A STRANGE CONFESSION
"I, Jabez Clyne, write this confession in my prison cell, of my own free
will, and without coercion from any one; partly because I know that the
evidence concerning my share in the Vrain conspiracy is strong against
me, and partly because I wish to exonerate my daughter Lydia.
"She is absolutely innocent of all knowledge concerning the feigned
death of her husband and his actual existence in a private lunatic
asylum; and on the strength of this confession of mine--which will fix
the guilt of the matter on the right persons--I demand that she shall be
set free. It is not fair that she should suffer, for I and Ferruci
planned and carried out the whole conspiracy. Well, Ferruci has punished
himself, and soon the law will punish me, so it is only justice that
Lydia should be discharged from all blame. On this understanding I set
out the whole story of the affair--how it was thought of, how it was
contrived, and how it was carried out. Now that Count Ferruci is dead,
this confession can harm no one but myself, and may be the means of
setting Lydia free. So here I begin my recital.
"I was always an unlucky man, and the end of my life proves to be as
unfortunate as the beginning. I was born in London some fifty and more
years ago, in a Whitechapel slum, of drunken and profligate parents, so
it is little to be wondered at that my career has been anything but
virtuous or respectable. In my early childhood--if it may be called
so--I was beaten and starved, set to beg, forced to thieve, and never
had a kind word said to me or a kind deed done to me. No wonder I grew
up a callous, hardened ruffian. As the twig is bent, so will the tree
grow.
"Out of this depth of degradation I was rescued by a philanthropist, who
had me fed and clothed and educated. I had at his hands every chance of
leading a respectable life, but I did not want to become smug and
honest. My early training was too strong for that, so after a year or
two of enforced goodness I ran away to sea. The vessel I embarked on as
a stowaway was bound for America. When I was discovered hiding among the
cargo we were in mid-ocean, and there was nothing for it but to carry me
to the States. Still, to earn my passage, I was made cabin-boy to a
ruffianly captain, and once more tasted the early delights of childhood,
viz., kicks, curses, and starvation. When the ship arrived in New York I
was turned adrift in the city without a penny or a friend.
"It is not my purpose to describe my sufferings, as such description
will do no good and interest nobody; particularly as the purpose of this
confession is to declare the Vrain conspiracy and its failure; so I
will pass over my early years as speedily as possible. To be brief: I
became a newsboy, then a reporter; afterwards I went West and tried my
luck in San Francisco, later on in Texas; but in every case I failed,
and became poorer and more desperate than ever. In New Orleans I set up
a newspaper and had a brief time of prosperity, when I married the
daughter of a hotelkeeper, and for the time was happy.
"Then the Civil War broke out, and I was ruined. My wife died, leaving
me with one child, whom I called Lydia, after her, but that child died
also, and I was left alone. After the war I prospered again for a time,
and married a woman with money. She also died, and left a daughter, and
this child I again called Lydia, in memory of my first wife, who was the
only woman I ever truly loved. I placed little Lydia in a convent for
education, and devoted my second wife's money to that purpose; then I
started out for the fifth or sixth time to make my fortune. Needless to
say, I did not make it.
"I pass over a long period of distress and prosperity, hopes and fears.
One day I was rich, the next poor; and Fate--or whatever malignant deity
looked after my poor affairs--knocked me about most cruelly, tossed me
up, threw me down, and at the end of a score of years left me
comparatively prosperous, with an income, in English money, of £500 a
year. With this I returned to Washington to seek Lydia, and found her
grown up into a beautiful and clever girl. Her beauty gave me the idea
that I might marry her well in Europe as an American heiress. So for
Europe we started, and after many years of travel about the Continent we
settled down in the Pension Donizetti in Florence. There Lydia was
admired for her beauty and wit, and courted for her money! But save for
my ten pounds a week, which we eked out in the most frugal manner, we
had not a penny between us.
"It was in Florence that we met with Vrain and his daughter, who came to
stay at the Pension. He was a quiet, harmless old gentleman, a trifle
weak in the head, which his daughter said came from over-study, but
which I discovered afterwards was due to habitual indulgence in morphia
and other drugs. His daughter watched him closely, and--not having a
will of his own by reason of his weak brain--he submitted passively to
her guidance. I heard by a side wind that Vrain was rich, and had a
splendid mansion in the country; so I hinted to Lydia that as it seemed
difficult to get her a young husband, it would be better for her to
marry a rich old one. At that time Lydia was in love with, and almost
engaged to, Count Ercole Ferruci, a penniless Italian nobleman, who
courted my pretty girl less for her beauty than for her supposed wealth.
When I suggested that Lydia should marry Vrain, she refused at first to
entertain the idea; but afterwards, seeing that the man was old and
weak, she thought it would be a good thing as his wife to inherit his
money, and then, as his widow, to marry Ferruci. I think, also, that the
pointed dislike which Diana Vrain manifested for us both--although I am
bound to say she hated Lydia more than she did me--had a great deal to
do with my daughter marrying Vrain. However, the end of it was that
Lydia broke off her engagement with Ferruci--and very mad he was at
losing her--and married Mark Vrain in Florence.
"After the marriage the old man, who at that time was quite infatuated
with Lydia, made a will leaving her his assurance money of £20,000, but
the house near Bath, and the land, he left to Diana. I am bound to say
that Lydia behaved very well in this matter, as she could have had all
the money and land, but she was content with the assurance money, and
did not rob Diana Vrain of her birthright. Yet Diana hated her, and
still hates her; but I ask any one who reads this confession if my dear
Lyddy is not the better woman of the two? Who dares to say that such a
sweet girl is guilty of the crimes she is charged with?
"Well, the marriage took place, and we all journeyed home to Berwin
Manor; but here things went from bad to worse. Old Vrain took again to
his morphia, and nothing would restrain him; then Lydia and Diana fought
constantly, and each wished the other out of the house. I tried to keep
the peace, and blamed Lyddy--who is no saint, I admit--for the way in
which she was treating Diana. With Miss Vrain I got on very well, and
tried to make things easy for her; but in the end the ill-will between
her and my Lydia became so strong that Diana left the house, and went
out to Australia to live with some relatives.
"So Lydia and I and old Vrain were left alone, and I thought that
everything would be right. So it would have been if Lydia had not put
matters wrong again by inviting Ferruci over to stay. But she would
insist upon doing so, and although I begged and prayed and commanded her
not to have so dangerous a man in the house, she held her own; and in
the face of my remonstrances, and those of her husband, Count Ferruci
came to stay with us.
"From the moment he entered the house there was nothing but trouble.
Vrain became jealous, and, mad with drugs he took, often treated Lydia
with cruelty and violence, and she came to me for protection. I spoke to
Vrain, and he insulted me, wishing to turn me out of the house; but for
Lydia's sake I remained. Then a Miss Tyler came to stay, and falling in
love with Count Ferruci, grew jealous of Lydia, and made trouble with
Vrain. The end of it was that after a succession of scenes, in which the
old man behaved like the lunatic he was, he left the house, and not one
of us knew where he went to. That was the last Lydia saw of her husband.
"After that trouble I insisted that Count Ferruci should leave the
house; also Miss Tyler. They both did, but came back at times to pay
Lydia a visit. We tried to find Vrain, but could not, as he had
vanished altogether. Ferruci, I saw, was in love with Lydia, and she
with him, but neither the one nor the other hinted at a future marriage
should Vrain die. I do not say that Lydia was a fond wife to Vrain, but
he treated her so badly that he could not expect her to be; and I dare
say I am the one to blame all through, as I made Lydia marry Vrain when
she loved Ferruci. But I did it all for the best, so as to get money for
my dear girl; and if it has turned out for the worst, my inordinate
affection for my child is to blame. All I have done has been for Lydia's
sake; all Ferruci did was for Lydia's sake, as he truly loved her; but I
swear by all that I hold most holy that Lydia knew not how either of us
was working to secure her happiness. Well, Ferruci is dead, and I am in
jail, so we have paid in full for our wickedness.
"I had no idea of getting rid of Vrain until one day Ferruci took me
aside and told me that he had found Vrain at Salisbury. He stated that
the man was still taking morphia, but in spite of his excesses had so
strong a constitution that it appeared he would live for many years. The
Count then said that he loved Lydia dearer than life, and wished to
marry her if Vrain could be got out of the way. I cried out against
murder being done, as I never entertained such an idea for a moment; but
Ferruci denied that he wished to harm the man. He wanted him put away in
a lunatic asylum, and when I asked him how even then he could marry
Lydia, he suggested his scheme of substituting a sickly and dying man
for Vrain. The scheme--which was entirely invented by the Count--was as
follows:
"Ferruci said that in a minor London theatre he had seen an actor called
Clear, who was wonderfully like Vrain, save that he had no scar on the
cheek, and had a moustache, whereas Vrain was always clean-shaved. He
had made the acquaintance of the actor--Michael Clear was his full
name--and of his wife. They proved to be hard up and mercenary, so
Ferruci had no difficulty in gaining over both for his purpose. For a
certain sum of money (which was to be paid to Mrs. Clear when her
husband was dead and the Count, married to Lydia, was possessed of the
assurance money) Clear agreed to shave off his moustache and personate
Vrain. Ferruci, who was something of a chemist, created by means of some
acid a scar on Clear's cheek like that on Vrain's, so that he resembled
my son-in-law in every way save that he had lost one little finger.
"Ferruci wanted me to join him in the conspiracy so that I could watch
Clear impersonating Vrain, while he himself kept his eye on the real
Vrain, who was to be received into Mrs. Clear's house at Bayswater and
passed off as her husband. All Mrs. Clear wanted was the money, as--long
since wearied of her drunken husband--she did not care if he lived or
died. Clear, on his part, knowing that he could not live long, was quite
willing to play the part of Vrain on condition that he had plenty to eat
and drink, and could live in idleness and luxury. His wishes in this
direction cost us a pretty penny, as he bought everything of the best.
"To this plot I refused consent until I saw how Vrain was: so when
Ferruci brought him from Salisbury--where he was hiding--to London, I
had an interview with him. He proved to be so stupefied with drugs that
he hardly knew me, so, seeing that my Lydia would get no good out of her
life by being tied to such a husband, I determined that I would assist
Ferruci, on the understanding, of course, that Vrain was to be well
looked after in every way. We agreed that when Clear died, and his body
was identified as Vrain's, that the real man should be put in an asylum,
which was--and I am sure every one will agree with me--the best place
for him.
"All this being arranged, I went out to look for a house in a secluded
part of the town, in which Clear--under the name of Berwin--should live
until he died as Vrain. I did not wish to see about the house in my new
character, lest I should be recognised, if there was any trouble over
the assurance money; to complicate matters, I determined to disguise
myself as the real Vrain. Of course, Clear personated Vrain as Lydia had
last seen him, that is, clean-shaven, and neat in his dress. But the
real Vrain, neglecting his personal appearance, had cultivated a long,
white beard, and wore a black velvet skull-cap to conceal a baldness
which had come upon him. I disguised myself in this fashion, therefore,
and went to Pimlico under the name of Wrent."