THE FIFTH AND LAST CONFEDERATE
And then came the final revelation--the confession of the fifth and
last confederate--which cleared up the whole mystery and explained
that which, with one consent, we had all declared to be wholly
unintelligible.
The counsel learned in the law gave his written opinion that,
considering that the marriage ceremony was fixed for 6 A.M.,
the bridegroom had no knowledge of the bride's intention not to
present herself; that he left his lodgings a few minutes before six;
that a few minutes after six, one Pentecrosse, well known to the lady,
witnessed the marriage ceremony and believed the bride to be the lady
in question, dressed as she was accustomed to dress, although he did
not see her face; that the parish clerk also recognised the lady; that
the clergyman was ready to swear that the bride was the lady; and that
the register showed her signature. There could be no change whatever
of success in disputing or denying the marriage.
The vicar, perceiving the weight of evidence, and adding to it the
apparent impossibility of procuring at a moment's notice the
personation of the bride, reluctantly advised submission, while being
firmly persuaded that Molly and her mother had spoken the truth, and
that there was devilry somewhere.
We submitted, with what results you have seen.
It is, I believe, a rule that some playwriters, where they have a plot
with a mystery or a secret in it, to keep the audience in ignorance,
and so to heighten their interest, until the revelation in the last
act clears up the mystery and relieves the spectators of their
suspense. Others, again, allow the audience to understand at the
outset that their heroine or hero is the victim of villainy, but do
not explain the full nature of that villainy until the end, when the
plots of the wicked are brought to light.
I have told this tale without the art of the playwright. I have shown
you exactly how things happened, though we only discovered the truth
long afterwards. For instance, you know already what was the full
explanation of the marriage which I witnessed; you know the surprise
with which the bridegroom discovered the truth, and you know besides
the impudent use which, by the advice of the Reverend Benjamin Purdon,
was made of that discovery. Also you know the reason of the
personation and the person by whose indiscreet chattering it became
possible.
I have now to tell you how we ourselves discovered the truth.
After the arrival of the letters already described, nothing new was
learned for some months. That is to say, Colonel Lanyon wrote no more;
the Reverend Mr. Purdon, though he continued to write letters which
threatened concealment and offered exposure, alternately; though his
demand for money dropped with every letter until he had become a mere
beggar, offering to reveal the whole in return for the relief of his
present necessities; gave no hint of the nature of the exposure he
desired to sell. But he had received, so far, no reply to any of his
letters.
Between January and June my ship made another voyage to Lisbon and
back. When I landed, what I had to learn was the continual
solicitation of Mr. Purdon, and the continual waste of the fortune.
The demand for money never ceased. "Send up more money--more
money--more money. His lordship is in urgent want of more money."
By this time a whole year had passed since the pretended marriage and
our submission. Never was a magnificent property so destroyed and
diminished in so short a time. Farms, lands, houses were sold for what
they would fetch--at half their value--a quarter of their value. All
the money out at mortgage had been called in--all the money received
at the quay and the counting-house had been sent to his lordship's
attorneys. In one short twelvemonth the destruction had been such that
in June there was actually nothing left--nothing out of that princely
fortune, except the fleet of ships and the general business. "And now,
Mr. Pentecrosse," said the manager (lately clerk and accountant) "the
end draweth nigh. A few more weeks or months and this great shipping
firm, near a hundred years old, which hath sent its ships all about
the world; the most important house outside London and Bristol, will
put up its shutters and close its door. Alas! The pity of it! The pity
of it!"
"But," I said, "this spendthrift lord, this waster and devourer,
surely will not destroy the very spring and fountain of this wealth."
"I know not. He seems possessed with a devil." Here the manager was
wrong, because he was possessed of seven devils. "His waste is nothing
short of madness. It seems as if he was unable to look before him,
even in such a simple matter as the origin of the money, which he has
obtained by marriage--if he is married--and is now wasting as fast as
he can."
It is in no way profitable, unless one is a divine, to search into the
heart of the wicked man. The psalmist, who was continually troubled by
considering the ways of the ungodly, supplies us with sufficient
guidance as to his mind and his thoughts. In the case of Lord
Fylingdale, I would compare him with the highwaymen and common thieves
in one particular, namely, that they seem to have no power of thrift
or of prudence, but must continually waste and devour what they
acquire without honest labour. It is as if they understood that their
way of life being uncertain, and the end at any time possible, their
only chance of enjoyment is the present moment. Now, Lord Fylingdale
was using the proceeds of an enormous robbery obtained by a fraud of
incredible audacity. I think he felt the uncertainty of his hold. It
depended on the silence of two persons. Should these two persons unite
in revealing the conspiracy he would at least be able to rob no
longer. Now, he had already alienated both of them. The one he had
filled with a passion for revenge; the other ... but you shall hear. I
think, moreover, that he found a gambler's joy in the handling of
large sums and playing with them; that he kept no account of the money
he lost; and that, with his companions, he kept a kind of open house
at certain taverns for the debauches over which he presided, without
condescending in person to join the drunken orgy. Did he find a
strange enjoyment in the debauchery of others? Men have been known--I
cannot understand it--to delight in torturing other men and in
witnessing their agonies; men might also--I know not how--take a
delight in witnessing orgies and in listening to the discourses of
drunken rakes. But it is not profitable, as I said, to dwell upon the
mind of such a man.
It was on the 15th of June--I remember the date well--and shall always
remember it. _The Lady of Lynn_ had arrived two days before, and we
were moored off the quay. At ten o'clock, or thereabouts, one of the
stable boys from the house came aboard bringing a message for me. A
lady, lodging at the "Crown," desired to see me immediately. The lady
had arrived in the evening in a post-chaise, having with her a maid.
She had given no name, but in the morning had asked if my ship was in
port, and on learning that it was she desired that a boy from the
stables might carry this message to me.
I landed at our own quay--I say our own, but it was no longer ours,
that is, Molly's quay. At the door of the counting-house stood the
manager in conversation with the captain of one of our ships. He
beckoned me to speak with him. When he had finished his discourse with
the captain he turned to me.
"Mr. Pentecrosse," he said, "the worst has now begun. Tell Captain
Crowle--I should choke if I had to tell him. Alas! poor man! It seems
as if the work of his life was ruined and destroyed." So saying he
handed me a letter to read. It was from my lord's attorneys, Messrs.
Bisse and Son. "I suppose," said the manager, "that they are really
acting for his lordship. Their power of attorney cannot be denied, can
it? Mr. Redman says that there is nothing for it but obedience."
The letter was short:
"We have noted your information conveyed in the last schedule. You
are now instructed to proceed with the sale of one of the ships.
Let her be sold as she stands on arriving in port with so much of
the cargo as belongs to your house. My lord is urgently pressed
for money, and begs that there may be no delay. Meantime send a
draft by the usual channel for money in hand.
"Your obedient servants,
"BISSE AND SON."
"A draft for monies in hand!" cried the manager. "There are no monies
in hand! And I have to sell without delay a tall ship, cargo and all,
as she stands. Without delay! Who is to buy that ship--without delay?"
I returned him the letter and shook my head. My ship, perhaps, was the
one to be sold. She was the latest arrival; she was filled with wine;
the cargo belonged altogether to the house. So I should be turned
adrift when just within hail, so to speak, of becoming a captain. I
could say nothing in consolation or in hope. I walked away, my heart
as heavy as lead. Never before had I felt the true meaning of this
ruin and waste. All around me the noble edifice built by Molly's
grandfather and her father, and continued by her guardian, had been
pulled down bit by bit. But one felt the loss of a farm or a house
very little. It was not until the ships, too, were threatened, that
the full enormity of the thing--the incredible wickedness of the
conspirators, was borne in upon my mind. It threatened to ruin me, you
see, as well as Molly.
Therefore, I walked across the market-place to the Crown Inn more
gloomy in my mind than I can describe. Hitherto, somehow, a ship
seemed safe; no one would interfere with a ship; like Lord Fylingdale
himself, I was ready to ask whether a ship could be bought and sold.
That is to say, I knew that she was often bought and sold, but I never
thought that any of Molly's ships--any other ships as much as you
please, but not Molly's ship--could be brought to the hammer.
The lady sent word that she would receive me. Imagine my surprise! She
was none other than the Lady Anastasia. She was greatly changed in six
months. I had seen her last, you remember, in January, when I met her
in the park. She was then finely dressed, and appeared in good case,
what we call a buxom widow--in other words, a handsome woman, with a
winning manner and a smiling face. This she was when I met her. When I
left her on that occasion she was a handsome woman marred with a
consuming wrath.
Now, I should hardly have known her. She was plainly attired, without
patches or paint, wearing a grey silk dress. But the chief change was
not in her dress, but in her face. She was pale, and her cheeks were
haggard. She looked like a woman who had recently suffered a severe
illness, and was, indeed, not yet fully recovered.
"Jack," she advanced, giving me her hand with her old graciousness,
"you are very good to come when I call. It is the last time that you
will obey any call from me."
"Why the last time, madam?"
"Because, Jack, I am now going to make you my bitter enemy. Yes, my
enemy for life." She tried to smile, but her eyes grew humid. "I can
never be regarded henceforth as anything else. You will despise
me--you will curse me. Yet I must needs speak."
"Madam, I protest--I know not what you mean."
"And I, Jack, I protest--know not how to begin. Do you remember last
January, when we talked together? Let me begin there. Yes; it will be
best to begin there. I do not think I could begin at the other end. It
would be like a bath of ice-cold water in January."
"I remember our conversation, madam."
"You told me--what was it you told me? Something about a certain box,
or case of jewels."
"Molly's jewels. Yes, I told you how his lordship seized upon them at
the first when he claimed control over Molly's fortune."
"You told me that. It was in January. He had seized upon them six
months before. The thing surprised me. He had always told me that he
could not get those jewels--and Jack, you see, they were my own."
"Yours, madam? But--they were Molly's."
"Not at all. Molly, after her marriage, had nothing. All became my
lord's property. The jewels were mine, Jack--mine by promise and
compact."
I understood nothing.
"I have seen in France, the women kneeling at the boxes where they
confess to the priest. Jack, will you be my priest? I can confess to
you what I could never confess to Molly--though I have wronged
her--Jack! Oh! my priest----" Here she fell on her knees and clasped
her hands. "No--no," she cried. "I will not rise. On my knees, on my
knees--not to ask your pardon, but for the shame and the disgrace and
the villainy."
"Madam--I pray--I entreat."
I took her by both hands. I half lifted her and half assisted her. She
sank into an armchair sobbing and crying, and covered her face with
her hands. She was not play acting. No--no--it was real sorrow--true
shame. Oh! there was revenge as well. No doubt there was revenge. If
she had been wicked, she had also been wronged. Presently she
recovered a little. Then she sat up and began to talk.
"I am the most miserable woman in the world--and I deserve my misery.
Jack, when you go back to your ship, fall on your knees and thank God
that you are poor and that Molly has been robbed of her fortune and is
also poor. Oh! to be born rich--believe me--it is a thing most
terrible. It makes men become like Lord Fylingdale, who have nothing
to do but to follow pleasure--such pleasure! Ah! merciful heaven! such
pleasure! And it makes women, Jack, like me. We, too, follow pleasure
like the men--we become gamblers--there is no pleasure for me like the
pleasure of gambling; we fall in love for the pleasure and whim of
it--till we are slaves to men who treat us worse than they treat their
dogs--worse than they treat their lackeys. Then we forget honour and
honesty; then we throw away reputation and good name; we accept
recklessly shame and dishonour. My name has become a byword--but what
of that? I have been a man's slave--I have done his bidding."
"But how, madam"--still I understood very little of this talk, yet
became suspicious when she spoke thus of the jewels--"how came Molly's
jewels to be your own?"
"I tell you, Jack. By promise and compact. I must go back to another
discourse with you. It was on a certain evening a year ago. You had
made the fine discovery that Lord Fylingdale was a gamester and the
rest of it. You told me. You also told me that Molly would not keep
her promise, and would certainly not be at the church in the morning.
Do you remember?"
"I remember that we talked about things."
"We did. Go back a month or two earlier. By a most monstrous deception
I was brought here. I was told first that it was in order to further
some political object, which I did not believe; next, to help him in
getting the command of this money--some women, I said, easily lose
their sense of honour and of truth when they want to please their
lovers. As for marriage, he declared for the hundredth time that there
was but one woman in all the world whom he would marry--myself. Now do
you understand? He had deceived me. Very well, then I would deceive
him. At first my purpose was to await in the church the coming of the
bride and expose the character of the man. Since she was not coming I
would take her place."
"What? It was you, then--you--you?"
"Yes, Jack. I was the woman you saw at the rails. I had a pink silk
cloak like that of Molly; I am about the same height as Molly. I wore
a domino as had been arranged. You took me for Molly."
"But--if you were the bride----"
"I was the bride. I am the Countess of Fylingdale--for my sins and
sorrows--his wretched wife."
"But you would be revenged, and yet you suffered this monstrous
fraud."
"I was revenged. Yet--why did I say nothing? Did I not say that you
could never forgive me. Well, I have no excuse, only I said that
women, like me, with nothing to do, sometimes go mad after a man and
for his sake cast away honour and care nothing for shame and
ill-repute. I say, Jack," she repeated, earnestly, "that I make no
excuse--I tell you nothing but the plain truth. Lord! how ugly it is!"
I said nothing, I only stood still waiting for more.
"When I took off my domino in the vestry, my lord, with the man
Purdon, only being present, he was like a madman. That I expected.
After raging for a while and crying out that he was now ruined indeed,
and after cursing Mr. Purdon for not destroying the registers, he
listened to Mr. Purdon's advice that we should consider a way out of
it. Accordingly, in my lodgings, the man Purdon, who is the greatest
inventor and encourager of every evil thing that lives, set forth the
ease with which this marriage could be claimed, unless there was any
obstacle such as sudden illness which might be proved to have made
Molly's presence impossible. In other words, we were to assure the
unfortunate Molly that she was already married, and we were to act as
if that was the fact. We ascertained without trouble that she had not
left the house that morning. How? We sent the music to congratulate
the bride, and the captain sallied forth in his wrath and drove them
off."
"And to this you consented, out of your passion for the man?"
"Partly. There is always more than one reason for a woman's action. In
this case there was a bribe. I confess that I have always ardently
desired jewels. I cannot have too many jewels. He promised, Jack, that
I should have them all. Perhaps--I do not know--the promise of the
jewels decided me. Oh! Jack, they were wonderful! No such bribe was
ever offered to a woman before."
I gazed upon her with amazement. Truly, an explanation complete! Yet,
what a confession for a proud woman to make! Love that made her
trample on honour and truth and virtue, and a bribe to quicken her
footsteps!
"And now," I said, "you are willing to make this story public."
"I have thought about the business a good deal. It has caused me more
annoyance than you would believe." ("Annoyance!" She spoke of
"annoyance!") "Besides, I have been cruelly abused. I have been the
cause of that poor girl losing a great part--perhaps the whole--of her
fortune. I have been robbed of the jewels. He swore to me, a dozen
times, that he has never had them. I may by tardy confession save
something from the wreck for that poor girl. He has wronged me in
every way--in ways that no woman will, or can, forgive. I revenge my
wrongs by making him a beggar a few weeks, or months, before he can
come to the end of his money."
So in this distracted way she talked till one could not tell whether
she was most moved by the thought of revenge, or by pity for Molly, or
by a wholesome repentance of her sin.
"Jack," she said, "your honest face is pulled out as long as my arm. I
could laugh if I were not so miserable. Tell me what I should do next.
Mind, I will do exactly what you bid me do. I have lived so long among
kites, hawks, crows, and birds of prey, with foul creatures and
crawling reptiles, that merely to talk to an honest man softens and
subdues me. Take me in the humour, Jack. To-morrow, or next day,
should the idea of the man possess my soul again; if he should stand
over me and take my hand, I know not--I know not what would happen.
Perhaps, even for Molly's sake, I could not resist him. I am but a
poor, weak, miserable woman. And he has led me hither, and sent me
thither, and made me his slave so long, that he has become part of my
life. Quick, then, Jack! Tell me what to do."
"Come with me," I said.
So she wrapped herself in a long cloak--not of pink silk--and she put
on a domino and I led her to Mr. Redman's office. And here I begged
her to let me set down in writing what she had told me but in fewer
words, while Mr. Redman stood over me and read what I wrote and as I
wrote it.
"The story, your ladyship," he said, "is the most remarkable that I
have ever heard. You will now, in the presence of witnesses--my clerk
and one whom he will bring from the customhouse will serve. So--they
will sign without knowing what the paper contains."
So she signed in the same bold running hand that we had seen in the
registers.
"What next?" she asked.
"Why, madam, we have to consider the next step. It is obvious that the
confession removes the whole of the difficulty, and explains what has
hitherto seemed inexplicable. How, it was asked, could the place of
the bride be filled at the last moment, and without previous knowledge
that it would have to be filled? And who was the woman thus duly
married and actually, though under a false name, made Countess of
Fylingdale, who did not step forward and claim her rights? Now, madam,
the question is answered. You knew, but my lord did not know, that the
bride could not come to the church. You were there, therefore, to take
her place. You joined in this conspiracy, and kept silence for the
reasons contained in this document."
"Quite so. And now, sir. What next? Will you bring my lord to justice?
Shall I have to give evidence against him?"
"Madam, I know not. You have done your best, not so much to repair a
great wrong as to stop further wrong. If I understand matters aright
it will be impossible to recover anything that has been taken."
"You might as well hope to recover a sack of coals that have been
burned."
"Therefore, what we have to do first, is to stop further pillage.
Next, I apprehend, we must make it clear that your signature in the
register was false."
Lady Anastasia rose and put on her domino again.
"I am going back to London, sir. Mr. Pentecrosse knows my house where
I am to be heard of for the present. It was a bad day's work when I
was married in that pink silk cloak. It may prove a worse day's work
when I confessed."
"Nay, madam," I said quietly, "can it be a bad day's work to stop a
cruel and unfeeling robbery?"
"I have done my part, gentlemen, for good or for ill. In a few weeks
or months the man would have beggared himself as well as that poor
girl. Now he is beggared already. I know not what he will do, nor
whither he will turn."
So I led her back to the Crown and that same day she took her
departure and I have never seen her since. One letter, it is true, I
had from her of which I will tell you in due course.
Then I returned to Mr. Redman.
"Jack," he said, "I am going without further discussion to warn the
manager not to send any more money to these attorneys and to disregard
their orders. I shall write at once warning them that we have now in
our hands clear proof that my client is not married to Lord
Fylingdale, and that we are considering in what manner we should
proceed with regard to the large sums that have been remitted to his
orders. This, Jack, is the way of lawyers. We write such a letter
knowing that we shall not proceed further in this direction, for the
scandal would be very great and the profit would be very small.
Besides, there is the awkward fact that we made no protest, but
submitted. Yet sure and certain I am that the other side will not dare
to go into court, being conscious of guilt, yet not knowing how much
we have learned."
"It seems a tame ending that villainy should get off unpunished."
"Not unpunished, Jack. You young men look to see the lightning strike
the wicked man. That is not the way, believe me. He never goes
unpunished, though he may be forgiven. I look not for the flash of
lightning to strike this man dead, but I look for the vengeance of the
Lord--perhaps to-day, perhaps to-morrow."
He read over again the paper signed by Lady Anastasia. "It is a
strange confession," he said. "There is the wrath of a jealous woman
in it. He might have beaten her and cuffed her; he might have robbed
her; and she would have forgiven him. But he has followed after
strange goddesses. She spoke about the jewels. I suppose that he has
long since given them to these strange goddesses. Hence her
repentance. Hence her revenge. Jack, I think we ought to have the
other confederate's confession--that of the man Purdon. He wanted
£12,000 for it at first. He then came down to £6,000; he now offers it
for relief of his present necessities. I will send my attorney to see
him. The vicar refuses to have any dealings with scoundrels. In this
case, however, it might be politic to traffic with him. We will offer
him £100 for a full confession. I will instruct my attorney what
particulars to expect."
My story is nearly finished. Molly recovered her freedom with the loss
of by far the greater part of her fortune. She had, indeed, nothing
left except her fleet and the trade carried on by the firm in which
she was sole partner. Still she remained the richest woman in the
town.
There was no difficulty in procuring from the Reverend Mr. Purdon a
full statement of the conspiracy. It was, of course, to be expected
that he should represent Lord Fylingdale as the contriver and the
proposer of the abominable design. However, he gave under safeguards
of witness and signature a plain recital of what had happened, in
which he was borne out by the other confession in our hands.
And here follows the letter from the Lady Anastasia.
"My dear Jack," she said, "news reaches Lynn slowly if it gets there
at all. Therefore I hasten to inform you that an end has come--perhaps
the end that you would desire. My lord is no more. I am a widow. Yet I
mourn not. My husband in name during the last twelve months has acted
as one no longer in command of himself. I cannot think, indeed, that
he has been in his right mind since he entered upon that great crime
of which you know. He would have gone from bad to worse, and I should
have suffered more and still more. He killed himself. He placed the
muzzle of a pistol within his mouth and so killed himself.
"It was yesterday. I went to see him. I had to tell him what I had
done. I expected he would kill me. Perhaps it would have been better
had he done so.
"I found him with his attorney, a man named Bisse, whom I have seen
with him frequently.
"'Pray, madam, take a chair. I am your humble servant. You can go, Mr.
Bisse,' said my lord. 'You have my instructions. Order the manager to
proceed with the sale of the ships.'
"'With submission, my lord. We can send him orders, but we can only
make him obey by proceeding according to law. He finds excuses. He
makes delays. He talks of sacrificing the ships to a forced sale.'
"'You will not proceed according to law, my lord,' I told him.
"'Why, madam?'
"'Because I have been to Lynn myself, and have explained certain
points in connection with the marriage service in St. Nicholas
church.'
"My lord looked at me in his cold way, as if neither surprised nor
moved.
"'Mr. Bisse,' he said, 'I will communicate again with you.' So the
attorney left us. Then he turned again to me.
"'My lord,' I repeated, 'I have made a statement of all the facts.'
"'I thank you, madam. I thank you with all my heart. Let me not detain
you.'
"He said no more, and I rose. But the door was thrown open, and Mr.
Purdon walked in without being announced.
"'Ha!' he said, seeing me, 'we are all three, then, together again. My
lord, I will not waste your time. I have come to explain that since
you have refused to perform your compact, you cannot complain if I
have broken up the whole business.'
"'I thought I had ordered you out of my presence, sir.'
"'So you did. So you did. I have only come to say that I have this day
drawn up a full confession of the conspiracy into which I was drawn by
your lordship, deceived against my better judgment by the promise of a
large sum of money.'
"Lord Fylingdale pointed to the door. 'You can go, sir,' he said. So
the man Purdon obeyed and went away.
"Then he turned to me. 'Anastasia, we were friends once. I treated you
shamefully in the matter of the jewels. Things have gone badly with me
of late. I seem to have no luck. Perhaps I have, somehow, lost my
judgment. That money has done me no good. Curse that scoundrel, Sam
Semple! It is all over now. The game has been played. I have lost, I
suppose. But every game comes to an end at last.' He talked unlike
himself. 'You can go, Anastasia. You had better leave me. You have had
your revenge. Let that consideration console you.'
"I said no more, but left him. It was in the afternoon. An hour later
his people heard an explosion--they ran to find the cause. Lord
Fylingdale was lying dead on the floor.
"So, Jack, we are all punished, and none of us can complain. For my
own part I am going into the country where I have a small dower house.
The solitude and the dullness will, I dare say, kill me, but I do not
care about living any longer.--ANASTASIA."
She did, however, pass into a better mind. For I heard some time after
that she had married the dean of the neighbouring cathedral, not under
the name of Lady Fylingdale, which she never assumed, but that of her
first husband.
As to the other confederates, the poet, the colonel, and the parson, I
never heard anything more about them. Nor do I expect now that I ever
shall.
The rest of Molly's history, dear reader, belongs to me and not to the
world.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected
without note.
Dialect spellings, contractions and inconsistencies have been
retained as printed.