CHAPTER VI.
A SUCCESSFUL ORDEAL.
The general opinion was that Gerald Neston behaved foolishly in allowing himself to be interviewed by the Bull’s-eye. Indeed, it is rather odd, when we consider the almost universal disapproval of the practice of interviewing, to see how frequent interviews are. Damnantur et crescunt; and mankind agrees to excuse its own weakness by postulating irresistible ingenuity and audacity in the interviewer. So Gerald was publicly blamed and privately blessed for telling the Bull’s-eye that an atrocious accusation had been brought against the lady referred to, and brought by one who should have been the last to bring it, and would, he hoped, be the first to withdraw it. The accusation did seriously concern the lady’s character, and nothing but the fullest apology could be accepted. He preferred not to go into details at present; indeed, he hoped it would never be necessary to do so.
Such might be Gerald’s hope. It was not the hope of the Bull’s-eye, nor, indeed, of society in general. What could be more ill-advised than to hint dreadful things and refuse full information? Such a course simply left the imagination to wander, fancy free, through the Newgate Calendar, attributing to Mrs. Witt—the name of the slandered lady was by this time public property—all or any of the actions therein recorded.
“It’s like a blank bill,” said Charters, the commercial lawyer, to Mr. Blodwell; “you fill it up for as much as the stamp will cover.”
“The more gossiping fool you,” replied Mr. Blodwell, very rudely, and quite unjustifiably, for the poor man merely meant to indicate a natural tendency, not to declare his own idea of what was proper. But Mr. Blodwell was cross; everybody had made fools of themselves, he thought, and he was hanged—at least hanged—if he saw his way out of it.
George’s name had not as yet been actually mentioned, but everybody knew who it was,—that “relative of Lord Tottlebury, whose legal experience, if nothing else, should have kept him from bringing ungrounded accusations;” and George’s position was far from pleasant. He began to see, or fancy he saw, men looking askance at him; his entrance was the occasion of a sudden pause in conversation; his relations with his family were, it need hardly be said, intolerable to the last degree; and, finally, Isabel Bourne had openly gone over to the enemy, had made her mother invite Neaera Witt to dinner, and had passed George in the park with the merest mockery of a bow. He was anxious to bring matters to an issue one way or another, and with this end he wrote to Lord Tottlebury, asking him to arrange a meeting with Mrs. Witt.
“As you are aware,” he said, “I have been to Peckton. I have already told you what I found there, so far as it bore on the fact of ‘Nelly Game’s’ conviction. I now desire to give certain persons who were acquainted with ‘Nelly Game’ an opportunity of seeing Mrs. Witt. No doubt she will raise no objections. Blodwell is willing to put his chambers at our disposal; and I think this would be the best place, as it will avoid the gossip and curiosity of the servants. Will Mrs. Witt name a day and time? I and my companions will make a point of suiting her convenience.”
George’s “companions” were none other than the fussy clerk and the fat policeman. The female warder had vanished; and although there were some prison officials whose office dated from before Nelly Game’s imprisonment, George felt that, unless his first two witnesses were favourable, it would be useless to press the matter, and did not at present enlist their services. Mr. Jennings, the Lincoln’s Inn barrister, had proved utterly hopeless. George showed him the photograph. “I shouldn’t have recognized it from Eve’s,” said Mr. Jennings; and George felt that he might, without duplicity, ignore such a useless witness.