"Now, Lola, I wish you to tell me the truth."
"Ah, but I will. When you are kindness I tell you all."
"Do you know that you have done a wrong thing?"
"Pschutt," she said contemptuously. "I give that old mans knocks on the heads, but he is alive. Oh, yes, I did not kill him.
"I don't mean the assault, though that is bad enough. But your trying to destroy the register of the marriage.
"It is your fault," cried Lola, impetuously. "For loves of my George I did so. I wish you not to marry any but me."
"We can talk of that later, Lola. Answer me a few questions, and make no remarks."
"I will do what you say, my friend," said Lola, nodding. George thought for a moment. "How did you learn that Wargrove was the place where my parents were married?"
"I tell not that-indeed, I will not. It is my businesses."
"Mine also. You must tell."
"But I will not."
"For my sake, Lola."
"Ah, you want to know all, and then trick me. I will not tell."
"Then I will explain to you."
"Aha, you cannots-you know nothings at all. Pah! La, la, la, la."
George spoke sternly. "Lola, I know more than you give me credit for. I have seen the dagger."
This time he struck home, for she started. "What dagger?"
"The stiletto you left in Mrs. Jersey's room."
"I did nothings. I was not there."
"Yes you were. For all I know you may have killed the woman."
"But it is foolish you talk, George. I did not. She was frightened-oh, very much afraid."
"So much that she gave you the confession you asked for?"
"Ah, yes-yes-yes," cried Lola, then seeing she had betrayed herself, she began to be alarmed. "Ah, you will say nothing. I would not tell anys but my George. He loves me. He will not see me dead."
"Good heavens, Lola, did you kill the woman?"
"That fat ladys in black silk? Ah, no, I did not. But she was so afraid of the knife."
"You left her alive on that night?"
"Why, yes, my George. We part-oh, such good friends." Lola blew a kiss from her finger-tips. "She quite pleased, immense!"
"Well, Lola, as you have told so much, you must tell me all."
"There is nothing to say," she replied, turning sullen.
George rose. "Then I shall go away," he declared. "I came here to be your friend, Lola, and to save you from getting into further trouble. But if you will not be candid-" He moved to the door.
"What is candids? I know not, George." She sprang to her feet. "Ah, my heart, do not go. Soul of my soul, leave me not. I will do anythings what you ask of me."
"Then tell me the whole story of your visit to Mrs. Jersey."
"But you will marry Mees Vard!"
"I do that in any case. See here, Lola," he added artfully, "this marriage register which you wish to destroy does not matter now. My grandfather has acknowledged me as his heir."
She looked at him with wide eyes and pale cheeks. "And you will be milor-you will marry Mees Vard-you will-you will-" Her mouth began to work piteously like a child being reproved.
"I will always be your friend, Lola!"
"You will marry Mees Vard?" she persisted.
"Lola," he took her hand, "if we married we would never be happy. I and you are different people. Do you wish to see me happy?"
"Ah, yes-if I die I would have you happy," she sobbed.
"Then allow me to marry Miss Ward, and give me up."
"Ah, but it is asking much-always too much."
"Well," said George, a trifle cruelly, "you offered to die for me just now, yet to see me happy you won't deny yourself anything."
"Yes-yes-but it is all so quick, my dear. Give times-oh, give times till I become used." She sobbed for a moment, then dried her eyes and sat down briskly. "I am ready, my George. You shall be happy, but you must not forget poor Lola-ah, no!"
"Of course not," replied George, patting her hand. "Now tell me the story. Wait. Was it you mother who told you of my father's death?"
"Yes," assented Lola. "She often talked of your fathers,"
"I heard she was in love with him," said George, slowly.
Lola shrugged her shapely shoulders. "That I know not. My dear mother was handsome-oh, yes, and dark, and fond of gayness. She might have loved-eh-it is not impossibles."
"Did she ever hint who killed my father?"
Lola shook her head. "No. Never did she say anythings. He was found dead-stabbed-" she made a gesture, "that was all-all!"
Evidently she could tell him nothing, so George reverted to more immediate matters. "How about that night? You knew that I was going to Mrs. Jersey's on that night?"
"Ah, but yes. You did tell me."
"Then what made you come also? Was it to see me?"
Lola put her finger in her mouth and looked down. "No, my George. I did want that confessions of the fat old lady, to stop you being milor, and then I thought you would marry only poor Lola."
"How did you know about the confession?"
"That pig-man told me."
"Bawdsey? Why did he tell you?"
"Pschutt!" said Lola, contemptuously. "He loves me so, I can twist and twist him so," she made a rapid motion with her fingers. "We did talk of the death of your fathers. I lamented that my poor mother did loves your fathers unhappily, as I did love you. And I was enraged to think that your fathers had died. I did ask Bawdsey who made the stab-gave the death? – eh, it is, so I asked," she added, nodding. "He could not say, but he declares that Mrs. – what you call her-eh, but my friend, Mrs. – "
"Mrs. Jersey. Bawdsey declared that she knew?" Lola nodded. "It was so," she assented. "Mrs. – what you call that fat ladys-she write out all she know, – of your father's death and of his marriages. I say to myself that I would get that confession and learn where the marriage was made. Then I would burn the book that no one might learn. After I would say to you, that I could tell who killed your father if you made me madame your wife."
"That's a very pretty plot," said Brendon, not knowing whether to be angry with her wrong-doing or touched by a love that to gain him would not hesitate to commit a crime. "So far you have carried it out. You have the confession-"
Lola put her hand on her breast. "He is here," she said, nodding. "I carries him always-always!"
"Give it to me, Lola."
Her eyes opened in wide alarm. "Ah, no, you will not ask me. I keep him to myself all."
George saw that the moment was not propitious. But he was determined to get the confession before he left her. However, he begged her to continue her story. "How did you know the house?" he asked.
"It was the scarlet windows-"
"I remember. Bawdsey gave you that for guide."
"Bah! He knew not I was going," said Lola with a shrug. "I got out of him the fool-man all that I did want. I thought I would get to the fat ladys on the night you were with her, that I might have you for helps if she was enraged."
"It seems to me that you protected yourself very well."
"With the daggers-oh, yes. I said to myself that if my George did not come for the fogs, that Mrs. – what you say-Jarsey, oh, yes, would be enraged, and I would have trouble. I took the stiletto to save myself."
"How did you get into the house?"
"Wait, ah, wait! I did not dance all that night. I said I was ill and I came aways. I took the daggers and a cloak, and I went to the Square-it is not far from my houses-"
"No. You just turn the corner of the street," said Brendon. "Well?"
"I walked by the walls. It was after ten o'clocks. I walk round and round the Squares, and I then see a red lights. The door open-it was open, and many people came out of the houses. The fat lady was on the steps waving her hands-so-" Lola waved her hand. "A crowd was around. I came into the crowd, and when the fat lady was down shaking with the handshake, I did slip into the house."
"That was clever of you," said George, wondering at the dexterity with which Lola had managed to enter without exciting suspicion. "And then what did you do? Did you meet any one?"
"Ah, but no. I ran into a place; there was a room with a light, and that I did go into-"
"Mrs. Jersey's sitting-room," murmured George. "Yes?"
"I was afraid to be thrown out, my dear, and I hided behind a curtain of the window. The fat lady she did come in and close the door. She talked to herself of Lord Derrington coming, and did seem enraged at him wishing to come-you understand?"
"Yes. What then?"
"A leetle boy did come in with wine and cakes. She did send him away, being angry, and did close the door. She took from a box-"
"A green box, Lola?"
"Yes, a green box-she did take a blue-what you, call-paper."
"A blue envelope?"
"Ah, yes, it is so, and she looked at a paper-a white paper she took from the envelope. She laughed, and said that milor would love to have this. I say to myself behind the curtains: It is the confessions, I will have it. Then she did put it in the envelopes and leave it on the tables. It was near me. I could steal-"
"And you did!" said George, impatiently.
"But no, my George. I did try, and madame she saw my arm. With a cry she leap to the doors. I come out and, say that I wish to talk of the deaths of Monsieur Vanes. She turns most white, and did not cry no more. Then she ask me what I want-"
"You needn't tell all in detail, Lola. Be as short as possible."
"Oh, well-but yes, assuredly. I told madame I was of San Remo, and did talk of my dear mother, and of her love for Monsieur Vane. But this pig-womans insult my mother. I become enraged, I bring my dagger and wave it so-" again Lola made a dramatic gesture. "I say that I kill her. She fall on her knees and hide her face. Then I did take the confessions out of the blue envelopes and hide it-"
"That was very clever of you, Lola. Did Mrs. Jersey see?"
"Ah, but no she did not. I take it when she was with the eyes covered. Then having all what I was desired, and seeing her so afraid, I had the contempt look you. I say, 'There, there,' and I throw the dagger at her feets. Then I go to the door and say I would depart. She beg me to stop. I did stop, and we talk of San Remo, and of my mother. I say that you were my love, and that Monsieur Vane was the father of you-"
"Then she knew who I was on that night?"
"Ah, yes, but she did. I say you wish to see her the next day. She say, 'I will tell him nothing, and now go, for I have to see a great gentlemans.' I was quite happy."
"Did she not miss the confession?"
"No! I said nothing of wanting that. It was in my pocket. The blue envelope was on the table. She never thought but what it was within, Then she ask me to say nothing to any one about San Remo, and we part quite happy. She allowed me out of the door, and closed it again, oh, so softly. I saw her no more."
"You left the dagger behind?"
"It was on the floors where I threw it. I wished to get away with the confessions, lest she should call me thieves. I did not wait for to take the dagger. I departed. That is all."
"Humph!" said George. The story seemed likely enough. After letting Lola out of the house, Mrs. Jersey then came to see if he and Train were in bed. Expecting Lord Derrington, and knowing from Lola who he was, she no doubt expected George to interrupt the interview. But finding him-as she thought in bed-she departed satisfied. Then she met Margery, and after locking her in her room, went down to meet her death. It was eleven when all this happened, and Bawdsey in the coat of Lord Derrington arrived close upon twelve. Therefore, as Lola left Mrs. Jersey alive and Bawdsey found her dead, she must have been killed in the interval, and whomsoever had done this had used the dagger left by Lola.
However, George had learned all he wished to know in the mean time, and it only remained to get the confession from Lola. She refused to give it up. George entreated, cajoled, stormed, insisted, she still held out. "No, I will not, I will not," she kept saying.
Finally he hit on a solution of the difficulty. "If you do not give it to me it will be taken from you when you go to prison."
"Ah, but will it?" cried Lola, wide-eyed with alarm.
"Certainly, and will probably be published in the papers. Keep it if you like, Lola, but don't blame me if you get into trouble over it. I assure you if you keep it they will take it."
Lola pulled a white packet from her breast, and ran with it to the fire. "They will not have it. I burn-I burn," and she threw the papers on the fire. George shot past her, snatched them out before they could catch alight, and thrust them into his pocket. Lola turned on him like a tigress, and he thought she would strike him. She seemed inclined to do so. Then unexpectedly she threw up her arms and fell into a chair weeping. "It is the end-you love me no more-we part-we part. The confessions will part us, all-all, alas!"
CHAPTER XXI
THE CONFESSION OF A JEALOUS WOMAN
George returned to town with the confession of Mrs. Jersey in his pocket. On arriving at the Liverpool Street Station he wrote a note to Kowlaski telling him of Lola's plight, and advising him to engage counsel for her defense. He added that he would come around the next day to see Kowlaski and discuss what could be done toward extricating Lola from the mess she had involved herself in. Having thus done what he could, Brendon took the underground railway to Kensington, and alighted at the High Street Station. In another half-hour he was in his rooms.
After making a good meal, for he felt the need of food to sustain him, he ordered coffee, and sat down to read the manuscript of Mrs. Jersey. The coffee was brought, George lighted his pipe, and having poked the fire into a blaze, made himself comfortable.
The confession of the wretched woman who had come to so tragic an end, was written on several sheets of foolscap loosely pinned together. Her caligraphy was vile, and George had great difficulty in making out some of the words. Also the English was not faultless, but good grammar and fine writing were scarcely to be expected from a woman in the position of Eliza Stokes.
But she wrote in a most cold-blooded way, and seemingly exulting in her wickedness. All through her confession ran a venomous strain of deadly hatred toward George's mother, and indeed against any woman who paid attention to Vane. Jenny Howard was not spared, and the woman Velez, "who kept an oil-shop," sneered Mrs. Jersey, was mentioned. When Brendon discovered that Mrs. Jersey had Italian blood in her veins he saw perfectly well whence she got her savage nature and undisciplined affections. She was like a wild beast let loose among more civilized animals, and the wonder was that with such a nature she had not committed more crimes than those she confessed to. The woman was a dangerous creature, and Brendon when he laid down the manuscript thought it just as well that she had been removed even by the violent means which Providence permitted.
"My parents were of humble station," began Mrs. Jersey, abruptly. "I believe my mother was a lady's maid. She married my supposed father, who was a butler. I say 'my supposed father' as I have reason to believe that I was the daughter of a certain Italian count who had loved and betrayed my mother. In her moments of rage my mother would taunt my supposed father with this, but when calm she always denied that there was any truth. When I grew old enough to understand she rebuked me for asking about the matter. 'You are my daughter,' she said abruptly, 'and the daughter of Samuel Stokes, who is the biggest fool and the greatest craven I know.'
"It will be seen that there was no love lost between my parents. My father Stokes-as I may call him, though I believe the count was my real sire-was always very kind to me, and shielded me from my mother's rage. She treated me very cruelly, and when fifteen I was glad to go out as a scullery-maid so as to escape her persecution. Shortly after I took up life on my own account she died in a fit of violent rage, during which she broke a blood-vessel. I think Stokes was glad when she died. She made his life a misery when she lived, and tormented every one around her. If I have faults, it is not to be expected that I could inherit a decent nature from such a mother. I never loved her, and when she died I did not shed a single tear. I remember singing at my work on the day I received the news. One of my fellow-servants asked me why I was so gay? I replied that I had heard of my mother's death. After that they hated me, and I had to leave my situation. But had any one of them possessed such a mother, any one of them would have been as gay and relieved as I was. So much for my mother.
"As for my presumed father Stokes, I saw very little of him. He retired from business and bought a public-house. Then he married again, and was not inclined to see much of me. I did not mind, as I never loved him in spite of his kindness. I dare say I should have returned his affection, but my mother had beaten all love out of me.
"It is needless to give my early life in detail. I rose from scullery-maid to housemaid. Then I became parlor-maid in a suburban villa, where the wages were poor and the food was bad. I took charge of children when not doing housework, and managed to get on. But I was ambitious. I wished to get among the servants of the aristocracy. A friend of mine who was maid to the Duchess of-taught me her duties, and I procured a situation. I pleased my mistress, and she promised to do much for me. However, she died, and I was thrown on the world. I saw an advertisement for a lady's maid, and got the situation. It was in this way that I became the servant of that woman whom I hated so deeply.
"She was called Rosina Lockwood, and was no better born than myself. Her father was a low man who taught singing, and she appeared herself on the stage. I never thought she was beautiful, myself. She had good hair, and her complexion was passable, but her figure was bad, and she had no brains. An inane, silly, foolish woman. How Percy Vane could have eloped with her beats me. But men are such fools. He would not look at me, yet I was ten times as lovely as this singing-woman, and quite as well born. Oh, how I hated her!
"At first I rather liked Miss Lockwood. She was kind to me in her silly way, and the gentlemen who were in love with her gave me plenty of money to deliver notes and other things. There was one gentleman who was the best of them all-and the biggest fool over her blue eyes and fair hair. His name was Ireland, and he had plenty of money. He came to learn singing from old Lockwood simply to be near her, and proposed three times, to my knowledge. But she would have nothing to do with him, which was foolish, as he had money, and she could have twisted him round her finger. Why he loved her so and what he saw in her I can't say. She had nothing attractive about her, so far as I could see.
"I was a handsome girl in those days, though I say it myself. But if a woman is good-looking, why shouldn't she say so? I had a perfect figure, and a complexion like cream and roses. My hair was as black as night, and my eyes were sparkling and large. I taught myself to read and write, and I learned French. Also I learned to play the piano, and to conduct myself like a lady, as I always was. I often dreamed that I would marry a gentleman, and I could have done so but that my foolish heart was captured by the only man who would have nothing to do with it, or with me.
"I never loved till I set eyes on him. There was a footman who wanted to marry me; to join our savings and set up in a public-house. But I told him I was born for better things. Then a coachman asked me to be his wife, but I hated a man who had to do with horses. Oh, I had plenty of offers, as a handsome girl should. But I knew my own value, and looked about for the gentleman who would give me my rightful position as a lady. From my Italian father I inherited aristocratic tastes, and I was not going to remain a low, vulgar common servant all my life, not me.
"Then he came to the house. Oh, my adored one, my idol, my angel, how magnificent and beautiful thou wast. Percy was his dear name, and his blood was very blue. Lord Derrington was his father, a most aristocratic nobleman, who was an old brute, from my experience of him. But he was of high rank I don't deny, and Percy had the blood of heroes in his veins. He came to take lessons in singing. But after a time I saw that he was in love with my mistress. Afterward I found out that he had seen her at a concert and had fallen in love with her. I don't believe it. Who could have loved that bad figure and that silly brain? Now a woman like myself-but he never cared for me, although I adored him from the first time I set eyes on his manly form. It was her arts that captured him, else he would have turned from her to me. But he never did.
"How handsome and fascinating was my hero Percy Vane. Fair hair and blue eyes, and the figure of a Life-Guardsman-just the kind of man I liked. He was kind to me-for her sake, I suppose-and gave me money and presents. She said she loved him, and used to make me sick with talking of him. I let her think I was her dear friend, as if she had known my true feelings she would have sent me away, and then I would never have seen my hero again. I made the best of my position, for at least I saw him as often as she did, and that was something. They both looked on me as their friend. Had they only known how I hated her, and loved him!
"Lord Derrington was angry with Percy for loving my mistress, and I don't wonder at it, a low singing-woman. Percy had some money of his own, inherited from his mother, and he proposed an elopement. He said that Lord Derrington could not leave the estates away from him, and that some day he would come in for the title. She never lived to be Lady Derrington. I was glad of that. I should have killed her had she reached that pitch of splendor. Her position should have been mine. But it never was.
"Well, they eloped. After singing at a concert in St. James's Hall, he met her outside, and took her to Liverpool Street Station. I was waiting there with the luggage. We went down to a place called Wargrove, in Essex, and the very next day they were married in the church of that parish. I was furious, but what could I do? Had I told Lord Derrington, he might have stopped the marriage, but Percy would never have forgiven me, and I did not wish to lose sight of him. As Mrs. Vane's maid, I had chances of seeing him daily, and of basking in the light of his eyes. It was weak of me, but I loved him so dearly that I would have done anything simply to be in his presence. But I wish now that I had prevented the marriage. Since I could not get him, I didn't see why she should bear off the prize. But I was a girl then, and sentimental and foolish. And she was a cat, as she always was.
"Afterward we went to Paris, and from that place Percy wrote to tell his grandfather that he was married. I know he did not mention the place, for the letter was given to me to post, and I opened it. I never gave it a thought at the moment, but afterward Percy's mistake in not telling where the marriage had taken place did me a lot of good. I should not now be writing in this house, but for that lucky omission. Lord Derrington would have nothing to do with his son, and there was trouble with Mr. Lockwood.
"But I don't think they minded much. Percy was wrapped up in the creature, and she loved him in her silly simpering way. I pretended to be quite happy, but I inwardly was raging all the time. For his sake I put up with the unpleasant position, and I never received my reward, never, never, never. Oh, how some women's hearts are broken by the cruelty and neglect of men.
"I lived with the two of them during their married life. A son was born, and she died. I was glad when she died, and I was sorry she left the boy. Percy was wrapped up in the child, and gave him to me to nurse. Mrs. Vane was buried in Père la Chaise, and then Percy, with myself and the baby, went to Monte Carlo. He gambled there in order to forget his grief-though I don't see what he had to moan over, seeing what a silly fool his late wife was. Percy lost money, and wrote to his father, who declined to help him. Then he went to Italy and wandered about. Now that he was free I hoped to marry him. When not nursing that horrid child-he was called George after his maternal grandfather, and was a scrubby little beast. Some said he was a fine child. I could not see it, myself. He was her child, and that was enough to make me hate him as I did. But as I say, when not nursing him, I devoted myself to study so as to be worthy of the time when Percy would marry me. I knew that the future Lady Derrington would hold a high rank, and I qualified myself to fill the position gracefully. I did work. I learned arithmetic, and could write beautifully. I talked Italian and French like a native. I got an old artist to teach me to paint in water-colors, and I bought a book which taught the manners of good society. Also I tried to dress well, and do my hair becomingly. Percy saw the change in me, and congratulated me on the improvement which had taken place in me since leaving England. Had he only known that it was for his sake I had improved!
"As to that child, I should have liked to drown it, or to have given it to gypsies. As Lady Derrington, I did not wish to be troubled with her brat. Besides, Percy loved the boy so, that he used to make me envious the way he nursed him. But had I got rid of the child-and I thought of a thousand safe ways I could have done so-I should only have been sent away, and then some woman would have got hold of him. I thought it best to bear with my aching pain and put up with the child so that I might be near to watch over Percy.
"The end of it came in Milan. We were stopping at the Hôtel de Ville, and there was a waiter who fell in love with me. He was an English boy, called George Rates-a horrid, scrubby, red-haired, nasty, pale-faced creature, who worried me to death. Besides, he was younger than I was, and I wished for a husband to protect me. I should have had to look after George Rates, whereas Percy, in the days to come, would look after me. Besides, I felt that it was an impertinence for a low waiter to expect me to marry him-me, who had done so much to improve myself, and who looked forward to taking proud rank among the British aristocracy.
"At first I laughed at him, but he became such a nuisance that I told him plainly that I would have nothing to do with him. He then accused me of being in love with my master. I acknowledged it proudly. Why should I not? A woman should glory in her love. I did! I told George Rates that I worshiped the very ground Percy walked on; I gave my passionate feelings full vent, and bore him to the ground under the storm of my indignation. He told the other servants, and they insulted me, especially the English ones, as there were two or three in the hotel. I was persecuted, but I bore all for his dear sake. Then it came to his ears. Percy heard what I had said to George Rates. He called me in: he accused me of making him ridiculous, of being out of my mind, of a thousand and one cruel things. I lost my head. I told him how I loved him. I knelt at his feet. I implored that he would reward my love-my long, long sufferings. He laughed in my tearful face. At that moment I hated him, but not for long. My life was bound up in his. When he dismissed me, I thought that my heart was broken.
"I was dismissed. He procured a new nurse from England-a Scotch hussy, as ugly as she was silly. I saw her often in Milan after my dismissal. Oh, that time-oh, those weary days! I wept. I prayed. I moaned. I was a wreck. With what money I had I went to a convent near Milan, and stopped there for a month. But I could not remain away from him. I came out. He was gone. I went to inquire at the hotel. He had gone to Rome. Afterward a message came that all letters were to be sent to San Remo. I determined to go to San Remo, and to be near him. I would have died else. George Rates, who was still in love with me, proved a willing tool. I could not get to San Remo without money. He offered to advance me the railway fare, and he got me a situation in the Hôtel d'Angleterre as housemaid. He also was going there for the season as a waiter. I said that if he took me to San Remo I would marry him. He did so, and I-but that comes later. Sufficient it is to say that George believed in my promise, and that I found myself again in the presence-the heavenly presence-of my adored Percy.
"But I had only come to submit myself to fresh anguish. He saw me, but took no notice of me. I was afraid to follow him too closely lest he should ask the police to interfere. George Rates was jealous, too, and I had to consider him, as, failing Percy rewarding my love I could fall back on George. He was always useful to supply the money for me to get back to England, where I was certain of a situation. I handled the situation in a masterly manner, and contrived to see Percy without his seeing me, and without exciting too openly the jealousy of George Rates.
"But it was the horrid girl that caused me pain. She was one of the daughters of General Howard, whom Percy had met at Como. The two girls both laid themselves out to catch my darling. But their arts did not succeed at Como. Jenny was the one who tried hardest to get him, but Violet took her chance also. When they came to San Remo they stopped at the Hôtel d'Angleterre. I looked after their room, and, knowing what they were, I made myself their friend. They knew me as the former nurse of Percy's horrid, little son, and wondered how I came to be a housemaid. I told some story which satisfied them. I forget what it was. They believed in me thoroughly, and they found out that I loved Percy. Then they were amused, and I hated them for it. They told Percy that I was watching him, and he came to the hotel no more. But I still pretended to be their friend, for my own ends. There was a masked ball coming off, and the Miss Howards wished to go unbeknown to their father. I entered into the spirit of the joke. I procured them two blue dominoes and each a sprig of yellow holly, so that they might know one another. They went to the ball thus disguised.