REVELATIONS.
IT was only natural that a silence should ensue between these two so
strangely brought together. Claude, seated pale and anguished in his
chair, tried to collect his thoughts, and stared wildly at his mother.
She, with her face buried in the cushions, sobbed bitterly. After the
way in which her son had spoken, it was cruel that she should have been
forced to make such a revelation at such a moment. He condemned, he
reproached, her conduct in the past, and she again tasted the full
bitterness of the cup which had been held to her lips twenty-five years
before.
On his part Claude did not know what to say; he hardly knew what to
think. Convinced by a perusal of the papers that his mother was morally
guilty of his father's death, he was overwhelmed to find that she was
still alive, and capable, for all he knew, of offering a defense for her
share in the tragedy. After all, he had no right to judge her until he
heard what she had to say. Blood is thicker than water, and she was his
mother.
Now he saw the reason why Hilliston objected to his calling at
Hampstead; why he advised him to let sleeping dogs lie. After so long a
period it was worse than useless to bring mother and son together. Their
thoughts, their aims, their lives, were entirely diverse, and only pain
could be caused by such a meeting. Claude silently acknowledged the
wisdom of Hilliston's judgment, but at the same time could hardly
refrain from condemning him for having kept him so long in ignorance of
the truth.
Mrs. Bezel--as we must still continue to call her--was astonished at
this long silence, but raised her head to cast a timid glance at Claude.
His brow was gloomy, his lips were firmly set, and he looked anything
but overjoyed at the revelation which she had made. Guessing his
thoughts, the unhappy woman made a gesture of despair, and spoke in a
low voice, broken by sobs.
"You, too, condemn me?"
"No, mother," he replied, and Mrs. Bezel winced as she heard him
acknowledge the relationship; "I do not condemn you. I have heard one
side of the question. I must now hear the other--from you."
"What more can I tell you than what you already know," she said, drying
her eyes.
"I must know the reason why you let me think you dead all these years."
"It was by my own wish, and by the advice of Mr. Hilliston."
Claude bit his lip at the mention of this name, and cast a hasty glance
round the splendidly furnished room. A frightful suspicion had entered
his mind; but she was his mother, and he did not dare to give it
utterance. His mother guessed his thoughts, and spared him the pain of
speaking. With a womanly disregard for the truth she promptly lied
concerning the relationship which her son suspected to exist between his
guardian and herself.
"You need not look so black, Claude, and think ill of me. I am
unfortunate, but not guilty. All that you see here is mine; purchased by
my own money."
"Your own money?" replied Claude, heaving a sigh of relief.
"Yes! Mr. Hilliston, who has been a good friend to me, saved sufficient
out of my marriage settlement to enable me to furnish this cottage, and
live comfortably. It is just as well," added she bitterly, "else I might
have died on the streets."
"But why did you let Hilliston bring me up to think I was an orphan?"
"I did not wish to shadow your life. I did not wish you to change your
name. I had to change mine, and retire from the world, but that was part
of my punishment."
"Still if----"
"It was impossible, I tell you, Claude," interrupted his mother
impatiently. "When you grew up you would have asked questions, and then
I would have been forced to tell you all."
"Yet, in spite of your precautions, I do know all. If you took all this
trouble to hide the truth, why reveal it to me now?"
Mrs. Bezel pointed to three books lying on an adjacent table. Claude
quite understood what she meant.
"I see," he remarked, before she could speak, "you think that the author
of that book knows about my father's murder."
"I am certain he does. But what he knows, or how he knows, I cannot say.
Still, I am certain of one thing, that he tells the story from hearsay."
"What makes you think that?"
"It would take too long to tell you my reasons. It is sufficient to
state that the fictitious case differs from the real case in several
important particulars. For instance," she added, with a derisive smile,
"the guilty person is said to be Michael Dene, and he is----"
"Is drawn from Mr. Hilliston."
"How do you know that?" she asked, with a startled air.
Claude shrugged his shoulders. "I have eyes to read and brains to
comprehend," he said quietly; "There is no doubt in my mind that the
lawyer of the fiction is meant for the lawyer of real life. Otherwise, I
think the writer drew on his imagination. It was necessary for him to
end his story by fixing on one of the characters as a criminal; and
owing to the exigencies of the plot, as developed by himself, he chose
Michael Dene, otherwise Mr. Hilliston, as the murderer."
"But you don't think----"
"Oh, no! I don't think Mr. Hilliston is guilty. I read the trial very
carefully, and moreover I do not see what motive he could have to commit
the crime."
"The motive of Michael Dene is love for the murdered man's wife."
"In other words, the author assumes that Hilliston loved you," said
Claude coolly; "but I have your assurance that such is not the case."
"You speak to me like that," cried Mrs. Bezel angrily; "to your mother?"
Larcher's expression did not change. He turned a trifle paler, and
compressed his lips firmly, otherwise he gave no outward sign of his
emotion. Knowing so much of the case as he did, he could not look on
this woman in the light of a mother; she had indirectly contributed to
his father's death; she had deserted him for twenty-five years; and
now that she claimed his filial reverence, he was unwilling to yield
it to her. Perhaps he was unjust and harsh to think this, but the
natural tie between them was so weakened by time and ignorance that he
could find no affection in his heart to bestow on her. To him she was a
stranger--nothing more.
"Let us understand each other," he said coldly. "That you are my mother
is no doubt true, but I ask you if you have performed your maternal
duties? You obliterated yourself from my life; you left me to be brought
up by strangers; in all ways you only consulted your own desires. Can
you then expect me to yield you that filial obedience which every mother
has a right to expect from her son? If you----"
"Enough, sir," said Mrs. Bezel, white with anger, "say no more. I
understand you only too well, and now regret that I sought this
interview, which has resulted so ill. I hoped that you would be glad to
find your mother still alive; that you would cherish her in her
affliction. I see I was wrong. You are as cold and bitter as was your
father."
"My father?"
"Yes. Do you think that all the wrong was on my side. Had I nothing to
forgive him? Ah! I see by your face that you know to what I allude. It
was your father and my husband who betrayed me for Mona Bantry."
"You have no proof of that," said Claude, in a low voice.
"I have every proof. The girl told me with her own lips. I returned from
that ball at three o'clock in the morning, and Mr. Jeringham left me at
the door. I entered the house alone and proceeded to my sitting room.
There I found Mona and--my husband."
"Ah! He did return from London on that night?"
"Yes. He returned, thinking I was out of the way, in order to see his
mistress. In his presence she confessed her guilt. I looked to him for
denial, and he hung his head. Then hardly knowing what I did, overcome
with rage, I snatched the dagger which I wore as part of my costume,
and----"
"And killed him," shrieked Claude, springing to his feet. "For Heaven's
sake, do not confess this to me!"
"Why not? I did no wrong! I did not kill him. I fainted before I could
cross the room to where he stood. When I recovered I was alone. My
husband and Mona Bantry had disappeared. Then I retired to bed and was
ill for days. I know no more of the case."
"Is this true?" asked Claude anxiously.
"Why should it not be true? Do you think I would invent a story like
that to asperse the memory of your father? Vilely as he treated me, I
loved him. I do not know who killed him. The dagger I wore disappeared
with him. It was found in the garden; his body in the river four miles
down. But I declare to you solemnly that I am ignorant of whose hand
struck the blow. It might have been Mona, or Jeringham, or----"
"Or Hilliston!"
"You are wrong there," replied his mother coolly, "or else your judgment
has been perverted by that book. Mr. Hilliston was still at the ball
when the tragedy occurred. His evidence at the trial proved that. Don't
say a word against him. He has been a good friend to you--and to me."
"I do not deny that."
"You cannot! When I was arrested and tried for a crime which I never
committed, he stood by me. When I left the court alone and friendless,
he stood by me. I decided to feign death to escape the obloquy which
attaches to every suspected criminal. He found me this refuge and
installed me here as Mrs. Bezel. He took charge of you and brought you
up, and looked after your money and mine. Don't you dare to speak
against him!"
Exhausted by the fury with which she had spoken, the unfortunate woman
leaned back in her chair. Claude, already regretting his harshness,
brought a glass of water, which he placed to her lips. After a few
minutes she revived, and feebly waved him away; but he was not to be so
easily dismissed.
"I am sorry I spoke as I did, mother," he said tenderly, arranging her
pillows. "Now that I have heard your story, I see that you have suffered
greatly. It is not my right to reproach you. No doubt you acted for the
best; therefore, I do not say a word against you or Mr. Hilliston, but
ask you to forgive me."
The tears were rolling down Mrs. Bezel's cheeks as he spoke thus, and
without uttering a word, she put her hand in his in token of
forgiveness. Claude pressed his lip to her faded cheek, and thus
reconciled--as much as was possible under the circumstances--they began
to talk of the case.
"What do you intend to do?" asked Mrs. Bezel weakly.
"Find out who killed my father."
"It is impossible--after five-and-twenty years. I have told you all I
know, and you see I cannot help you. I do not know whom to suspect."
"You surely have some suspicion, mother?"
"No, I have no suspicions. Whomsoever killed your father took the dagger
out of my sitting room."
"Perhaps Mona----"
"I think not. She had no reason to kill him."
"He had wronged her."
"And me!" cried Mrs. Bezel vehemently. "Do not talk any more of these
things, Claude. I know nothing more; I can tell you nothing more."
"Then I must try and find John Parver, and learn how he became
acquainted with the story."
"That is why I sent for you; why I revealed myself; why I told you all I
have suffered. Find John Parver, and tell me who he is, what he is."
This Claude promised to do, and, as his mother was worn out by the long
conversation, he shortly afterward took his leave. As he descended
Fitzjohn's Avenue a thought flashed into his mind as to the identity of
John Parver.
"I wonder if John Parver is Mark Jeringham?" said Claude.
The question was to be answered on that very evening.