CHAPTER VI
I walked to the railway station accompanied, it is needless to say, byGabriel Betteredge. I had the letter in my pocket, and the nightgownsafely packed in a little bag--both to be submitted, before I slept thatnight, to the investigation of Mr. Bruff.
We left the house in silence. For the first time in my experience ofhim, I found old Betteredge in my company without a word to say to me.Having something to say on my side, I opened the conversation as soon aswe were clear of the lodge gates.
"Before I go to London," I began, "I have two questions to ask you. Theyrelate to myself, and I believe they will rather surprise you."
"If they will put that poor creature's letter out of my head, Mr.Franklin, they may do anything else they like with me. Please to beginsurprising me, sir, as soon as you can."
"My first question, Betteredge, is this. Was I drunk on the night ofRachel's Birthday?"
"YOU drunk!" exclaimed the old man. "Why it's the great defect of yourcharacter, Mr. Franklin that you only drink with your dinner, and nevertouch a drop of liquor afterwards!"
"But the birthday was a special occasion. I might have abandoned myregular habits, on that night of all others."
Betteredge considered for a moment.
"You did go out of your habits, sir," he said. "And I'll tell you how.You looked wretchedly ill--and we persuaded you to have a drop of brandyand water to cheer you up a little."
"I am not used to brandy and water. It is quite possible----"
"Wait a bit, Mr. Franklin. I knew you were not used, too. I poured youout half a wineglass-full of our fifty year old Cognac; and (more shamefor me!) I drowned that noble liquor in nigh on a tumbler-full of coldwater. A child couldn't have got drunk on it--let alone a grown man!"
I knew I could depend on his memory, in a matter of this kind. It wasplainly impossible that I could have been intoxicated. I passed on tothe second question.
"Before I was sent abroad, Betteredge, you saw a great deal of me when Iwas a boy? Now tell me plainly, do you remember anything strange of me,after I had gone to bed at night? Did you ever discover me walking in mysleep?"
Betteredge stopped, looked at me for a moment, nodded his head, andwalked on again.
"I see your drift now, Mr. Franklin!" he said "You're trying toaccount for how you got the paint on your nightgown, without knowing ityourself. It won't do, sir. You're miles away still from getting at thetruth. Walk in your sleep? You never did such a thing in your life!"
Here again, I felt that Betteredge must be right. Neither at home norabroad had my life ever been of the solitary sort. If I had been asleep-walker, there were hundreds on hundreds of people who must havediscovered me, and who, in the interest of my own safety, would havewarned me of the habit, and have taken precautions to restrain it.
Still, admitting all this, I clung--with an obstinacy which was surelynatural and excusable, under the circumstances--to one or other ofthe only two explanations that I could see which accounted for theunendurable position in which I then stood. Observing that I was not yetsatisfied, Betteredge shrewdly adverted to certain later events in thehistory of the Moonstone; and scattered both my theories to the wind atonce and for ever.
"Let's try it another way, sir," he said. "Keep your own opinion, andsee how far it will take you towards finding out the truth. If we are tobelieve the nightgown--which I don't for one--you not only smearedoff the paint from the door, without knowing it, but you also took theDiamond without knowing it. Is that right, so far?"
"Quite right. Go on."
"Very good, sir. We'll say you were drunk, or walking in your sleep,when you took the jewel. That accounts for the night and morning, afterthe birthday. But how does it account for what has happened since thattime? The Diamond has been taken to London, since that time. The Diamondhas been pledged to Mr. Luker, since that time. Did you do those twothings, without knowing it, too? Were you drunk when I saw you off inthe pony-chaise on that Saturday evening? And did you walk in your sleepto Mr. Luker's, when the train had brought you to your journey's end?Excuse me for saying it, Mr. Franklin, but this business has so upsetyou, that you're not fit yet to judge for yourself. The sooner you layyour head alongside Mr. Bruff's head, the sooner you will see your wayout of the dead-lock that has got you now."
We reached the station, with only a minute or two to spare.
I hurriedly gave Betteredge my address in London, so that he might writeto me, if necessary; promising, on my side, to inform him of any newswhich I might have to communicate. This done, and just as I was biddinghim farewell, I happened to glance towards the book-and-newspaper stall.There was Mr. Candy's remarkable-looking assistant again, speaking tothe keeper of the stall! Our eyes met at the same moment. Ezra Jenningstook off his hat to me. I returned the salute, and got into a carriagejust as the train started. It was a relief to my mind, I suppose, todwell on any subject which appeared to be, personally, of no sort ofimportance to me. At all events, I began the momentous journey backwhich was to take me to Mr. Bruff, wondering--absurdly enough, Iadmit--that I should have seen the man with the piebald hair twice inone day!
The hour at which I arrived in London precluded all hope of my findingMr. Bruff at his place of business. I drove from the railway to hisprivate residence at Hampstead, and disturbed the old lawyer dozingalone in his dining-room, with his favourite pug-dog on his lap, and hisbottle of wine at his elbow.
I shall best describe the effect which my story produced on the mind ofMr. Bruff by relating his proceedings when he had heard it to the end.He ordered lights, and strong tea, to be taken into his study; and hesent a message to the ladies of his family, forbidding them to disturbus on any pretence whatever. These preliminaries disposed of, he firstexamined the nightgown, and then devoted himself to the reading ofRosanna Spearman's letter.
The reading completed, Mr. Bruff addressed me for the first time sincewe had been shut up together in the seclusion of his own room.
"Franklin Blake," said the old gentleman, "this is a very seriousmatter, in more respects than one. In my opinion, it concerns Rachelquite as nearly as it concerns you. Her extraordinary conduct is nomystery NOW. She believes you have stolen the Diamond."
I had shrunk from reasoning my own way fairly to that revoltingconclusion. But it had forced itself on me, nevertheless. My resolutionto obtain a personal interview with Rachel, rested really and truly onthe ground just stated by Mr. Bruff.
"The first step to take in this investigation," the lawyer proceeded,"is to appeal to Rachel. She has been silent all this time, frommotives which I (who know her character) can readily understand. Itis impossible, after what has happened, to submit to that silence anylonger. She must be persuaded to tell us, or she must be forced to tellus, on what grounds she bases her belief that you took the Moonstone.The chances are, that the whole of this case, serious as it seems now,will tumble to pieces, if we can only break through Rachel's inveteratereserve, and prevail upon her to speak out."
"That is a very comforting opinion for _me_," I said. "I own I should liketo know."
"You would like to know how I can justify it," inter-posed Mr. Bruff. "Ican tell you in two minutes. Understand, in the first place, that Ilook at this matter from a lawyer's point of view. It's a question ofevidence, with me. Very well. The evidence breaks down, at the outset,on one important point."
"On what point?"
"You shall hear. I admit that the mark of the name proves the nightgownto be yours. I admit that the mark of the paint proves the nightgownto have made the smear on Rachel's door. But what evidence is there toprove that you are the person who wore it, on the night when the Diamondwas lost?"
The objection struck me, all the more forcibly that it reflected anobjection which I had felt myself.
"As to this," pursued the lawyer taking up Rosanna Spearman'sconfession, "I can understand that the letter is a distressing one toYOU. I can understand that you may hesitate to analyse it from a purelyimpartial point of view. But I a
m not in your position. I can bring myprofessional experience to bear on this document, just as I should bringit to bear on any other. Without alluding to the woman's career as athief, I will merely remark that her letter proves her to have been anadept at deception, on her own showing; and I argue from that, that I amjustified in suspecting her of not having told the whole truth. I won'tstart any theory, at present, as to what she may or may not have done.I will only say that, if Rachel has suspected you ON THE EVIDENCE OF THENIGHTGOWN ONLY, the chances are ninety-nine to a hundred that RosannaSpearman was the person who showed it to her. In that case, there is thewoman's letter, confessing that she was jealous of Rachel, confessingthat she changed the roses, confessing that she saw a glimpse of hopefor herself, in the prospect of a quarrel between Rachel and you. Idon't stop to ask who took the Moonstone (as a means to her end,Rosanna Spearman would have taken fifty Moonstones)--I only say thatthe disappearance of the jewel gave this reclaimed thief who was in lovewith you, an opportunity of setting you and Rachel at variance for therest of your lives. She had not decided on destroying herself, THEN,remember; and, having the opportunity, I distinctly assert that it wasin her character, and in her position at the time, to take it. What doyou say to that?"
"Some such suspicion," I answered, "crossed my own mind, as soon as Iopened the letter."
"Exactly! And when you had read the letter, you pitied the poorcreature, and couldn't find it in your heart to suspect her. Does youcredit, my dear sir--does you credit!"
"But suppose it turns out that I did wear the nightgown? What then?"
"I don't see how the fact can be proved," said Mr. Bruff. "But assumingthe proof to be possible, the vindication of your innocence would beno easy matter. We won't go into that, now. Let us wait and see whetherRachel hasn't suspected you on the evidence of the nightgown only."
"Good God, how coolly you talk of Rachel suspecting me!" I broke out."What right has she to suspect Me, on any evidence, of being a thief?"
"A very sensible question, my dear sir. Rather hotly put--but well worthconsidering for all that. What puzzles you, puzzles me too. Search yourmemory, and tell me this. Did anything happen while you were staying atthe house--not, of course, to shake Rachel's belief in your honour--but,let us say, to shake her belief (no matter with how little reason) inyour principles generally?"
I started, in ungovernable agitation, to my feet. The lawyer's questionreminded me, for the first time since I had left England, that somethingHAD happened.
In the eighth chapter of Betteredge's Narrative, an allusion will befound to the arrival of a foreigner and a stranger at my aunt's house,who came to see me on business. The nature of his business was this.
I had been foolish enough (being, as usual, straitened for money at thetime) to accept a loan from the keeper of a small restaurant in Paris,to whom I was well known as a customer. A time was settled betweenus for paying the money back; and when the time came, I found it (asthousands of other honest men have found it) impossible to keep myengagement. I sent the man a bill. My name was unfortunately too wellknown on such documents: he failed to negotiate it. His affairs hadfallen into disorder, in the interval since I had borrowed of him;bankruptcy stared him in the face; and a relative of his, a Frenchlawyer, came to England to find me, and to insist upon the payment of mydebt. He was a man of violent temper; and he took the wrong way withme. High words passed on both sides; and my aunt and Rachel wereunfortunately in the next room, and heard us. Lady Verinder came in,and insisted on knowing what was the matter. The Frenchman produced hiscredentials, and declared me to be responsible for the ruin of a poorman, who had trusted in my honour. My aunt instantly paid him themoney, and sent him off. She knew me better of course than to takethe Frenchman's view of the transaction. But she was shocked at mycarelessness, and justly angry with me for placing myself in a position,which, but for her interference, might have become a very disgracefulone. Either her mother told her, or Rachel heard what passed--I can'tsay which. She took her own romantic, high-flown view of the matter. Iwas "heartless"; I was "dishonourable"; I had "no principle"; therewas "no knowing what I might do next"--in short, she said some of theseverest things to me which I had ever heard from a young lady's lips.The breach between us lasted for the whole of the next day. The dayafter, I succeeded in making my peace, and thought no more of it. HadRachel reverted to this unlucky accident, at the critical moment when myplace in her estimation was again, and far more seriously, assailed?Mr. Bruff, when I had mentioned the circumstances to him, answered thequestion at once in the affirmative.
"It would have its effect on her mind," he said gravely. "And I wish,for your sake, the thing had not happened. However, we have discoveredthat there WAS a predisposing influence against you--and there is oneuncertainty cleared out of our way, at any rate. I see nothing more thatwe can do now. Our next step in this inquiry must be the step that takesus to Rachel."
He rose, and began walking thoughtfully up and down the room. Twice, Iwas on the point of telling him that I had determined on seeing Rachelpersonally; and twice, having regard to his age and his character, Ihesitated to take him by surprise at an unfavourable moment.
"The grand difficulty is," he resumed, "how to make her show her wholemind in this matter, without reserve. Have you any suggestions tooffer?"
"I have made up my mind, Mr. Bruff, to speak to Rachel myself."
"You!" He suddenly stopped in his walk, and looked at me as if hethought I had taken leave of my senses. "You, of all the people in theworld!" He abruptly checked himself, and took another turn in the room."Wait a little," he said. "In cases of this extraordinary kind, the rashway is sometimes the best way." He considered the question for a momentor two, under that new light, and ended boldly by a decision in myfavour. "Nothing venture, nothing have," the old gentleman resumed. "Youhave a chance in your favour which I don't possess--and you shall be thefirst to try the experiment."
"A chance in my favour?" I repeated, in the greatest surprise.
Mr. Bruff's face softened, for the first time, into a smile.
"This is how it stands," he said. "I tell you fairly, I don't trust yourdiscretion, and I don't trust your temper. But I do trust in Rachel'sstill preserving, in some remote little corner of her heart, a certainperverse weakness for YOU. Touch that--and trust to the consequences forthe fullest disclosures that can flow from a woman's lips! The questionis--how are you to see her?"
"She has been a guest of yours at this house," I answered. "May Iventure to suggest--if nothing was said about me beforehand--that Imight see her here?"
"Cool!" said Mr. Bruff. With that one word of comment on the reply thatI had made to him, he took another turn up and down the room.
"In plain English," he said, "my house is to be turned into a trap tocatch Rachel; with a bait to tempt her, in the shape of an invitationfrom my wife and daughters. If you were anybody else but Franklin Blake,and if this matter was one atom less serious than it really is, I shouldrefuse point-blank. As things are, I firmly believe Rachel will liveto thank me for turning traitor to her in my old age. Consider me youraccomplice. Rachel shall be asked to spend the day here; and you shallreceive due notice of it."
"When? To-morrow?"
"To-morrow won't give us time enough to get her answer. Say the dayafter."
"How shall I hear from you?"
"Stay at home all the morning and expect me to call on you."
I thanked him for the inestimable assistance which he was rendering tome, with the gratitude that I really felt; and, declining a hospitableinvitation to sleep that night at Hampstead, returned to my lodgings inLondon.
Of the day that followed, I have only to say that it was the longest dayof my life. Innocent as I knew myself to be, certain as I was that theabominable imputation which rested on me must sooner or later be clearedoff, there was nevertheless a sense of self-abasement in my mind whichinstinctively disinclined me to see any of my friends. We often hear(almost invariably, however, from superficial obs
ervers) that guilt canlook like innocence. I believe it to be infinitely the truer axiom ofthe two that innocence can look like guilt. I caused myself to be deniedall day, to every visitor who called; and I only ventured out undercover of the night.
The next morning, Mr. Bruff surprised me at the breakfast-table. Hehanded me a large key, and announced that he felt ashamed of himself forthe first time in his life.
"Is she coming?"
"She is coming to-day, to lunch and spend the afternoon with my wife andmy girls."
"Are Mrs. Bruff, and your daughters, in the secret?"
"Inevitably. But women, as you may have observed, have no principles. Myfamily don't feel my pangs of conscience. The end being to bring youand Rachel together again, my wife and daughters pass over the meansemployed to gain it, as composedly as if they were Jesuits."
"I am infinitely obliged to them. What is this key?"
"The key of the gate in my back-garden wall. Be there at three thisafternoon. Let yourself into the garden, and make your way in by theconservatory door. Cross the small drawing-room, and open the doorin front of you which leads into the music-room. There, you will findRachel--and find her, alone."
"How can I thank you!"
"I will tell you how. Don't blame me for what happens afterwards."
With those words, he went out.
I had many weary hours still to wait through. To while away the time, Ilooked at my letters. Among them was a letter from Betteredge.
I opened it eagerly. To my surprise and disappointment, it began withan apology warning me to expect no news of any importance. In the nextsentence the everlasting Ezra Jennings appeared again! He had stoppedBetteredge on the way out of the station, and had asked who I was.Informed on this point, he had mentioned having seen me to his masterMr. Candy. Mr. Candy hearing of this, had himself driven over toBetteredge, to express his regret at our having missed each other. Hehad a reason for wishing particularly to speak to me; and when I wasnext in the neighbourhood of Frizinghall, he begged I would let himknow. Apart from a few characteristic utterances of the Betteredgephilosophy, this was the sum and substance of my correspondent's letter.The warm-hearted, faithful old man acknowledged that he had written"mainly for the pleasure of writing to me."
I crumpled up the letter in my pocket, and forgot it the moment after,in the all-absorbing interest of my coming interview with Rachel.
As the clock of Hampstead church struck three, I put Mr. Bruff's keyinto the lock of the door in the wall. When I first stepped into thegarden, and while I was securing the door again on the inner side, Iown to having felt a certain guilty doubtfulness about what mighthappen next. I looked furtively on either side of me; suspicious ofthe presence of some unexpected witness in some unknown corner of thegarden. Nothing appeared, to justify my apprehensions. The walkswere, one and all, solitudes; and the birds and the bees were the onlywitnesses.
I passed through the garden; entered the conservatory; and crossed thesmall drawing-room. As I laid my hand on the door opposite, I heard afew plaintive chords struck on the piano in the room within. She hadoften idled over the instrument in this way, when I was staying at hermother's house. I was obliged to wait a little, to steady myself. Thepast and present rose side by side, at that supreme moment--and thecontrast shook me.
After the lapse of a minute, I roused my manhood, and opened the door.