Name and Fame Part 29

"Well, it had to be done, and the sooner the better," he said, turning away.

"So I suppose," said Johnson.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE TONGUE OF SCANDAL.

Alan returned to town with the full knowledge that he had something formidable to face and overcome.

He had gone to Birchmead partly in redemption of an old promise to his aunt, not knowing when he might be able to keep it if he did not do so now, and partly because his mind had been distracted by a fresh outbreak of violence in his wife, and he found it absolutely impossible to sit still and endure in patience.

The country journey refreshed him, and he came back stronger and braver than before. He was resolved to press for his divorce, and as Lettice was in Italy, no time could be better than the present for proving to the desperate woman, who was trying to terrify him, that there were laws in England to which she must yield obedience. He a.s.sured himself that he was now prepared for any fate; and yet that which had happened before he left town was an earnest of what he had to expect.

What had happened was this.

A few days before Cora had been served with a notice to appear and defend the suit for divorce which her husband was bringing against her; and this had set her inflammable soul on fire. She had tried hard to discover his whereabouts, without success. She had gone to Maple Cottage and banged at the door in such furious style, that a policeman, who happened to be pa.s.sing, came up to see what was wrong, just as the new occupants made their appearance, in mingled alarm and indignation.

"I want Miss Campion," said Cora, who was half-intoxicated, but still more excited by rage and jealousy.

"She no longer lives here," said the man at the door.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know. And I should not tell you if I did. Policeman, take this woman in charge for annoying me! You must have seen her knocking like a fury--and now she is evidently tipsy."

Her rage increased rather than diminished when she found that her intended prey had escaped her, she began to declaim at the top of her voice, and to shriek hysterically; and the policeman, regarding it as a simple case of "drunk and disorderly," took her off to the station, where she was locked up.

The first that Alan heard of it was from the papers next morning. In one of these, which he was accustomed to read after breakfast, he found the following report:--

"At Hammersmith, a dissipated-looking woman, who gave the name of Cora Walcott, was charged with being drunk and disorderly on the previous day, and annoying Mr. Peter Humphreys, of Maple Cottage, Brook Green.

Sergeant T 14 stated that he had observed the prisoner behaving in an extraordinary manner outside Mr. Humphreys' house, and knocking at the door in a most violent manner. As she would not go away, and her conduct was a serious annoyance to the neighbors, he was compelled to take her into custody. In reply to the prisoner, the witness said that she was undoubtedly drunk. She had asked for Miss Campion, and he had ascertained that that lady did previously live at Maple Cottage. She had told him that she was the wife of Mr. Alan Walcott, who had deserted her, after making an attempt on her life. The magistrate here interposed, and said that the prisoner's questions were totally irrelevant. What she had stated, even if true, was no excuse whatever for the conduct of which she had been guilty. Prisoner (excitedly): 'This woman had taken my husband from me.' Magistrate: 'Be silent.'

Prisoner: 'Am I to starve in the streets, whilst they are living in luxury?' Magistrate: 'You are fined five s.h.i.+llings and costs. If you have grievances you must find another way of remedying them. If you say any more now, I shall have to send you to prison without the option of a fine.' The money was paid by a gentleman in court."

As soon as Alan had read this he went to the solicitor who knew all his affairs, and got him to go to the Hammersmith Police Court. The magistrate permitted him to make a statement contradicting the lies told by Cora, and the newspapers printed what he said. But how many persons read the first report who never saw the second? And how many of those who read both preferred to believe the scandal, taking the contradiction as a matter of course?

The "gentleman in court" who paid Cora's fine was an enterprising reporter, who thought it might be worth his while to hear what this deserted wife had to say. He knew two or three papers which would welcome a bit of copy dealing with the marital troubles of a well-known literary man. The story of this French wife might be a tissue of lies--in which case it would be a real advantage to Mr. Walcott and Miss Campion to have it printed and refuted. Or it might be partly or wholly true--in which case it was decidedly in the interest of the public to make it known. The argument is familiar to everyone connected with a popular newspaper, and it proves that sensational journalists have their distinct place in the cosmogony of nature, being bound to print what is scandalous, either for the sake of those who are libelled or out of simple justice to those who start and spread the libel. This desire to give fair play all round, even to slanderers and malefactors, and the common father of these, is the crown and apex of civilization.

The consequence of this gentleman's activity was that Cora found plenty of a.s.sistance in her malicious design, to take away the characters of Alan and Lettice. The charges which she brought against her husband were printed and commented on in some very respectable newspapers, and were repeated with all kinds of enlargement and embellishment wherever the retailers of gossip were gathered together. If Alan had been under a cloud before, he was now held up to scorn as a mean-spirited creature without heart or conscience, who had allowed his lawful wife to sink into an abyss of degradation. However bad she might be, the blame certainly rested with him as the stronger. If it was impossible to live with her now, he might, at any rate, have stretched out his hand long ago, and rescued her from the slough of despond into which she had fallen.

This was not, of course, the universal judgment; but it was the popular one. It might not even have been the popular judgment a year before, or a year after, but it was the judgment of the day. The mult.i.tude is without responsibility in such cases, it decides without deliberation, and it often mistakes its instincts for the dictates of equity. Alan was judged without being heard, or what he did say in his defence was received as though it were the mere hard-swearing of a desperate man.

The storm had begun to rage when he went to Birchmead, and it reached its height soon after he returned. His lawyer advised him to bring an action for libel against one paper which had committed itself more deeply than the rest, and the threat of this had the effect of checking public references to his case; but the mischief was already done.

Nothing could make him more disgusted and wretched than he had been for some time past, so far as his own interests were concerned. It was only the dragging of Lettice's name into the miserable business which now pained and tormented him.

But there was one who had more right than himself to come forward as the champion of Lettice's fair fame, and was able to do it with better effect. When a man is a Member of Parliament and a Queen's Counsel, he occupies a position which his fellow-countrymen are inclined to regard as one of very considerable dignity. Editors and sub-editors think twice before they print unsubstantiated rumors about the near relatives of such distinguished individuals as Mr. Sydney Campion, Q.C., M.P. Thus, after the first report of the proceedings at the police court, Lettice's name scarcely appeared again. She was, indeed, referred to as "the lady who seems, reasonably or unreasonably, to have excited the jealousy of the unfortunate wife," or "the third party in this lamentable case, also well-reputed in the world of letters, with whom the tongue of scandal has been busy;" but she was not mentioned by name. And therein the scandal-mongers exercised a wise discretion, for Sydney had secured the a.s.sistance of Mr. Isaacs, one of the smartest solicitors in London, who found means to impress upon everyone whom it might concern that it would be a very serious matter indeed to utter anything approaching to a libel on Miss Lettice Campion.

Moreover, the worthy Mr. Isaacs had an interview with Cora, whom he found in a sober mood, and so terrified her by his warnings and menaces, but most of all by the impressive manner and magnetic eye wherewith he was wont to overawe malefactors of every kind and degree, that she ceased for a time to speak evil of Lettice.

Yet in Lettice's case also the mischief had been done already. All who made a point of hearing and remembering the ill that is spoken of their fellow-creatures, knew what had been said of her, and retailed it in private for the amus.e.m.e.nt of their friends. The taint had spread from Alan to her, and her character suffered before the world for absolutely no fault of hers, but solely because she had the misfortune to know him.

That was Sydney's way of putting it--and, indeed, it was Alan's way also, for there was no other conclusion at which it was possible to arrive.

It was a great consolation for both these men that Lettice was out of the country at this time. Sydney wrote to her, hinting as delicately as he could that it was essential to her interests and to his own that she should remain abroad for at least two or three months longer. Alan wrote about the same time to Mrs. Hartley, telling her in detail what had happened, and entreating her to put off her return to London as late as she could. It was not a time, he thought, to hesitate as to whether anything could justify him in making such a request.

Mrs. Hartley was treating Lettice very well at Florence, and had no intention of letting her come back in a hurry. She did not see fit to tell her of Alan's letter, for her recovery had been very slow, and fresh mental worry appeared to be the last thing to which she ought to be subjected. Nor was Lettice made aware of anything connected with Alan and his troubles, although her companion heard yet more startling news within the next few weeks. Mrs. Hartley had come to be very fond of Lettice, and she guarded her jealously, with all the tyranny of an old woman's love for a young one. The first thing, in her mind, was to get rid of the nervous prostration from which Lettice had been suffering, and to restore her to health and strength.

"We shall not go back to London," she said, in answer to a mild expostulation from her friend, "until you are as well as ever you were.

Why should we? You have no ties there, no house, no friends who cannot spare you for a month or two. By and by you can begin to write, if you must write; but we shall quarrel if you insist on going back. What makes you so restless?"

"I am idle; and I hate to have nothing to do. Besides, how can one tell what is going on, so far away from all one's friends and connections? If one of your friends were in difficulties or danger, would you not wish to be near him (or her), and do what you could to help?"

"Of whom are you thinking, dear?" Mrs. Hartley turned round on her quickly as she asked this question.

"I put it generally," Lettice said, looking frankly at her friend, but feeling hot and troubled at the same time.

"Oh, it was a mere hypothesis?"

"Well, no; it was not."

"I am not questioning you, my darling. At least, I don't want to. But you can do no good to anybody just now--believe me! You must get quite well and strong, and then perhaps you can fight for yourself or for other people. I don't dispute your t.i.tle to fight, when and where and how you like; and if ever I am in trouble, the Lord send me such a champion! But get strong first. If you went out with your s.h.i.+eld this morning, you would come back upon it to-night."

So Lettice had to be patient yet awhile.

CHAPTER XXII.

LETTICE TRIUMPHS.

But there was news of another kind which Mrs. Hartley did not conceal from Lettice. Her novel had been published, and it was a great success.

The critics, who already knew something of her literary powers, had with one consent written long and special articles about "Laurels and Thorns," hailing it as a veritable triumph. It was original, and philosophic, and irresistibly pathetic; the style sufficed to mark its author as one of the few novelists whose literary form was irreproachable. Perhaps the praise was here and there extravagant, but it was practically universal. And it was not confined to the critics.

The reading world more than endorsed it. Second and third editions of the book were called for within a month. Writers of leading articles and speakers on public platforms began to quote and commend her.

Most remarkable of all, her novel made a conquest of her brother Sydney.

He did not care for novels as a rule, but he read "Laurels and Thorns,"

and was desperately interested in it. Perhaps the phenomenal success which had crowned it had some effect upon him; and Lady Pynsent wrote him a nice letter of congratulation, expressing a great desire to know his "_distinguished_ sister." At all events, the thing was done, and Lettice must now be definitely accepted as a writer of books. What chiefly puzzled him was to think where she had learned her wisdom, how she came to be witty without his knowing it, and whence proceeded that intimate acquaintance with the human heart of which the critics were talking. He had not been accustomed to take much account of his sister, in spite of her knack with the pen; and even now he thought that she must have been exceedingly lucky.

It will readily be supposed that the breath of scandal which had pa.s.sed over Lettice was in no way a drawback to the triumph of her book. The more she was talked about in connection with that sorry business, the more her novel came to be in demand at the libraries, and thus she had some sort of compensation for the gross injustice which had been done to her. One small-minded critic, sitting down to his task with the preconceived idea that she was all that Cora Walcott had declared her to be, and finding in "Laurels and Thorns" the history of a woman who regarded the essence of virtue as somewhat more important than the outward semblance, attacked her vehemently for a moral obliquity which existed in his own vision alone. This review also stimulated the run upon her book, and carried it into a fourth edition.

Lettice's fortune was made. She had nothing to do for the remainder of her life but to choose where she would live, to take a house, to fill it with furniture, to gratify every reasonable want, on the one condition that she should devote herself to honest hard work, and give to her fellow-creatures the best that she was capable of producing.

It was all that her ambition had ever led her to desire, and it came to her at a time of life when her enjoyment was likely to be most keen and complete. Unless her own hand put aside the cup, it was hers to drink and to be satisfied.

And what did Alan think of it? She wondered dimly now and then if he had read it, and what he thought of the words that she had spoken out of a full heart to him and to him alone. Did he guess it? And would he ever know? She would have been answered if she could have seen him on a certain day in April, when she was in Florence and he in London town.