CHAPTER XXIX.
_Of the subtile means whereby Simon leads Mr. Godwin to doubt his wife._
Again must I draw upon matter of after-knowledge to show you how allthings came to pass on this fatal night.
When Mr. Godwin reached London, he went to Sir Peter Lely's house inLincoln's Inn, to know if he was still at Hatfield, and there learninghe was gone hence to Hampton, and no one answering for certainty when hewould return, Mr. Godwin, seeing that he might linger in London for daysto no purpose, and bethinking him how pale and sorrowful his dear wifewas when they parted, concludes to leave his picture at Sir Peter Lely'sand post back to Chislehurst, counting to give his wife a happysurprise.
About eight o'clock he reaches the Court, to find all shut and barred bythe prudent housekeeper, who, on letting him in (with many exclamationsof joy and wonder), falls presently to sighing and shaking her head, asshe tells how her mistress has lain abed since dinner, and is sick ofthe biliaries.
In great concern, Mr. Godwin takes the candle from Mrs. Butterby's hand,and hastes up to his wife's room. Opening the door softly, he enters, tofind the bed tumbled, indeed, but empty. He calls her in a soft voice,going into the next room, and, getting no reply, nor finding her there,he calls again, more loudly, and there is no response. Then, as hestands irresolute and amazed, he hears a knock at the door below, andconcluding that 'tis his wife, who has had occasion to go out, seekingfresh air for her comfort maybe, he runs swiftly down and opens, ere aservant can answer the call. And there he is faced, not by sweet Moll,but the jaundiced, wicked old Simon, gasping and panting for breath.
"Dost thee know," says he, fetching his breath at every other word,"dost thee know where the woman thy wife is?"
"Where is she?" cries Mr. Godwin, in quick alarm, thinking by thisfellow's sweating haste that some accident had befallen his dear wife.
"I will show thee where she is; aye, and what she is," gasps the oldman, and then, clasping his hands, he adds, "Verily, the Lord hath heardmy prayers and delivered mine enemies into my hand."
Mr. Godwin, who had stepped aside to catch up his hat from the table,where he had flung it on entering, stopped short, hearing this ferventnote of praise, and turning about, with misgivings of Simon's purpose,cries:
"What are your enemies to me?"
"Everything," cries Simon. "Mine enemies are thine, for as they havecheated me so have they cheated thee."
"Enough of this," cries Mr. Godwin. "Tell me where my wife is, and bedone with it."
"I say I will show thee where she is and what she is."
"Tell me where she is," cries Mr. Godwin, with passion.
"That is my secret, and too precious to throw away."
"I comprehend you, now," says Mr. Godwin, bethinking him of the fellow'sgreed. "You shall be paid. Tell me where she is and name your price."
"The price is this," returns the other, "thy promise to be secret, tocatch them in this trap, and give no opening for escape. Oh, I knowthem; they are as serpents, that slip through a man's fingers and turnto bite. They shall not serve me so again. Promise--"
"Nothing. Think you I'm of your own base kind, to deal with you intreachery? You had my answer before, when you would poison my mind,rascal. But," adds he, with fury, "you shall tell me where my wife is."
"I would tear the tongue from my throat ere it should undo the work ofProvidence. If they escape the present vengeance of Heaven, thee shaltanswer for it, not I. Yet I will give thee a clue to find this woman whohath fooled thee. Seek her where there are thieves and drunkards to mockat thy simplicity, to jeer at their easy gull, for I say again thy wifenever was in Barbary, but playing the farded, wanton--"
The patience with which Mr. Godwin had harkened to this tirade, doubtingby his passion that Simon was stark mad, gave way before this vileaspersion on his wife, and clutching the old man by the throat he flunghim across the threshold and shut the door upon him.
But where was his wife? That question was still uppermost in histhoughts. His sole misgiving was that accident had befallen her, andthat somewhere in the house he should find her lying cold andinsensible.
With this terror in his mind, he ran again upstairs. On the landing hewas met by Mrs. Butterby, who (prudent soul), at the first hint ofmisconduct on her mistress's part, had bundled the gaping servants up totheir rooms.
"Mercy on us, dear master!" says she. "Where can our dear lady be? For asurety she hath not left the house, for I locked all up, as she bade mewhen we carried up her supper, and had the key in my pocket when youknocked. 'See the house safe,' says she, poor soul, with a voice couldscarce be heared, 'and let no one disturb me, for I do feel most heavywith sleep.'"
Mr. Godwin passed into his wife's room and then into the next, lookingabout him in distraction.
"Lord! here's the sweet thing's nightgown," exclaims Mrs. Butterby, fromthe next room, whither she had followed Mr. Godwin. "But dear heart o'me, where's the ham gone?"
Mr. Godwin, entering from the next room, looked at her as doubtingwhether he or all the world had taken leave of their wits.
"And the pigeon pasty?" added Mrs. Butterby, regarding the table laidout beside her mistress's bed.
"And the cold partridge," adds she, in redoubled astonishment. "Why,here's nought left but my pudding, and that as cold as a stone."
Mr. Godwin, with the candle flaring in his hand, passed hastily by her,too wrought by fear to regard either the ludicrous or incomprehensibleside of Mrs. Butterby's consternation; and so, going down the corridoraway from the stairs, he comes to the door of the little back stairs,standing wide open, and seeming to bid him descend. He goes quicklydown, yet trembling with fear that he may find her at the bottom, brokenby a fall; but all he discovers is the bolt drawn and the door ajar. Ashe pushes it open a gust of wind blows out the light, and here he stoodin the darkness, eager to be doing, yet knowing not which way to turn orhow to act.
Clearly, his wife had gone out by this door, and so far this gavesupport to Simon's statement that he knew where she was; and with this aflame was kindled within him that seemed to sear his very soul. If Simonspoke truth in one particular, why should he lie in others? Why had hiswife refused to go with him to Hatfield? Why had she bid no one comenear her room? Why had she gone forth by this secret stair, alone? Then,cursing himself for the unnamed suspicion that could thus, though butfor a moment, disfigure the fair image that he worshipped, he askedhimself why his wife should not be free to follow a caprice. But wherewas she? Ever that question surged upwards in the tumult of histhoughts. Where should he seek her? Suddenly it struck him that I mighthelp him to find her, and acting instantly upon this hope he made hisway in breathless haste to the road, and so towards my lodge.
Ere he has gone a hundred yards, Simon steps out of the shadow, andstands before him like a shade in the dimness.
"I crave thy pardon, Master," says he, humbly. "I spoke like a fool inmy passion."
"If you will have my pardon, tell me where to find my wife; if not,stand aside," answers Mr. Godwin.
"Wilt thee hear me speak for two minutes if I promise to tell thee whereshe is and suffer thee to find her how thee willst. 'Twill save theetime."
"Speak," says Mr. Godwin.
"Thy wife is there," says Simon, under his breath, pointing towards myhouse. "She is revelling with Hopkins and Captain Evans,--men that shedid tramp the country with as vagabond players, ere the Spaniard taughtthem more profitable wickedness. Knock at the door,--which thee mayst besure is fast,--and while one holds thee in parley the rest will set theroom in order, and find a plausible tale to hoodwink thee afresh. Beguided by me, and thee shalt enter the house unknown to them, as I didan hour since, and there thee shalt know, of thine own senses, how thywife doth profit by thy blindness. If this truth be not proved, if theecanst then say that I have lied from malice, envy, and evil purpose,this knife," says he, showing a blade in his hand, "this knife will Ithrust into my own heart, though I stand the next instant before theEternal Judge, my hand
s wet with my own blood, to answer for my crime."
"Have you finished?" asks Mr. Godwin.
"No, not yet; I hold thee to thy promise," returns Simon, with eagerhaste. "Why do men lie? for their own profit. What profit have I inlying, when I pray thee to put my word to the proof and not take it ontrust, with the certainty of punishment even if the proof be doubtful.Thee believest this woman is what she pretends to be; what does thatshow?--your simplicity, not hers. How would women trick their husbandswithout such skill to blind them by a pretence of love and virtue?"
"Say no more," cries Mr. Godwin, hoarsely, "or I may strangle you beforeyou pass trial. Go your devilish way, I'll follow."
"Now God be praised for this!" cries Simon. "Softly, softly!" adds he,creeping in the shade of the bank towards the house.
But ere he has gone a dozen paces Mr. Godwin repents him again, withshame in his heart, and stopping, says:
"I'll go no further."
"Then thee doubtest my word no longer," whispers Simon, quickly. "'Tisfear that makest thee halt,--the fear of finding thy wife a wanton and atrickster."
"No, no, by God!"
"If that be so, then art thee bound to prove her innocent, that I maynot say to all the world, thee mightest have put her honour to the testand dared not--choosing rather to cheat thyself and be cheated by her,than know thyself dishonoured. If thee dost truly love this woman andbelieve her guiltless, then for her honour must thee put me--not her--tothis trial."
"No madman could reason like this," says Mr. Godwin. "I accept thistrial, and Heaven forgive me if I do wrong."