupon the day originally decided on.
"This is a great sacrifice made to me on my wife's part. Jealous ofevery woman under forty who comes near me, she is, of course, jealous ofHelena--and she controls herself, and trusts me!
"I am bound to show my gratitude for this and I will show it. From thisday forth I vow to live more affectionately with my wife. I tenderlyembraced her this very morning, and I hope, poor soul, she did notdiscover the effort that it cost me."
There the readings from the Diary came to an end.
The most unpleasant pages in the whole Report of the Trial were--tome--the pages which contained the extracts from my husband's Diary.There were expressions here and there which not only pained me, butwhich almost shook Eustace's position in my estimation. I think I wouldhave given everything I possessed to have had the power of annihilatingcertain lines in the Diary. As for his passionate expressions of lovefor Mrs. Beauly, every one of them went through me like a sting. He hadwhispered words quite as warm into my ears in the days of his courtship.I had no reason to doubt that he truly and dearly loved me. But thequestion was, Had he just as truly and dearly loved Mrs. Beauly beforeme? Had she or I--won the first love of his heart? He had declared tome over and over again that he had only fancied himself to be in lovebefore the day when we met. I had believed him then. I determined tobelieve him still. I did believe him. But I hated Mrs. Beauly!
As for the painful impression produced in Court by the readings fromthe letters and the Diary, it seemed to be impossible to increase it.Nevertheless it _was_ perceptibly increased. In other words, it wasrendered more unfavorable still toward the prisoner by the evidence ofthe next and last witness called on the part of the prosecution.
William Enzie, under-gardener at Gleninch, was sworn, and deposed asfollows:
On the twentieth of October, at eleven o'clock in the forenoon, I wassent to work in the shrubbery, on the side next to the garden called theDutch Garden. There was a summer-house in the Dutch Garden, having itsback set toward the shrubbery. The day was wonderfully fine and--warmfor the time of year.
"Passing to my work, I passed the back of the summer-house. I heardvoices inside--a man's voice and a lady's voice. The lady's voice wasstrange to me. The man's voice I recognized as the voice of my master.The ground in the shrubbery was soft, and my curiosity was excited. Istepped up to the back of the summer-house without being heard, and Ilistened to what was going on inside.
"T
he first words I could distinguish were spoken in my master's voice.He said, 'If I could only have foreseen that you might one day be free,what a happy man I might have been!' The lady's voice answered, 'Hush!you must not talk so.' My master said upon that, 'I must talk of what isin my mind; it is always in my mind that I have lost you.' He stoppeda bit there, and then he said on a sudden, 'Do me one favor, my angel!Promise me not to marry again.' The lady's voice spoke out thereuponsharply enough, 'What do you mean?' My master said, 'I wish no harm tothe unhappy creature who is a burden on my life; but suppose--' 'Supposenothing,' the lady said; 'come back to the house.'
"She led the way into the garden, and turned round, beckoning my masterto join her. In that position I saw her face plainly, and I knew it forthe face of the young widow lady who was visiting at the house. She waspointed out to me by the head-gardener when she first arrived, for thepurpose of warning me that I was not to interfere if I found her pickingthe flowers. The gardens at Gleninch were shown to tourists on certaindays, and we made a difference, of course, in the matter of the flowersbetween strangers and guests staying in the house. I am quite certain ofthe identity of the lady who was talking with my master. Mrs. Beaulywas a comely person--and there was no mistaking her for any other thanherself. She and my master withdrew together on the way to the house. Iheard nothing more of what passed between them."
This witness was severely cross-examined as to the correctness of hisrecollection of the talk in the summer-house, and as to his capacity foridentifying both the speakers. On certain minor points he was shaken.But he firmly asserted his accurate remembrance of the last wordsexchanged between his master and Mrs. Beauly; and he personallydescribed the lady in terms which proved that he had corruptlyidentified her.
With this the answer to the third question raised by the Trial--thequestion of the prisoner's motive for poisoning his wife--came to anend.
The story for the prosecution was now a story told. The staunchestfriends of the prisoner in Court were compelled to acknowledge thatthe evidence thus far pointed clearly and conclusively against him. Heseemed to feel this himself. When he withdrew at the close of the thirdday of the Trial he was so depressed and exhausted that he was obligedto lean on the arm of the governor of the jail.
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