The Yellow Holly

by Fergus Hume

After making a good meal, for he felt the need of food to sustain him, he ordered coffee, and sat down to read the manuscript of Mrs. Jersey. The coffee was brought, George lighted his pipe, and having poked the fire into a blaze, made himself comfortable.

The confession of the wretched woman who had come to so tragic an end, was written on several sheets of foolscap loosely pinned together. Her caligraphy was vile, and George had great difficulty in making out some of the words. Also the English was not faultless, but good grammar and fine writing were scarcely to be expected from a woman in the position of Eliza Stokes.

But she wrote in a most cold-blooded way, and seemingly exulting in her wickedness. All through her confession ran a venomous strain of deadly hatred toward George's mother, and indeed against any woman who paid attention to Vane. Jenny Howard was not spared, and the woman Velez, "who kept an oil-shop," sneered Mrs. Jersey, was mentioned. When Brendon discovered that Mrs. Jersey had Italian blood in her veins he saw perfectly well whence she got her savage nature and undisciplined affections. She was like a wild beast let loose among more civilized animals, and the wonder was that with such a nature she had not committed more crimes than those she confessed to. The woman was a dangerous creature, and Brendon when he laid down the manuscript thought it just as well that she had been removed even by the violent means which Providence permitted.

"My parents were of humble station," began Mrs. Jersey, abruptly. "I believe my mother was a lady's maid. She married my supposed father, who was a butler. I say 'my supposed father' as I have reason to believe that I was the daughter of a certain Italian count who had loved and betrayed my mother. In her moments of rage my mother would taunt my supposed father with this, but when calm she always denied that there was any truth. When I grew old enough to understand she rebuked me for asking about the matter. 'You are my daughter,' she said abruptly, 'and the daughter of Samuel Stokes, who is the biggest fool and the greatest craven I know.'

"It will be seen that there was no love lost between my parents. My father Stokes--as I may call him, though I believe the count was my real sire--was always very kind to me, and shielded me from my mother's rage. She treated me very cruelly, and when fifteen I was glad to go out as a scullery-maid so as to escape her persecution. Shortly after I took up life on my own account she died in a fit of violent rage, during which she broke a blood-vessel. I think Stokes was glad when she died. She made his life a misery when she lived, and tormented every one around her. If I have faults, it is not to be expected that I could inherit a decent nature from such a mother. I never loved her, and when she died I did not shed a single tear. I remember singing at my work on the day I received the news. One of my fellow-servants asked me why I was so gay? I replied that I had heard of my mother's death. After that they hated me, and I had to leave my situation. But had any one of them possessed such a mother, any one of them would have been as gay and relieved as I was. So much for my mother.

"As for my presumed father Stokes, I saw very little of him. He retired from business and bought a public-house. Then he married again, and was not inclined to see much of me. I did not mind, as I never loved him in spite of his kindness. I dare say I should have returned his affection, but my mother had beaten all love out of me.

"It is needless to give my early life in detail. I rose from scullery-maid to housemaid. Then I became parlor-maid in a suburban villa, where the wages were poor and the food was bad. I took charge of children when not doing housework, and managed to get on. But I was ambitious. I wished to get among the servants of the aristocracy. A friend of mine who was maid to the Duchess of--taught me her duties, and I procured a situation. I pleased my mistress, and she promised to do much for me. However, she died, and I was thrown on the world. I saw an advertisement for a lady's maid, and got the situation. It was in this way that I became the servant of that woman whom I hated so deeply.

"She was called Rosina Lockwood, and was no better born than myself. Her father was a low man who taught singing, and she appeared herself on the stage. I never thought she was beautiful, myself. She had good hair, and her complexion was passable, but her figure was bad, and she had no brains. An inane, silly, foolish woman. How Percy Vane could have eloped with her beats me. But men are such fools. He would not look at me, yet I was ten times as lovely as this singing-woman, and quite as well born. Oh, how I hated her!

"At first I rather liked Miss Lockwood. She was kind to me in her silly way, and the gentlemen who were in love with her gave me plenty of money to deliver notes and other things. There was one gentleman who was the best of them all--and the biggest fool over her blue eyes and fair hair. His name was Ireland, and he had plenty of money. He came to learn singing from old Lockwood simply to be near her, and proposed three times, to my knowledge. But she would have nothing to do with him, which was foolish, as he had money, and she could have twisted him round her finger. Why he loved her so and what he saw in her I can't say. She had nothing attractive about her, so far as I could see.

"I was a handsome girl in those days, though I say it myself. But if a woman is good-looking, why shouldn't she say so? I had a perfect figure, and a complexion like cream and roses. My hair was as black as night, and my eyes were sparkling and large. I taught myself to read and write, and I learned French. Also I learned to play the piano, and to conduct myself like a lady, as I always was. I often dreamed that I would marry a gentleman, and I could have done so but that my foolish heart was captured by the only man who would have nothing to do with it, or with me.