CHAPTER XXX. THE INDICTMENT OF MRS. BEAULY.
I STARTED to my feet, and looked at Miserrimus Dexter. I was too muchagitated to be able to speak to him.
My utmost expectations had not prepared me for the tone of absoluteconviction in which he had spoken. At the best, I had anticipated thathe might, by the barest chance, agree with me in suspecting Mrs. Beauly.And now his own lips had said it, without hesitation or reserve! "Thereisn't the shadow of a doubt: Mrs. Beauly poisoned her."
"Sit down," he said, quietly. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Nobodycan hear us in this room."
I sat down again, and recovered myself a little.
"Have you never told any one else what you have just told me?" was thefirst question that I put to him.
"Never. No one else suspected her."
"Not even the lawyers?"
"Not even the lawyers. There is no legal evidence against Mrs. Beauly.There is nothing but moral certainty."
"Surely you might have found the evidence if you had tried?"
He laughed at the idea.
"Look at me!" he said. "How is a man to hunt up evidence who is tied tothis chair? Besides, there were other difficulties in my way. I am notgenerally in the habit of needlessly betraying myself--I am a cautiousman, though you may not have noticed it. But my immeasurable hatred ofMrs. Beauly was not to be concealed. If eyes can tell secrets, she musthave discovered, in my eyes, that I hungered and thirsted to see her inthe hangman's hands. From first to last, I tell you, Mrs. Borgia-Beaulywas on her guard against me. Can I describe her cunning? All myresources of language are not equal to the task. Take the degrees ofcomparison to give you a faint idea of it: I am positively cunning; thedevil is comparatively cunning; Mrs. Beauly is superlatively cunning.No! no! If she is ever discovered, at this distance of time, it will notbe done by a man--it will be done by a woman: a woman whom she doesn'tsuspect; a woman who can watch her with the patience of a tigress in astate of starvation--"
"Say a woman like Me!" I broke out. "I am ready to try."
His eyes glittered; his teeth showed themselves viciously under hismustache; he drummed fiercely with both hands on the arms of his chair.
"Do you really mean it?" he asked.
"Put me in your position," I answered. "Enlighten me with your moralcertainty (as you call it)--and you shall see!"
"I'll do it!" he said. "Tell me one thing first. How did an outsidestranger, like you, come to suspect her?"
I set before him, to the best of my ability, the various elements ofsuspicion which I had collected from the evidence at the Trial; andI laid especial stress on the fact (sworn to by the nurse) that Mrs.Beauly was missing exactly at he time when Christina Ormsay had leftMrs. Eustace Macallan alone in her room.
"You have hit it!" cried Miserrimus Dexter. "You are a wonderful woman!What was she doing on the morning of the day when Mrs. Eustace Macallandied poisoned? And where was she during the dark hours of the night? Ican tell you where she was _not_--she was not in her own room."
"Not in her own room?" I repeated. "Are you really sure of that?"
"I am sure of everything that I say, when I am speaking of Mrs. Beauly.Mind that: and now listen! This is a drama; and I excel in dramaticnarrative. You shall judge for yourself. Date, the twentieth of October.Scene the Corridor, called the Guests' Corridor, at Gleninch. On oneside, a row of windows looking out into the garden. On the other, a rowof four bedrooms, with dressing-rooms attached. First bedroom (beginningfrom the staircase), occupied by Mrs. Beauly. Second bedroom, empty.Third bedroom, occupied by Miserrimus Dexter. Fourth bedroom, empty. Somuch for the Scene! The time comes next--the time is eleven at night.Dexter discovered in his bedroom, reading. Enter to him EustaceMacallan. Eustace speaks: 'My dear fellow, be particularly carefulnot to make any noise; don't bowl your chair up and down the corridorto-night.' Dexter inquires, 'Why?' Eustace answers: 'Mrs. Beauly hasbeen dining with some friends in Edinburgh, and has come back terriblyfatigued: she has gone up to her room to rest.' Dexter makes anotherinquiry (satirical inquiry, this time): 'How does she look when she isterribly fatigued? As beautiful as ever?' Answer: 'I don t know; I havenot seen her; she slipped upstairs, without speaking to anybody.' Thirdinquiry by Dexter (logical inquiry, on this occasion): 'If she spoke tonobody, how do you know she is fatigued?' Eustace hands Dexter a morselof paper, and answers: 'Don t be a fool! I found this on the hall table.Remember what I have told you about keeping quiet; good-night!' Eustaceretires. Dexter looks at the paper, and reads these lines in pencil:'Just returned. Please forgive me for going to bed without sayinggood-night. I have overexerted myself; I am dreadfully fatigued.(Signed) Helena.' Dexter is by nature suspicious. Dexter suspects Mrs.Beauly. Never mind his reasons; there is no time to enter into hisreasons now. He puts the ease to himself thus: 'A weary woman wouldnever have given herself the trouble to write this. She would have foundit much less fatiguing to knock at the drawing-room door as she passed,and to make her apologies by word of mouth. I see something here outof the ordinary way; I shall make a night of it in my chair. Very good.Dexter proceeds to make a night of it. He opens his door; wheels himselfsoftly into the corridor; locks the doors of the two empty bedrooms, andreturns (with the keys in his pocket) to his own room. 'Now,' says D.to himself, 'if I hear a door softly opened in this part of the house,I shall know for certain it is Mrs. Beauly's door!' Upon that he closeshis own door, leaving the tiniest little chink to look through; puts outhis light; and waits and watches at his tiny little chink, like a cat ata mouse-hole. The corridor is the only place he wants to see; and a lampburns there all night. Twelve o'clock strikes; he hears the doors belowbolted and locked, and nothing happens. Half-past twelve--andnothing still. The house is as silent as the grave. One o'clock; twoo'clock--same silence. Half-past two--and something happens at last.Dexter hears a sound close by, in the corridor. It is the sound ofa handle turning very softly in a door--in the only door that can beopened, the door of Mrs. Beauly's room. Dexter drops noiselessly fromhis chair onto his hands; lies flat on the floor at his chink, andlistens. He hears the handle closed again; he sees a dark object flitby him; he pops his head out of his door, down on the floor where nobodywould think of looking for him. And what does he see? Mrs. Beauly! Thereshe goes, with the long brown cloak over her shoulders, which shewears when she is driving, floating behind her. In a moment more shedisappears, past the fourth bedroom, and turns at a right angle, into asecond corridor, called the South Corridor. What rooms are in the SouthCorridor? There are three rooms. First room, the little study,mentioned in the nurse's evidence. Second room, Mrs. Eustace Macallan'sbedchamber. Third room, her husband's bedchamber. What does Mrs. Beauly(supposed to be worn out by fatigue) want in that part of the houseat half-past two in the morning? Dexter decides on running the risk ofbeing seen--and sets off on a voyage of discovery. Do you know howhe gets from place to place without his chair? Have you seen the poordeformed creature hop on his hands? Shall he show you how he does it,before he goes on with his story?"
I hastened to stop the proposed exhibition.
"I saw you hop last night," I said. "Go on!--pray go on with your story!
"Do you like my dramatic style of narrative?" he asked. "Am Iinteresting?"
"Indescribably interesting, Mr. Dexter. I am eager to hear more."
He smiled in high approval of his own abilities.
"I am equally good at the autobiographical style," he said. "Shall wetry that next, by way of variety?"
"Anything you like," I cried, losing all patience with him, "if you willonly go on!"
"Part Two; Autobiographical Style," he announced, with a wave of hishand. "I hopped along the Guests' Corridor, and turned into the SouthCorridor. I stopped at the little study. Door open; nobody there. Icrossed the study to the second door, communicating with Mrs. Macallan'sbedchamber. Locked! I looked through the keyhole Was there somethinghanging over it, on the other side? I can't say--I only know there wasnothing to be seen but blank darkness. I listened.
Nothing to be heard.Same blank darkness, same absolute silence, inside the locked seconddoor of Mrs. Eustace's room, opening on the corridor. I went on to herhusband's bedchamber. I had the worst possible opinion of Mrs. Beauly--Ishould not have been in the least surprised if I had caught her inEustace's room. I looked through the keyhole. In this case, the keywas out of it--or was turned the right way for me--I don't know which.Eustace's bed was opposite the door. No discovery. I could see him, allby himself, innocently asleep. I reflected a little. The back staircasewas at the end of the corridor, beyond me. I slid down the stairs, andlooked about me on the lower floor, by the light of the night-lamp.Doors all fast locked and keys outside, so that I could try them myself.House door barred and bolted. Door leading into the servants' officesbarred and bolted. I got back to my own room, and thought it outquietly. Where could she be? Certainly _in_ the house, somewhere. Where?I had made sure of the other rooms; the field of search was exhausted.She could only be in Mrs. Macallan's room--the _one_ room which hadbaffled my investigations; the _only_ room which had not lent itselfto examination. Add to this that the key of the door in the study,communicating with Mrs. Macallan's room, was stated in the nurse'sevidence to be missing; and don't forget that the dearest object of Mrs.Beauly's life (on the showing of her own letter, read at the Trial) wasto be Eustace Macallan's happy wife. Put these things together in yourown mind, and you will know what my thoughts were, as I sat waiting forevents in my chair, without my telling you. Toward four o'clock, strongas I am, fatigue got the better of me. I fell asleep. Not for long.I awoke with a start and looked at my watch. Twenty-five minutes pastfour. Had she got back to her room while I was asleep? I hopped to herdoor and listened. Not a sound. I softly opened the door. The room wasempty. I went back again to my own room to wait and watch. It was hardwork to keep my eyes open. I drew up the window to let the cool airrefresh me; I fought hard with exhausted nature, and exhausted naturewon. I fell asleep again. This time it was eight in the morning whenI awoke. I have goodish ears, as you may have noticed. I heard women'svoices talking under my open window. I peeped out. Mrs. Beauly and hermaid in close confabulation! Mrs. Beauly and her maid looking guiltilyabout them to make sure that they were neither seen nor heard! 'Takecare, ma'am,' I heard the maid say; 'that horrid deformed monster is assly as a fox. Mind he doesn't discover you.' Mrs. Beauly answered, 'Yougo first, and look out in front; I will follow you, and make sure thereis nobody behind us.' With that they disappeared around the corner ofthe house. In five minutes more I heard the door of Mrs. Beauly's roomsoftly opened and closed again. Three hours later the nurse met her inthe corridor, innocently on her way to make inquiries at Mrs. EustaceMacallan's door. What do you think of these circumstances? What do youthink of Mrs. Beauly and her maid having something to say to each other,which they didn't dare say in the house--for fear of my being behindsome door listening to them? What do you think of these discoveries ofmine being made on the very morning when Mrs. Eustace was taken ill--onthe very day when she died by a poisoner's hand? Do you see your way tothe guilty person? And has mad Miserrimus Dexter been of some assistanceto you, so far?"
I was too violently excited to answer him. The way to the vindication ofmy husband's innocence was opened to me at last!
"Where is she?" I cried. "And where is that servant who is in herconfidence?"
"I can't tell you," he said. "I don't know."
"Where can I inquire? Can you tell me that?"
He considered a little. "There is one man who must know where she is--orwho could find it out for you," he said.
"Who is he? What is his name?"
"He is a friend of Eustace's. Major Fitz-David."
"I know him! I am going to dine with him next week. He has asked you todine too."
Miserrimus Dexter laughed contemptuously.
"Major Fitz-David may do very well for the ladies," he said. "The ladiescan treat him as a species of elderly human lap-dog. I don t dine withlap-dogs; I have said, No. You go. He or some of his ladies may be ofuse to you. Who are the guests? Did he tell you?"
"There was a French lady whose name I forget," I said, "and LadyClarinda--"
"That will do! She is a friend of Mrs. Beauly's. She is sure toknow where Mrs. Beauly is. Come to me the moment you have got yourinformation. Find out if the maid is with her: she is the easiest todeal with of the two. Only make the maid open her lips, and we havegot Mrs. Beauly. We crush her," he cried, bringing his hand down likelightning on the last languid fly of the season, crawling over the armof his chair--"we crush her as I crush this fly. Stop! A question--amost important question in dealing with the maid. Have you got anymoney?"
"Plenty of money."
He snapped his fingers joyously.
"The maid is ours!" he cried. "It's a matter of pounds, shillings, andpence with the maid. Wait! Another question. About your name? If youapproach Mrs. Beauly in your own character as Eustace's wife, youapproach her as the woman who has taken her place--you make a mortalenemy of her at starting. Beware of that!"
My jealousy of Mrs. Beauly, smoldering in me all through the interview,burst into flames at those words. I could resist it no longer--I wasobliged to ask him if my husband had ever loved her.
"Tell me the truth," I said. "Did Eustace really--?"
He burst out laughing maliciously, he penetrated my jealousy, andguessed my question almost before it had passed my lips.
"Yes," he said, "Eustace did really love her--and no mistake about it.She had every reason to believe (before the Trial) that the wife's deathwould put her in the wife's place. But the Trial made another man ofEustace. Mrs. Beauly had been a witness of the public degradation ofhim. That was enough to prevent his marrying Mrs. Beauly. He broke offwith her at once and forever--for the same reason precisely which hasled him to separate himself from you. Existence with a woman who knewthat he had been tried for his life as a murderer was an existence thathe was not hero enough to face. You wanted the truth. There it is! Youhave need to be cautious of Mrs. Beauly--you have no need to be jealousof her. Take the safe course. Arrange with the Major, when you meet LadyClarinda at his dinner, that you meet her under an assumed name."
"I can go to the dinner," I said, "under the name in which Eustacemarried me. I can go as 'Mrs. Woodville.'"
"The very thing!" he exclaimed. "What would I not give to be presentwhen Lady Clarinda introduces you to Mrs. Beauly! Think of thesituation. A woman with a hideous secret hidden in her inmost soul: andanother woman who knows of it--another woman who is bent, by fair meansor foul, on dragging that secret into the light of day. What a struggle!What a plot for a novel! I am in a fever when I think of it. I am besidemyself when I look into the future, and see Mrs. Borgia-Beauly broughtto her knees at last. Don't be alarmed!" he cried, with the wild lightflashing once more in his eyes. "My brains are beginning to boil againin my head. I must take refuge in physical exercise. I must blow off thesteam, or I shall explode in my pink jacket on the spot!"
The old madness seized on him again. I made for the door, to secure myretreat in case of necessity--and then ventured to look around at him.
He was off on his furious wheels--half man, half chair--flying likea whirlwind to the other end of the room. Even this exercise was notviolent enough for him in his present mood. In an instant he was downon the floor, poised on his hands, and looking in the distance like amonstrous frog. Hopping down the room, he overthrew, one after another,all the smaller and lighter chairs as he passed them; arrived at theend, he turned, surveyed the prostrate chairs, encouraged himself witha scream of triumph, and leaped rapidly over chair after chair on hishands--his limbless body now thrown back from the shoulders, and nowthrown forward to keep the balance--in a manner at once wonderful andhorrible to behold. "Dexter's Leap-frog!" he cried, cheerfully, perchinghimself with his birdlike lightness on the last of the prostrate chairswhen he had reached the further end of the room. "I'm pretty active,Mrs. Valeria, considering I'm a cripple. Let us drink to the hanging ofMrs. Beauly in anot
her bottle of Burgundy!"
I seized desperately on the first excuse that occurred to me for gettingaway from him.
"You forget," I said--"I must go at once to the Major. If I don't warnhim in time, he may speak of me to Lady Clarinda by the wrong name."
Ideas of hurry and movement were just the ideas to take his fancy in hispresent state. He blew furiously on the whistle that summoned Ariel fromthe kitchen regions, and danced up and down on his hands in the fullfrenzy of his delight.
"Ariel shall get you a cab!" he cried. "Drive at a gallop to theMajor's. Set the trap for her without losing a moment. Oh, what a day ofdays this has been! Oh, what a relief to get rid of my dreadful secret,and share it with You! I am suffocating with happiness--I am likethe Spirit of the Earth in Shelley's poem." He broke out with themagnificent lines in "Prometheus Unbound," in which the Earth feelsthe Spirit of Love, and bursts into speech. "'The joy, the triumph, thedelight, the madness! the boundless, overflowing, bursting gladness!the vaporous exultation not to be confined! Ha! ha! the animation ofdelight, which wraps me like an atmosphere of light, and bears me as acloud is borne by its own wind.' That's how I feel, Valeria!--that's howI feel!"
I crossed the threshold while he was still speaking. The last I saw ofhim he was pouring out that glorious flood of words--his deformed body,poised on the overthrown chair, his face lifted in rapture to somefantastic heaven of his own making. I slipped out softly into theantechamber. Even as I crossed the room, he changed once more. I heardhis ringing cry; I heard the soft thump-thump of his hands on the floor.He was going down the room again, in "Dexter's Leap-frog," flying overthe prostrate chairs.
In the hall, Ariel was on the watch for me.
As I approached her, I happened to be putting on my gloves. She stoppedme; and, taking my right arm, lifted my hand toward her face. Was shegoing to kiss it? or to bite it? Neither. She smelt it like a dog--anddropped it again with a hoarse chuckling laugh.
"You don't smell of his perfumes," she said. "You _haven't_ touched hisbeard. _Now_ I believe you. Want a cab?"
"Thank you. I'll walk till I meet a cab."
She was bent on being polite to me--now I had _not_ touched his beard.
"I say!" she burst out, in her deepest notes.
"Yes?"
"I'm glad I didn't upset you in the canal. There now!"
She gave me a friendly smack on the shoulder which nearly knocked medown--relapsed, the instant after, into her leaden stolidity of lookand manner---and led the way out by the front door. I heard her hoarsechuckling laugh as she locked the gate behind me. My star was at lastin the ascendant! In one and the same day I had found my way into theconfidence of Ariel and Ariel's master.
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