Mrs. Balfame: A Novel

by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton

  CHAPTER XXIII

  An hour later, Alys was driving through Elsinore, her mind a trifle lesspersonal, as it dwelt upon her brief interview with the superintendentof the hospital. Mrs. Dissosway, who was devoted to her niece andbelieved her to be as exceptional as Miss Crumley in her most aspiringmoments could have wished, had confided that she was sure poor dear Annaknew something about that awful crime, for in her delirious moments shekept uttering Enid Balfame's name in very odd tones indeed. She hadassured and reassured the patient that there was no clue to themurderer; and if she kept on and asked to see Mrs. Balfame,--which,significantly, she had not done,--they of course would tell her that thefriend who should have hastened to her bedside had suffered a nervousbreakdown or sprained her ankle. It was a blessing that she was in nocondition to testify against her idol, for it would kill her, just as itmight be fatal now if she knew that Enid was in the County Jail.

  After some delicate insistence, Mrs. Dissosway had admitted that Dr.Anna must convince any one who listened attentively to her mutteringsthat her belief in her friend's guilt was positive, whether she hadexact knowledge or not.

  "'Oh, Enid! Oh, _Enid_!' she kept repeating in such a tone of anguishand reproach, and then muttered: 'Poor child! What a life!' She alsoonce said something about a pistol in a tone of dismay, but the otherwords I couldn't make out.

  "The nurses on her case," Mrs. Dissosway had concluded, "will pay noattention. They are too accustomed to fever patients to listen toravings, and the two she will have are from other parts of the State,anyhow. They never heard of Mrs. Balfame before. But I have been in andout all day, and I know she is worrying in her poor hot mind both overher friend's crime and her danger--"

  "Then you believe Mrs. Balfame did it?" Miss Crumley had interrupted.

  "Yes, I do--now, anyhow; and I never was daffy about her. She barelyremembers I am alive, living out here for the last fifteen years as Ihave done, and I am your mother's sister. I don't call her a snob; it'sjust that she don't seem to take any interest in people that ain't inher own set. But the Lord knows I'd never tell on her if I had the proofin my hand, for I don't want any of our grand old families disgraced,and she's been good to your mother. No, she can go free, and welcome,but I wish poor Anna could have been spared the knowledge of her crime,for it's going to be all the harder to nurse her well, and she has a badcase. If she has to go, she shall go in peace. I'll see to that. Butwhen Enid Balfame is out, I'll take good care to let her know that shehas another crime to carry on her conscience--if she's got one."

  Alys had not asked to see the patient, knowing that it would be useless,but Mrs. Dissosway had walked out to the cart with her, and pointing toa window on the first floor of the wing devoted to paying patients,remarked: "That's where she is, poor dear." Alys had wondered if sheshould fall low enough before this accursed case were finished todescribe the position of that room to Broderick and insinuate what hemight find there if he chose to hide in the little balcony and enter theroom when the night nurse had gone out for the midnight supper. He wasquite capable of it.

  But not if she could win Rush from the case, nor unless, Mrs. Balfamedischarged, he were arrested and committed for the crime. She wished nowthat he had been arrested instead of Mrs. Balfame, for then she couldhave saved him from both punishment and the other woman without thisawful sense of sliding slowly down-hill to choke in a poisonous slime.She might have been obliged to exercise a certain amount of sophistryeven then, but she could have stood it.

  She was driving slowly down Atlantic Avenue when she heard her namecalled in accents of mystery and excitement. Her modest rig was passingthe imposing mansion of Elisha Battle, bank president, and like all thenewer homes of Elsinore the grounds were unconfined and the shallow lawnended at the pavement. From one of the drawing-room windows LottieGifning slanted, and as she met Miss Crumley's eye, she beckonedperemptorily. The desire for solitude was still strong upon Alys, but asshe had no excuse to advance, she wound the lines round the whip andwent slowly up the brick walk.

  Mrs. Gifning opened the front door and swept her into the drawing-room,where six or seven other women with tense excited faces sat on theexpensive furniture. Mrs. Battle, herself upholstered in shiningblack-and-white satin, and further clad in invisible armour, occupied astately and upright chair. This throne had been made to order;consequently her small feet in their high-heeled pumps touched thefloor. The large room, upon which much money had been spent, was nottasteless; it merely had no individuality whatever. Like many another inElsinore, it set Miss Crumley's teeth on edge, but compensated herto-day as ever by inspiring her with a sense of remote superiority.

  "Dear Alys--so glad to see you!" Mrs. Battle did not rise. She was fondof Alys, but thought her of no consequence whatever. "Lottie saw you andcalled you in as you have always been such a friend of poor dear Enid's,and you know those horrid reporters, and we want to impress upon you thenecessity of putting them off the track. We are talking the wholedreadful business over and trying to decide what to do."

  "Do?" Alys, more interested, disposed her limber uncorseted young figureinto a low chair and for a moment diverted envious attention from themomentous subject in hand. "What can we do? Has bail been accepted?"

  "No, nor likely to be. Isn't it too awful?"

  "Yes, it's awful." Alys stared at the floor, but although her wordsmight have been uttered by any of the ladies present, her tone wasalmost conventional. No one noticed this defection, however, and Mrs.Battle--after Mrs. Gifning had tiptoed to all the doors, opened themsuddenly and closed them again,--proceeded in so low a tone that therewas an immediate hitching of chairs over the Persian rug:

  "What we were debating when you came in, Alys, was whether--oh, it's tooawful!--she did it or not. Did she or didn't she? She has a perfectlybeautiful character--but the provocation! Few women have been triedmore severely. And we all know what human nature is under the influenceof sudden tremendous passion." Mrs. Battle, who never had been ruffledby any sort of passion, leaned against the high back of her chair, andelevated her eyebrows and one corner of her mouth.

  "Could such a crime have been unpremeditated?" asked Alys. "You forgetthat whoever did it was waiting in the grove for Balfame to come homefrom Sam's, and evidently timed to shoot as he reached the gate."

  "Passion, my dear child," said Mrs. Bascom, wife of the Justice forBrabant, speaking softly and with some diffidence, for she disliked theword, "can endure for quite a while once the blood is up and pounding inthe head. It would take a good deal to work up dear Enid, but when awoman like that does rise to the pitch under many and abominableprovocations, well, I guess she could stay at that pitch a good bitlonger than all of us put together. I've thought of nothing else forthree days and nights,--the Judge won't discuss it with me,--and I feelconvinced that she did it."

  "So have and so am I," contributed Mrs. Battle, sepulchrally.

  "I'm afraid she did!" Mrs. Gifning heaved an abysmal sigh. "I suspectedit when I consulted her about her mourning. She was much too cool. Awoman who could think of two kinds of blouses she wanted the verymorning after the tragedy, and he not out of the house, must have beenexercising a suspicious restraint or else have reverted to thecold-bloodedness with which she planned the deed."

  "Dear Lottie, you are so psychological," murmured Mrs. Frew admiringly;but Mrs. Battle interrupted sharply:

  "I maintain that she did it in a moment of overwhelming passion. Shewould be inexcusable if she had done it in cold blood."

  "Well, of course I didn't mean that!" said Mrs. Gifning with asperity."I guess I'm as fond of Enid Balfame as anybody in this room, and Iguess I know what she must have gone through. What I really meant wasthat she has more courage than most folks."

  "Oh, that indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Lequer, who was quite happy with herhusband, the fashionable doctor of Brabant. "Matrimony is a terribletrial at best, and it's a wonder more women don't--well, it's toohorrible to say. But I'm afraid--well, you know."

  There was no disse
nting voice. Alys raised her eyes and glanced aboutthe room. Mrs. Cummack was not present. No doubt she had been carefullyomitted from the conference. So had four members of the inner twelve whowere comparative newcomers in Elsinore. All of these women had knownEnid Balfame from childhood, consistently admired her; when she was in aposition to make her social ambitions felt, had quite naturally falleninto line.

  "Isn't it rather a hasty conclusion?" Alys asked. "There are a good manyothers who might have done it, you know."

  "Everybody suspected has one grand alibi." Mrs. Gifning's sigh wasrather hypocritical this time. "We'd be only too glad to think there wasany one else likely to be arrested. No hope! No hope!"

  "I suppose"--Miss Crumley's tones were tentative, although theirresistible words almost cost her her breath--"that there was no man inlove with Mrs. Balfame?"

  "Alys Crumley!" All the women had shrieked the name, and Mrs. Battleswung herself to her pointed toes. "I'm most mad enough to put you rightout. The idea of insinuating--"

  "Dear me, Mrs. Battle, it never occurred to me that it was worse for amarried woman to have a man in love with her than to commit murder. Idid not insinuate or even imagine she cared for any man, or evenencouraged one. But such things have happened."

  "Not to her. And while I could forgive her for shooting a perfectlyloathsome husband under the influence of sudden passion, I'd neverforgive her--Enid Balfame!--if she had stooped to anything so paltry andcommon and _sinful_ as philandering; for believe me, a man doesn'tcommit murder for a woman's sake unless he is reasonably certain that hewill have his due rewards. That is life. And how _can_ he be certain, ifthere has been no philandering. No!" Mrs. Battle was once moremagisterial in her chair, and in command of her best Friday Clubvocabulary. "But there is this much to be said: Enid did not necessarilyshoot to kill,--merely to wound perhaps,--for nothing would havepunished Dave Balfame more than a month or two in bed on gruel andcustard. Or maybe she just didn't know what she was doing--just fired torelieve her feelings. I am sure it would have relieved mine after thatscene at the Club."

  "Oh--I apologise. Let us assume then that Mrs. Balfame did it. How doyou propose to act in the matter? Of course you will not accuse her,but shall you cut her?"

  "Neither the one nor the other!" Mrs. Battle brought her plump littlehands down on the arms of the chair with a muffled but emphatic smack."Never outside of this room shall we breathe our convictions, or ourcertain knowledge that she kept a revolver in her room--may I not speakfor all?" There was a hissing murmur caused by the letter _s_. "And itwill be no negative defence, either. We'll stand by her publicly, visither constantly, keep up her spirits, never give her a hint of oursuspicions, and attend the trial in a body. Our attitude cannot fail toimpress the world. We are the representative women of Elsinore; we haveknown her all our lives; it is our duty to flaunt our faith in the eyesof the public. The moral effect will be enormous--also on the jury."

  "It is very splendid of you." Alys sighed. Their motives were mixed, ofcourse, poor dears; brains were not their strong point, and they wereall feeling young again with their sense of participation in the greatlocal drama, but there was no questioning their loyalty, even that ofMrs. Battle, who would inherit the reins of leadership were Mrs. Balfameforced to retire. Alys wished she could be swept along with them, buther indorsement of their programme was from the head alone.

  "What do the men think?" she asked.

  "I guess they don't know what to think," said Mrs. Battle complacently."They're not as clever as we are, and besides, they never couldunderstand that type of woman. Whatever they think, though,--that is tosay, if they do suspect her,--they'll never let on. They weren't any toofond of Dave these last years, and they're no more anxious than we areto have Elsinore disgraced--especially with all those lots on the edgeof the West End unsold. They're hoping for a boom every minute. Thetrial will be bad enough. And those terrible reporters! They've beenhere a dozen times."

  "That reminds me," interrupted Alys. "I promised four of the best of thewomen reporters I would try to get them an interview with Mrs. Balfame.Do you think you could manage it? She might not listen to me.And--and--if she is a murderess, I don't think I can see her just yet."

  "Youth is so hard!" Mrs. Battle sighed. "But I suppose it is as wellthat you, an unmarried young woman, and with your way to make, shouldkeep in the background. But why should she see those women? Answer methat. It would be more dignified for her to ignore the press hereafter."

  "Perhaps. But they are predisposed in her favour, being women, and wouldwrite her up in such a way as to make friends for her among the public.It is important, if she is to be tried for her life, that she should notbe thought a monster, that she should make all the friends possible. Thejury might convict her, and it would then be necessary, appeals alsofailing, to get up a petition."

  "You always did have brains, Alys!" It was Mrs. Frew who expressedherself with emphasis. "I'll persuade her myself. Don't you really thinkit would be wise, Letitia?"

  "I guess you're both right." Mrs. Battle stood up. "Now let's go outand have tea. I ordered it for five-thirty. New York's got nothing onus."

  But Alys, protesting that her mother was old-fashioned and stillprepared supper for half past six, excused herself and left the house.She found that Colonel Roosevelt had gone home and was not sorry tocover the half-mile to her own, briskly, on foot. What course sheeventually should take was still unformulated, but she was glad that shehad not parted with any of her deeper knowledge to those kindly womenwho, perhaps, would have found it the straw too many. Let Enid Balfamekeep her friends if she could. Let her have the whole State on her sideif she could, so long as she lost Dwight Rush!