THE STORY OF A WRONG
Cyril waited for her to continue, but for a long time it seemed doubtful
if she would have the courage to do so.
"I am looking," she said at last, speaking slowly and with a visible
effort, "for a paper which will tell me whether my--son is alive or
dead."
"Your son? So you were his Lordship's mistress----"
"Before God I was his wife! I am no wanton, my lord!"
"The old story--" began Cyril, but Valdriguez stopped him with a furious
gesture.
"Do not dare to say that my child's mother was a loose woman! I will not
permit it. Arthur Wilmersley--may his Maker judge him as he
deserves--wrecked my life, but at least he never doubted my virtue. He
knew that the only way to get me was to marry me."
"So he actually married you?" exclaimed Cyril.
"No--but for a long time I believed that he had. How could a young,
innocent girl have suspected that the man she loved was capable of such
cold-blooded deception? Even now, I cannot blame myself for having
fallen into the trap he baited with such fiendish cunning. Think of
it--he induced me to consent to a secret marriage by promising that if I
made this sacrifice for his sake, he would become a convert to my
religion--my religion! And as we stood together before the altar, I
remember that I thanked God for giving me this opportunity of saving a
soul from destruction. I never dreamed that the church he took me to was
nothing but an old ruin he had fitted up as a chapel for the occasion.
How could I guess that the man who married us was not a priest but a
mountebank, whom he had hired to act the part?"
Valdriguez bowed her head and the tears trickled through her thin
fingers.
"I know that not many people would believe you but, well--I do." It
seemed to Cyril as if the words sprang to his lips unbidden.
"Then indeed you are a good man," exclaimed Valdriguez, "for it is given
only to honest people to have a sure ear for the truth. Now it will be
easier to tell you the rest. Some weeks after we had gone through this
ceremony, first Lord and then Lady Wilmersley died; on her deathbed I
confided to my lady that I was her son's wife and she gave me her
blessing. My humble birth she forgave--after all it was less humble than
her own--and was content that her son had chosen a girl of her own race
and faith. As soon as the funeral was over, I urged my husband to
announce our marriage, but he would not. He proposed that we should go
for a while to the continent so that on our return it would be taken for
granted that we had been married there, and in this way much unpleasant
talk avoided. So we went to Paris and there we lived together openly as
man and wife, not indeed under his name but under mine. He pretended
that he wanted for once to see the world from the standpoint of the
people; that he desired for a short time to be free from the
restrictions of his rank. I myself dreaded so much entering a class so
far above me that I was glad of the chance of spending a few more months
in obscurity. For some weeks I was happy, then Lord Wilmersley began to
show himself to me as he really was. We had taken a large apartment near
the Luxembourg, and soon it became the meeting-ground for the most
reckless element of the Latin Quarter. Ah, if you but knew what sights I
saw, what things I heard in those days! I feared that my very soul was
being polluted, so I consulted a priest as to what I should do. He told
me it was my duty to remain constantly at my husband's side; with prayer
and patience I might some day succeed in reforming him. So I stayed in
that hell and bore the insults and humiliations he heaped upon me
without a murmur. Now, looking back on the past, I think my meekness and
resignation only exasperated him, for he grew more and more cruel and
seemed to think of nothing but how to torture me into revolt. Whether I
should have been given the strength to endure indefinitely, the life he
led me I do not know, but one evening, when we were as usual
entertaining a disreputable rabble, a young man entered. I recognised
him at once. It was the man who had married us! He was dressed in a
brown velveteen suit; a red sash encircled his waist; and on his arm he
flaunted a painted woman. Imagine my feelings! I stood up and turned to
my husband. I could not speak--and he, the man I had loved, only
laughed--laughed! Never shall I forget the sound of that laughter....
"That night my child was born. That was twenty-eight years ago, but it
seems as if it were but yesterday that I held his small, warm body in my
arms.... Then comes a period of which I remember nothing, and when I
finally recovered my senses, they told me my child was dead.... As soon
as I was able to travel, I returned to my old home in Seville and there
I lived, working and praying--praying for my own soul and for that of my
poor baby, who had died without receiving the sacrament of baptism....
Years passed. I had become resigned to my lot, when one day I received a
letter from Lord Wilmersley. Oh! If I had only destroyed it unopened,
how much anguish would have been spared me! But at first when I read it,
I thought my happiness would have killed me, for Lord Wilmersley wrote
that my boy was not dead and that if I would meet him in Paris, he would
give me further news of him. I hesitated not a moment. At once did I set
out on my journey. On arriving in Paris I went to the hotel he had
indicated and was shown into a private _salon_. There for the first time
in a quarter of a century I saw again the man I had once regarded as my
husband. At first I had difficulty in recognising him, for now his true
character was written in every line of his face and figure. But I hardly
gave a thought either to him or to my wrongs, so great was my impatience
to hear news of my son.... Then that fiend began to play with me as a
cat with a mouse. Yes, my boy lived, had made his way in the world--that
was all he would tell me. My child had been adopted by some well-to-do
people, who had brought him up as their own--no, I needn't expect to
hear another word. Yes, he was a fine, strong lad--he would say no
more.... Can you imagine the scene? Finally, having wrought me up to the
point where I would have done anything to wring the truth from him, he
said to me: 'I have recently married a young wife and I am not such a
fool as to trust my honour in the keeping of a girl who married an old
man like me for his money. Now I have a plan to propose to you. Come and
live with her as her maid and help me to guard her from all eyes, and if
you fulfil your duties faithfully, at the end of three years I promise
that you shall see your son.'
"His revolting proposition made my blood boil. Never, never, I told him,
would I accept such a humiliating situation. He merely shrugged his
shoulders and said that in that case I need never hope to hear what had
become of my son. I raved, threatened, pleaded, but he remained
inflexible, and finally I agreed to do his bidding."
"So you, who call yourself a Christian, actually consented to help that
wretch to persecute his unfortunate young wife?" demanded Cyril sternly.
Valdriguez flung her head back defiantly.
"His wife? What was she to me? Besides, had she not taken him for better
or worse? Why should I have helped her to break the bonds her own vows
had imposed on her? He did not ill-treat her, far from it. He deprived
her of her liberty, but what of that? A nun has even less freedom than
she had. What were her sufferings compared to mine? Think of it, day
after day I had to stand aside and watch the man I had once looked upon
as my husband, lavish his love, his thought, his very life indeed, on
that pretty doll. Although I no longer loved him, my flesh quivered at
the sight."
"Nevertheless--" began Cyril.
"My lord, I care not for your judgment nor for that of any man. I came
here to find my son. Would you have had me give up that sacred task
because a pink and white baby wanted to flaunt her beauty before the
world? Ah, no! Lady Wilmersley's fate troubles me not at all; but what
breaks my heart is that, as Arthur died just before the three years were
up, I fear that now I shall never know what has become of my boy.
Sometimes I have feared that he is dead--but no, I will not believe it!
My boy lives! I feel it!" she cried, striking her breast. "And in this
room--perhaps within reach of my hand as I stand here--is the paper
which would tell me where he is. Ah, my lord, I beg, I entreat you to
help me to find it!"
"I will gladly do so, but what reason have you for supposing that there
is such a paper?"
"It is true that I have only Lord Wilmersley's word for it," she
replied, and her voice sounded suddenly hopeless. "Yet not once but many
times he said to me: 'I have a paper in which is written all you wish to
know, but as I do not trust you, I have hidden it, yes, in this very
room have I hidden it.' And now he is dead and I cannot find it! Oh,
what shall I do? What shall I do?"
"Even if we cannot find the paper, there are other means of tracing your
son. We will advertise----"
"Never!" she interrupted him vehemently. "I will never consent to do
anything which might reveal to him the secret of his birth. I would long
ago have taken steps to find him, if I had not realised that I could not
do so without taking a number of people into my confidence, and, if I
did that, the story of my shame would be bound to leak out. Not for
myself did I care, but for him. Think of it, if what Lord Wilmersley
told me was true, he holds an honourable position, believes himself the
son of respectable parents. Would it not be horrible, if he should
suddenly learn that he is the nameless child of a servant girl and a
villain? The fear that he should somehow discover the truth is always
before me. That is why I made you swear to keep my secret."
"Of course, I will do as you wish, but I assure you that you exaggerate
the risk. Still, let us first search this room thoroughly; then, if we
do not find the paper, it will be time enough to decide what we shall do
next."
"Ah, my lord, you are very good to me and may God reward you as you
deserve. Day and night will I pray for you." And to Cyril's dismay,
Valdriguez suddenly bent down and covered his hands with kisses.