The Third. Volume

Moreover, she had a revelation to make which would effectively tie Larcher's hands should he learn too much; but this she did not intend to make unless driven into a corner. She was in that corner before the interview was finished, though she little expected to get there. Hilliston, clever as he was, could not understand her present actions; she did not understand them herself, else she would not have ventured to receive Claude Larcher.

He duly arrived at three o'clock, and Mrs. Bezel glanced approvingly at his stalwart figure and handsome face. Claude had one of those sympathetic, yet manly, natures, to which women are instinctively drawn by the law of sex, and Mrs. Bezel proved no exception to this rule. She was too thoroughly a woman not to relish masculine society, and, despite her perplexity, was glad she had sent the invitation, if only for the sake of talking to this splendid looking young man. There was another reason, which she revealed in a moment of impulse. But that was later on.

Meanwhile Claude, seated by her couch in the window, was wondering who she was, and why she had sought this interview. He was certainly aware that she had some information to impart concerning the fate of his parents, but as he had not seen her name in the papers containing the account of the case, he was at a loss to fix her identity. His doubts were soon set at rest. Mrs. Bezel was a more prominent actor in the Horriston tragedy than he had any idea of.

"You were doubtless astonished to get my letter," said Mrs. Bezel, when the first greetings were over, "especially as you do not remember your parents, and my name is also unknown to you."

"Were you a friend of my parents, madam?" asked Claude, too anxious for information to reply directly to her remark.

"Yes. I – I knew them. That is, I lived at Horriston," stammered Mrs. Bezel, passing a handkerchief across her dry lips.

"You lived at Horriston? At the time of the murder?"

Mrs. Bezel nodded; she was not yet sufficiently self-controlled for speech.

"In that case," continued Claude eagerly, "you must know all the details of the crime."

"Only those that were reported in the papers."

"Still you must be acquainted with those concerned in the tragedy. With my father, with Jeringham, Denis Bantry, with Mona, his sister."

"Yes," said Mrs. Bezel calmly; "I knew them all."

"Have you any idea who committed the crime?"

"Not the slightest."

"But you must have some suspicions?"

"Oh, yes! But they may be wrong. I believe that Mr. Jeringham had something to do with it."

"Oh!" said Claude, remembering Hilliston's opinion, "some believe him to be guilty."

"I cannot say for certain," replied Mrs. Bezel, shaking her head. "The flight of Mr. Jeringham certainly showed that he had something to conceal."

"What kind of a man was Mr. Jeringham?"

"Tall and fair. Amiable as a rule, but liable to violent passions."

"Was he not in love with my mother before she married my father?"

Mrs. Bezel turned away her head, and the color rose to her face. The nervous movement of her hands plucking at her dress showed how profoundly she was moved by this question.

"I believe so. But she – Mrs. Larcher loved her husband."

"Then why was my father jealous of Jeringham?" said Claude, who could not reconcile this statement with the evidence given at the trial.

"How should I know?" cried Mrs. Bezel, turning on him with sudden passion. "If George Larcher had not been so blinded by jealousy he would have seen that there was nothing between them. Your mother knew Jeringham all his life; they were like brother and sister. It is true he wished to marry her, but when he saw that her heart was given to your father, he bowed to her decision. He came to Horriston as her friend, not as her lover."

"But he was constantly with her."

"Do you dare to speak thus of your mother, sir?"

"I – I cannot help doing so," stammered Claude, startled by the anger in her voice. "God knows I wish to revere the memory of my mother, but I cannot help seeing that she was morally responsible for the tragedy."

"She was not! She was not!" said Mrs. Bezel vehemently. "How dare you speak thus? Your father neglected her. He left her to the companionship of Mark Jeringham, while he indulged in his predilection for literary work. All day long he shut himself up in his study, and let his wife sit alone, and miserable. Was it any wonder, then, that she should turn to her old friend for consolation? There was nothing between them – nothing to which any Pharisee could have taken exception."

"But surely my father was sufficiently sensible to see all this?"

"He saw nothing, or what he did see was distorted by his jealousy. The police, in their endeavors to fix the crime on your mother, took the same view of the relations between her and Jeringham. Oh, I know what you read in those papers shown to you by Mr. Hilliston!"

So surprised was Claude by this unexpected introduction of his guardian's name that he could not suppress a start.

"How do you know that Mr. Hilliston showed me the papers?"

Mrs. Bezel saw that she had said too much, but, unable to go back on her words, rapidly resolved to make that revelation which she had hitherto intended to keep as a last resource.

"Mr. Hilliston told me that he had done so."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Bezel, seizing her opportunity to lead up to the revelation. "I know him as the best and kindest of men. I know him as one who has been a good friend to you – orphan as you thought yourself."

"Orphan as I thought myself," muttered Claude, turning pale. "Is it not true – am I not an orphan?"

"No!"

"Great Heavens! What is this you tell me? My father – "

"Your father is dead. He was murdered, as you know."

"Then my mother?"

Mrs. Bezel looked at the agonized face of the young man, and covered her own, with a quick indrawn breath.

"She lives!"

"My mother! She lives! Are you mad? She died in London shortly after her acquittal."

"So it was supposed, but it was not true. Could you expect that unhappy woman to face the scorn and contempt of the world after having been accused of her husband's murder? She did not die, save to the world. She fled from society and sought refuge here – here where she lies a helpless invalid."

"Mrs. Bezel!"

"I am not Mrs. Bezel. I am your mother."

"God! My mother!"

CHAPTER XII

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.

CHAPTER XIII

ON THE TRACK

It was nearly six o'clock when Claude returned to Earls Street, and Tait, already dressed for the evening, was waiting his arrival with considerable impatience. His usual imperturbability had given place to a self-satisfied air, as though he had succeeded in accomplishing a difficult undertaking. He uttered a joyful exclamation when he saw Claude enter, but a look of apprehension passed over his face when he noted the altered appearance of his friend.

"What is wrong?" he asked, as Claude threw himself into a chair, with a sigh of fatigue. "Do you bring bad news? My dear fellow, you are completely worn out. Here, Dormer, a glass of sherry for Mr. Larcher."

The servant, who was putting the finishing touches to the dinner-table, speedily obeyed this order, and Tait made his friend drink the wine without delay. Then he proceeded to question him regarding the reason of his pallor, but with his usual caution first sent Dormer out of the room. Only when they were alone did he venture to speak on the subject about which both were thinking.

"Well!" he demanded anxiously, "you saw Mrs. Bezel?"

"Yes; I was with her for two hours."

"Ah!" said Tait, with great satisfaction; "she must have told you a good deal in that time."

"She did. She told me more than I expected."

"Did it concern your parents?"

"It did."

"Good! Then you no doubt heard her version of the crime."

"Yes!"

These unsatisfactory replies, which dropped so strangely from Larcher's lips, at once puzzled and irritated the questioner.

"You don't seem anxious to confide in me," he said, in a piqued tone.

"I will tell you all. I am anxious to tell you all," replied Larcher, finding his tongue, "but I do not know how to begin."

"Oh, I shall save you that trouble by asking you questions. In the first place, who is Mrs. Bezel?"

"My mother!"

Tait bounded from his chair with an expression of incredulity. This unexpected information, so abruptly conveyed, was too much for his self-control.

"Your mother!" he stammered, hardly thinking he had heard aright. "Are you in earnest? I cannot believe it. According to the notice in the newspapers, according to Hilliston, your mother died in London in 1867."

"She did not die. Her death was a feigned one, to escape the notoriety gained by her trial at Canterbury."

"Did Mr. Hilliston know she was alive?"

"Yes. It was by his advice that she changed her name."

"Oh! Oh!" said Tait, with marked significance; "Hilliston knew, Hilliston advised. Humph! John Parver may be right, after all."

"Tait, be silent! You are speaking of my mother."

"I beg your pardon, my dear fellow, but I really do not understand."

"You will shortly. I will tell you the story of my mother's troubles, and Hilliston's kindness."

"Hilliston's kindness," repeated Tait, in a skeptical tone. Nevertheless he resumed his seat, and signified his willingness to hear the narrative.

The wine had done Claude good, and restored his self-possession; so, now master of himself, he related all that had passed between himself and Mrs. Bezel. Gifted with a retentive memory, and no mean powers as a narrator, he succeeded in giving Tait a vivid impression of the conversation. The little man, with his head slightly on one side, like a bright-eyed sparrow, listened attentively, and not till the story was finished did he make an observation thereon. To this capability of listening without interruption Tait owed a great deal of his popularity.

"Truth is stranger than fiction, after all," said he, when Claude ended; "and the novel is less dramatic than the episode of real life. John Parver did not dare to insinuate that the supposed dead widow of the murdered man was alive. Humph! this complicates matters more than ever."

"At least it clears the character of Hilliston."

"Yes," assented Tait doubtfully; "I suppose it does."

"Can you doubt it?" said Larcher, dissatisfied with this grudging consent. "You can now see why Hilliston was agitated at our interview; why he asked me not to see Mrs. Bezel, so-called; why he called here the same evening to find out if I had gone; and finally why he wished to prepare me before seeing her, by telling of the tragedy."

"Oh, I see all that," said Tait quietly. "Nine men out of ten would consider Hilliston a most disinterested person. But I am the tenth man, and am therefore skeptical of his motive."

"But what motive can he have for – "

"That is just it," interrupted Tait vivaciously. "I can't see his motive, but I will find it out some day."

"Well, you can speak for yourself," said Claude, frowning. "After what my mother has told me, I believe Hilliston to be an upright and honorable man."

"You are quite right to do so on the evidence. Still, if I were you I would not keep him informed of all our movements, unless – Do you intend to go on with the matter?" he asked abruptly.

"Assuredly! I am determined to find out who killed my father."

Tait walked to the fireplace and took up his position on the hearth-rug. An idea had entered his mind, which he did not intend to put into words. Nevertheless it was indirectly the reason for his next speech.

"I think, after all, it would be best to take Hilliston's advice, and let sleeping dogs lie."

He had not calculated the effect of these words on his hearer, for Claude also arose from his chair, and looked at him with angry surprise.

"I don't understand you," he said coldly. "Some hours back, and you were more eager than I to pursue this unknown criminal. Now you wish to withdraw. May I ask the reason of this sudden change."

"It seems to be useless to hope to find the assassin," replied Tait, shrugging his shoulders. "One cannot discover a needle in a haystack."

"Oh, yes you can – by patient research."

"Well, even that would be easier than to hope to solve a mystery which has been impenetrable for five-and-twenty years."

"It has been impenetrable for that time because no one has tried to solve it. This is not your real reason for wishing to end the case. What is your reason? Speak! I insist upon knowing the truth."

The other did not reply, but thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, and maintained a masterly silence. Irritated by this negative attitude, Claude placed his hands on the little man's shoulders and looked at him indignantly.

"I know what your reason is, Tait," he said rapidly; "it is not that you fear we may learn too little, but that you expect we will learn too much."