Marie Belloc Lowndes

“ There were a dozen newspapers in London which would always print everything Guy Cheale chose to write, but he liked talking better than writing, and he was in very poor health.
Lucy hated to think that the man whom deep in her heart she had come passionately to love was too lazy—or was it really too ill?—to make a living. She disliked her lover’s sister, Agatha Cheale, with a deep, instinctive, fierce dislike, and sometimes she smiled, though it was not a happy smile, at the thought of how angry Miss Cheale would be if she knew that Mr. Cheale and she, Lucy, were lovers. ”

“ In this strange and terrific dream of hers, Bonnie Doon 157is transformed into a citadel. She is in an upper room, and, gazing fearfully out of the window, she sees a mob of men surging round the pretty, old-fashioned, creeper-covered house standing so defenceless close to the road leading from Terriford village to Grendon. The assaulters are trying to force their way inside the house. She can hear the roar of triumph when one of them thinks he has obtained a foothold on the trellis work, and the murmur of disappointment and exasperation when one of them falls back. ”

“ She had seen his pale face flush, and the look of embarrassment, almost of shame, with which he had muttered: “There are certain things about his past no man has the right to reveal—even to his nearest and dearest.”
Her mind hastily surveyed the young women known to her who lived in and about Grendon. There were at least a dozen with whom Harry Garlett was on easy terms of acquaintanceship. But no young people had ever come openly to the Thatched House. Mrs. Garlett did not care for girls, and Agatha Cheale was well known to have no friends, with the exception of Miss Prince. ”

“ Unlike Sir Harold, who is keenly aware of his audience, Sir Almeric does not even glance round the Court, but at once engages in an earnest discussion with one of his juniors.
There is a slight stir when the jury stumble into their places. The twelve good men and true are an extraordinarily ordinary-looking collection. Still, every one of them has a confident, self-important look. To some of those present the reflection that those twelve men are going to decide the awful question of a fellow being’s life or shameful death brings with it a sensation of unease. ”

“ Maclean was no advocate of easy divorce, but to his mind there was something intensely repellent in the marriage of a strong healthy man to a hopeless invalid. Deep down in his heart the honest Scotsman knew what would have happened to himself had he been in the shoes of Harry Garlett. He knew that his flesh and blood would not have borne such a difficult, unnatural situation, and he had long admired the young man’s straight, simple, clean way of life. Thanks to that dish of early strawberries, Harry Garlett would now be able to remake his life on happy, natural lines. ”

“ The great advocate happens to be, however, a far more imaginative man than is Sir Almeric Post, and he realizes that Jean Bower’s ordeal has lasted long enough. So, to the disappointment of the Court, he does not address many questions to the young woman who has just acknowledged her passionate love for Harry Garlett, and for the sake of whose love the immense majority—almost every human being present at the trial—believe he has committed a singularly foul and dastardly murder. ”

“ The sight of this place reminded her that her next painful task must be to see Lucy Warren, to try to persuade the girl to tell her that thing which it was so vital she should know, and which yet she knew Harry Garlett hoped she would never know. There are people—perhaps more women than men—who delight in discovering that which those about them do not wish them to know. But Jean Bower was the exact opposite. ”

“ She finds it so delicious to be lulled by that deep, caressing voice, even though she knows it is only a dream-voice.
“Have you never thought that Mrs. Garlett might have taken the poison herself?”
She answers, as if hypnotized: “Do you think so?” and quickly the answer comes back out of the darkness: “Why not? There’s only one thing worth having in life—and that one thing the poor soul lacked.”
One thing worth having? What can he mean? Jean is losing hold of herself, she is beginning to feel extraordinarily drowsy. ”

“ Can it be that Agatha Cheale committed the murder?
Almost alone of all those present, the man in the dock looks uninterested in what is going on. He has become so tired, so utterly weary.
But there is one person in Court—nobody is looking at her—who is almost fainting with excitement and suspense. That person is Jean Bower. Her head is thrown back. She is gazing up into the troubled face of the woman who is in the box just above her.
“He asked me,” goes on the witness, her voice gathering strength, “if I would mind marrying a murderer.” ”

“ He got up and came and put his big right hand on her slender shoulder: “Now, look here, my dear——?”
She shrank back a little, then drying her eyes, she looked up at him, fearlessly and bravely.
“I am going to do my very best to save your lover’s life. But you, on your side, must make up your mind to be absolutely truthful with me—eh?”
“I will be, Sir Harold—indeed I will be!”
“Well, we may take it, I suppose, that it was a case of love at first sight; that Mr. Garlett was taken with you from the first (as well he might be!) ”

“ Jean answered soberly: “No, it’s not a joke. It’s exactly what it pretends to be—an offer of marriage from a dying man.”
“Some girls seem to have all the luck! Forty-one words.”
Jean was so tired that she slept away the journey which would otherwise have been so full of disappointed, bitter thoughts, and she felt as if she had been away months instead of days when she came out into the big station yard of Grendon, and saw her Uncle Jock’s familiar two-seater with him at the wheel waiting for her. ”

“ Garlett was a proud and sensitive man. He had put aside, as he would have done a noxious sight or smell, those half questions put to him by James Kentworthy, the detective, concerning his relationship with Jean Bower. But now the memory of those questions, those veiled insinuations, came back, and with that memory the agonized realization that Jean Bower had been even then suspected as providing the motive for an otherwise motiveless crime.
But, fortunately for most of us at some time of our lives, work has to be done—whatever betide. ”

“ Agatha Cheale had always been something of a dark horse; has she any revelation to make which she studiously concealed while in the witness-box yesterday?
Here and there some expert in criminology asked himself or herself whether, after all, Agatha Cheale was not in some way “in it,” an accomplice, maybe, of Henry Garlett?
But curiosity will have to wait; for all at once, and strange to say without her name being called out in the usual way, a tall young woman is seen almost running up the steps of the witness-box. ”

“ Maclean said something which startled her husband.
“It’s all so strange,” she said musingly, “because, as you well know, Jock, he hardly knew our Jean then.”
“It had nothing to do with Jean!” he said violently. “For God’s sake, Jenny, put that horrible idea out of your mind. The truth is—I can say so to you—Emily Garlett had become impossible, intolerable——”
“If the man’s a murderer, you’re just trying to find excuses for him,” she said dryly.
“Not excuses,” said Dr. Maclean sharply, “but a reason for his mad and wicked act—yes.” ”

“ In vain he now tried to assure himself that his and Jean’s ordeal was bound to be a short one, and that once the Government analyst’s report was published he would be able to take up life again exactly as it had been.
Well he knew, now, that life could never be the same again. If he remained at Terriford he realized that even if he lived to be a very old man, there would always be somebody ready to point him out as the man who had been suspected of having murdered his first wife for love of the woman who had become his second. ”

“ The great tide of life flows on steadily, ruthlessly, whatever be the tragedies or comedies being enacted below the swift-moving waters. Dr. Maclean had an important consultation early that afternoon with a great London specialist. And though both his wife and his niece were aware that he could not be in to lunch, yet both of them shrank from learning the news as to whether Harry Garlett was a free man or had been committed for trial from any one but him. ”

“ Though she was clad in a warm fur cloak which had just been given her by her uncle and aunt, she felt dreadfully cold. She was miserably anxious and uneasy as to her coming interview with Harry Garlett. How could she ask the man she loved so degrading a question—how make him understand the great importance all those concerned with his defence attached to what she took to be a lying bit of low gossip? ”

“ That is the point on which you will have to try and convince judge, jury, and the very clever gentleman who will lead the Prosecution for the Crown. Now it is obvious to me that if you set out to do that as the woman who loves the prisoner in the dock, and absolutely believes in his innocence, that fact will give your words far more weight than if you come into court admitting that you have broken off your engagement. ”

“ Again Harry Garlett made a mighty effort to pull himself together. He had all your honest man’s instinctive, absolute trust in justice. No one believed more firmly than himself that “truth will out, even in an affidavit,” but even so, though he was not exactly an imaginative man, he did feel as if the gods, envious of the wonderful happiness with which his cup had been filled up to brimming over till a few moments ago, had devised this cruel, devilish trick....
60“I am quite willing to tell you everything you wish to know,” he said frankly. “But there is very little to tell, Mr. Kentworthy.” ”

“ Garlett walked straight over to where she was standing and looked at her fixedly:
“I am suspected of having murdered my wife, Aunt Jenny,” he said in a hard, matter-of-fact voice, “and from what I can make out that suspicion will never be laid to rest till they have dug up the poor creature and satisfied themselves that she died a natural death.”
The colour drifted from Mrs. Maclean’s healthy face.
“Is what he says true?” she asked, turning to her husband.
“Yes and no,” he answered in a measured tone. “It’s true that Harry has some deadly enemy who is trying to fasten this awful charge on him. ”

“ James Kentworthy was on his way to Bonnie Doon, for it had been arranged that he and the doctor should drive together to Grendon in order to be present at the final inquiry before the magistrates.
The private inquiry agent felt, if possible, even more baffled than he had been at the end of his conversation with Jean Bower. He had learned everything there was to learn, or so he felt convinced, concerning the only people who had had access to Mrs. Garlett, and more and more it had become clear to him that the only human being with a paramount interest in her death was her husband, Harry Garlett. ”

“ Maclean so far forgot herself as to say something which reduced her husband to silence.
She went back to her place behind the teapot, and from there, in a small, still voice, she said quietly:
“You did make one mistake, Jock. You hadn’t a doubt that the woman died a natural death, and you signed a certificate to that effect. Isn’t it just possible that you’ve made another mistake? Supposing, after all, Mrs. Garlett had got tired of her life and made up her mind to quit? Don’t you go and be too sure of anything, my dear. You were wrong once; you may be wrong again.” ”

“ It may be asked why Miss Prince did not follow the example of innumerable women belonging to the neighbourhood, that is, go off to Grendon and, after a more or less long wait, fight her way into the police court? Had she been thirty years younger she might have done so, but being the manner of woman she was, the thought of doing so unladylike and bold a thing never even occurred to her. And yet, during the whole of the wakeful night which preceded her early rising, her mind was entirely occupied with the form the evidence against Harry Garlett was likely to assume. ”

“ Kentworthy to work upon, and at last he said:
“I wonder, sir, if you would mind my seeing Miss Bower alone? She is more likely to talk frankly to me if there are none of her family present.”
Dr. Maclean looked dubious.
“I don’t believe that would be the case with my niece,” he replied. “But it shall be as you wish, Mr. Kentworthy. Talk to the girl frankly—as frankly as you have talked to me. For one thing she deserves frankness.” He added, in a rather shamefaced voice, “I take it, Mr. Kentworthy, that you still feel an unshaken belief in Garlett’s innocence?” ”

“ But the general feeling is that it is just that handicap on the visitors which equalizes the chances and makes the match one of real sporting interest.
The pavilion is situated at the top of the cricket field and commands a splendid view of the game. But the game is not the only thing. Indeed, there are people there to whom it is not only an excuse to meet, to gossip, and to enjoy a generous host’s delightful hospitality. For, at the back of the great room where Harry Garlett’s special guests are all gathered together, is a buffet loaded with every kind of delicious food, wine, and spirits. ”

“ The word is passed round that this is no other than Agatha Cheale.
She and Miss Prince walk past the other witnesses with averted eyes, and sit at the extreme end of the long bench.
Ten o’clock strikes, and now comes the moment when the judge, who embodies the majesty, the terror, the splendour of British justice, walks with slow, rhythmic steps to his place. He is a tall man, and shows off his red robes, deep ermine bands, and full-bottomed wig to great advantage. ”

“ True there is no unjust judge, no stupid, conceited set of jurymen, but as a terrible set-off to that relief there is no rapture—or none to speak of—in the land of dreams. You and Harry Garlett have the best of it, even now, in the waking world, Miss Jean. ”

“ Garlett means to go into the box,” said Jean quickly.
“I know he does,” said the other, “and I’m sorry for it. It’s an unfair thing that any man now standing on trial for his life has to go into the box or be considered guilty! Why, it’s a monstrous thing in a way. Those who changed the law never thought it would be like that.” ”

“ You’ve become our child. Want you to go away!”
She walked up to him and put her hand through his arm. She was very moved, and for one fleeting moment she forgot Harry Garlett.
“Then why,” she faltered, “why did you say that cruel, cruel thing just now, Uncle Jock?—I mean about my leaving Bonnie Doon?”
“Because,” he answered painfully, “if you stay here your life will become unendurable between now and Harry’s trial. Your aunt and I have already talked it over. She suggests you and she going away together to some quiet spot where you can pass as Miss Maclean.” ”

“ Everyone is silent in the tense excitement. Again the ball flies from the bowler’s hand, and this time the Australian giant decides to go all out for a winning hit. He opens his brawny chest, all rippling with knotted muscles, and, taking the ball fair in the middle of the bat, lifts it in a huge and lofty curve which seems certain to come to earth beyond the boundary of the pitch.
But wait! Garlett is there, at extra long-on. It is the catch he has planned with the bowler. ”

“ Maclean was alone.
“What signifies the message Jean brought me just now?” she exclaimed. “Why must the marriage be put off, even for one day, Jock? Surely you can postpone going to London till to-morrow afternoon?”
“I’m the bearer of bad news,” he said heavily.
Mrs. Maclean stood up.
“What’s the matter?” she asked in a frightened tone.
As her husband remained silent, she went up to him, and gave his arm a shake:
“Jock? You’re frightening me! Have you found out anything about Harry Garlett? D’you mean you think the marriage will have to be broken off?” ”

“ Agatha Cheale.
56 CHAPTER VI “I am the most fortunate man in England! I am the happiest man in the world!”
As he swung along in the bright winter sunshine on the field path which formed a short cut to the town, again and again these words seemed to hammer themselves, in joyful cadence, on Harry Garlett’s brain.
What we call the human heart is full of the strangest twists and turnings, and so, though Garlett’s heart was full of Jean Bower, he threw an affectionately retrospective thought to his late wife. ”

“ In such a place as Grendon everybody is interested in every other body’s business. As soon as he had come back Harry Garlett had sent off Jean Bower for a short holiday, and soon, to his mingled amusement and annoyance, he found he could hardly take a step down the High Street without some good-natured gossip telling him how splendidly the girl had managed poor crazy old Dodson! ”