A DUPER DUPED.
I shall now proceed to relate a magisterial reminiscence in which the
only fictions are the names of the parties, and I trust that at the
termination of the narrative, my readers will agree in the moral which I
shall attempt to deduce, that the person who commences a cheating game
is not to be pitied, if, at the close, he finds himself the only loser.
Twenty-five years have elapsed since, in an aristocratic family, in a
central county of Ireland, a young woman was residing in a capacity
rather difficult to define. She was somewhat above a menial and below a
governess, neither the companion of her employers nor the associate of
the servants. Her educational attainments were very limited, and her
industrial power was of little value, for she was of small frame and
delicate constitution. The care of two children was deputed to her, and
all services necessary for their health, comfort, instruction,
correction, or amusement were expected from Elizabeth Jones.
She had enough to do, but she did not think so. Her life was monotonous,
her tastes were not congenial to the circumstances and persons amongst
whom she was placed. A native of Wales, far from her kindred, and
prevented by her position from forming, amongst her own sex, a
friendship, or even an acquaintance to which she could attach any value,
her only resource was to fall in love,--and a few casual attentions from
an officer of constabulary quite overcame poor Elizabeth Jones.
"He dazzled her eyes, he bewilder'd her brain,
He caught her affections so light and so vain."
He perceived that he was loved, and pretended a reciprocal feeling. He
promised, and vowed, and swore that she should be his wife, and he
deceived her.
Richard Gilmore was sorely annoyed when Elizabeth Jones suggested very
strong reasons for the immediate observance of his solemn promise of
marriage; but he refused compliance, and sought to convince her that
their union would only ruin him without saving her. She addressed her
remonstrances to deaf ears. Marriage was out of the question, and she
found herself a ruined, friendless creature, with the certainty of a
speedy and disgraceful expulsion from the house in which she had for
some years humbly earned her subsistence. However she vented no
reproaches; she only upbraided with a tear, and communicated her
determination to depart and carry her sorrows to some distant locality.
Of this intention Richard fully approved; and he congratulated himself
on the prospect of being so soon delivered from any future annoyance on
the part of Elizabeth Jones. She fixed the time for leaving her
situation, and requested a last interview with Mr. Gilmore, at an early
hour, before the inmates of the house were stirring. Richard was
punctual. She opened a writing-desk, and informed him that she had come
to the resolution of releasing him from every promise on his part, from
every claim which she could advance then or at any future time, on one
condition; she only required his written pledge, upon his honor as an
officer and a gentleman, that he would never seek to renew his
acquaintance with her, or even pretend to know her if they met. To this
he joyfully acceded, and placed the required document in her hands; but
his curiosity induced him to enquire as to her motive in seeking such a
solemn written undertaking.
"Richard Gilmore," she said, "I was prostrated by acute and increasing
misery, but a door of escape from total disgrace and destruction has
been opened. I can never be happy, but I may have some opportunity for
reflection, and ultimately, my mind may become somewhat tranquil. I
shall soon be a mother. I am about to depart from Ireland for ever, and
shall fix my residence in a retired part of England, and there, in the
garb and under the designation of a widow, I shall devote myself to the
care of the child of whom you are father, but for whom, I only insist
and have stipulated with you, that you shall never disgrace your
offspring by disclosing its paternity, and never remind me by your
presence of the degradation to which, by your falsehood, I have been
reduced."
"But," said Gilmore, "your means are scanty, and for a time you must be
incapable of any industrial pursuit or exertion. I can give you some
pecuniary assistance; it is my duty to do all I can to alleviate your
sufferings. I deserve your reproaches, and would gladly do anything to
prove that I am not so utterly heartless as you think me."
"No, Richard Gilmore; not a farthing would I receive from you, if it
were to save me from starvation. To you I owe my ruin, but with you I
have no further communication; and I shall never allow you to think that
I have compromised my wrongs for money, or taken a price for my
character. Moreover, I may now tell you that I shall not want your
assistance; and as I feel that you dare not break your written
undertaking, you may read this."
She placed in his hands a letter, of which the following is a copy,
substituting fictitious names:--
"Abergavenny, June 14th, 1847.
"MISS ELIZABETH JONES,
"Madame, I hasten to apprize you of the death of your lamented
aunt, Miss Rebecca Jones, who expired yesterday morning, after a
very short indisposition. The respectable deceased applied for my
professional assistance about three weeks since, in the settlement
of her worldly affairs. For some years she had lived in great
seclusion, and was extremely averse to any communication with your
brother; she would never see his wife. In fact, her relatives seem
to have been disliked in proportion to the proximity of their
residence; and it is to your long absence from her that I ascribe
the preference which she has evinced towards you, on which I offer
you my respectful congratulations.
"By your aunt's will (which is in my possession) she has devised to
you several freehold interests in and adjacent to this town,
producing about £300 per annum; she has also bequeathed to you
£2,000 secured by mortgage on the property of Mr. Deacon, of
Aberystwith, and a bond of Mr. Edmond Morgan, of Cardiff, for
£1,100.
"I hope, Madame, you will feel that in the capacity of your
respective relative's confidential adviser I have not been hostile
or even indifferent to your interests; and I beg to assure you
that, if your affairs are entrusted to my care, I shall make every
exertion to justify the preference that I respectfully solicit.
"I have the honour to be, Madame,
"Your obedient, humble servant,
DAVID WYNNE, _Solicitor_.
"PS.--Mrs. Wynne desires me to convey, with her respects, a request
that if you visit Abergavenny, you will honor her and me by
becoming our guest during your stay."
"Good heaven!" exclaimed Richard Gilmore, "how delighted I am, my
dearest Lizzie, at your good fortune." I shall fully and faithfully
observe my pledge; but before we part, consider well whether you should
not use your altered circumstances for your own comfort, for the
complete prevention of every future pain and difficulty, and above all,
for the sake of your unborn offspring. If I could, without absolute
ruin, have redeemed the promise which my passion produced, you should
never have had occasion to upbraid me. I loved you fondly, dearly; and
it is in your power to give me an opportunity of proving, whilst we
live, a faithful and devoted husband."
"Ah, no!" said Elizabeth, "our marriage could never be happy; we would
be mutually miserable. You would never respect her whom, in her supposed
poverty, you scorned; and our union now would be as much the subject of
scandalous comment as if you wedded me this day openly at the church of
Castle----."
"If you marry me, my darling Lizzie, I shall adopt means to prevent
exposure, or even suspicion. You shall leave this place immediately, go
up to Dublin, and take a lodging in one of the small city parishes,
where few Protestants reside. I shall obtain leave of absence, follow
you to Dublin, take out a license, and after a short stay I shall return
and effect an exchange to a remote county, where I can present you to
society as my wife, without any suspicion being entertained that our
union has been too recent for your reputation. There your child can be
born without any stain on its birth, or any cloud on its future
prospects. Come, Lizzie dear, forget and forgive; I am still your own
fond Richard."
He seized her hand, her struggle was slight, his arm encircled her
waist, and on her lips he imprinted the seal of his future truth and of
her present forgiveness. In two days Elizabeth Jones was lodging in
Nicholas Street, Dublin, and in about a week Richard Gilmore was married
to her in the church of St. Nicholas. The wedding was very private and
quiet, the only witnesses being the man in whose house they lodged, his
wife, and two young persons whose attendance they procured.
Three or four days elapsed, and Richard Gilmore accosted his bride.
"Lizzy," he said, "I cannot delay my return to duty beyond another week.
I have already made application for an exchange; but before I return to
the country, I think it would be well if I went over to Wales and
regulated the future receipt of your rents, and also ascertained how the
money due by Deacon and Morgan is circumstanced. If they pay five per
cent, punctually, we shall be very comfortable. I have calculated that,
with my pay, we shall have near £600 a-year. I shall buy a nice
jaunting-car and----"
"You need not trouble yourself, Richard," said Mrs. Gilmore, very
solemnly, "about my property in Wales. In fact, I have just taken a leaf
out of your own book, and if the perusal is disagreeable, it is not to
me that the authorship should be imputed. You made me a promise of
marriage, you broke your word, and refused to save me from disgrace and
misery. I procured a letter to be written about property that never
existed, and made you believe that it was your interest to marry her
whom your affection or sense of honor did not suffice to shield from
destruction."
"You infernal Jezebel! you lying profligate! debased and degraded you
shall be. I shall never live another hour with you. I shall never give
a farthing to save you or your brat from starvation."
"I thank you, Mr. Gilmore, for myself and my coming brat. Thank heaven,
you cannot say my bastard. You know what course it best answers you to
take, but----"
Richard Gilmore was gone. Presently he was heard descending the stairs,
and in a few minutes more the landlady announced to Mrs. Gilmore that
her husband had departed, having first paid the lodging rent for the
coming week, and having relinquished any further tenancy.
Mrs. Gilmore heard this intelligence with surprising calmness, and
replied by informing the landlady of Mr. Gilmore's position, and of the
place where he was stationed; adding that she would stay for the time
for which the rent was paid, and that then, when she would be really
destitute, she would go to THE WORKHOUSE. She imparted a good deal of
confidence to the landlady, whom we shall name Mrs. Canavan, and who,
seeing that she would not lose anything, gave Mrs. Gilmore her utmost
sympathy. Mrs. Canavan was a fair specimen of human nature; for we never
refuse our sympathy to our unfortunate fellow-creatures when we are not
asked for anything more.
In another week Mrs. Gilmore proceeded to the South Dublin Union
Workhouse, and there informed the admission committee that her husband
was a constabulary officer; that his income was about double the
reality; that he had some private property and great expectations; and
that she, on the eve of her _accouchement_, was deserted by her husband,
and compelled to become an inmate of the workhouse.
The committee admitted the applicant, registered the admission, and
brought the case before the Board of Guardians on the following
Thursday, when they obtained a ready sanction to prosecute Mr. Gilmore
for deserting his wife, and leaving her, as a pauper, chargeable on the
rates. A summons bearing my signature issued, and the constabulary
officer appeared at the police-court. The marriage was proved, as were
the circumstances of the desertion. On the part of the Guardians a
demand was made for the immediate committal of the delinquent, to be
imprisoned, with hard labor for three months. Richard Gilmore escaped a
formal conviction by paying the expenses already incurred, and
undertaking to allow twenty shillings weekly for his wife's maintenance.
All parties left the police-court; but in an hour or two after the case
had been heard, Richard Gilmore returned and applied to me to have
Elizabeth Jones, calling herself Gilmore, apprehended on a charge of
bigamy. He alleged that she had been married in Wales about four years
previous to her marriage with him, and that her husband, Thomas Jones,
was still living. His assertions were made on statements which he had
received from others. He had no legal evidence of the charge, and I
refused to issue a warrant for the apprehension of the alleged bigamist,
but he determined to persist in the accusation. He seized on his wife in
the public street, and gave her into the custody of a constable on a
charge of felony. On the following morning he stated on oath that he had
been informed, and fully believed, that the prisoner had been married to
one Thomas Jones in a parish church near Carnarvon; that said Thomas was
still living; and he further swore to the marriage of the prisoner with
himself in the city of Dublin. He asked for a remand, and stated that he
expected to produce witnesses from Wales to prove his charge. I remanded
the accused for six days, and Richard left Dublin by the next Holyhead
packet in quest of evidence to convict his wife. Before she was removed
to prison she sent to me a short note, in which she implored me to
direct that no person should be permitted to see her in the prison
unless at her own request; and further, that on the day for resuming the
investigation, she should be placed amongst a number of females, and
that the witnesses should be required to identify her from amongst the
others. I considered those requests to be fair and reasonable, and
directed that they should be complied with. Richard Gilmore returned to
Dublin the day before the resumption of the case. He brought over two
witnesses, and sought at the prison to give them a view of the accused,
but they were denied admittance. On the appointed day Elizabeth Gilmore
was brought from the prison, and placed in the carriage-court with about
a dozen of other females, amongst whom was Mrs. Canavan, her Nicholas
Street landlady, who manifested great interest in her sufferings, and
great indignation at Richard Gilmore's attempt to transport an innocent
creature whom he had vowed to love and cherish. Without separating the
prisoner from the other women, I proceeded to swear the first witness,
one William Jones, who stated that he was a parish clerk of some
unpronounceable place in Wales; that he remembered the marriage of
Thomas Jones and Elizabeth Jones, and he produced the registry; he
recollected the matter very distinctly, the more so from the parties
being both of the same name as himself. I directed him to look at the
women present, and to point out the one whom he had seen married at the
time mentioned in the registry if she was amongst them. Mr. Jones walked
to the group, viewed all the women, and very deliberately placing his
hand on Mrs. Canavan's shoulder, identified her as the culprit. He was
instantly electrified by a burst of abuse, delivered in an accent
acquired much nearer to Patrick Street than to Penmaemawr.
Mrs. Canavan's vocabulary was too copious to be select. I do not think
that I could have restrained her, and I admit that I allowed her a
latitude from which I derived some amusement. She descanted on the
propriety of "cropping the ears"[5] of perjured parish clerks, but gave
up that idea as, on full consideration, it appeared too mild a treatment
for the Welshman. She proceeded to assure him, that there was not a gaol
in Ireland that would refuse him admission; and that in no place of such
a description could he meet with anyone worse than himself. She appealed
to my benevolent tendencies to have the Welsh fellow transported at
once, upon the grounds that it would be "a charity;" and she descanted
on the physiological defect in such a parish clerk having been born
without handcuffs, suggesting an artificial amendment of the natural
deficiency. She thanked Mr. Jones for the pleasant news, that she had
one husband in Dublin and another in Wales, and assured him that he
might expect some very particular attentions from the Dublin one in
acknowledgment of his testimony.
"And still she talked, and still the wonder spread,
That one small tongue could utter all she said."
The parish clerk was overwhelmed with confusion, but Richard Gilmore
persisted in his charge, and demanded the examination of his remaining
witness. Accordingly, a Mrs. Edwards was sworn. She deposed that the
Thomas Jones mentioned in the registry was her brother. She had not been
present at the marriage, but was satisfied that her brother was living,
for she had seen him at Swansea about a month previous, at which time he
was proceeding to America as supercargo in a merchant vessel. On further
examination, she stated that she was aware that Thomas and Elizabeth
Jones had separated within the last two years, and this put an end to
the case, for a reference to Gilmore's information showed that his
acquaintance with the prisoner commenced nearly three years before their
marriage. I remarked that the only allegation fully and clearly proved
was the marriage of Mr. Gilmore to Miss Jones in the church of St.
Nicholas; and it only remained for me to discharge the prisoner, to
congratulate the parties on the removal of all imputation on the
legality of their union, and to wish them many years of connubial
happiness. Richard Gilmore did not manifest the slightest gratitude for
this kind expression; he left the court without asking his wife to
accompany him, but she was not compelled to betake herself again to the
workhouse. Her weekly stipend was continued. Soon afterwards a son was
born, and he is now a confidential employé in an extensive mercantile
establishment in Dublin. I do not believe that he ever sought his
father, or that his father ever took the slightest notice of him.
Wishing him prosperity and happiness, I hope that he may never be
necessitated to engage in any correspondence or enquiry relative to his
mother's property in Wales. She resided for a considerable time in one
of our southern suburbs, and latterly affected no secrecy as to the
means which she adopted to effect her marriage. In the year 1858, I
expressed, in some conversations with a medical man of her acquaintance,
a wish for the particulars, and a copy of the letter which I have given
to my readers was enclosed to me by post, without any accompanying
condition, or even an indication of the quarter from whence it was
furnished.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] Cropping the ears was in former times a punishment for perjury.