She was silent.
"Look here, we want to help you. You'll want to put up a defence."
"There is no defence. I shot him. I would do the same again. It was necessary that he should die."
She would say no more than that. She was waiting now . . . waiting for the end and the hangman's rope.
In the cell nobody molested her. 'The Queer One' they called her. She had shot a man in Hyde Park and wouldn't say why, except that she wanted him to die. She was certainly a queer one.
She would sit thinking and sometimes smile to herself.
It seemed such a short while ago that she was at the Convent; she had been alive only a short time. Eighteen years. It was not very long to have lived, to have been deceived, to have grown tired of life and to have committed murder.
Always with her were thoughts of the nun who had haunted her childhood. Now there seemed a significance in that haunting. Hers was a similar case. They would take her out and hang her outside Newgate Jail; men and women would come to see her hanged. They would say: "That is Melisande St. Martin, the girl from the Convent who shot a man." They would laugh perhaps and shout insults.
It was not such a cruel fate as that which had befallen the nun. She would not be walled in to die slowly. The noose would be put about her neck and she would pass on to a new life.
One of the warders came to her. He bent over and shook her by the arm.
"Come this way," he said. "You're wanted." , She rose mechanically. More questions then? It did not matter. She would not tell them why she had killed him. If she did, his death would have been in vain. No one should know that she was Sir Charles Trevenning's daughter and that she had killed to preserve his secret.
She followed the man through corridors, up staircases. She did not care where they took her; she did not care what they asked her. She would be firm in her decision to remain silent.
She was taken into a room and the door was locked behind her. A man rose. Her calm deserted her then. She put her hands to her eyes to brush away a vision which she did not believe to be real.
"Melisande!" Fermor came towards her; he had taken her hands; he was holding her against him.
All the numbness was deserting her now. She was becoming alive again. Life and Death seemed to be in that room—and Life was becoming attractive again.
"Why . . . why did you come?" she stammered.
"Why! Did you think I would not? As soon as I knew ... as soon as I heard. I have been looking for you . . . searching for you. Why did you run away . . . completely lose yourself?"
She threw back her heac and looked at him. Now she could do so without fear. She was lost. Death was already claiming her and Fermor belonged to life.
"I am glad ... so glad you came," she said.
"Certainly I came." His eyes flashed. She had forgotten the power of him. "We've got to get you out of this mess. We've got to get you out of this place."
"This is prison," she said. "This is where felons are put. How can you get me out of here? I shot a man."
"Why? Why? We must build up a defence. We're going to have the best possible people working on this. You don't think we're going to let. . . to let. . ."
"To let them hang me? You can't stop them, Fermor. I shot a man. I am a murderess."
"Why, Melisande? You! To kill! It's incredible. I don't believe it. It was self-defence. They cannot hang you for doing it in self-defence. We're going to have the best lawyers in England."
She smiled slowly. "Then you really love me, Fermor?"
He took her face in his hands and kissed it—not in the way she expected him to kiss, but tenderly as he had done once or twice in the past.
'Melisande . . . Melisande . . . why did this happen? How did
<
this happen ? Why did you run away ? I searched everywhere. I was frantic. I was still searching ... all these months. At least through this I have found you."
"We found each other too late, Fermor. If we had known what would happen, perhaps we should have arranged our lives differently in the beginning. But why talk of that now? I am glad you came. I shall always remember it. When I am on the platform . . . and the people are round me watching me ... when my last moments are upon me I shall say: 'He came to me in the end. He cared enough for that. . . .' "
He shook her. "For Heaven's sake, stop! It shall never get to that. You are going to be free."
"It cannot be. I am guilty. I am a murderess. ... I thought I was when I saw Caroline carried away, but then I saw her in the Park and I knew that I was not. I did not know then that very soon I should be . . ."
"Don't!" he commanded. "You're hysterical. Now they won't give us long. I want to know everything. Then I shall send the best possible lawyer to you. I am going to get you out of this."
"But how can you?"
"Money can do a good deal."
"But not that ... not that."
"I shall spend everything I have on this if need be. And then . . . I shall find means of getting more."
"Oh Fermor," she said, "you were the best one. I didn't see it. You laughed at goodness, at virtue. You were the wicked one, I thought; but now I am not so sure."
"There's no time for such talk. Suffice it that I have found you, and now there'll be no more running away. I am going to get you out of this. I will. I swear it. Nothing shall stop me."
"Fermor, you make me wish . . . you make me want to live . . . and I was reconciled to dying."
"I won't have you speak such nonsense. You're not going to die. It was in self-defence. That's all you have to say. He was threatening you with the pistol and it went off. That is what you must say."
"But it was not so, Fermor. It is something of which I cannot tell you. I killed him. Deliberately I raised the pistol which I had taken from my employer's drawer. I lifted it and killed him because . . . because I wanted him to die."
"He had threatened you. He had threatened to kill you. It was self-defence."
"No, Fermor. No!"
"Listen, Melisande. There will be a trial. Everything that can be done, shall be done. There are ways—have no doubt of that—and I shall find them."
"Fermor," she said, "why? It is better that I should be here. What good is there in life?"
"This is madness! What good? You will be with me—that is the good which will come out of this, and I shall not be searching for you ceaselessly."
"And Caroline . . . your wife?"
"She is grieved. She blames herself in some way."
"She . . . she blames herself! How does she know? What does she know?"
"She knows what she reads in the papers."
"It is in the papers then?"
"People are talking about the mysterious shooting in Hyde Park. They are all saying that he was your lover, that he had promised you marriage and jilted you."
She laughed.
"Was it so? Was it so?"
"I can answer that. It was not so."
"What was it, Melisande? Tell me, darling. I must know the truth. We must know everything. We must be prepared for cross-examination. But do not be afraid. We will have the best men on our side. Everything that I can do shall be done, and, believe me, I can do a good deal. I have friends who will move Heaven and Earth. Melisande, do not be afraid. Tell me everything. I tell you, I can get you out of this. I can save you."
She said: "There is so much I want to know. I did not think I cared, but I do. Caroline ... is she very ill?"
"She was badly hurt. She walks with difficulty."
"Ah ... I did that."
"Nonsense! She did it herself."
"And you, Fermor... you and Caroline ? How is life between you ?"
"How can it be anything than what it is . . . what it always has been."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry for others. Be sorry for yourself. You are in a terrible position, my darling. That is why you must be sensible . . . reasonable. We need all our wits if we are to bring this off. We'll do it
, never fear. But it is not easy. We have to work at it with ail our might and strength, with every means at our disposal."
"You are so strong," she said.
"And here to* defend you ... to make up for everything ... to show you that I will always be there whenever you want me. Don't be afraid, Melisande. But you must be sensible . . . reasonable."
"Reasonable . . . sensible! They are always telling me that. It is because I am so unreasonable ... so far from sensible that things like this happen to me."
3°4 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
"Now listen, my darling. You've been through an ordeal. At any moment now that door will open and you will be taken back to your cell. I am arranging that you shall have a cell to yourself. I am arranging everything in future. But now, for Heaven's sake, let us waste no more time. We must have our story ready . . . and it has to be fool-proof."
She was laughing again with that wild laughter which was near to tears.
"Oh, Fermor," she said, "you are not good, are you. You would cheat your wife . . . you would cheat justice, and yet ... I wish I could live ... if it could be with you."
"Don't laugh like that. Of course you're going to live. I shall send our man along to you and he will tell you what you must say . . . how to conduct yourself. Melisande, you will need all your calm, all your wits; and when you are being questioned by our enemies, you must remember that I am waiting. I shall be there. I shall be where you can see me, and when you look at me, my darling, you will know that I am waiting."
"Oh Fermor!" she said; and quite suddenly she began to weep, for life had ceased to be intolerable and she did not want to die.
Now she saw what she could have done. She could have left the pistol in the house; she could have gone to Fermor; she could have told him of her fears; and then she would not be here now.
She just lay in his arms, unable to speak, unable to think, unable' to do anything but weep for the pity of it; and as she wept, the warder came to tell Fermor that he must go.
Andrew Beddoes came to see her.
She was surprised that he should come. He looked neat and just as she remembered him; and yet that anxious expression was something she had never seen before.
He had married, he told her; he had made an excellent match; but he did not forget her. He had come to tell her that he was ready to take on her defence.
^'But why?" she asked. "Why should you do that?"
"Because I wish to do something for you. I have thought of you continually since I last saw you. And now that this has happened, I want to offer you my services."
She held out her hand to him.
"I misjudged you," she said. "I have made so many mistakes. But you must not make one now. You can do nothing for me. I am guilty. I killed this man and I shall have to take the consequences of my act."
"If you did it in self-defence there would be a term of imprisonment, but your youth . . . your beauty, would, I am sure, make a good impression on the judge and jury. Nobody could believe you guilty of a wanton crime. Believe me, we can hope for leniency. We can have the public with us. You'll be surprised what public support can do. Don't be afraid. We'll work this out together."
"I shall never forget that you came. I hope you will forgive the harsh things I said to you."
"There is nothing to forgive. Your ideals were higher than mine."
"I was so ignorant. I thought men and women were divided into sheep and wolves. I can see now that they are not. What a pity I had to learn such a little thing in such a violent way. But perhaps not. I shall pay for my knowledge with my life. But there will be no more trials, no more lessons of life to learn."
"Please don't talk like this. You must not be despondent. Your case is far from hopeless. Believe me, a young girl like you has a chance. I have made enquiries. Randall was something of an adventurer, it seems. We can bring in a good case against him, I am sure."
"Thank you. But I killed him, you know."
"Tell me the truth. Tell me everything, and we will decide what our case must be."
"Listen, Mr. Beddoes. I thank you for coming to see me. I shall never forget that you came to see me. There is nothing you can do. I had my own reasons for killing that man. I did it deliberately. I shall tell no one why I did it."
"If we are going to make a case ..."
"We are not. I shall go into the dock, and when they ask me if I am guilty or not guilty, I shall say guilty. I shall say I killed Thorold. Randall, and my reasons were my own."
"You must not do that."
"It is the truth and it is what I shall say."
"There must have been a good reason. Just tell me the reason. He threatened you? You were jilted by him?"
"No. It is not as simple as that. Goodbye, Mr. Beddoes. I know why you came. It is because you have a feeling, deep in your heart, that you are responsible for the position in which I now find myself. You offered me marriage, and it was because I was to have a dowry . . ."
"It was not only that. I was fond of you. I was delighted at the prospect of marrying you. . . ."
306 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
"I believe you, Mr. Beddoes. And you have an uncomfortable feeling that, because of what you did, you may in some measure have contributed to what has happened to me. Please don't feel like that. It has nothing to do with you, believe me. You are exonerated. And one of my most cherished memories will be that you came here and offered your help. You have taught me a little more . . . something that I have taken a long time to learn, I am afraid. Thank you for coming, Mr. Beddoes, and do believe me when I say there is nothing you can do for me."
Reluctant and bewildered Andrew Beddoes went away.
There was yet another visitor.
It was no use trying to hide from the world now. All London . . . all England knew that Melisande St. Martin was a prisoner and that she was to face her trial for the murder of Thorold Randall.
So . . . was it surprising that Leon should find her?
He came to tell her that he had never forgotten her, that he had begged Sir Charles and others at Trevenning to tell him where she was. He had put notices in papers begging her to let him know where she was.
"At first I was hurt by your desertion," he said, "and I felt that, since you did not trust me, we were better apart, for I could never convince you of the truth. But after a while I wanted above all things to make you understand."
"The truth, Leon?"
"It was an accident, Melisande. I swear it was an accident. He was wilful; he would go out on that day. I warned him not to venture on to the jetty. But you know how headstrong he was. He never could forget that he was in a way the master; I was the paid companion. I shall always remember that moment of horror, the realization that I was powerless, that if I plunged in I could do nothing. All I could do was run for help . . . and that I did. After that I knew there would be no rest for me until I learned to swim. I wanted to be ready in case I should be in a similar position. I used to think that if I could save a person from drowning I would rid myself of the terrible feeling of guilt which obsessed me. That was why I had to learn . . . immediately. I could not bring myself to ask someone to teach me, so I went to the quietest cove and threw myself into the sea. I was determined to swim and ... I found it
easy enough. Every day I did that. Someone saw me, I suppose, told someone else . . . and soon many had seen me. They talked of me; they suspected me. . . . How they love a dramatic story, even if it is not true!"
"Leon, Leon, I misjudged you so. How you must despise me!"
"It was natural to distrust. And then . . . you did not love me, did you, Melisande ? Perhaps it would have been different if you had."
"I do not know. It is so hard to know. Leon, what tragic people we are, you and I!"
"And I talk of my troubles now! Do you know why I have come to see you? It is for this: I am going to save you. It must be possible. I am going to engage the best lawyers and we will fight this. And I will wait, Melisande, how
ever long. You will know that I shall be waiting for you." He took her hands and kissed them. "Who knows, this may be a blessing in disguise, for through it I have found you."
"Leon, I shall not forget what you have said. I shall remember it on the morning I die."
"Don't speak of death like that."
"How did I speak of it?"
"Finally. As though it were settled."
"Leon, I believe it is settled."
"No, no! Anyone looking at you can see that you are no murderess."
"But I am. I shot him, Leon. I killed him."
"He had treated you badly. I have already been talking to a lawyer. We can appeal to the pity of the judge, of the jury and the public. He ill-treated you."
She was silent.
"I know it," he said. "He deserved to die. Your case must be presented to the jury with all the sympathy you deserve. You are so young and beautiful, and anyone, by looking at you, can see that there is no evil in you. This man deserved to die. Melisande, you only have to tell why, and you will be saved. Oh, my dearest, how wonderful it is to find you again! There may be a wait of. . . perhaps some years . . . but I shall be waiting. I shall make your stay in . . . wherever they send you ... as comfortable as possible. I shall come to see you, write to you, make our plans. You remember we were going to New Orleans? That is where we will go, Melisande. The time will pass; then we'll marry and we'll go away to a new life."
"You must go without me, Leon."
"Without you! How could I! I had always planned to take you with me."
"You believe in me! You believe in me though I did not believe in you!"
308 IT BEGAN IN VAUXHALL GARDENS
"I love you, remember. Meeting you changed my life. I had forgotten how happy I could be, until I met you; and when you went away, distrusting me ... I knew that I had never been miserable before, such was the depth of my suffering.''
"And I was to blame! I am to blame for everything. I have been foolish and I do not deserve kindness. Leon, go away and forget me."
"Now that I have found you! I shall never go away from you again!"
It began in Vauxhall Gardens Page 37
