That Mainwaring Affair

by A. Maynard Barbour

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE LAST THROW

  There being no further testimony in the case, but little time wasoccupied by Mr. Sutherland at the afternoon session. Briefly andforcibly he summarized the evidence already adduced, emphasizingthe strongest points and closing with numerous citations bearingupon the case taken from recent decisions of the highest legalauthorities.

  Several days would be required for consideration of the case pendingthe decision of the court, and as the crowd surged out into thecorridors and diffused itself through the various exits, there wasmuch speculation as to what that decision would be and what would bethe action taken by the opponents. Among the clubmen who had madethe acquaintance of Ralph Mainwaring, heavy bets were offered thathe would contest the case before the will was even admitted toprobate.

  "He is a fool if he does," said one; "the young fellow has the bestshow."

  "He'll not give up, however," was the reply; "he's got too much ofthe bull-dog about him; nothing will make him break his hold tillhe has spent his last shilling."

  "Well, he'll spend it for nothing, that's all!" said another. "I'llwager you a dinner for the whole club that the young fellow willbeat him. Anybody that knows Sutherland, knows he hasn't played histrump card yet; and you may rest assured that English lawyer isn'tover here as a figure-head!"

  Ralph Mainwaring, passing hastily from the court-room, accompaniedby Mr. Whitney, overheard the last remark. His only reply, however,was a look of scorn flashed at the speaker, but the sardonic smilewhich lingered about his closely compressed lips betokened on hispart no anticipations of defeat, but rather the reverse. Even Mr.Whitney wondered at his silence, but young Mainwaring, leisurelyfollowing in the rear, knew it to be only the calm which presagesthe coming storm.

  His father, followed by the attorney, stepped quickly into theMainwaring carriage and beckoned impatiently for him to follow, butthe younger man coolly declined the invitation.

  "No, thank you, governor. I'm going for a bit of a stroll; I'lljoin you and Mr. Whitney at dinner."

  As the carriage rolled away he stood for a few moments lost inthought. His father's words to him that morning had stung hispride and aroused in him a spirit of independence altogether new,which had made him the more keen in observing his father'sexpressions and movements, and in drawing his own deductionstherefrom. He had formed some theories of his own, and as he nowstood in the soft, autumnal sunshine, he resolved to put them tothe test.

  Turning suddenly in an opposite direction from that which he hadat first taken, he found himself confronted by Harold Mainwaringand his party as they descended the court-house steps to thecarriages in waiting.

  Instantly the young men clasped hands, and the frank, blue eyesgazed into the piercing dark ones, with a friendliness of whosesincerity there could be no doubt.

  "Egad, old fellow!" he exclaimed, in low tones, "I'm glad to seeyou, though you have taken us rather by surprise. I'll not takeback a word of the promise I made you, nor of what I've said aboutyou, either."

  "I did not think you would, Hugh," Harold replied, grasping theproffered hand heartily; "I had a great deal of faith in you and inyour word. I only regretted that I could not explain matters at thetime; it seemed like taking advantage of you and your friendship,though I warned you that the future might make some unexpectedrevelations."

  "Well, I don't regret anything. I always said you had good bloodin you, don't you know," Hugh continued, with a boyish laugh, thenadded, a little huskily, "I'll say this much, and I mean it. Iwould rather give up what I supposed was mine to you than toanybody else that know of."

  "Thank you, Hugh; I appreciate that, I assure you. Come around tothe Waldorf, I would like to have a talk with you."

  "Indeed I will. Of course, I suppose it would be of no use to askyou up to the house; I couldn't expect you to come, but I'll seeyou as soon as I can," and with another handclasp the young menparted.

  On arriving at the Waldorf, a note was handed to Harold Mainwaring,with the information that the bearer had been waiting nearly an hour,as there was an answer expected. He well knew the writing; it wasthe same as that of the little missive given him on the first dayof the inquest, and with darkening face he opened it and read thefollowing lines:

  "I must see you at once, and I beg of you to come to my apartmentsthis afternoon at five o'clock, without fail. In the name of mercy,do not deny me this one favor. I can tell you something importantfor you to know, of which you little dream.

  "ELEANOR HOUGHTON MAINWARING."

  After brief consultation with his attorneys, an answer was sent tothe effect that he would call in compliance with the request, and alittle later he started upon his strange errand.

  With what wildly conflicting emotions Mrs. LaGrange in her apartmentsawaited his coming may perhaps be more easily imagined thanportrayed. She had not recovered from the morning's shock, but wasnerving herself for the coming ordeal; preparing to make her final,desperate throw in the game of life. Success now, in this lastventure, would mean everything to her, while failure would leave hernothing, only blank despair. Pride, the dominant passion of herlife, struggled with a newly awakened love; doubt and dread and fearbattled with hope, but even in the unequal contest, hope would notbe vanquished.

  Shortly before the hour appointed, Richard Hobson's card was handedher with the information that he must see her without delay. Sheunderstood the nature of his errand; she knew his coming wasinevitable; her only desire was to postpone the meeting with himuntil after the interview with Harold Mainwaring, but on no accountwould she have him know of her appointment with the latter. Shetore the bit of pasteboard in two.

  "Tell him to call to-morrow," she said to the messenger; but he soonreturned, with another card on which was written,--

  "Important! must see you to-day."

  It was nearly five. Quickly, with fingers trembling from heranxiety lest he delay too long, she wrote,--

  "Call at eight o'clock this evening; I can see no one earlier."

  As she gave the card to the messenger, she glanced again at thelittle French clock on the mantel.

  "Three hours," she murmured; "three hours in which to decide my fate!If I succeed, I can bid defiance to that craven when he shall cometo-night; if not--" she shuddered and walked over to the window,where she watched eagerly till she saw the cringing figure goinghastily down the street.

  He had but just disappeared around the corner of the block when aclosed carriage was driven rapidly to the hotel, and a moment laterHarold Scott Mainwaring was announced.

  Her heart throbbed wildly as she turned to meet him, then suddenlystopped, seeming a dead weight in her breast, as her eyes met his.

  For a moment neither spoke; once her lips moved, but no sound camefrom them. Before that face, hard and impassive as granite, and ascold, the impulse which she had felt to throw herself at his feetand plead for mercy and for love died within her; her tongue seemedparalyzed, powerless to utter a word, and the words she would havespoken fled from her brain.

  With swift observation he noted the terrible change which the lastweeks, and especially the last few hours, had wrought in the wretchedwoman before him, and the suffering, evidenced by her deathly pallor,her trembling agitation, and the look of dumb, almost hopelesspleading in her eyes, appealed to him far more than any words couldhave done.

  He was the first to speak, and though there was no softening of thestern features, yet his tones were gentle, almost pitying, as hesaid,--

  "I have come as you requested. Why did you send for me? What haveyou to say?"

  At the sound of his voice she seemed somewhat reassured, andadvancing a few steps towards him, she repeated his words,--

  "Why did I send for you? Why should I not send for you? Thinkyou a mother would have no desire to see her own son after longyears of cruel separation from him?"

  "There is no need to call up the past," he said, more coldly; "theseparation to which
you refer was, under existing circumstances,the best for all concerned. It undoubtedly caused suffering, butyou were not the sufferer; there could be no great depth ofmaternal love where there was neither love nor loyalty as a wife."

  Her dark eyes grew tender and luminous as she fixed them upon hisface, while she beckoned him to a seat and seated herself near andfacing him.

  "You forget," she replied, in the low, rich tones he had so oftenheard at Fair Oaks; "you forget that a mother's love is instinctive,born within her with the birth of her child, while a wife's lovemust be won. I must recall the past to you, and you must listen;'twas for this I sent for you, that you, knowing the past, mightknow that, however deeply I may have sinned, I have been far moredeeply sinned against."

  "Not as regards my father," he interposed, quickly, as she pausedto note the effect of her words; "he sacrificed fortune, home,friends, everything for you, and you rewarded his love and devotiononly with the basest infidelity."

  "That your father loved me, I admit," she continued, in the samelow, musical tones, scarcely heeding his words; "but, as I said amoment ago, a wife's love must be won, and he failed to win mylove."

  "Was his treacherous brother so much more successful then in thatdirection than he?" Harold questioned, sternly. "Within six monthsafter your marriage to my father, you admitted that you married himonly that you might have Hugh Mainwaring for your lover."

  She neither flushed nor quailed under the burning indignation of hisgaze, but her eyes were fastened upon him intently as the eyes ofthe charmer upon his victim.

  "Half truths are ever harder to refute than falsehood," she replied,softly. "I said that once under great provocation, but if I soughtto make Hugh Mainwaring my lover, it was not that I loved him, butthrough revenge for his having trifled with me only to deceive anddesert me. Before I married your father, both he and his brotherwere among my most ardent admirers. The younger brother seemed tome far more congenial, and had he possessed one-half the chivalryand devotion which the elder brother afterwards manifested, hewould have completely won my love. The rivalry between the twobrothers led to bitter estrangement, which soon became known totheir father, who lost no time in ascertaining its cause. His angeron learning the facts in the case was extreme; he wrote me aninsulting letter, and threatened to disown either or both of hissons unless they discontinued their attentions to a 'disreputableadventuress,' as he chose to style me. Hugh Mainwaring at oncedeserted me, without even a word of explanation or of farewell, and,as if that were not enough, on more than one occasion he openlyinsulted me in the presence of his father, on the streets of London.I realized then for the first time that I cared for him, coward thathe was, though I did not love him as he thought,--had I loved him,I would have killed him, then and there. Mad with chagrin and rage,I married your father, partly for the position he could give me--forI did not believe that he, the elder son and his father'sfavorite, would be disowned--and partly to show his brother andtheir father that I still held, as I supposed, the winning hand.On my wedding-day I vowed that I would yet bring Hugh Mainwaring tomy feet as my lover, and when, shortly afterwards, your father wasdisinherited in his favor, my desire for revenge was onlyintensified. I redoubled my efforts to win him, and I found it nodifficult task; he was even more willing to play the lover to hisbrother's wife than to the penniless girl whom he had known, withno possessions but her beauty and wit. At first, our meetingswere clandestine; but we soon grew reckless, and in one or twoinstances I openly boasted of my conquest, hoping thereby to arousehis father's displeasure against him also. But in that I reckonedwrong. He disinherited and disowned his son for having honorablymarried a woman whom he considered below him in station, but foran open affaire d'amour with that son's wife, he had not even aword of censure.

  "Your father discovered the situation and decided upon a life inAustralia. If he had then shown me some consideration, the futuremight have been vastly different; but he grew morose and taciturn,and I, accustomed to gay society and the admiration of crowds, wasleft to mope alone in a strange country, with no companionshipwhatever. What wonder that I hungered for the old life, or that acasual admiring glance, or a few words even of flattery, were likecold water to one perishing with thirst! Then new hope came intomy lonely life, and I spent months in dreamy, happy anticipationsof the future love and companionship of my child. But even thatboon was denied me. It was hard enough, believing, as I did, thatmy child had died, but to find that I was robbed of that which wouldhave been not only my joy and happiness, but my salvation from thelife which followed!" She paused, apparently unable to proceed,and buried her eyes in a dainty handkerchief, while HaroldMainwaring watched her, the hard lines deepening about his mouth.

  "After that," she resumed, in trembling tones, "all hope was gone.Your father deserted me soon afterwards, leaving me nearly penniless,and a flew years later I returned to England."

  "To find Hugh Mainwaring?" he queried.

  "Not at the first," she answered, but her eyes fell before thecynicism of his glance. "I had no thought of him then, but I learnedthrough Richard Hobson, whom I met in London at that time, of thewill which had been made in my husband's favor, but which he told mehad been destroyed by Hugh Mainwaring. He said nothing of the clauseforbidding that any of the property should pass to me, and Iimmediately sailed for America in search of Hugh Mainwaring,believing that, with my knowledge of the will, I, as his brother'swidow, could get some hold upon him by which I could compel himeither to share the property with me or to marry me."

  "Then you were not married to Hugh Mainwaring in England, as youtestified at the inquest?"

  "No," she replied, passionately; "I was never married to him. Ihave made many men my dupes and slaves, but he was the one man whomade a dupe of me, and I hating him all the time!"

  "And Walter!" he exclaimed, "you stated that he was the son of HughMainwaring."

  "He is Hugh Mainwaring's son and mine," she answered, with bitteremphasis; "that was another of my schemes which failed. I found Ihad little hold upon Hugh Mainwaring, while he had the same powerover me as in the days before I had learned to despise him. WhenWalter was born, I hoped he would then fulfil his promises ofmarriage; but instead, he would have turned me adrift had I notthreatened that I would then disclose everything which I knewconcerning the will. He sneered at me, but offered me a place asservant in his home, and support and education for his child oncondition that the relationship should never be known, and that Iwould remain silent regarding the will. I could do nothing thenbut accept his conditions, but they were galling,--too galling atlast to be longer endured!"

  "How is it that you and Walter bear the name of LaGrange?" he asked.

  She hesitated a moment, then replied: "I married a man by that namesoon after leaving Australia."

  "Before or after the tidings of my father's death?" he questioned,sternly.

  "We heard the news of his death soon after our marriage, but he haddeserted me years before, so it made little difference. I metCaptain LaGrange in Sydney, and we sailed together for Paris andwere married there, but we soon grew tired of each other. I lefthim in about two years and went to Vienna, and from there returnedto England. In some way, Hugh Mainwaring learned of the marriage,and when I came to Fair Oaks, he insisted on my taking that namefor myself and child."

  She spoke wearily and with an air of dejection, for it was plainlyevident that Harold Mainwaring was not to be deceived bymisstatements, however plausible, nor were his sympathies to bearoused by simulated grief. A few moments of silence followed,while she watched him intently, her face again falling into thepinched and haggard outlines which he had observed on entering theroom.

  When he at last spoke, his voice was calm, without a trace of angeror bitterness.

  "Mrs. LaGrange, I have been informed that in the days before youruined my father's life you were an actress in a second-class Londonplayhouse, and I see you have not yet lost some little tricks of thestage; but we are not now before the f
ootlights, and it will be muchbetter to lay aside everything pertaining to them. Nothing that youhave said has awakened my pity or touched my sympathies for you; infact, what you have told me has only steeled my heart against youbecause of its utter falsity. It is unnecessary to go over theground again, but if you could not reciprocate the love and devotionbestowed upon you by my father, you should never have accepted it;but accepting it as you did, you were bound by every considerationto be true and loyal to that love and to him. Instead, frombeginning to end, you have been false to him, false to his memory,false to your own wifehood and motherhood, false to yourself! Ihave not come here to reproach you, however. I will only say thatI do not believe the capacity--the capability even--of love exists,or has ever existed, within you. But," he continued, in gentlertones, "the capacity for suffering does exist, and I can see withoutany simulation on your part that you have suffered."

  Before the look of pity which now for the first time softened thestern features, she broke down, and genuine tears coursed down herpallid cheeks as she cried, "Suffered! what have I not suffered!I am homeless, penniless, degraded, an outcast! There is no hope,no help for me unless you will help me. I know what you must thinkof me, how even you, my son, must despise me, but as a drowning mancatches at a straw, I sent for you, hoping that you would in mercypity me and help me."

  "Do you wish me to help you pecuniarily? I will willingly do that."

  "Pecuniarily!" she exclaimed, almost in scorn. "Cannot youunderstand what I need most? It is pity, sympathy, love! I wantthe love and support of my first-born son, and I am willing to begfor it," and, rising from her chair, she threw herself upon herknees beside him, "only be my son, forget the past and let me be toyou, as I am, your mother! No, let me be!" she exclaimed, as hewould have raised her from her kneeling posture. "I have no sonbut you, for Walter, like his father, has deserted me, with tauntsand sneers. I can help you, too," she added, eagerly, but in lowtones, "help you in a way of which you little dream. Do you knowwhat Ralph Mainwaring will attempt next? He will try to implicateyou in the murder of Hugh Mainwaring!"

  "That will be no more than you yourself attempted at the inquest,"he answered.

  "Ah, but his motive is different; in my case it was but the resortof a weak woman to divert suspicion from herself; but he will seekto fasten this crime upon you to defeat you, to crush and ruin you,because he fears you as his opponent, and it is within my power toclear you from any charges he may bring against you."

  Her voice sank nearly to a whisper, her eyes were dilated, and shewas trembling with excitement.

  He watched her intently for a moment, then spoke in a tone of calmcommand. "Tell me how you could help me. What do you know of thataffair?"

  "Listen, and I will tell you," and leaning towards him, she whispereda few words in his ears.

  Only a few words, but Harold Mainwaring started as from a shock,while his face grew as pale as her own, and it was with difficultyhe could control his voice, as he demanded in quick, excited tones,--

  "Do you know what you are saying? Are you speaking the truth?"

  "Yes, before Heaven, it is the truth, and the horror of it hashaunted me day and night; the thought of it has driven me nearlymad, but I dared not breathe it to any living human being."

  "You have told no one else what you have just told me?"

  "No, I dared not."

  He asked a few more questions which she answered, and from hermanner he was convinced that she spoke the truth. Then he sat fora moment silent, his head bowed, his eyes covered, lost in thought,while strangely commingled emotions surged within his breast.

  At last she broke the silence. "It will help you--what I havetold you--will it not?"

  "It is of inestimable value to me," he answered, but instead ofexultation, there was a strange sadness in his voice.

  "You will let me help you, and you will be a son to me, will younot?"

  He looked at her with an expression of mingled pity and bitterness,and then, without replying, lifted her gently but firmly andreseated her, while he himself remained standing at a littledistance. She watched him anxiously.

  "Harold," at last she ventured, "think what I have suffered, anddo not refuse my one prayer."

  "I can see that you have suffered," he answered, gently; "and, as Ihave told you, I will help you pecuniarily and will befriend you,only do not ask me that which I cannot give."

  "I ask nothing more," she exclaimed, passionately, rising to herfeet, "than that you be a son to me, and I will accept nothing less."

  "I am sorry to hear you say that," he replied, "for you are onlyunnecessarily depriving yourself of many benefits that might beyours. I would provide a home for you where you would be unknown,and means that you could spend the remainder of your life incomfort."

  "What would I care for any home or wealth that you might providefor me," she demanded, angrily, "if you yourself would notacknowledge me as your mother! I will accept nothing from youunder such conditions."

  "Then we may as well end this conference," he replied, calmly, "forI hold my father in too deep love and reverence ever to permit ofmy applying to you the sacred name of 'Mother.'"

  Her eyes flashed at the mention of his father, and she was about tospeak, but he lifted his hand warningly. "Hush!" he commanded; "notone word shall you speak against him in my presence! Before I go,I will give you an opportunity to reconsider your declaration of amoment ago."

  "I will not reconsider it. You are like every Mainwaring that Ihave ever known, in that you think money and shelter, such as youmight fling at some superannuated servant, will take the place ofthe true position and honor that are my due."

  "Do you then, finally and once for all, refuse any and all offersof assistance from me?" he asked.

  "I do," she replied, proudly; "I will not accept charity from aMainwaring,--not even from you!"

  "Very well; if that is your decision, I bid you adieu," and beforeshe could reply, he was gone.

  He passed swiftly down the corridor, his head bowed slightly,looking neither to the right hand nor to the left, but his step hadan elasticity it had not possessed in weeks, and any one passingnear him would have heard the single exclamation, "Thank God!"

  Upon reaching his carriage, he spoke quickly to the driver, "Tothe Waldorf at once!" and was borne away by the impatient steedseven more swiftly than he had come.

  Meanwhile, within the room which he had just left, the wretchedwoman, whose falseness and pride had wrought her own undoing, stoodlistening to the retreating footsteps; she heard them die away inthe distance, heard the carriage-wheels roll rapidly down the avenue,then sank upon a low couch with a cry of despair.

  "All is over," she moaned, "and I have failed. I could not forcehim to my terms, and I would never yield to his. I will takecharity from no one, least of all from him. I will be first, ornothing!" and she shivered faintly.

  After a tune she arose, and ringing for her maid, ordered a lightrepast brought to her room, as she would not go down to dinner;"And," she concluded, "you can have the evening to yourself: Iexpect callers, and will not need you."

  An hour later, Richard Hobson crept along the corridor and tappedfor admittance. There was no answer, and cautiously pushing openthe door, he entered unbidden, but started back in horror at thesight which met his eyes. The electric lights had not been turnedon, but a few tall wax tapers, in a pair of candelabra upon themantel, were burning, and in the dim, weird light, Mrs. LaGrange,still elegantly attired for her interview with Harold Mainwaring,lay upon the low couch near the grate, her features scarcely palerthan a few hours before, but now rigid in death. Upon the tablebeside her, the supper ordered by the maid stood untasted, whileon the same table a small vial bearing the label of one of thedeadliest of poisons, but empty, told the story. Underneath thevial was a slip of paper, on which was written,--

  "I have staked my highest card--and lost! The game is done."

  Terror-stricken, Hobson glanced about him
, then pausing only longenough to clutch some of the gleaming jewels from the inanimateform, he stealthily withdrew, and, skulking unobserved along thecorridors, passed out into the darkness and was gone.