Layton were admitted freely to the house, and thus they had equal
chances. But when the lady whom two men are in love with makes up her
mind, the chances are no longer equal. It was not without a struggle
that Archibald Laing abandoned his pretensions. From what afterwards
transpired, he could not have loved Mabel with less strength than
Edward Layton did. It was no small sacrifice on his part to relinquish
his hopes of winning Mabel for his wife, more especially when her
father was on his side. There were interviews of an affecting nature
between him and Mabel. There were interviews, also, between him and
Edward Layton. The two men had been friends long before they came into
association with Mabel Rutland, and it speaks well for the generosity
and nobility of their natures that this affair of the heart--the like
of which has been the cause of bitter feuds from time immemorial--did
not turn their friendship into enmity. In the estimate of their
characters at this period Archibald Laing showed the higher nobility,
for the reason that it devolved upon him to make a voluntary and
heart-rending sacrifice. He informed the young lady's parents that he
gave up all hope of obtaining their daughter's hand, and at the same
time he declared that if it ever lay in his power to render Mabel or
Edward Layton a service, he would not hesitate to render it, whatever
might be the cost. Nobly has he redeemed this pledge.
He suffered much--to such an extent, indeed, that he determined to
leave the country, and find a home in another land. He bade the
Rutlands farewell by letter, and sailed for America, where he settled,
and realized an amazing fortune.
The field was thus left free for Mabel and Edward. Mr. Rutland was
seriously displeased. He had been thwarted in a wish that was very
dear to him, and he was not the kind of man to forget the defeat.
Although Edward Layton was allowed to come to the house, Mr. Rutland
received him without favor, and it was only upon the imploring and
repeated solicitations of his wife and daughter that he consented to
an engagement between the young people. It was a half-hearted consent,
and caused them some unhappiness. More than once he declared in their
presence, and in the presence of his wife, that if anything ever
occurred which would cast the slightest shadow of doubt or dishonor
upon Edward Layton, no power on earth should induce him to allow the
marriage to take place. It was not necessary for him to impress upon
them that, above everything else in the world, he was jealous of his
good name. They knew this well enough, and were in a certain sense
proud in the knowledge, because the stainless reputation he bore
reflected honor upon themselves. But they did not see the cloud that
was hanging above them. It gathered surely and steadily, and brought
with it terrible events, in the whirlpool of which the happiness of
Mabel and Edward was fated to be ingulfed.
The cause lay not in themselves. It lay in Eustace Rutland. It was he
who was responsible for all.
He was in London, in partial disgrace with his father. He was without
a career; he had already contracted vicious and idle habits; he was
frequently from home; and although his father questioned him severely,
he would give no truthful account of his movements and proceedings.
Some accounts he did give, but his father knew instinctively that they
were false or evasive. As he could obtain no satisfaction from his son,
Mr. Rutland, aware of the perfect confidence which existed between
Eustace and Mabel, applied to her for information; but she would not
utter one word to her brother's hurt. Her father could extract nothing
from her, and there gradually grew within him an idea that there was a
conspiracy against him in his own home, a conspiracy in which Edward
Layton was the principal agent. It was natural, perhaps, that he should
think more hardly of this stranger than of his own children.
Had he set a watch upon his son, he might have made discoveries which
would have been of service to all, and which might have averted
terrible consequences. But proud and self-willed as he was, it did not
occur to him to do anything which in his view savored of meanness. His
son Eustace went his way, therefore, to sure and certain ruin. When he
was absent from home he corresponded regularly with his sister, and Mr.
Rutland sometimes demanded to see this correspondence.
"You can make nothing of it, papa," said Mabel. "Eustace and I do not
correspond like other people."
He insisted, nevertheless, upon seeing these letters, and Mabel showed
them to him. As he could not understand them, he demanded that she
should read them intelligibly to him; but it being a fact that there
was always something in Eustace's correspondence which would deepen his
father's anger against him, the young girl refused to read them. This,
as may be supposed, did not tend to pacify Mr. Rutland. It intensified
the bitterness of his heart towards those whom he believed were
conspiring against him. He applied to Edward Layton.
"You are in my daughter's confidence," he said to the young man, "and
as you have wrung from me a reluctant consent to an engagement with
her, I must ask you to give me the information which she withholds from
me."
He met with another rebuff. Edward Layton declared that he would it
violate the confidence which Mabel had reposed in him. At one time Mr.
Rutland said to Edward Layton,
"My son has been absent from home for several days. Have you seen him?"
"Yes, sir," replied Edward, "I have seen him."
But he would say nothing further.
He was in a most painful position. Mabel had extracted from him a
solemn promise that he would reveal nothing without her consent, and he
was steadfastly loyal to her. He had another reason for his silence,
and, in the light of that reason, and of the feelings which Mr. Rutland
harbored towards him, he felt that the happiness he hoped would be his
was slipping from him.
The explanation of this other reason, which unhappily was a personal
one, brings upon the scene a person who played a brief but pregnant
part in this drama of real life, and who is now in his grave. This
person was Edward Layton's father.
"What was the nature of the relations," said Mrs. Rutland, "between
this gentleman and my dear son Eustace I do not know. All that I do
know is that they were in association with each other, and, I am
afraid, not to a good end. It came, also, by some strange means, to the
knowledge of my husband, and a frightful scene occurred between him and
Edward Layton, in which Mabel's lover was dismissed from the house.
My husband withdrew the consent he had given to the engagement, and
used words which, often since when I have thought of them, have made
me shudder, they were so unnecessarily cruel and severe. 'If from this
day,' my husband said to the young gentleman, 'you pursue my daughter
with your attentions, you will be playing a base and dishonorable
part. If you wish me to turn my daughter from my house, you can by
your actions bring about this result. But bear in mind, should it come
to pass, that she will go from my presence with my curse upon her--a
beggar! I am not ignorant my duties with respect to my children. I have
not been sparing of love towards them. Hard I may be when my feelings
are strongly roused, but I am ever just. In the secrets that are being
hidden from me there is, I am convinced, some degrading and shameful
element otherwise, it is not possible that you should conspire to keep
them from me. If the matter upon which you are engaged were honorable,
there would be no occasion to keep it from my knowledge. Do not
forget that you have it in your power to wreck not only my daughter's
happiness, but her mother's and mine, if that consideration will have
any weight with you.' There was much more than this, to which Mr.
Edward Layton listened with a sad patience, which deepened my pity for
him. He bore, without remonstrance, all the obloquies that were heaped
upon him by my unhappy husband, who soon afterwards left the room with
the injunction that Mr. Layton was on no account to be allowed an
interview with my daughter. Then Mr. Layton said to me, 'I must bear
it. If the happiness of my life is lost it will be through the deep,
the sacred love I bear for your child. I devote not only the dearest
hopes of my life, but my life itself, to her cause. Fate is against us.
A man can do no more than his duty.'"
From that day to this Mabel's mother has never seen Edward Layton.
When she heard of his marriage into a family whose position in society
was to say the least equivocal, she was in great distress, fearing
the effect the news would have upon her dear daughter. Mabel Rutland
suffered deeply, but during that time of anguish she appeared to summon
to her aid a certain fortitude and resignation which served her in good
stead. It astonished her mother, one day, to hear her say,
"Do not blame Edward, mamma he is all that is good and noble. Although
he is another lady's husband, and although our lives can never be
united, as we had once hoped, I shall ever love and honor him."
"Time will bring comfort to you, my darling," said the mother, "and it
may be that there is still a happy fate in store for you. You may meet
with another man, around whom no mystery hangs, to whom your heart will
be drawn."
"Never, mamma," replied Mabel. "I shall never marry now."
What most grievously disturbed Mrs. Rutland was the circumstance that,
even within a few weeks of Edward Layton's marriage, he corresponded
with her daughter. Her father was not aware of this. He usually rose
late in the morning, and it devolved upon Mrs. Rutland to receive the
correspondence which came by the first post. The letters that Edward
Layton wrote to Mabel were invariably posted at night, from which it
would appear that the young man was aware that they would fall into
the hands of Mabel's mother, and that Mr. Rutland, unless he were made
acquainted with the fact, was not likely otherwise to discover it. When
Mrs. Rutland gave her daughter the first letter from Mr. Layton, Mabel
said to her,
"Do not be alarmed, mamma. This letter is in reply to one I wrote to
Mr. Layton. I may have other letters from him which I beg you to give
me without papa's knowing. It may appear wrong to you, but it is really
not so. Everything is being done for the best, as perhaps you will one
day learn."
Sad at heart as Mrs. Rutland was, she had too firm a trust in her
daughter's innate purity and sense of self-respect not to believe what
she said, both in its letter and in its spirit, and thus it was that
the secret of this correspondence was also kept from Mr. Rutland. By
pursuing the course she did, Mrs. Rutland preserved, to some extent,
peace in the household.
Thus matters went on for two years, until Eustace Rutland's wild
conduct produced a terrible disturbance. His absences from home had
grown more frequent and prolonged; he became dreadfully involved, and
Mr. Rutland received letters and visits from money-lenders (a class
of men that he abhorred) in connection with his son's proceedings.
Incensed beyond endurance, he banished Eustace from the house, and
forbade him ever again to enter his doors.
"It seemed to be fated," said Mrs. Rutland, "that there should be
always something in our family that it was necessary to conceal from my
husband's knowledge. He banished Eustace from home, but that did not
weaken my love for our dear lad. Three times during the past year I
have seen Eustace, and I have not made my husband acquainted with the
fact. What could I do? Had I asked his permission he would have sternly
refused it, and had I told him that I could not resist the impulse
of my heart to fold my dear boy in my arms, it would only have made
matters worse for all of us."
She related to Dr. Daincourt a circumstance which had deeply angered
her husband. Among the presents the father had given to his daughter
was a very costly one, a diamond bracelet of great value, for which
Mr. Rutland had paid no less than five hundred guineas. One evening
a dinner-party was given at the house, and Mr. Rutland particularly
desired that Mabel should look her best on the occasion. He said
as much to his daughter, and expressed a desire that she should
wear certain articles of jewellery, and most especially her diamond
bracelet. He noticed at the dinner-table that this bracelet was not
upon Mabel's arm; he made no remark before his guests, but when they
had departed he asked Mabel why she had not worn it.
"I have so many other things, papa," she replied, "that you have given
me. It was not necessary."
"But," said her father, "I desired you particularly to wear the
bracelet. Is it broken? If so, it can be easily repaired. Let me see
it."
Then the mother saw trouble in her daughter's face. Mabel endeavored,
to evade her father's request, and strove to turn the conversation
into another channel. But he insisted so determinedly upon seeing the
bracelet that she was at length compelled to confess that it was not
in her possession. Upon this Mr. Rutland questioned her more closely,
but he could obtain from her no satisfactory information as to what had
become of it. Suddenly he inquired if her purse was in her room. She
answered yes, and he desired her to bring it down to him. She obeyed;
and when he opened the purse he found only three or four shillings in
it.
"Is this all you have?" he inquired.
"Yes, papa," she said, "this is all."
"But it was only yesterday," said Mr. Rutland, "that you asked me for
twenty pounds, and I gave it to you. What have you done with the money?"
Upon this point, also, he could obtain no satisfactory information. He
was greatly angered.
"I thought," he said "when Mr. Layton married into the family of a
professional sharp--a fit connection for him--that the conspiracy in my
house against my peace of mind, and, it seems to me, against my honor,
would come to an end. It was not so. I perceive that I am regarded
here as an enemy by my own family, not as a man who has endeavored all
through life to perform his duties in an honorable and straightforward
way. Go to your room, and let me see the diamond bracelet before this
month is ended, or let me know what you have done with it. If you have
lost it," he added, gazing sternly upon his daughter, "find it."
Before the month was ended Mabel showed him the diamond bracelet; but
her mother was aware that there were other articles missing from among
her daughter's jewellery.
Mrs. Rutland having come to the end of her narrative, Dr. Daincourt
began to question her.
"Your daughter," he said, "was taken ill on the 26th of March, and I
understand that she has been confined to her bed since that day. Were
there any premonitory symptoms of a serious illness, or was the seizure
a sudden one?"
"It was quite sudden," replied Mrs. Rutland. "I went into her room
early in the morning, and found her in a high state of fever."
"Has she been sensible at all since that time?"
"No."
"Not sufficiently sensible to recognize any one who attended her?"
"No; she does not even know me, her own mother."
"What did the physician whom you first called in say about the case?"
"He said that she had brain-fever, and that it had been accelerated by
her having caught a violent cold through wearing damp clothing."
"Do you think she wore that clothing in the house?"
"No."
(Dr. Daincourt has certain ways and methods of his own. He is in the
habit of keeping in his pocket-book a tablet of the weather from day to
day.)
"If your daughter did not wear damp clothes in the house," he said, "she
must have worn them out of the house."
He took his pocket-book from his pocket and consulted his
weather-tablet. "I see," he said to Mrs. Rutland, "that from the 12th
till the 25th of March there was no rain. The weather was mild and
unusually warm during those days, but on the evening of the 25th of
March it began to rain, and rained during the night. Your daughter must
have been out during those hours in the bad weather. What were her
movements on that evening? Remember, you must keep nothing from me if
you wish me to do my best to restore your child to health."
Still, it was with some difficulty that he extracted from Mrs. Rutland
the information he desired to obtain. Obtain it, however, he did. Mrs.
Rutland informed him that Mabel had gone out on the evening of the
25th of March, and did not return home until nearly one o'clock in the
morning. Mr. Rutland was not aware of this. Mrs. Rutland had stopped up
for her daughter, and had let her in quietly and secretly. The young
girl was pale and greatly agitated, but she said nothing to her mother.
She kissed her hurriedly, went to her bedroom, and was found the next
morning in the condition Mrs. Rutland had described.
"Being in a fever from that day," said Dr. Daincourt to the mother,
"your daughter has seen no newspapers?"
"No."
"And she is ignorant of the peril through which her former lover,
Edward Layton, has passed, and in which he still stands?"
"She is ignorant of it," said Mrs. Rutland.
"Have any letters arrived for her during her illness?"
"Yes, two. One in the handwriting of Mr. Layton, the other from my dear
boy Eustace."
"Have you those letters?"
"Yes."
"Have you opened them?"
"No. My daughter made me give her a solemn promise that I would never
open one of her letters, and I have not done so."
"But," said Dr. Daincourt, "this is a matter of life and death. I must
ask you to give me those letters, and I will take upon myself the
responsibility of opening them. I must ask you for something more. Your
daughter has a desk?"
"Yes."
"The key of which is in her room?"
"Yes."
"Bring down the desk and the key. Ask me no questions concerning my
motives. I am in hopes that I shall be able to discover the true cause
of your daughter's illness, and that will enable me to adopt towards
her the only treatment by which it is possible she can recover."
Mrs. Rutland brought down the desk and the key. In the mother's
presence Dr. Daincourt opened the desk. There were in it no letters
from Edward Layton, but it contained two of what Mrs. Rutland called
the mystery-letters which Eustace was in the habit of writing to his
sister. These letters were in their envelopes, the post-marks upon
which indicated their order of delivery.
Dr. Daincourt could make nothing of them, and Mrs. Rutland could not
assist him. They were written upon small single sheets of note-paper,
and appeared to be a perfect jumble of incomprehensible words; around
the margin of these words were a number of figures and alphabetical
letters as incomprehensible as themselves. Searching further in the
desk, he made a startling discovery--three playing-cards, each of them
being the Nine of Hearts. He asked Mrs. Rutland--who appeared to be
almost as startled as he was himself by the discovery--whether she
could give him any explanation of the cards, and she said that she
could not. Then Dr. Daincourt said that he would take the playing-cards
and the letters away with him.
"At the same time," he observed to Mrs. Rutland, "if it is any
consolation to you, I undertake your daughter's case, and will do the
best for her that lies within my skill and power."
He then went to see Miss Rutland in her bed, wrote out a prescription,
gave certain instructions, and left the house.
"I have come to you," said Dr. Daincourt to me, "with these letters
and the playing-cards; I will leave them with you. You said that the
Nine of Hearts was a tangible link in the chain of Edward Layton's
innocence. Is it not most mysterious and strange that three of these
identical cards should be found in Miss Rutland's desk, and that one
should be found in the pocket of Edward Layton's ulster which he wore
on the 25th of March? Does not this circumstance, in conjunction with
what you now know of Mabel Rutland's movements on that night, go far
to prove that the lady whom Edward Layton met in Bloomsbury Square was
none other than his old sweetheart? Heaven knows what conclusions are
to be drawn from the coincidence. I will make no comments indeed, I
almost tremble to think of the matter. Your legal mind will, perhaps,
enable you to deduce something from Eustace's letter to his sister
which may be of service to you and Edward Layton. To me they are simply
incomprehensible. Before I visit Miss Rutland to-morrow I will call on
you. You may have something to say to me. I sincerely trust I shall not
be the means of bringing fresh trouble upon her and hers."
With that he wished me good-night, and I was left alone. I set myself
sedulously to the task of discovering the key to these mysterious
letters. Dr. Daincourt had not opened the two sealed letters which had
arrived during Miss Rutland's illness, and I did not immediately do
so. I felt a delicacy with respect to Edward Layton's letter to the
young lady which he had given me in prison to post for him. I put them
aside, and selecting the first of the two letters from Eustace Rutland
which had been found in Mabel's desk (judging from the post-marks on
their envelopes which of the two she had first received, for they bore
no date), I devoted myself to a study of it. This is an exact copy of
the singular communication, the size of the paper and the arrangement
of the words, and of the figures and alphabetical letters, being
faithfully followed:
T 20 X 2 C 14 H 7 E 3
17 D B face birds the stares 9
6 in runs back got I F M 10 in your hundred send 11 J trees the money
won are A 1 8 death river diamond gayly me K T 19 on bracelet four
singing 18 R instantly cherry the the W 12
13 B 5 N 16 P 15 V 4 U
It appeared to me that the first thing I had to consider was the
relation, if any, that the alphabetical letters and figures bore to
the words to which they formed a frame. I did not lose sight of the
suggestion which immediately arose that this framework of figures and
alphabetical letters might be placed there as a blind, although the
evident care and pains which had been bestowed upon them was opposed
to the suggestion. But then, again, the care thus exercised might be
intended to more deeply mystify any strange person into whose hands the
missive might fall. In order not to deface or mutilate the original,
I made two exact copies of it for my own purposes, using as a kind of
ruler one of the playing-cards which Dr. Daincourt had also found in
Mabel Rutland's desk.
There were two words in the missive which soon attracted me. These were
the third word, "diamond," in the fifth line, and the second word,
"bracelet," in the sixth line. "Diamond bracelet." I did not doubt that
this was the diamond bracelet which Mr. Rutland had presented to his
daughter, and which she could not wear at the dinner-party because it
was not at that time in her possession. Here, then, was a clew, but
here I stopped. No ingenuity that I could bring to bear enabled me to
connect other words with "diamond bracelet." I cudgelled my brains
for at least half an hour. Then all at once it occurred to me (what
in the excitement of my pursuit I may very well be excused for not
having thought of before) that the playing-card, the Nine of Hearts,
must bear some relation to the missive. I placed it upon the paper.
Every word was hidden by the surface of the card; only the figures and
the alphabetical letters were visible. "Doubtless," thought I, "if I
cut out the pips of a Nine of Hearts, and place it upon the paper, I
shall see certain words which will form the subject-matter upon which
Eustace Rutland wrote to his sister." In that case the mystery was
confined to nine words which, whatever their arrangement, would not
be too difficult to intelligibly arrange. I would not mutilate Miss
Rutland's playing-cards. I had packs of my own in the house, and from
these I selected the Nine of Hearts and cut out the pips. It was not
an easy matter, and in my eagerness I pretty effectually destroyed the
surface of my table; but that did not trouble me. My interest was now
thoroughly aroused, and grew keener when, placing the Nine of Hearts
upon Eustace Rutland's mystery-letter, I found these words disclosed:
Face--stares--in--send--money--death me--instantly--the.
Here, then, in these nine words, was the communication which Eustace
Rutland intended his sister to understand. I copied them on a separate
sheet of paper, and arranged them in different ways until I arrived at
their correct solution:
"Death stares me in the face send money instantly."