I, Thou, and the Other One Part 32

"I will tell you, though you may hate me for my words. Piers, I took the ring you lost. I meant no harm in the first moment; mischief and jealousy were then so mixed, I don't know which of them led me. I saw you asleep. I slipped the ring off your finger. I told myself I would give it to you in the morning, and claim my forfeit. In the morning, the d.u.c.h.ess was cross; and you were cross; and the constables were in the house; and I was afraid. And I put it off and off, and every day my fear of trouble--and perhaps my hope of doing mischief with it--grew stronger. I had then hours of believing that I should like to be your wife, and I hated and envied Kate Atheling. I hesitated until I lost the desire to explain things; and then one day my maid Justine flew in a pa.s.sion at me, and accused me of stealing the ring. She said it was in my purse--_and it was_. She threatened to call in the whole household to see me found out; and it was the night of the great dinner; and I bought her off."

"Oh, Bella! Bella! that was very foolish."

"I know. She has tortured and robbed me ever since. I have wasted away under her threats. Look at my arms, Piers, and my hands. I have a constant fever. Last week she promised me, if I would give her two hundred pounds, she would go away, and I should never see or hear of her again. I gave her the money. Now she says she has made up her mind to go to India with me. That I cannot endure. She has kept me on the rack with threats to tell Cecil. He is the soul of Honour; he would certainly cease to love me; and if I was his wife, how terrible that would be!

What am I to do? What am I to do? Oh, Piers, help me!"

"Where is the woman now?"

"In my apartments."

"Can I go with you to your parlour?"

"Yes--but, Piers, why?"

"Where is the ring, Bella dear?"

"In her possession. She was afraid I would give it to you."

"Why did you not tell me all this before? Come, I will soon settle the affair."

When they reached the room, Annabel sank almost lifeless on a sofa; and Piers touched a hand-bell. Justine called from an inner room:

"I will answer at my leisure, Miss."

Piers walked to the dividing door, and threw it open. "You will answer _now_, at my command. Come here, and come quickly."

"My lord--I did not mean--"

"Stand there, and answer truly the questions I shall ask; or I promise you a few years on the treadmill, if not a worse punishment. Do you know that you are guilty of black-mailing, and of obtaining money on false pretences?--both crimes to be expiated on the gallows."

"My lord, it is a true pretence. Miss Vyner stole your ring. She knows she did."

"She could not steal anything I have; she is welcome to whatever of mine she desires. How much money have you taken from Miss Vyner?"

"I have not taken one half-penny," answered Justine, sulkily. "She gave me the money; she dare not say different. Speak, Miss, you know you gave it to me." But Annabel had recovered something of her old audacity. She felt she was safe, and she was not disposed to mercy.

She only smiled scornfully, and re-arranged the satin cus.h.i.+ons under her head more comfortably.

"Quick! How much money have you taken?"

Justine refused to answer; and Piers said, "I give you two minutes. Then I shall send for a constable."

"And Miss Vyner's wedding will be put off."

"For your crime? Oh, no! Miss Vyner's wedding is far beyond your interference. She will have nothing to do with this affair. _I_ shall prosecute you. You have my ring. Will you give it to me, or to a constable?"

"I did not take the ring."

"It is in your possession. I will send now for an officer." He rose to touch the bell-rope, keeping his eyes on the woman all the time; and she darted forward and arrested his hand.

"I will do what you wish," she said.

"How much money have you taken from Miss Vyner?"

"Eight hundred and ninety pounds."

"Where is it?"

"In my room."

"Go and get it--stay, I will go with you."

In a few minutes Justine returned with her ill-gotten treasure; and then she condescended to explain, and entreat,--

"Oh, my lord," she said, "don't be hard on me. I wanted the money for my poor old mother who is in Marylebone Workhouse. I did, indeed I did!

It was to make her old age comfortable. She is sick and very poor, and I wanted it for her."

"We shall see about that. If your story is true, you shall give the money to your poor old sick mother. If it is not true, you shall give my ring and the money to a constable, and sleep in prison this very night."

With impetuous pa.s.sion he ordered a carriage, and Justine was driven to the Marylebone Workhouse. By the time they reached that inst.i.tution, she was thoroughly humbled and afraid; her fear being confirmed by the subservience of the Master to the rank and commands of Lord Exham. For a moment she had an idea of denying her own statement; but the futility of the lie was too evident to be doubted; and, very reluctantly, she admitted her mother's name to be Margaret Oddy. In a few minutes--during which Lord Exham ordered Justine to count out the money in her bag to the Master--Margaret appeared. She was not an old woman in years, being but little over forty; but starvation, sorrow, and hard work had made her prematurely aged. When she entered the room, she looked around anxiously; but as soon as she saw Justine, she covered her face with her thin hands, and began to weep.

"Is this your daughter?" asked the Master, pointing to Justine.

"I am her mother, sure enough, sir; but she have cast me off long ago.

Oh, Justine girl, speak a word to me! You are my girl, for all that's past and gone."

"Justine has come to make you some amends for her previous neglect, Mother," said Lord Exham. "She has brought you eight hundred and ninety pounds for your old age. To-morrow my lawyer will call here, and give you advice concerning its care and its use. Until then, the Master will take it in charge."

"Let me see it! Let me touch it with my hands! No more hunger! No more cold! No more hard work! It can't be true! It can't be true! Is it true, Justine? Kiss me with the money, girl, for the sake of the happy days we have had together!" With these words she went to her daughter, and tried to take her hands, and draw her to her breast. But Justine would not respond. She stood sullen and silent, with eyes cast on the ground.

"Why, then," said Margaret, with just anger, "why, then, keep the money, Justine. I would rather eat peas and porridge, and sleep on straw, than take a s.h.i.+lling with such ill-will from you, girl." Then, turning to Piers, she added, "Thank you, good gentleman, but I'll stay where I am. Let Justine keep her gold. I don't want such an ill-will gift."

"Mother," answered Piers. "You may take the money from my hands, then. It is yours. Justine's good or ill-will has now nothing to do with it. I give it to you from the n.o.ble young lady whom your daughter has wronged so greatly that the gallows would be her just desert. She gives up this money--which she has no right to--as some atonement for her crime. Is not this the truth, Justine?" he asked sternly; and the woman answered, "Yes." Then turning to the Master, he added, "To this fact, and to Justine's admission of it, you are witness."

The Master said, "I am." Then addressing Margaret, he told her to go back to her place, and think over the good fortune that had so unexpectedly come to her; what she wished to do with her money; and where she wished to make her future home. And the mother curtsied feebly and again turned to her child,--

"If I go back to the old cottage in Downham--the old cottage with the vines, and the bee skeps, and the long garden, will you come with me, and we will share all together?"

"No."

"Let her alone, Mother," said Exham. "She is going to the furthest American colony she can reach. Only in some such place, will she be safe from the punishment of her wrong-doing."

"Justine, then, my girl, good-bye!"

No answer.

"Justine, good-bye!"

No answer.