Goold, however, was content to take the part of the shabby genteel "loafer," and for some years he was well known in most of the taprooms in the West End. When he was in funds he was in the habit of entertaining acquaintances in one of the cheap Soho restaurants, but these rare appearances in the rôle of host were invariably marked by ejection from the particular restaurant. Now and then he paid a small fine at Marlborough Street for being "drunk and disorderly," but on the whole Vere Goold had only one enemy, and that was himself. He was otherwise quite inoffensive until he came into the life of the adventuress.
The moment she decided to become Vere Goold's wife there was no way of escape for him. The woman was a human snake, and he was the frightened, timid rabbit. She dosed him with liquor and did all the thinking for him. When she led him to the nearest register office he plaintively said "Yes" to everything, and it took his drink-soddened mind some hours to realize that he was a married man, the husband of Marie, the woman with the evil face and the tongue of honey.
Marie Goold was delighted with her third husband. She compiled a list of his relatives, most of them of good social position, and, what was more important, she discovered there was a baronetcy in the family, and that if only certain persons died her husband would succeed to it and she would become Lady Goold! Ambition and vanity caused her to make her husband assume the baronetcy. By now the dressmaking business had been disposed of, and the married couple had about a hundred pounds between them. Marie voted for a protracted honeymoon on the Continent, and, to lend distinction to their adventures, it was as Sir Vere and Lady Goold that they left London for Paris, "her ladyship" plentifully stocked with clothes which she had obtained from the wholesale houses without troubling to pay for them.
But when their funds vanished they experienced many vicissitudes of fortune, and Vere Goold, who waited on his wife like a slave, came in for much abuse. He would listen meekly to her upbraidings, and then wander forth, hoping to meet an acquaintance on the boulevards whom he might "tap" for a few francs. They were turned out of several hotels and boarding-houses. Once Goold borrowed a little money and gave it to Marie. She promptly took a room at an hotel, and as the manager insisted upon cash down, even for their meals, she let her husband go without food, whilst she enjoyed the excellent cuisine of the hotel.
They experienced occasional bursts of sunshine when Marie succeeded in extracting loans from confiding hotel acquaintances, but the inevitable sequel to these minor triumphs was flight to escape prosecution for fraud. The helpless husband followed her about like a tame dog, and when she told him that she had found a way out of all their troubles he believed her, and declared his acquiescence in everything she said and did.
I have mentioned that Marie Goold was a gambler, and in the darkest hour she remembered Monte Carlo. She was positive that she knew the way to break the bank. Given a little capital, she was confident that she would make them both rich beyond the dreams of avarice.
The adventuress craved for big money now. For years she had lived by her wits, and the result was misery, mental and physical. She had swindled scores of acquaintances, and it was hardly safe for her to appear in London, Paris and other cities. She knew that the police of several countries had her name on their books, and for all her cleverness she had nothing to show except a weak-minded drunkard of a husband and her own ill-nourished condition. But she felt certain that Monte Carlo would prove their salvation. It was her last hope. She had expended all other sources of income, and now everything would depend on her cleverness as a gambler and the system she had invented.
For ten days they were held up in Paris owing to lack of funds, but Vere Goold wrote pitiful letters to friends in England, and a few of them responded, while Marie, making the most of her assumed title of "Lady Goold," obtained on approval a diamond ring from a jeweller. She was to have it on approval for twenty-four hours, and then, if she decided to keep it, was to pay cash down. But before the twenty-four hours elapsed the ring was pawned and she and the "baronet" were in the express for the Riviera, exulting over the good time coming. She had worked out an infallible system with which she could smash the bank, and henceforth they were—so she assured him—to have no difficulty in living up to their "baronetcy."
Marie was so anxious to keep as much of her small store of money as possible for the tables in the Casino that she became economically minded, and, instead of going to an hotel, took apartments in a Villa. She sent for her niece to act as a sort of housekeeper, because she would have to spend her days in the gaming-rooms. The niece, who was only twenty-four, was delighted to accept the invitation. She had not experienced much pleasure in her life, and the prospect of a season at Monte Carlo enchanted her.
It is not difficult to guess Marie Goold's experiences as a would-be breaker of the bank at Monte Carlo. The "infallible system," which had worked out so well on paper, proved a delusion and a snare, and Marie returned from the Casino in a towering rage with everybody. For hours her husband had patiently waited outside the Casino to accompany her home. He was not allowed to enter by his strong-minded wife, who had ordered him to hang about outside until she was tired of playing. Vere Goold would have willingly allowed her to use him as a door mat, and he was quite content to take her to the Casino and remain in the grounds until she was ready for him. He had a vague idea that his clever wife would overcome all difficulties, for he believed her to be a genius.