A WHITE SOUL.
“When I came to my senses,” continued Lady Pelham, “I was more
bewildered than anything else. I could not believe it was true--my
husband had been playing some sorry, cruel jest upon me; still it was
but a jest.
“I had never given a thought to any man living except my own husband;
surely he must know that.
“The Duke of Launceston! what was he to me--a perfect
stranger--indifferent. I did not care if I never saw him again. Of
what did my husband accuse me? Oh, shame! Oh, horror! that he who had
sworn to love and cherish me, to protect me, should be the one to play
this sorry jest upon me. I must see him; I must hear him say with
his own lips that it was all nonsense; he had done it all to try me.
It was coarse, unfeeling, cruel, that he had not thought of that. He
had perhaps been jesting with Captain Pierrepont. I must see him or I
should go mad. I turned to the maid who knelt by my side, and told her
to ask Sir Alfred to come to me at once.
“I felt very ill; my hands were cold as death, they trembled; my face
burned, my brain whirled. I tried to steady myself by saying that my
husband would be here soon, and I must be ready to meet him. My maid
returned. She looked pale and scared. Sir Alfred and Captain Pierrepont
had left the house; there was no message for me.
“‘My lady,’ said the girl, ‘is there anything the matter? All the
servants are looking so strange--is anything wrong?’
“God help me! I went mad--mad with fear, shame, outraged love, wounded
honor, and dread of what was to follow. I tore the hair from my head. I
cried aloud for my dead mother. I was mad.
“They gave me sleep and merciful oblivion. But morning only brought
me the same frantic alarm, the same terrible waking. What had I done;
what were they going to do with me? What was wrong? I could not rise;
my limbs were heavy, my head ached. I was bewildered and uncertain.
There were times when I fancied I must have been guilty of some great
crime, and have forgotten it. Surely my husband, whom I had loved and
revered as the noblest of men, could never have wrongfully accused me.
Was it possible that I had done anything wrong and had forgotten it? I
tried to think over every word I had ever spoken--every action since I
had been married, and I could not discover one that was worthy of such
blame.
“‘An intrigue?’--I began to remember his words--he said that I had
carried on an intrigue with the Duke of Launceston. What did they call
an intrigue here in England? In my land it was something that young
girls did not even know by name. What was it here? I had sung songs
with him; I had paid him the same amount of attention that I considered
due to all my husband’s guests; but Heaven knew my heart and conscience
were free from all blame.
“How that day passed I could tell no one; it was one long dream of
misery, one delirium of horror; and the night even worse. I saw the
servants looking strangely at me--some of them sent in notice to
leave--one or two went that very day; yet I was innocent, God knows I
was--innocent as a little dreaming babe.
“The following morning brought a letter from my husband, it was
even more cruel than his words had been. It merely said that he had
commenced proceedings for a divorce, on the grounds of my conduct with
the Duke of Launceston, and that he would not return home while I was
there.
“Was ever woman so desolate? There was no one to whom I could appeal
in this hour of distress--no friendly hand or heart to aid me. I could
only kneel and pray to the most high God to make my innocence clear.
Mr. Eyrle, my prayer will be answered yet.
“I was quite at a loss what to do. My heart was broken, for I had loved
my husband very dearly. I had neither spirit, life, hope, energy or
care for life left. What could life give me, now that he whom I had
loved so dearly had proven not only false, but all that was mean,
wicked and cruel. If I had knelt by my husband’s grave--if I had known
him dead, it would have been ten thousand times easier to bear. I
had no money. Sir Alfred never allowed me the free use of his purse.
I had no friends. I shrank from going near any of the fashionable
acquaintances I had made. Who would believe me innocent if he said I
was guilty? Suddenly it flashed across me that this scandal must have
been afloat in London, and that was why people looked so shyly at
me; that was why the ladies I had known and liked avoided me, and no
one could have spread that scandal but my husband. What chance had I
against him--my word against his?
“Where was I to go? In all the world there was no one so utterly
friendless and wretched. I thought heaven itself had worked a miracle
in my favor when later on that day there came a letter from a London
lawyer, a Mr. Hewson, saying that my aunt, Donna Maria de Borga, was
dead, and had left all her money to me. It had been transmitted by her
desire from Spain to England, and was ready for me any time I liked
to claim it. At last, then, I had money, more than sufficient to live
upon in the greatest comfort. I think no one was ever so grateful for a
legacy as I felt then.
“An idea occurred to me. I resolved to go to London, and see this Mr.
Hewson; perhaps he could advise me what to do. The more I thought of
this plan the more advisable and prudent it appeared to me. I acted
upon it. Sir Alfred had not given me much jewelry, but the little I
possessed was made into a parcel, together with everything he had
given me, and was sent to him. Then I bade farewell to the home I only
remember with hatred and disgust.
“I went at once to the address in the letter--No. 10 Lincoln’s Inn. I
found him there, and somewhat surprised to see me.
“‘I had no idea you would answer my letter in person, Lady Pelham,’ he
said. ‘Sir Alfred is in town; I met him this morning.’
“‘I came because I wish to consult you on several matters. First of
all, let us settle about my aunt’s legacy.’
“We did so. He told me the exact amount--how it should be invested;
and I asked him to take my affairs in hand. Then I told him there was
another and far graver matter on which I wished to consult him.
“‘I want to ask you,’ I said, ‘not only to be my lawyer, but my friend.
Some people might laugh at the notion. I only say to you that I am the
most desolate, the most wretched woman on the face of the earth. Will
you be my friend?’
“He looked at me in utter surprise.
“‘Your husband, Lady Pelham, where is he?’
“‘He is my persecutor. I will tell you my story, Mr. Hewson. I ask you,
strange, cruel, and incredible as it is, to believe me.’
“Then I gave him the letters I had received, and told him all that had
passed. He looked incredulous.
“‘Pardon me, Lady Pelham,’ he said, ‘but is it really true?’
“‘Only too true,’ I answered.
“‘And you--pardon the question--you assure me, Lady Pelham, that you
were merely on ordinary terms of intimacy with the Duke of Launceston?’
“‘I treated him as I did any other guest of my husband, no differently.
No man could have been more perfectly indifferent to me.’
“‘Then there is not the least ground for this action?’ he continued.
“‘Not the slightest, not the faintest; there is no shadow of such a
pretext.’
“Mr. Hewson sat silent for some minutes, then he said:
“‘Will you prepare to hear a very fatal truth, Lady Pelham, one that
will darken your whole life?’
“‘Nothing can surprise or hurt me now,’ I replied.
“‘I must tell you that it is my opinion you have married a very wicked,
designing man. I could almost believe that he had married you, seeing
your beauty, for this very purpose.’
“‘He could not be so wicked,’ I cried; ‘no man living could be so lost
to all honor and goodness!’
“‘Sir Alfred Pelham has run through one of the finest fortunes in
England,’ he continued. ‘He has literally nothing left, for Pelham
Court is mortgaged to its full value. He owes large sums of money, and,
in my opinion, he had brought this charge against you merely to get
large damages from the Duke of Launceston. He will employ clever and
eloquent counsel, who will make thrilling speeches about his broken
heart and ruined home; all you can do is to defend yourself.’
“‘He cannot be so infamous,’ I cried; ‘no man could--it is worse than
murder! Better have slain me than seek to destroy my fair name. Who is
to defend me?’
“‘If you like to leave the conduct of your defense in my hands, I will
undertake it,’ he replied.
“And I cried to him, in my distress, that I would give Sir Alfred all
my aunt’s money if he would but forego this cruel persecution.
“‘Do not make any such offer, Lady Pelham,’ he replied; ‘to those who
do not know you it sounds like guilt.’
“He did me one more service, greater than any other he could have
rendered me; he introduced me to his sister, who was kind enough to
love me when no one else did, and has cared for me ever since.”
“Lady Pelham,” interrupted Kenelm Eyrle, “do you assure me that this
infamous, diabolical story is true?”
“It is true,” she replied, “as are the stars in heaven. Patience a few
minutes longer; I shall soon have told you all.”