The Law and the Lady

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER XXXIII. A SPECIMEN OF MY FOLLY.

  THE incomprehensible submission of Scotchmen to the ecclesiasticaltyranny of their Established Church has produced--not unnaturally, asI think--a very mistaken impression of the national character in thepopular mind.

  Public opinion looks at the institution of "The Sabbath" in Scotland;finds it unparalleled in Christendom for its senseless and savageausterity; sees a nation content to be deprived by its priesthood ofevery social privilege on one day in every week--forbidden to travel;forbidden to telegraph; forbidden to eat a hot dinner; forbidden toread a newspaper; in short, allowed the use of two liberties only,the liberty of exhibiting one's self at the Church and the liberty ofsecluding one's self over the bottle--public opinion sees this, andarrives at the not unreasonable conclusion that the people who submit tosuch social laws as these are the most stolid, stern and joyless peopleon the face of the earth. Such are Scotchmen supposed to be, when viewedat a distance. But how do Scotchmen appear when they are seen under acloser light, and judged by the test of personal experience? Thereare no people more cheerful, more companionable, more hospitable, moreliberal in their ideas, to be found on the face of the civilized globethan the very people who submit to the Scotch Sunday! On the six daysof the week there is an atmosphere of quiet humor, a radiation of genialcommon-sense, about Scotchmen in general, which is simply delightfulto feel. But on the seventh day these same men will hear one of theirministers seriously tell them that he views taking a walk on the Sabbathin the light of an act of profanity, and will be the only people inexistence who can let a man talk downright nonsense without laughing athim.

  I am not clever enough to be able to account for this anomaly in thenational character; I can only notice it by way of necessary preparationfor the appearance in my little narrative of a personage not frequentlyseen in writing--a cheerful Scotchman.

  In all other respects I found Mr. Playmore only negatively remarkable.He was neither old nor young, neither handsome nor ugly; he waspersonally not in the least like the popular idea of a lawyer; and hespoke perfectly good English, touched with only the slightest possibleflavor of a Scotch accent.

  "I have the honor to be an old friend of Mr. Macallan," he said,cordially shaking hands with me; "and I am honestly happy to becomeacquainted with Mr. Macallan's wife. Where will you sit? Near the light?You are young enough not to be afraid of the daylight just yet. Is thisyour first visit to Edinburgh? Pray let me make it as pleasant to youas I can. I shall be delighted to present Mrs. Playmore to you. We arestaying in Edinburgh for a little while. The Italian opera is here, andwe have a box for to-night. Will you kindly waive all ceremony and dinewith us and go to the music afterward?"

  "You are very kind," I answered. "But I have some anxieties just nowwhich will make me a very poor companion for Mrs. Playmore at the opera.My letter to you mentions, I think, that I have to ask your advice onmatters which are of very serious importance to me."

  "Does it?" he rejoined. "To tell you the truth, I have not read theletter through. I saw your name in it, and I gathered from your messagethat you wished to see me here. I sent my note to your hotel--and thenwent on with something else. Pray pardon me. Is this a professionalconsultation? For your own sake, I sincerely hope not!"

  "It is hardly a professional consultation, Mr. Playmore. I find myselfin a very painful position; and I come to you to advise me, under veryunusual circumstances. I shall surprise you very much when you hear whatI have to say; and I am afraid I shall occupy more than my fair share ofyour time."

  "I and my time are entirely at your disposal," he said. "Tell me what Ican do for you--and tell it in your own way."

  The kindness of this language was more than matched by the kindness ofhis manner. I spoke to him freely and fully--I told him my strange storywithout the slightest reserve.

  He showed the varying impressions that I produced on his mind withoutthe slightest concealment. My separation from Eustace distressed him.My resolution to dispute the Scotch Verdict, and my unjust suspicionsof Mrs. Beauly, first amused, then surprised him. It was not, however,until I had described my extraordinary interview with Miserrimus Dexter,and my hardly less remarkable conversation with Lady Clarinda, that Iproduced my greatest effect on the lawyer's mind. I saw him change colorfor the first time. He started, and muttered to himself, as if hehad completely forgotten me. "Good God!" I heard him say--"can it bepossible? Does the truth lie _that_ way after all?"

  I took the liberty of interrupting him. I had no idea of allowing him tokeep his thoughts to himself.

  "I seem to have surprised you?" I said.

  He started at the sound of my voice.

  "I beg ten thousand pardons!" he exclaimed. "You have not onlysurprised me--you have opened an entirely new view to my mind. I seea possibility, a really startling possibility, in connection with thepoisoning at Gleninch, which never occurred to me until the presentmoment. This is a nice state of things," he added, falling back againinto his ordinary humor. "Here is the client leading the lawyer. My dearMrs. Eustace, which is it--do you want my advice? or do I want yours?"

  "May I hear the new idea?" I asked.

  "Not just yet, if you will excuse me," he answered. "Make allowances formy professional caution. I don't want to be professional with you--mygreat anxiety is to avoid it. But the lawyer gets the better of theman, and refuses to be suppressed. I really hesitate to realize whatis passing in my own mind without some further inquiry. Do me a greatfavor. Let us go over a part of the ground again, and let me ask yousome questions as we proceed. Do you feel any objection to obliging mein this matter?"

  "Certainly not, Mr. Playmore. How far shall we go back?"

  "To your visit to Dexter with your mother-in-law. When you first askedhim if he had any ideas of his own on the subject of Mrs. EustaceMacallan's death, did I understand you to say that he looked at yoususpiciously?"

  "Very suspiciously."

  "And his face cleared up again when you told him that your question wasonly suggested by what you had read in the Report of the Trial?"

  "Yes."

  He drew a slip of paper out of the drawer in his desk, dipped his penin the ink, considered a little, and placed a chair for me close at hisside.

  "The lawyer disappears," he said, "and the man resumes his proper place.There shall be no professional mysteries between you and me. As yourhusband's old friend, Mrs. Eustace, I feel no common interest in you. Isee a serious necessity for warning you before it is too late; and I canonly do so to any good purpose by running a risk on which few men in myplace would venture. Personally and professionally, I am going to trustyou--though I _am_ a Scotchman and a lawyer. Sit here, and look over myshoulder while I make my notes. You will see what is passing in my mindif you see what I write."

  I sat down by him, and looked over his shoulder, without the smallestpretense of hesitation.

  He began to write as follows:

  "The poisoning at Gleninch. Queries: In what position does MiserrimusDexter stand toward the poisoning? And what does he (presumably) knowabout that matter?

  "He has ideas which are secrets. He suspects that he has betrayed them,or that they have been discovered in some way inconceivable to himself.He is palpably relieved when he finds that this is not the case."

  The pen stopped; and the questions went on.

  "Let us advance to your second visit," said Mr. Playmore, "when yousaw Dexter alone. Tell me again what he did, and how he looked when youinformed him that you were not satisfied with the Scotch Verdict."

  I repeated what I have already written in these pages. The pen went backto the paper again, and added these lines:

  "He hears nothing more remarkable than that a person visiting him, whois interested in the case, refuses to accept the verdict at the MacallanTrial as a final verdict, and proposes to reopen the inquiry. What doeshe do upon that?

  "He exhibits all the symptoms of a panic of terror; he sees himself insome incomprehensible danger; he is frantic at one mo
ment and servileat the next; he must and will know what this disturbing person reallymeans. And when he is informed on that point, he first turns pale anddoubts the evidence of his own senses; and next, with nothing said tojustify it, gratuitously accuses his visitor of suspecting somebody.Query here: When a small sum of money is missing in a household, andthe servants in general are called together to be informed of thecircumstance, what do we think of the one servant in particular whospeaks first, and who says, 'Do you suspect _me?_'"

  He laid down the pen again. "Is that right?" he asked.

  I began to see the end to which the notes were drifting. Instead ofanswering his question, I entreated him to enter into the explanationsthat were still wanting to convince my own mind. He held up a warningforefinger, and stopped me.

  "Not yet," he said. "Once again, am I right--so far?"

  "Quite right."

  "Very well. Now tell me what happened next. Don't mind repeatingyourself. Give me all the details, one after another, to the end."

  I mentioned all the details exactly as I remembered them. Mr. Playmorereturned to his writing for the third and last time. Thus the notesended:

  "He is indirectly assured that he at least is not the person suspected.He sinks back in his chair; he draws a long breath; he asks to be left awhile by himself, under the pretense that the subject excites him.When the visitor returns, Dexter has been drinking in the interval. Thevisitor resumes the subject--not Dexter. The visitor is convinced thatMrs. Eustace Macallan died by the hand of a poisoner, and openly saysso. Dexter sinks back in his chair like a man fainting. What is thehorror that has got possession of him? It is easy to understand if wecall it guilty horror; it is beyond all understanding if we call itanything else. And how does it leave him? He flies from one extreme,to another; he is indescribably delighted when he discovers that thevisitor's suspicions are all fixed on an absent person. And then, andthen only, he takes refuge in the declaration that he has been of onemind with his visitor, in the matter of suspicion, from the first. Theseare facts. To what plain conclusion do they point?"

  He shut up his notes, and, steadily watching my face, waited for me tospeak first.

  "I understand you, Mr. Playmore," I beg impetuously. "You believe thatMr. Dexter--"

  His warning forefinger stopped me there.

  "Tell me," he interposed, "what Dexter said to you when he was so good asto confirm your opinion of poor Mrs. Beauly."

  "He said, 'There isn't a doubt about it. Mrs. Beauly poisoned her.'"

  "I can't do better than follow so good an example--with one triflingdifference. I say too, There isn't a doubt about it. Dexter poisonedher.

  "Are you joking, Mr. Playmore?"

  "I never was more in earnest in my life. Your rash visit to Dexter, andyour extraordinary imprudence in taking him into your confidence haveled to astonishing results. The light which the whole machinery ofthe Law was unable to throw on the poisoning case at Gleninch has beenaccidentally let in on it by a Lady who refuses to listen to reason andwho insists on having her own way. Quite incredible, and neverthelessquite true."

  "Impossible!" I exclaimed.

  "What is impossible?" he asked, coolly

  "That Dexter poisoned my husband's first wife."

  "And why is that impossible, if you please?" I began to be almostenraged with Mr. Playmore.

  "Can you ask the question?" I replied, indignantly. "I have told youthat I heard him speak of her in terms of respect and affection ofwhich any woman might be proud. He lives in the memory of her. I owe hisfriendly reception of me to some resemblance which he fancies he seesbetween my figure and hers. I have seen tears in his eyes, I have heardhis voice falter and fail him, when he spoke of her. He may be thefalsest of men in all besides, but he is true to _her_--he has notmisled me in that one thing. There are signs that never deceive a womanwhen a man is talking to her of what is really near his heart: I sawthose signs. It is as true that I poisoned her as that he did. I amashamed to set my opinion against yours, Mr. Playmore; but I reallycannot help it. I declare I am almost angry with you."

  He seemed to be pleased, instead of offended by the bold manner in whichI expressed myself.

  "My dear Mrs. Eustace, you have no reason to be angry with me. In onerespect, I entirely share your view--with this difference, that I go alittle further than you do."

  "I don't understand you."

  "You will understand me directly. You describe Dexter's feeling for thelate Mrs. Eustace as a happy mixture of respect and affection. I cantell you it was a much warmer feeling toward her than that. I havemy information from the poor lady herself--who honored me with herconfidence and friendship for the best part of her life. Before shemarried Mr. Macallan--she kept it a secret from him, and you had betterkeep it a secret too--Miserrimus Dexter was in love with her. MiserrimusDexter asked her--deformed as he was, seriously asked her--to be hiswife."

  "And in the face of that," I cried, "you say that he poisoned her!"

  "I do. I see no other conclusion possible, after what happened duringyour visit to him. You all but frightened him into a fainting fit. Whatwas he afraid of?"

  I tried hard to find an answer to that. I even embarked on an answerwithout quite knowing where my own words might lead me.

  Mr. Dexter is an old and true friend of my husband, I began. "When heheard me say I was not satisfied with the Verdict, he might have feltalarmed--"

  "He might have felt alarmed at the possible consequences to your husbandof reopening the inquiry," said Mr. Playmore, ironically finishingthe sentence for me. "Rather far-fetched, Mrs. Eustace; and not veryconsistent with your faith in your husband's innocence. Clear your mindof one mistake," he continued, seriously, "which may fatally mislead youif you persist in pursuing your present course. Miserrimus Dexter, youmay take my word for it, ceased to be your husband's friend on theday when your husband married his first wife. Dexter has kept upappearances, I grant you, both in public and in private. His evidencein his friend's favor at the Trial was given with the deep feeling whicheverybody expected from him. Nevertheless, I firmly believe, lookingunder the surface, that Mr. Macallan has no bitterer enemy living thanMiserrimus Dexter."

  He turned me cold. I felt that here, at least, he was right. My husbandhad wooed and won the woman who had refused Dexter's offer of marriage.Was Dexter the man to forgive that? My own experience answered me, andsaid, No. "Bear in mind what I have told you," Mr. Playmore proceeded."And now let us get on to your own position in this matter, and to theinterests that you have at stake. Try to adopt my point of view for themoment; and let us inquire what chance we have of making any furtheradvance toward a discovery of the truth. It is one thing to be morallyconvinced (as I am) that Miserrimus Dexter is the man who ought to havebeen tried for the murder at Gleninch; and it is another thing, at thisdistance of time, to lay our hands on the plain evidence which can alonejustify anything like a public assertion of his guilt. There, as I seeit, is the insuperable difficulty in the case. Unless I am completelymistaken, the question is now narrowed to this plain issue: The publicassertion of your husband's innocence depends entirely on the publicassertion of Dexter's guilt. How are you to arrive at that result? Thereis not a particle of evidence against him. You can only convict Dexteron Dexter's own confession. Are you listening to me?"

  I was listening, most unwillingly. If he were right, things had indeedcome to that terrible pass. But I could not--with all my respect for hissuperior knowledge and experience--I could not persuade myself that he_was_ right. And I owned it, with the humility which I really felt.

  He smiled good-humoredly.

  "At any rate," he said, "you will admit that Dexter has not freelyopened his mind to you thus far? He is still keeping something from yourknowledge which you are interested in discovering?"

  "Yes. I admit that."

  "Very good. What applies to your view of the case applies to mine. Isay, he is keeping from you the confession of his guilt. You say, he iskeeping from you information which
may fasten the guilt on some otherperson. Let us start from that point. Confession, or information, howare you to get at what he is now withholding from you? What influencecan you bring to bear on him when you see him again?"

  "Surely I might persuade him?"

  "Certainly. And if persuasion fail--what then? Do you think you canentrap him into speaking out? or terrify him into speaking out?"

  "If you will look at your notes, Mr. Playmore, you will see that I havealready succeeded in terrifying him--though I am only a woman and thoughI didn't mean to do it."

  "Very well answered. You mark the trick. What you have done onceyou think you can do again. Well, as you are determined to try theexperiment, it can do you no harm to know a little more of Dexter'scharacter and temperament than you know now. Suppose we apply forinformation to somebody who can help us?"

  I started, and looked round the room. He made me do it--he spoke as ifthe person who was to help us was close at our elbows.

  "Don't be alarmed," he said. "The oracle is silent; and the oracle ishere."

  He unlocked one of the drawers of his desk; produced a bundle ofletters, and picked out one.

  "When we were arranging your husband's defense," he said, "we felt somedifficulty about including Miserrimus Dexter among our witnesses. We hadnot the slightest suspicion of him, I need hardly tell you. But we wereall afraid of his eccentricity; and some among us even feared that theexcitement of appearing at the Trial might drive him completely out ofhis mind. In this emergency we applied to a doctor to help us. Undersome pretext, which I forget now, we introduced him to Dexter. And indue course of time we received his report. Here it is."

  He opened the letter, and marking a certain passage in it with a pencil,handed it to me.

  "Read the lines which I have marked," he said; "they will be quitesufficient for our purpose."

  I read these words:

  "Summing up the results of my observation, I may give it as my opinionthat there is undoubtedly latent insanity in this case, but that noactive symptoms of madness have presented themselves as yet. You may,I think, produce him at the Trial, without fear of consequences. Hemay say and do all sorts of odd things; but he has his mind under thecontrol of his will, and you may trust his self-esteem to exhibit him inthe character of a substantially intelligent witness.

  "As to the future, I am, of course, not able to speak positively. I canonly state my views.

  "That he will end in madness (if he live), I entertain little or nodoubt. The question of _when_ the madness will show itself dependsentirely on the state of his health. His nervous system is highlysensitive, and there are signs that his way of life has already damagedit. If he conquer the bad habits to which I have alluded in an earlierpart of my report, and if he pass many hours of every day quietly in theopen air, he may last as a sane man for years to come. If he persist inhis present way of life--or, in other words, if further mischiefoccur to that sensitive nervous system--his lapse into insanity mustinfallibly take place when the mischief has reached its culminatingpoint. Without warning to himself or to others, the whole mentalstructure will give way; and, at a moment's notice, while he is actingas quietly or speaking as intelligently as at his best time, the manwill drop (if I may use the expression) into madness or idiocy. Ineither case, when the catastrophe has happened, it is only due to hisfriends to add that they can (as I believe) entertain no hope of hiscure. The balance once lost, will be lost for life."

  There it ended. Mr. Playmore put the letter back in his drawer.

  "You have just read the opinion of one of our highest livingauthorities," he said. "Does Dexter strike you as a likely man to givehis nervous system a chance of recovery? Do you see no obstacles and noperils in your way?"

  My silence answered him.

  "Suppose you go back to Dexter," he proceeded. "And suppose that thedoctor's opinion exaggerates the peril in his case. What are you to do?The last time you saw him, you had the immense advantage of taking himby surprise. Those sensitive nerves of his gave way, and he betrayed thefear that you aroused in him. Can you take him by surprise again? Notyou! He is prepared for you now; and he will be on his guard. If youencounter nothing worse, you will have his cunning to deal withnext. Are you his match at that? But for Lady Clarinda he would havehopelessly misled you on the subject of Mrs. Beauly."

  There was no answering this, either. I was foolish enough to try toanswer it, for all that.

  "He told me the truth so far as he knew it," I rejoined. "He really sawwhat he said he saw in the corridor at Gleninch."

  "He told you the truth," returned Mr. Playmore, "because he wascunning enough to see that the truth would help him in irritating yoursuspicions. You don't really believe that he shared your suspicions?"

  "Why not?" I said. "He was as ignorant of what Mrs. Beauly was reallydoing on that night as I was--until I met Lady Clarinda. It remains tobe seen whether he will not be as much astonished as I was when I tellhim what Lady Clarinda told me."

  This smart reply produced an effect which I had not anticipated.

  To my surprise, Mr. Playmore abruptly dropped all further discussionon his side. He appeared to despair of convincing me, and he owned itindirectly in his next words.

  "Will nothing that I can say to you," he asked, "induce you to think asI think in this matter?"

  "I have not your ability or your experience," I answered. "I am sorry tosay I can't think as you think."

  "And you are really determined to see Miserrimus Dexter again?"

  "I have engaged myself to see him again."

  He waited a little, and thought over it.

  "You have honored me by asking for my advice," he said. "I earnestlyadvise you, Mrs. Eustace, to break your engagement. I go even furtherthan that--I _entreat_ you not to see Dexter again."

  Just what my mother-in-law had said! just what Benjamin and MajorFitz-David had said! They were all against me. And still I held out.

  I wonder, when I look back at it, at my own obstinacy. I am almostashamed to relate that I made Mr. Playmore no reply. He waited, stilllooking at me. I felt irritated by that fixed look. I arose, and stoodbefore him with my eyes on the floor.

  He arose in his turn. He understood that the conference was over.

  "Well, well," he said, with a kind of sad good-humor, "I suppose it isunreasonable of me to expect that a young woman like you should shareany opinion with an old lawyer like me. Let me only remind you that ourconversation must remain strictly confidential for the present; and thenlet us change the subject. Is there anything that I can do for you? Areyou alone in Edinburgh?"

  "No. I am traveling with an old friend of mine, who has known me fromchildhood."

  "And do you stay here to-morrow?"

  "I think so."

  "Will you do me one favor? Will you think over what has passed betweenus, and will you come back to me in the morning?"

  "Willingly, Mr. Playmore, if it is only to thank you again for yourkindness."

  On that understanding we parted. He sighed--the cheerful man sighed, ashe opened the door for me. Women are contradictory creatures. That sighaffected me more than all his arguments. I felt myself blush for my ownhead-strong resistance to him as I took my leave and turned away intothe street.