“You don’t understand. I have been attending Lady Colford, going straight from Emma’s room to her.”
Sir John whistled. “Oh, indeed. Certainly, that’s awkward. Well, we must hope for the best, and, look you here, when a fellow calls out to you another time just you stop to listen.”
To dwell on all that followed would serve no good purpose, and indeed what is the use of setting down the details of so much forgotten misery? In a week my beloved wife was dead, and in ten days Lady Colford had followed her into the darkness. Then it was, that to complete my own destruction, I committed an act of folly, for, meeting Sir John Bell, in my mad grief I was fool enough to tell him I knew that my wife’s death, and indirectly that of Lady Colford, were due to his improper treatment and neglect of precautions.
I need not enter into the particulars, but this in fact was the case.
He did not say much in answer to my accusation, but merely replied:—
“I make allowances for you; but, Dr. Therne, it is time that somebody taught you that people’s reputations cannot be slandered with impunity. Instead of attacking me I should recommend you to think of defending yourself.”
Very soon I learned the meaning of this hint. I think it was within a week of my wife’s funeral that I heard that Sir Thomas Colford, together with all his relations and those of the deceased lady, were absolutely furious with me. Awaking from my stupor of grief, I wrote a letter to Sir Thomas expressing my deep regret at the misfortune that I had been the innocent means of bringing upon him. To this letter I received a reply by hand, scrawled upon half a sheet of notepaper. It ran:—
“Sir Thomas Colford is surprised that Dr. Therne should think it worth while to add falsehood to murder.”
Then, for the first time, I understood in what light my terrible misfortune was regarded by the public. A few days later I received further enlightenment, this time from the lips of an inspector of police, who called upon me with a warrant of arrest on the charge of having done manslaughter on the body of Dame Blanche Colford.
That night I spent in Dunchester Jail, and next morning I was brought before the bench of magistrates, who held a special session to try my case. The chairman, whom I knew well, very kindly asked me if I did not wish for legal assistance. I replied, “No, I have nothing to defend,” which he seemed to think a hard saying, at any rate he looked surprised. On the other side counsel were employed nominally on behalf of the Crown, although in reality the prosecution, which in such a case was unusual if not unprecedented, had been set on foot and undertaken by the Colford family.