For praise or for blame,
Who's sure of life's game?
A sentence--a name,
Turns joy into tears,
Who's sure of Life's game,
When Fate interferes?
This strange case--particulars of which in some mysterious way got into the daily papers--excited much curiosity in London, and when the preliminary inquiry into the affair took place, the court was crowded to suffocation. The public, of course, learned all about the matter from the newspapers, but how the reporters managed to learn so much was most extraordinary, as they gave an account of Mrs. Belswin's previous life--of her presence, under a false name, in the house of her late husband--of the murder of that husband--and of the wonderful amount of money realised by the sale of the Pole Star shares for the daughter of the murdered man, and the woman accused of the crime. All this, more or less garbled and exaggerated, appeared in the leading morning papers, and the "Pethram Paradox"--so it was called--took a prominent place among the sensations of the day. Maxwell, deeply angered at this publicity, which would make the public judge Mrs. Belswin guilty, before she had a chance of defending herself, made several attempts to find Dombrain, whom he suspected of being the author of this malignant gossip in order to damage the chance of the unfortunate woman during her trial, but Mr. Dombrain, suspecting that he would be looked for, made himself scarce, and until the day of the preliminary inquiry, nothing was seen or heard of him by those on the side of Mrs. Belswin.
Kaituna, noble-hearted girl as she was, persistently refused to believe her mother guilty; and, through Maxwell engaged the most prominent legal talent of the day for her defence; but although she sought an interview with Mrs. Belswin in jail, the unhappy woman persistently refused to see her until she was publicly proved innocent of the terrible crime laid to her charge. At this trying time Archie Maxwell proved himself worthy of the high opinion entertained of him by Kaituna, and acting as Mrs. Belswin's friend did everything in his power to assist her during the coming ordeal. Signor Ferrari too, mad with impulsive Italian wrath at the accusation made by Mr. Dombrain, offered himself as a witness; but on discovering that his evidence would be detrimental to Mrs. Belswin's defence, the lawyer declined to take advantage of his offer. As for Belk, whom Maxwell thought would be one of the first to come forward and help the unhappy woman he professed to love, he kept persistently out of the way, and neither by word nor deed showed that he took the least interest in her fate. When the day of the preliminary inquiry therefore came, Mrs. Belswin was left with only three friends who believed in her innocence--Kaituna, Maxwell, and Ferrari, who were all present in court when she was placed in the prisoner's dock.
She looked terribly pale and haggard, for Mrs. Belswin, having one of those natures which are only strong through impulse, was quite unable to bear up against the calamity which had befallen her. All her fierceness, her iron nerve, her reckless daring, which had successfully coped with so many perils, had now deserted her; for this blow, so long dreaded, having descended, she seemed unable to fight against it, and stood silently in the dock, a pale weeping woman, quite unlike the Borgia-like creature of other days. The follower of Mahomet will fight bravely as long as fortune goes with him; but when the tide turns and he believes that it is the will of Allah that evil should befall him, he says Kismet, and bows to the decree of Heaven. Mrs. Belswin behaved in exactly the same way--she had fought bravely against overwhelming odds to keep her daughter and her secret, but now that the worst had come she thought it useless to struggle against destiny, so resigned herself to the inevitable.
The counsel for the prosecution stated that this was one of the most painful cases that had ever come under his notice. It would be remembered that some months previously the public had been horrified to hear of the murder of Sir Rupert Pethram, of Thornstream, Berkshire; who had been shot while standing at the window of his study. In spite of the utmost vigilance of the police the person who had committed this dastardly crime could not be discovered; but now, by the evidence of Mr. Alfred Dombrain, the prisoner was accused of being the guilty person. The chain of circumstances which culminated in the committal of this crime were so extraordinary that he would take leave to inform the court of the whole affair, and the motive for the murder would be clearly proved against the prisoner. It appears that many years ago the deceased baronet--who at that time had not succeeded to the title--had married in New Zealand, where he was then living, the prisoner, Jezebel Manners, who was a half-caste, the daughter of a Maori mother and a European father, a woman of violent and rash temper. One child was born of the marriage, which turned out to be very unhappy; and eventually Mrs. Pethram eloped with an American, called Silas Oates. The late baronet obtained a decree absolute against her, and remained in New Zealand, where he looked after the welfare of his motherless child, while his divorced wife went to San Francisco with the co-respondent Oates. The divorced woman and her lover were together for some time; but he ultimately left her, evidently being quite unable to bear with her outrageous temper. The prisoner then went on the stage, and sang successfully in opera for many years under the name of Madame Tagni. Finally, about eight months previously, she came to England, and found that her husband, by the death of his brother, had succeeded to the title, and was living at Thornstream, in Berkshire, with his daughter Kaituna.