CHAPTER IV.
“Mrs. de Lara,” queries Hector D’Estrange, in a voice in which respect and tenderness are mingled, “you have heard the statement for the prosecution in which you and I are accused of undue intimacy? You have heard my reply, in which I declare you to be my mother? Which statement is correct?”
“Yours,” she replies in a firm, clear voice. “I am your mother.”
“And my father?” he again asks.
“Was Captain Harry Kintore.”
“Both Weston and Victoire state that they gave you a month’s notice. Is this a fact?”
“It is not,” she replies firmly; “it was I who gave it to them. To Weston for being drunk and impertinent, to Victoire for the latter fault.”
“It is stated by Weston that you were in the habit of receiving frequent visits from Lord Westray? Is this so?”
“It is not,” she answers quickly; “the statement is a wicked falsehood. Only once he obtained admittance, when he came to insult me with the proposal that I should re-marry him and forget the past. You came in when he was there, and requested him to leave the house.”
“Did he do so?”
“At once,” she replies.
“Since then have you been annoyed by his presence, or in any other way?”
“By his presence, no, until the night on which he is alleged to have been murdered, but by letters, yes.”
“You have kept or destroyed those letters?”
“Every one is destroyed!” she replies almost fiercely; “most of them unopened.”
“Can you remember the date when Rita Vernon first came to you, and who sent her?”
“Yes, well,” answers Speranza. “It was the 21st of June, 1894. She brought a letter from you, written at the instance of the Duke of Ravensdale. I at once made her my secretary and general amanuensis.”
“Has she served you faithfully?”
“None more so,” she replies.
“Mrs. de Lara, you have heard Mr. Trackem’s statement, that you sent her with a note to him on the day of the supposed murder. Is this true, or false?”
“False!” she replies sternly.
“And you have heard Victoire’s declaration that you left a letter for her, apprising her of your departure for London the night of the supposed murder. Is this true?”
“It is not,” she answers. “I wrote no letter.”
“Will you give his lordship and the gentlemen of the jury your version of what occurred on the night in question.”
She gives it in a firm, clear voice, without hesitation or faltering. She tells the facts as we have described them in a former chapter. A shudder runs through the court at their mere recital. Is it possible that such horrors reflect the truth? Sir Anthony smiles superciliously.
“Hallucination,” he mutters audibly. “Many women are subject to it.”
She looks at him contemptuously, but scorns to further notice the great man’s brutality.
“You swear, Mrs. de Lara, that what you have stated is absolutely correct?”
“Absolutely,” she answers calmly; “I swear it.”
Cross-examined by the Attorney-General.
“You will swear that you were not in the habit of receiving Lord Westray, Mrs. de Lara? Now, pray be careful, very careful.”
Again the same contemptuous glance, as she proudly replies, “I swear it.”
“And you mean to say that you never sent Rita Vernon with a letter to Mr. Trackem, or left a note for Victoire Hester on the day of Lord Westray’s murder? Again I ask you to be careful.”
“I did not!” is her fierce reply.
Sir Anthony puts his hands on his hips. There is a self-satisfied smile on his face as he glances round the court, but he questions no further.
“I have no more to ask the witness,” he remarks jauntily.
Rita Vernon is next called and questioned. She describes her first meeting with the Duke of Ravensdale, and what followed. She gives in simple, unaffected language the story of the attack on Speranza and the part she played in it. Again Sir Anthony is heard to mutter the word “hallucination.” He has no questions to put to the witness—yet stay—as she is about to leave the box he jumps up.
“One moment please, Miss Vernon,” he remarks in a suave voice. “I presume, of course, that you are grateful to the Duke of Ravensdale for all his kindness?”
There is a flash in her grey eyes, but she answers quietly,
“Need you ask it, sir? I would die for his Grace.”
The next witness is the duke himself. He corroborates the statements made by Hector D’Estrange, Speranza de Lara, and Rita Vernon. His evidence is listened to with marked attention, and the keenest interest by the Court. Sir Anthony does not cross-examine him.
As he steps down, Hector D’Estrange’s voice is heard speaking.
“I have one more witness to call,” he is saying. “This will be my last, my lord. I call for Dr. Merioneth.”
A white-haired man enters the box and is sworn.
“Dr. Merioneth, do you recall attending Mrs. de Lara many years ago?” inquires the accused.
“I do,” replies the witness.
“Will you state for what purpose, and how many years have elapsed since then?” is the next question.
“I attended Mrs. de Lara in her confinement, and it is twenty-eight years ago,” answers the old doctor.
“Where, Dr. Merioneth?”
“At Ancona, sir, on the Adriatic.”
“The child was born well and healthy, I believe?”
“A beautiful child indeed,” replies the doctor. “I wish all children resembled it.”
“Thank you, Dr. Merioneth.”
“Stay, I have a word, please, to put to you,” exclaims the Attorney-General, jumping up. “You have not told us the sex of the child, doctor.”
For a moment the old man hesitates. Then he looks sadly at the prisoner.
“A girl it was,” he replies in a low voice.
“Ha! a girl you say?” echoes the counsel for the prosecution in a loud voice, as he looks round the court with a knowing air. “Thank you, doctor. I am greatly obliged to you for that information.”
This concludes the evidence for the defence.
Then Sir Anthony rises slowly and portentously. His hands are behind him, he leans perilously forward, and his gown is stuck out behind like a lady’s dress-improver. He appears thoroughly satisfied with the appearance of importance which he believes this attitude gives him, but it is not so certain that others share that opinion.
“My lord, and gentlemen of the jury,” he begins in a somewhat pompous voice, “the case before us is a very peculiar one, yet I hope to detain you at very little length in reviewing it. The prisoner, Mr. D’Estrange, is accused of a base and horrible murder, and it is my painful duty to endeavour to bring home to the jury the absolute certainty of his guilt. It will be necessary in so doing to show motive for the crime, and I think I shall be able to point to this motive as conclusive, jealousy prompting and being at the bottom of it. It is now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, nigh on thirty years ago that Mrs. de Lara, then known as Lady Altai, broke faith with her husband, whom in wedding she had sworn to love, honour, and obey, and shamelessly fled with her lover, Captain Harry Kintore. It is known that Lord Altai, who was devoted to his wife, pursued the two, coming up with them at Ancona. Here, having confronted them, a fierce dispute ensued. It is said that Captain Kintore drew a revolver, and in self-defence Lord Altai fired at him, unfortunately with fatal effect. I wish to dwell as lightly as possible upon a matter so terrible, and therefore pass on to the next event in this painful story, namely, the birth of a child. Dr. Merioneth has been called, ostensibly to bear witness to that birth. Unfortunately he has marred the case for the defence by informing us that the child to which Mrs. de Lara gave birth was a female. Now, my lord, one of the chief points of Mr. D’Estrange’s defence is, that the intimacy which we declare has existed between him and this lady for so long a time is impossible, inasmuch as Mrs. de Lara is his mother. She has herself so stated this, and furthermore pointed to Captain Kintore as being Mr. D’Estrange’s father. This statement must fall to the ground in face of what Dr. Merioneth has told us. So much for that portion of the defence, as I do not suppose Mr. D’Estrange is going to pose before us as a woman. It would appear that Mrs. de Lara is not averse to this mode of life. She married Lord Altai by her own free will. Next we find her leaving him and electing a new lover in the person of Captain Kintore, and of late years we have direct evidence that Mr. D’Estrange has been the favoured man. Yet not only this, but the evidence sworn to by Charles Weston, Victoire Hester, and Mr. Trackem points to the existence of a secret intimacy carried on by this lady with her divorced husband, Lord Westray. Both she and Mr. D’Estrange now tell us that only once did the late earl obtain admission to Mrs. de Lara’s house, and then it was in opposition to the latter’s wishes. I leave you to judge if this statement be possible of either acceptance or belief, in face of what the witnesses referred to have told us.
“We have heard some evidence likewise of the way in which Rita Vernon became introduced into Mrs. de Lara’s household. It appears that she was formerly no novice to Mr. Trackem’s house. She does not deny this. In fact, how could she? Does it not strike you, gentlemen, that Rita Vernon was just a peculiar class of young woman to put in the responsible position described by Mrs. de Lara, and does it not seem very clear that the use to which her services were put was of a totally different nature? We were told distinctly by Mr. Trackem that Mrs. de Lara sent him a note by Rita Vernon on the day of the murder, instructing him to retain his house for her and Lord Westray. Mrs. de Lara denies having written this note. I produce it, and it runs as follows:—
“‘Sir,—Please to reserve the house to-night as usual for Lord Westray and myself. We shall arrive between twelve and one.
“S. de Lara.’
“What is to be thought, my lord, of the veracity of such witnesses as Mrs. de Lara and Rita Vernon, for the girl denies having delivered this note? Yet here we have it, and we have furthermore the fact, that on the night when Mr. D’Estrange shot Lord Westray, Mrs. de Lara was found alone with that nobleman in Mr. Trackem’s house. And, gentlemen, as against this very clear and circumstantial evidence, we are asked by Mrs. de Lara and Rita Vernon to accept a romance which all sane men can only regard in the light of hallucination, if not, as I regret to believe, downright deliberate falsehood. We are asked to believe that Mrs. de Lara was waylaid in her own grounds at night, overcome by ruffians, and carried off bound hand and foot to London. We are asked to believe that a slight, frail girl like Rita Vernon performed a task which a man of herculean strength would have found almost beyond his power to accomplish. We are asked, in fact, to believe that Rita Vernon, whom you have had an opportunity of seeing, could cling to a brougham between Windsor and London, and then sum up sufficient force to make her way to Montragee House at half-past two in the morning, where of course, like in a fairy tale, she finds the Duke of Ravensdale and Mr. D’Estrange all ready to accompany her to the release of the lady fair. The story defeats its own end by its wild improbability, unsupported by fact, and establishes at once the reasonable and circumstantial evidence of the side for the prosecution. I maintain that there is proof positive that Mr. D’Estrange, assisted by Rita Vernon,—who in this instance betrayed her mistress,—came upon the unfortunate earl with intent to murder. He admits that he shot him, but he declines to give any further information as to what he did with Lord Westray after leaving the house in Verdegrease Crescent. We find, moreover, that the three letters purporting to come from Lord Westray, and addressed to Mr. Trackem, are all written on paper which Victoire Hester has identified as the quality and class always used by Mr. D’Estrange and Mrs. de Lara, and exactly similar to the paper on which the notes to Mr. Trackem and Victoire Hester were penned on the day of the murder. The writing of the last note is denied. Again I meet that denial by producing the note. It runs thus:—
“‘Hester,—I have gone up to town for a few days, will let you know when to expect me back. Miss Vernon has accompanied me.
“‘Faithfully yours,
“‘S. de Lara.’
“Such facts leave very little doubt in my mind but that Mrs. de Lara had arranged to meet Lord Westray, and that Rita Vernon betrayed her intention to Mr. D’Estrange. Such facts convince me that this latter resolved on vengeance. He deliberately went to Verdegrease Crescent, and shot Lord Westray, and finally, under cover of repentance, decoyed him from the house, and got rid of him somehow and somewhere. What follows? A letter arrives for Mr. Trackem, who is frightened out of his wits at the turn affairs have taken—a letter, purporting to come from Lord Westray. By a strange coincidence, this letter and others following are all written on the same class of paper as that used by Mr. D’Estrange in Mrs. de Lara’s house. Lastly, the very suit which Lord Westray was known to have been wearing the night he was shot at, has been found buried deep in the ground on the property of Mrs. de Lara at Windsor, bearing evidence of having been a long time under the earth, and in close proximity to it the body of a man reduced to a skeleton was also discovered. Around the neck of this skeleton a gold chain and locket was found, and on the little finger a plain gold ring. These have been identified by the late earl’s valet, who has sworn to seeing them on the earl’s person the day he disappeared. It would be superfluous for me to detain you with further details, the points of evidence which I have submitted being, it appears to me, too clear for it to be possible to draw any other conclusion but the one that Mr. D’Estrange deliberately, and of malice aforethought, did shoot at Lord Westray with intent to kill, and did afterwards, in some manner not yet unravelled, make away with the life of that unfortunate nobleman. I ask you, therefore, to put aside from your minds Mr. D’Estrange’s high position and social status, and to find a verdict in accordance with the evidence before you.”
The great man sits down hastily, and glances round the court. An almost unnatural stillness reigns therein. Every eye is bent on the prisoner, and then on the beautiful, pale, gold-headed woman, whose gaze is riveted on her child’s face with an intensity terrible to witness. But there is nothing but calmness on the features of Hector D’Estrange, in whose eyes the confident, triumphant expression shines, which conscious innocence alone could create.
“I will endeavour, like the Attorney-General,” he observes, “to detain the Court as shortly as possible. But at the very outset I would wish to point out to you that the evidence of Weston and Victoire is not trustworthy, as being that of discharged servants. Mrs. de Lara has told you most emphatically that Lord Westray paid her no visits, save the one referred to by the coachman, Alfred Hawkins. She has told you how that visit was forced upon her, and how Lord Westray was ordered out of the house by myself. There is absolutely no evidence corroborative of that given by Charles Weston, which I can only characterise as pure and malicious invention, the same remark applying to the false testimony of Victoire Hester. This woman has declared that Mrs. de Lara wrote her a note the night of the supposed murder apprising her of her visit to London. Yet these visits with Mrs. de Lara were of frequent occurrence, and she had never before found it necessary to acquaint Victoire of her movements. My lord, I declare the letter to be a forgery, as I also declare the letter to which Mr. Trackem refers as coming from Mrs. de Lara to be likewise. My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, the Attorney-General has passed a cruel and unnecessary sneer on Mrs. de Lara’s account of the ruffianly and brutal attack made upon her by the undoubtedly hired scoundrels of her most bitter foe. He has attributed all to romance, hallucination, deliberate falsehood. His insinuations are brutal and cowardly. My mother, like myself, would scorn to tell a lie. We leave that to the poltroons and cowards who seek by forgery and perjury to swear away the life of one who is innocent. I maintain that Mrs. de Lara’s account and description of what took place is in every essential particular true, while the corroborative evidence of Rita Vernon bears it out in every detail. The Duke of Ravensdale has clearly stated to you how the poor girl sought him at Montragee House, and the state she was in after her terrible drive. The Attorney-General smiles scornfully at the idea of a woman being capable of such pluck and heroism as Rita Vernon evinced on that occasion. I cast back the slur into his teeth. I tell him that if he wishes to find true courage and heroism combined, he must go to a woman to discover it. But it is not to such as he, that women will go for justice.
“And now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to put yourselves in my place. Had you been called to that house of ill fame, and there found a being whom you honoured, loved, and respected, in the hands and power of her bitterest enemy, bound hand and foot, gagged, bleeding, and helpless, would you not have acted as I did, and in the fury and horror of the moment lost all power of restraint? I admit that I shot Lord Westray; I have never denied it. But I do deny that I caused his death; and what is more, I confidently believe that he is alive at this moment, and that this foul accusation is a plot to ruin me, to be, in fact, revenged on yonder noble lady, who has through life resented his brutality, defied and scouted him, and refused to submit to his hideous desires. I make no pretence of being able to account for his disappearance, for the alleged discovery of his body and clothes, for the letters written in his handwriting on the paper used by myself and Mrs. de Lara. I am unable to understand it all save in the light of a base, foul, and detestable plot which has for its object revenge. Of that I know him to be perfectly capable.
“And now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I have but one more statement to make ere I close these remarks. I once more positively affirm that Mrs. de Lara is my mother, and that the intimacy of which I am accused is a base and unfounded fabrication.”
He has folded his arms, and his voice has ceased. A burst of applause greets him as he stops speaking. Vainly the judge calls for order.
“This is an exhibition that I will not tolerate,” exclaims that worthy functionary. “Another such a disgraceful proceeding, and I will cause the whole court to be instantly cleared.”
This produces silence. Sir James Grumpy is a bit of a martinet. The public knows that he means what he says.
And now he proceeds in his summing up. Very carefully he goes over all the points advanced by both sides, but it is apparent to all, from the first, that the summing up is most unfavourable to the accused. It takes him about an hour to get through his task, and all the time Hector D’Estrange stands motionless, with folded arms and immovable features. Only now and again the dark blue eyes wander to where Speranza is sitting, with the Duke of Ravensdale by her side.
The summing up is over at length, and the jury have retired to consider their verdict. Apparently, however, they had made up their minds beforehand, for they do not keep the Court long waiting. In a few minutes every one has reassembled.
“Gentlemen of the jury, have you considered your verdict?” rings out a harsh, sing-song voice.
“We have,” answers the foreman.
“You find the accused guilty or not guilty of the murder of Lord Westray?”
Amidst a silence, terrible in its intensity, comes the answer—
“Guilty.”
A thrill of horror runs through the court. There is hardly a dry eye within it. The duke has got Speranza’s hand in his, but she never moves.
“Hector D’Estrange, have you any reason to give why sentence of death should not be passed upon you?” again inquires the harsh, sing-song voice.
“I have,” he answers, with a low musical laugh. “My reason is, that if I am put to death, murder will indeed be committed, for I am guiltless. I wish to add also one word of explanation, for I see the time has come. Both Sir Anthony and the learned judge have laid great stress on the apparent falsehood of which they allege I have been guilty, in declaring that I am the child of Captain Harry Kintore and Mrs. de Lara. They point to the fact that Dr. Merioneth has declared that the child born at Ancona was a girl. Has it never struck you, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, that a girl could do what I have done in youth, a woman accomplish what I have accomplished in maturer years? No. I plainly see that this has not struck you, for you are men. You will not acknowledge that a woman can equal man, and with fair opportunities rise to power and fame. Yet such has been my aim in life to prove, for this I have struggled; and had it not been for the base machinations of enemies, would assuredly have lived to triumphantly achieve. Know, however, that Hector D’Estrange is no liar. If for sixteen years he has practised on Society what may be called a fraud, it was for the sake of righting a terrible wrong. My lord, and gentlemen of the jury, I again declare myself to be the child of Captain Kintore and Mrs. de Lara, but I confess my sex. In Hector D’Estrange the world beholds a woman—her name, Gloria de Lara.”
Amidst confusion and excitement unparalleled sentence of death is passed. Yet, as the judge’s words come to a close, a voice rings through the court, a voice in which defiance and love are mingled. It is a woman’s voice. Many recognise it as Flora Desmond’s.
“As there is a God above,” it cries, “Gloria de Lara shall not die!”
But even as all eyes are turned in search of the speaker, Flora Desmond has vanished.
