The Statement of Stella Maberly, and An Evil Spirit

by F. Anstey

  Hugh drove fast, and it was still quite light when we entered the gates of a park and reached the stately Elizabethan house which was Laleham Court.

  As soon as we were inside, he led the way up a wide staircase and along a corridor to Evelyn’s sitting-room.

  She was lying on a couch near the fire, and the face she turned to us as we entered told its own tale. All the softness and girlishness had gone from it; there were circles round the eyes, which glittered with a strange brilliance; her cheeks were sharpened in outline and sunken, the mouth had a hard, drawn look. It was terrible to see how soon the evil soul had set its impress on the features that had once been so fair.

  She had not lost her old malicious pleasure in torturing me by mock endearments. ‘Dearest Stella,’ she began, ‘I have thought of you so often and longed to come over and see you—but they would not let me. So, as soon as I heard from Aunt Lucy that you were quite well again, I insisted on Hugh’s bringing you here. I have been ill myself, as I daresay you know, but I am ever so much better now—only rather weak still. I really believe poor Hugh fancied he was going to lose me at one time, but I tell him I am not so easily got rid of. I am much too fond of Laleham—and perhaps a little of him too—to bear to give it all up just yet. I mean to live for years and years to come.’

  I glanced at Hugh, whose face she could not see, and the agony I read there wrung my heart.

  ‘I am glad you sent for me,’ I said quietly. ‘I have been wishing to see you too for a long time. We have a great deal to say to one another.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘a great deal. Hugh, you won’t mind leaving Stella with me for half an hour, will you? It is so long since we have had a real talk!’

  ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘I had better stay and see that you don’t tire yourself.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ she exclaimed, with a touch of anger. ‘I am not an invalid now, and it won’t tire me to talk to Stella.’

  ‘Then,’ he said, with a forced playfulness, ‘I will stay to protect Miss Maberly—she has been ill, too, remember.’

  ‘Can’t you see that you are not wanted!’ she said. ‘Hugh, how dense you are getting! I insist on your leaving us to our two selves at once. I tell you I wish it—and you know how dangerous it is to refuse me anything I have particularly set my heart on!’

  ‘Go,’ I whispered, as he still seemed to hesitate, ‘you will only do harm by opposing her. You need not be afraid to leave me here.’

  ‘You will not forget my warning?’ he replied in an undertone, ‘you will be careful, will you not?’

  ‘You may trust me,’ I said. ‘I am not the weak, unstrung creature I used to be.’

  ‘I daren’t thwart her now,’ he said, half to himself; ‘and, after all, what possible danger—?’ He went up to Evelyn and kissed her, which I knew he would not have done but for his anxiety on my account. ‘There,’ he said, ‘you shall have your own way. I’ll leave you for a little while, but remember I shall be within call, if you want me.’

  This last sentence, as I perfectly understood, was really meant for my ear. He obviously suspected that she had some evil object to gratify, and wished me to feel that help was at hand.

  ‘He thinks I can’t possibly get on long without him!’ she exclaimed, with a mocking little laugh, ‘but I knew Stella before I knew you, my dear Hugh, so you mustn’t be too conceited, and now go down to your own den, and don’t come back until you are sent for.’

  He looked searchingly at me once more, and then, seeing that I remained quite calm and mistress of myself, he went, though I fancied that he still had misgivings.

  There was no need, for I felt absolutely unafraid, as if in some way the spell that Evelyn had exercised over me all those wretched weeks had been broken.

  As soon as he had gone I turned to Evelyn and fixed my eyes steadily on her face.

  ‘I am wondering what you want with me now,’ I said quietly. ‘What made you send him to fetch me like this?’

  ‘What reason could I have?’ was the smooth, false answer, ‘except that I was longing to see you again, dearest Stella, and satisfy myself that you were quite strong and well again?’

  ‘Yes, I am strong now,’ I said. ‘You cannot torment me any longer as you used to do. I know at last—what you cunningly kept from me—that I never was the murderess by proxy you taunted me with being—that the chloral was never given.’

  She started. ‘The chloral? why, of course it was not,’ she cried. ‘Oh, Stella, can’t you forget all those dreadful ideas? Don’t you understand how incapable I am of tormenting or taunting you now? I am sure you wouldn’t wish to distress me by talking like this, when you see that I am not quite strong enough to bear it yet!’

  ‘You are trying to delude me again, to put me off my guard—but you will not,’ I said. ‘I am not to be deceived, even though you look like a woman who is dying fast. I know very well you will not die yet.’

  ‘Die!’ she repeated with a shudder. ‘Oh, no, no. I can’t die now—not so soon. I won’t die. Life is so beautiful. I couldn’t leave Hugh!’

  ‘Do you mean,’ I said, ‘that you love him—you!’

  ‘Do I love him? Better and better every day I live!’

  ‘You did not love him when you bewitched him into caring for you. You meant to drag him down to your level, and delight in his degradation. Now you have discovered that, though you may break his heart, blacken and befoul all that he held fair, you cannot debase him—his nature is too high for that. And so you have ended by loving him, when his own love is dead, changed to loathing and hate. Yes, you have been caught in your own devilish snare. The life you snatched at so greedily has become a worse hell than that you escaped from. There is a God after all, and He is punishing you here in the world where you have no right!’

  ‘Stella!’ she cried, trembling, ‘I cannot let you say these violent things to me—they are horrible and untrue. Please, please go away if you can’t be kind and gentle. You are making me ill. Have you no pity?’

  ‘What pity had you on me?’ I said. ‘You came between Hugh and me, you took him away from me, did your best to wreck his life and mine. If it is in my power now to make you suffer in your turn, why should I spare you?’

  There was a small mirror lying on a table close by, and I took it up and held it before her. ‘Look in this,’ I said. ‘Is that the face that bewitched Hugh? The face is what the soul makes of it, and even in this short time yours has begun to betray you. You boasted that your beauty would keep him your slave in spite of all he knew, and see, even your beauty is changing, passing, perishing. Soon the terrible signs he has learnt to read in those lines and hollows will be written more plainly still, so that none can mistake their meaning. Will that be better than death itself?’

  She pushed the mirror away with a passionate gesture. ‘I don’t want to look,’ she cried. ‘I know I am altered, but I am not going to die, and Hugh loves me, he does, whatever you may say. Why should I care? Only that you should be so cruel to me, Stella, just when I thought—it is that that almost breaks my heart!’

  Her grief was so naturally feigned that for the moment I myself felt a prick of shame and compunction, as though it were some tender innocent creature that I had been hurting, and not a corrupt and subtle spirit, baffled and in desperate straits, but still capable of evil.

  ‘If I seem cruel,’ I said, ‘I have a motive. I want to make you see how worthless this life is you cling to so desperately, that, though you may not die, your life will only become a greater burden and misery every day you live. If you really and sincerely loved Hugh, you would prove it by setting him free. Who knows that, if you voluntarily quit this frame and return to your former state, there may not be mercy and pardon for you, even now? What possible attraction can there be in such life as yours?’

  ‘Life is sweet,’ she replied. ‘I may never be what I was, I may not have long to be here, but I want to live as long as possible.’

  At the words a sudden idea
came into my mind. I saw at last a means of saving Hugh. ‘You wish to live?’ I said. ‘Suppose you were offered not only life, but health, strength, the beauty you value so much, on one condition—would you accept it? Listen to me. I love Hugh, as you know, but I am willing never to see him again, to forfeit all hope of happiness here, and, for all I know, hereafter, if only I can feel that I have freed him from you for ever. You say you love him—but it is life you really love, you dread going back to what you were. This is my proposal. To-night, before the clock has struck twelve, I promise that I will find some means of passing out of this body for ever, leaving it for you to enter, provided that you undertake to abandon your present form and never seek to entangle Hugh in any way whatever. Do you agree?’

  She gave a sort of hysterical sob. ‘Stella,’ she cried, ‘you can’t be in earnest, surely you know that what you are saying is sheer madness?’

  ‘Oh, I am not mad,’ I said. ‘You used to threaten to drive me into an asylum—but you could not. I am perfectly reasonable, I am not proposing anything that is impossible. If you were able to re-animate one dead body, you can surely take possession of mine after I have left it. And it is young and strong; it will live for years, you will gain by such an exchange. Once more I ask you—do you accept my terms?’

  She looked wildly all round her, panting like a thing at bay. ‘What am I to say?’ she cried. ‘Yes, yes, I accept—I agree to anything—anything!’

  ‘Will you swear to me, by the Power you serve, that you will abandon this body to-night, and that, as Stella Maberly, you will trouble Hugh no more?’

  ‘Have I not said so?’ she asked hoarsely. ‘Now you are satisfied—leave me.’

  Something in her manner excited my suspicions. ‘How can I be sure that you are not tricking me?’ I said. ‘Perhaps even this illness of yours is only some cunning device. What if I kept my part of the compact and you broke yours and lived on, to torture Hugh and mock at me for being fool enough to imagine any oath had power to bind you? I believe you mean treachery—I see it in your eyes!’

  ‘Oh, no, no!’ she cried, wringing her hands. ‘Indeed, indeed I am not treacherous. Don’t frighten me any more, Stella, only go now!’

  It occurred to me that there was an easy way of putting her to the test. ‘Why should we wait?’ I said. ‘Why should we not both kill ourselves—here—now?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said, ‘how can we? We have no—no weapons.’

  ‘Did I not see some Oriental swords and daggers on the wall in the corridor outside as I came here?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘You will find them at the end of the passage. Bring two, or—I know where they are—let me go and fetch them.’

  I laughed. ‘Liar!’ I said, ‘there are no weapons hanging there. I said it to try you. I know what was in your mind; you would have locked yourself in here, or rushed downstairs and given the alarm.’

  She sank into a seat, trembling. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘I know what I wanted to know. I have changed my mind. My plan that we should both commit suicide was absurd—I see that now. I give it up.’

  Her face relaxed. ‘I was sure you would see how impossible it was,’ she said faintly and with difficulty.

  ‘I do see it,’ I agreed. ‘You would never have killed yourself; you refuse to release Hugh, you mean to go on torturing and maddening him as you tortured me for years. But you shall not. When I came here I thought that, being a fiend in human form, you could not be killed. But if that was so you would not be afraid of me—and you are, you are! So I am going to try. Call for help if you like—it will be useless. Both these doors are bolted and locked, and I have the keys.’

  She opened her dry lips as if to scream for help, but her voice seemed paralysed by fear, for no sound came from them as she crouched there, with her great eyes fixed on me and her hands pressed close against her heart. Suddenly she made a spring towards the bell-rope, but I was too quick for her. Before she could reach it I seized her slender neck with both my hands and forced her back upon the couch, gripping her throat with all my might—harder, harder, and harder still, until she ceased to resist.

  Up to that moment I had not been certain that any force of mine could drive this devil forth against her will, and half expected that she would escape and mock me after all, but I felt armed with irresistible strength just then, and soon, sooner than I expected, the thing was done.

  As I relinquished my hold and the form sank down in a huddled heap among the cushions, I had a vision of a shape, with a wicked, beautiful face, that was not Evelyn’s, distorted with impotent rage and terror and despair, which stood there in the waning light and seemed to be striving to revenge itself upon me before it fled to its doom, and I own that for one dreadful instant I was in deadly fear.

  And then, just as I gave myself up for lost, the shape appeared to quiver and melt away into nothingness, and I was alone with Evelyn’s dead body.

  I raised it gently and arranged the cushions under the head, so that she lay as if asleep, exactly as she had lain that summer morning; the face was calm and pure and sweet once more, the very face of the girl I loved. ‘Do you understand?’ I whispered, as I bent over her and kissed her softly on the forehead. ‘The evil thing has left you for ever, you poor, innocent clay. Sleep in peace, for you are all Evelyn’s now!’

  Then I went out, and half way down the corridor I met Hugh.

  He seemed glad to see me safe and unharmed. ‘I was just coming up to carry you away,’ he said. ‘I was getting anxious, but I might have known I could trust you. There is nothing wrong?’ he added; ‘she—she is not worse?’

  ‘No, no,’ I said. ‘She is well, quite well now. Hugh, dear, dear Hugh, all this long misery is over for you and for me! I was determined to free you from the horror that has been hanging over you if I could—and God has helped me, Hugh; it is gone—gone for ever!’

  He could not believe it at first. ‘Gone!’ he cried. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Go to her,’ I said gently, ‘and you will understand.’

  I saw him rush to the door of her room and go in, and then, feeling that he must be left to himself just then, I went down the staircase and into a big hall which seemed to be used as a morning-­room.

  I could not rest, I paced up and down in a kind of mystical exaltation; the old portraits in ruff and doublet looked down on me with grim approval from the walls, the armorial shields in the oriel window glowed like blood in the last gleams of the sunset. I heard bells being rung furiously, hurrying footsteps, cries and commotion, but no one came near me, and though I still felt no remorse and knew that I had only done what was just and righteous, I began by degrees to be afraid of the solitude there in the slowly darkening hall.

  I wanted to see Hugh, to hear him thanking me for his deliverance, vowing to prove me guiltless in the eyes of all the world, to stand by me to the last. When once I had seen that in his face, as I did not doubt I should, the others might condemn me as a murderess, imprison me, take my life, and I should not care—I should have had my reward.

  At last I could not bear to be alone any longer; I felt I must go to Hugh. The old house had settled down into a dead stillness that yet was not quiet—only a breathless waiting for something that was about to happen.

  I passed into the entrance hall and met a footman coming down one of the passages with a lighted lamp. He started as he saw me, his face went white, and he nearly dropped the lamp for terror; he had not been at the door when I arrived, and probably imagined that I was a ghost.

  ‘Where is your master?’ I said. ‘I am Miss Maberly, and I wish to see him.’

  ‘Mr Dallas is in the library, miss,’ he answered; ‘but he doesn’t wish to be disturbed just now. I was bringing in this lamp, but he told me to take it away and leave him alone.’

  ‘He will see me,’ I said; ‘show me where the library is.’

  He put down a lamp and led the way to a door, which he tried to open. ‘It’s been locked since
I went in,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you haven’t heard that there’s trouble in the house, miss,’ he added in a lowered voice.

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘But Mr Dallas will open the door to me. That will do, you can go.’

  I knocked softly at the door. ‘Hugh,’ I said, ‘I am here—Stella—won’t you let me in?’

  And there was silence for a moment, though I thought I heard him moving as if to open the door, and then a terrible sound rang out within the closed room—the report of a pistol—and I knew that my sacrifice had been in vain.

  Here this statement shall end. I have had much to undergo since; indignities of every kind, confinement, long and purposeless examinations, odious charges and misconstructions, and then the mockery of mercy which consigned me to the place where I am now, and where I suppose I shall remain till death releases me.

  But why should I write of it all? Nothing seems worth resenting, telling, remembering even, that followed the terrible moment when I realised that Hugh had deserted me, leaving me to bear my penalty alone.

  What led him to do so—in the very hour of regaining his freedom, and when he must have known that he was the one person whose evidence could have placed my conduct in its true light—I do not understand. I never shall understand here.

  But I have never blamed him; I feel certain that he could never have been a coward, or intentionally disloyal and ungrateful to the woman who had risked everything for his sake. It is far more probable that the evil spirit which hated me contrived to avenge her defeat by some last effort of devilish malignity.

  And, whatever the explanation may be, I know that Hugh will make it all clear to me himself some day, when we are re-united and nothing wicked and malevolent can come near us any more.

  And so I am seldom absolutely unhappy, even in the daytime; while the night no longer brings terror with it—but only consolation and peace.