Carmela: Only after you made his life so unendurable that he had to leave you.
Mrs. Verschoyle: You take his part? I believe you are in love with him still.
Carmela: I am not, and you know it.
Here, Mrs. Verschoyle burst into a torrent of such abusive language, that, as a gentlewoman and a Christian, I had to interfere. Carmela left the room, and after Mrs. Verschoyle's anger had expended itself, she relapsed into sulky silence.
June 5th. Such a delightful man is staying here--Marchese Matteo Vassalla--he is a cousin of the sisters, and is waiting the arrival of the P. and O. "Neptune" to go on to England. I have made a discovery; he is in love with Carmela, and Mrs. Verschoyle is in love with him. How strange! Carmela always seems to stand in the way of her sister, and that does not mend the breach between them. They went out together and came back quarrelling--I suppose, about the Marchese--and Carmela said she was going to England in the "Neptune."
June 13th. The "Neptune" has arrived, and Carmela has secured her passage. She is going to Sir Mark Trevor in England, and will be escorted by her cousin, Vassalla. I should not wonder if they were engaged by the time they reach London. Carmela and her sister made up their quarrel, and went out together, then Carmela came back alone, almost crying and shut herself in her room. Mrs. Verschoyle's a minx; later on that lady came back in a fearful rage, I fancy she must have spoken to some one who differed from her; she tried to see Carmela, but that young lady very properly refused to be further insulted, so Mrs. Verschoyle shut herself up in her room. Carmela went away without saying good-bye to her, and Mrs. Verschoyle refused to come to dinner. After dinner, I went up to her room, and knocked at the door; it was still locked, and I could obtain no answer from her, so I went to bed early, having a headache.
June 14th.--Next morning Mrs. Verschoyle was not at breakfast, and sent down word she had a headache; no wonder, with the way she lets her violent temper run away with her. I saw her later in the day, and asked her why she did not answer when I knocked on the previous night. She said she was asleep and did not hear me. I did not speak to her again. She has lost both her lovers and her sister, and I'm not sorry.
Here all extracts from the diary likely to be of any use to us end, and if you will read them carefully, you will see that according to the report of Mrs. Dexter, faithfully given, Mrs. Verschoyle did not leave the house on the night of the sailing of the "Neptune," so she could not have been on board, and consequently must be innocent of the crime.
Now, of course, it is a debatable question whether or not Mrs. Verschoyle really did leave the house. You will perceive that she refused to come down to dinner, and stayed in her own room. After dinner, Mrs. Dexter went up to her door, found it locked, and could get no answer. Now, what was easier than for Mrs. Verschoyle to slip out of her room while all were at dinner, and the servants away in the kitchen, lock her door, to lead to the belief that she was still there, and go off to the ship, commit the crime, and come home again? Unluckily, Mrs. Dexter went to bed early, or Mrs. Verschoyle's return would not have escaped her lynx-eyes; so if she did go out as I surmise--and, mind you it is only a surmise--the servants might have seen her return. I therefore questioned the servants, but could get no satisfactory answers out of them, as they could remember nothing; not even money could sharpen their wits. In this extremity, I bethought myself of boldly asking Mrs. Verschoyle herself, and in the drawing-room, after dinner, I led the conversation round to the excellence of the P. and O. steamers, and asked her if she had seen the "Neptune"? She winced and changed colour a little, and then answered, "No." Mrs. Dexter then became my ally, and the conversation was as follows:--
Mrs. Dexter: Your sister went to England in the "Neptune?"