The Queen of Hearts

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To this sharp reprimand Mr. James Smith (evidently tutored
beforehand as to what he was to say) replied that, in attending
before the justice, he wished to perform a plain duty and to keep
himself strictly within the letter of the law. He apprehended
that the only legal obligation laid on him was to attend in that
court to declare himself, and to enable competent witnesses to
prove his identity. This duty accomplished, he had merely to add
that he preferred submitting to a reprimand from the bench to
entering into explanations which would involve the disclosure of
domestic circumstances of a very unhappy nature. After that brief
reply he had nothing further to say, and he would respectfully
request the justice's permission to withdraw.

The permission was accorded. As he crossed the room he stopped
near his wife, and said, confusedly, in a very low tone:

"I have done you many injuries, but I never intended this. I am
sorry for it. Have you anything to say to me before I go?"

My mistress shuddered and hid her face. He waited a moment, and,
finding that she did not answer him, bowed his head politely and
went out. I did not know it then, but I had seen him for the last
time.

After he had gone, the lawyer, addressing Mr. Robert Nicholson,
said that he had an application to make in reference to the woman
Josephine Durand.

At the mention of that name my mistress hurriedly whispered a few
words into her relation's ear. He looked toward Mr. Philip
Nicholson, who immediately advanced, offered his arm to my
mistress, and led her out. I was about to follow, when Mr. Dark
stopped me, and begged that I would wait a few minutes longer, in
order to give myself the pleasure of seeing "the end of the
case."

In the meantime, the justice had pronounced the necessary order
to have the quadroon brought back. She came in, as bold and
confident as ever. Mr. Robert Nicholson looked away from her in
disgust and said to the lawyer:

"Your application is to have her committed for perjury, of
course?"

"For perjury?" said Josephine, with her wicked smile. "Very good.
I shall explain some little matters that I have not explained
before. You think I am quite at your mercy now? Bah! I shall make
myself a thorn in your sides yet."

"She has got scent of the second marriage," whispered Mr. Dark to
me.

There could be no doubt of it. She had evidently been listening
at the door on the night when my master came back longer than I
had supposed. She must have heard those words about "the new
wife"--she might even have seen the effect of them on Mr. James
Smith.

"We do not at present propose to charge Josephine Durand with
perjury," said the lawyer, "but with another offense, for which
it is important to try her immediately, in order to effect the
restoration of property that has been stolen. I charge her with
stealing from her mistress, while in her service at Darrock Hall,
a pair of bracelets, three rings, and a dozen and a half of lace
pocket-handkerchiefs. The articles in question were taken this
morning from between the mattresses of her bed; and a letter was
found in the same place which clearly proves that she had
represented the property as belonging to herself, and that she
had tried to dispose of it to a purchaser in London." While he
was speaking, Mr. Dark produced the jewelry, the handkerchiefs
and the letter, and laid them before the justice.

Even Josephine's extraordinary powers of self-control now gave
way at last. At the first words of the unexpected charge against
her she struck her hands together violently, gnashed her sharp
white teeth, and burst out with a torrent of fierce-sounding
words in some foreig n language, the meaning of which I did not
understand then and cannot explain now.

"I think that's checkmate for marmzelle," whispered Mr. Dark,
with his invariable wink. "Suppose you go back to the Hall, now,
William, and draw a jug of that very remarkable old ale of yours?
I'll be after you in five minutes, as soon as the charge is made
out."

I could hardly realize it when I found myself walking back to
Darrock a free man again.

In a quarter of an hour's time Mr. Dark joined me, and drank to
my health, happiness and prosperity in three separate tumblers.
After performing this ceremony, he wagged his head and chuckled
with an appearance of such excessive enjoyment that I could not
avoid remarking on his high spirits.

"It's the case, William--it's the beautiful neatness of the case
that quite intoxicates me. Oh, Lord, what a happiness it is to be
concerned in such a job as this!" cries Mr. Dark, slapping his
stumpy hands on his fat knees in a sort of ecstasy.

I had a very different opinion of the case for my own part, but I
did not venture on expressing it. I was too anxious to know how
Mr. James Smith had been discovered and produced at the
examination to enter into any arguments. Mr. Dark guessed what
was passing in my mind, and, telling me to sit down and make
myself comfortable, volunteered of his own accord to inform me of
all that I wanted to know.

"When I got my instructions and my statement of particulars," he
began, "I was not at all surprised to hear that Mr. James Smith
had come back. (I prophesied that, if you remember, William, the
last time we met?) But I was a good deal astonished,
nevertheless, at the turn things had taken, and I can't say I
felt very hopeful about finding our man. However, I followed my
master's directions, and put the advertisement in the papers. It
addressed Mr. James Smith by name, but it was very carefully
worded as to what was wanted of him. Two days after it appeared,
a letter came to our office in a woman's handwriting. It was my
business to open the letters, and I opened that. The writer was
short and mysterious. She requested that somebody would call from
our office at a certain address, between the hours of two and
four that afternoon, in reference to the advertisement which we
had inserted in the newspapers. Of course, I was the somebody who
went. I kept myself from building up hopes by the way, knowing
what a lot of Mr. James Smiths there were in London. On getting
to the house, I was shown into the drawing-room, and there,
dressed in a wrapper and lying on a sofa, was an uncommonly
pretty woman, who looked as if she was just recovering from an
illness. She had a newspaper by her side, and came to the point
at once: 'My husband's name is James Smith,' she says, 'and I
have my reasons for wanting to know if he is the person you are
in search of.' I described our man as Mr. James Smith, of Darrock
Hall, Cumberland. 'I know no such person,' says she--"

"What! was it not the second wife, after all?" I broke out.

"Wait a bit," says Mr. Dark. "I mentioned the name of the yacht
next, and she started up on the sofa as if she had been shot. 'I
think you were married in Scotland, ma'am,' says I. She turns as
pale as ashes, and drops back on the sofa, and says, faintly: 'It
is my husband. Oh, sir, what has happened? What do you want with
him? Is he in debt?' I took a minute to think, and then made up
my mind to tell her everything, feeling that she would keep her
husband (as she called him) out of the way if I frightened her by
any mysteries. A nice job I had, William, as you may suppose,
when she knew about the bigamy business. What with screaming,
fainting, crying, and blowing me up (as if _I_ was to blame!),
she kept me by that sofa of hers the best part of an hour--kept
me there, in short, till Mr. James Smith himself came back. I
leave you to judge if that mended matters. He found me mopping
the poor woman's temples with scent and water; and he would have
pitched me out of the window, as sure as I sit here, if I had not
met him and staggered him at once with the charge of murder
against his wife. That stopped him when he was in full cry, I can
promise you. 'Go and wait in the next room,' says he, 'and I'll
come in and speak to you directly.' "

"And did you go?" I asked.

"Of course I did," said Mr. Dark. "I knew he couldn't get out by
the drawing-room windows, and I knew I could watch the door; so
away I went, leaving him alone with the lady, who didn't spare
him by any manner of means, as I could easily hear in the next
room. However, all rows in this world come to an end sooner or
later, and a man with any brains in his head may do what he
pleases with a woman who is fond of him. Before long I heard her
crying and kissing him. 'I can't go home,' she says, after this.
'You have behaved like a villain and a monster to me--but oh,
Jemmy, I can't give you up to anybody! Don't go back to your
wife! Oh, don't, don't go back to your wife!' 'No fear of that,'
says he. 'My wife wouldn't have me if I did go back to her.'
After that I heard the door open, and went out to meet him on the
landing. He began swearing the moment he saw me, as if that was
any good. 'Business first, if you please, sir,' says I, 'and any
pleasure you like, in the way of swearing, afterward.' With that
beginning, I mentioned our terms to him, and asked the pleasure
of his company to Cumberland in return, he was uncommonly
suspicious at first, but I promised to draw out a legal document
(mere waste paper, of no earthly use except to pacify him),
engaging to hold him harmless throughout the proceedings; and
what with that, and telling him of the frightful danger his wife
was in, I managed, at last, to carry my point."

"But did the second wife make no objection to his going away with
you?" I inquired.

"Not she," said Mr. Dark. "I stated the case to her just as it
stood, and soon satisfied her that there was no danger of Mr.
James Smith's first wife laying any claim to him. After hearing
that, she joined me in persuading him to do his duty, and said
she pitied your mistress from the bottom of her heart. With her
influence to back me, I had no great fear of our man changing his
mind. I had the door watched that night, however, so as to make
quite sure of him. The next morning he was ready to time when I
called, and a quarter of an hour after that we were off together
for the north road. We made the journey with post-horses, being
afraid of chance passengers, you know, in public conveyances. On
the way down, Mr. James Smith and I got on as comfortably
together as if we had been a pair of old friends. I told the
story of our tracing him to the north of Scotland, and he gave me
the particulars, in return, of his bolting from Darrock Hall.
They are rather amusing, William; would you like to hear them?"

I told Mr. Dark that he had anticipated the very question I was
about to ask him.

"Well," he said, "this is how it was: To begin at the beginning,
our man really took Mrs. Smith, Number Two, to the Mediterranean,
as we heard. He sailed up the Spanish coast, and, after short
trips ashore, stopped at a seaside place in France called Cannes.
There he saw a house and grounds to be sold which took his fancy
as a nice retired place to keep Number Two in. Nothing particular
was wanted but the money to buy it; and, not having the little
amount in his own possession, Mr. James Smith makes a virtue of
necessity, and goes back overland to his wife with private
designs on her purse-strings. Number Two, who objects to be left
behind, goes with him as far as London. There he trumps up the
first story that comes into his head about rents in the country,
and a house in Lincolnshire that is too damp for her to trust
herself in; and so, leaving her for a few days in London, starts
boldly for Darrock Hall. His notion was to wheedle your mistress
out of the money by good behavior; but it seems he started badly
by quarreling with her about a fiddle-playing parson--"

"Yes, yes, I know all about that part of the story," I broke in,
seeing by Mr. Dark's manner that he was likely to speak both
ignorantly and impertinently of my mistress's unlucky friend ship
for Mr. Meeke. "Go on to the time when I left my master alone in
the Red Room, and tell me what he did between midnight and nine
the next morning."

"Did?" said Mr. Dark. "Why, he went to bed with the unpleasant
conviction on his mind that your mistress had found him out, and
with no comfort to speak of except what he could get out of the
brandy bottle. He couldn't sleep; and the more he tossed and
tumbled, the more certain he felt that his wife intended to have
him tried for bigamy. At last, toward the gray of the morning, he
could stand it no longer, and he made up his mind to give the law
the slip while he had the chance. As soon as he was dressed, it
struck him that there might be a reward offered for catching him,
and he determined to make that slight change in his personal
appearance which puzzled the witnesses so much before the
magistrate to-day. So he opens his dressing-case and crops his
hair in no time, and takes off his whiskers next. The fire was
out, and he had to shave in cold water. What with that, and what
with the flurry of his mind, naturally enough he cut himself--"

"And dried the blood with his nightgown?" says I.

"With his nightgown," repeated Mr. Dark. "It was the first thing
that lay handy, and he snatched it up. Wait a bit, though; the
cream of the thing is to come. When he had done being his own
barber, he couldn't for the life of him hit on a way of getting
rid of the loose hair. The fire was out, and he had no matches;
so he couldn't burn it. As for throwing it away, he didn't dare
do that in the house or about the house, for fear of its being
found, and betraying what he had done. So he wraps it all up in
paper, crams it into his pocket to be disposed of when he is at a
safe distance from the Hall, takes his bag, gets out at the
window, shuts it softly after him, and makes for the road as fast
as his long legs will carry him. There he walks on till a coach
overtakes him, and so travels back to London to find himself in a
fresh scrape as soon as be gets there. An interesting situation,
William, and hard traveling from one end of France to the other,
had not agreed together in the case of Number Two. Mr. James
Smith found her in bed, with doctor's orders that she was not to
be moved. There was nothing for it after that but to lie by in
London till the lady got better. Luckily for us, she didn't hurry
herself; so that, after all, your mistress has to thank the very
woman who supplanted her for clearing her character by helping us
to find Mr. James Smith."

"And, pray, how did you come by that loose hair of his which you
showed before the justice to-day?" I asked.

"Thank Number Two again," says Mr. Dark. "I was put up to asking
after it by what she told me. While we were talking about the
advertisement, I made so bold as to inquire what first set her
thinking that her husband and the Mr. James Smith whom we wanted
might be one and the same man. 'Nothing,' says she, 'but seeing
him come home with his hair cut short and his whiskers shaved
off, and finding that he could not give me any good reason for
disfiguring himself in that way. I had my suspicions that
something was wrong, and the sight of your advertisement
strengthened them directly.' The hearing her say that suggested
to my mind that there might be a difficulty in identifying him
after the change in his looks, and I asked him what he had done
with the loose hair before we left London. It was found in the
pocket of his traveling coat just as he had huddled it up there
on leaving the Hall, worry, and fright, and vexation, having
caused him to forget all about it. Of course I took charge of the
parcel, and you know what good it did as well as I do. So to
speak, William, it just completed this beautifully neat case.
Looking at the matter in a professional point of view, I don't
hesitate to say that we have managed our business with Mr. James
Smith to perfection. We have produced him at the right time, and
we are going to get rid of him at the right time. By to-night he
will be on his way to foreign parts with Number Two, and he won't
show his nose in England again if he lives to the age of
Methuselah."

It was a relief to hear that and it was almost as great a comfort
to find, from what Mr. Dark said next, that my mistress need fear
nothing that Josephine could do for the future.

The charge of theft, on which she was about to be tried, did not
afford the shadow of an excuse in law any more than in logic for
alluding to the crime which her master had committed. If she
meant to talk about it she might do so in her place of
transportation, but she would not have the slightest chance of
being listened to previously in a court of law.

"In short," said Mr. Dark, rising to take his leave, "as I have
told you already, William, it's checkmate for marmzelle. She
didn't manage the business of the robbery half as sharply as I
should have expected. She certainly began well enough by staying
modestly at a lodging in the village to give her attendance at
the examinations, as it might be required; nothing could look
more innocent and respectable so far; but her hiding the property
between the mattresses of her bed--the very first place that any
experienced man would think of looking in--was such an amazingly
stupid thing to do, that I really can't account for it, unless
her mind had more weighing on it than it was able to bear, which,
considering the heavy stakes she played for, is likely enough.
Anyhow, her hands are tied now, and her tongue too, for the
matter of that. Give my respects to your mistress, and tell her
that her runaway husband and her lying maid will never either of
them harm her again as long as they live. She has nothing to do
now but to pluck up her spirits and live happy. Here's long life
to her and to you, William, in the last glass of ale; and here's
the same toast to myself in the bottom of the jug."

With those words Mr. Dark pocketed his large snuff-box, gave a
last wink with his bright eye, and walked rapidly away,
whistling, to catch the London coach. From that time to this he
and I have never met again.

A few last words relating to my mistress and to the other persons
chiefly concerned in this narrative will conclude all that it is
now necessary for me to say.

For some months the relatives and friends, and I myself, felt sad
misgivings on my poor mistress's account. We doubted if it was
possible, with such a quick, sensitive nature as hers, that she
could support the shock which had been inflicted on her. But our
powers of endurance are, as I have learned to believe, more often
equal to the burdens laid upon us than we are apt to imagine. I
have seen many surprising recoveries from illness after all hope
had been lost, and I have lived to see my mistress recover from
the grief and terror which we once thought would prove fatal to
her. It was long before she began to hold up her head again; but
care and kindness, and time and change wrought their effect on
her at last. She is not now, and never will be again, the woman
she was once; her manner is altered, and she looks older by many
a year than she really is. But her health causes us no anxiety
now; her spirits are calm and equal, and I have good hope that
many quiet years of service in her house are left for me still. I
myself have married during the long interval of time which I am
now passing over in a few words. This change in my life is,
perhaps, not worth mentioning, but I am reminded of my two little
children when I speak of my mistress in her present position. I
really think they make the great happiness, and interest, and
amusement of her life, and prevent her from feeling lonely and
dried up at heart. It is a pleasant reflection to me to remember
this, and perhaps it may be the same to you, for which reason
only I speak of it.

As for the other persons connected with the troubles at Darrock
Hall, I may mention the vile woman Josephine first, so as to have
the sooner done with her. Mr. Dark's guess, when he tried to
account for her want of cunning in hiding the stolen property, by
saying that her mind might have had more weighing on it than she
was able to bear, turned out to b e nothing less than the plain
and awful truth. After she had been found guilty of the robbery,
and had been condemned to seven years' transportation, a worse
sentence fell upon her from a higher tribunal than any in this
world. While she was still in the county jail, previous to her
removal, her mind gave way, the madness breaking out in an
attempt to set fire to the prison. Her case was pronounced to be
hopeless from the first. The lawful asylum received her, and the
lawful asylum will keep her to the end of her days.

Mr. James Smith, who, in my humble opinion, deserved hanging by
law, or drowning by accident at least, lived quietly abroad with
his Scotch wife (or no wife) for two years, and then died in the
most quiet and customary manner, in his bed, after a short
illness. His end was described to me as a "highly edifying one."
But as he was also reported to have sent his forgiveness to his
wife--which was as much as to say that _he_ was the injured
person of the two--I take leave to consider that he was the same
impudent vagabond in his last moments that he had been all his
life. His Scotch widow has married again, and is now settled in
London. I hope her husband is all her own property this time.

Mr. Meeke must not be forgotten, although he has dropped out of
the latter part of my story because he had nothing to do with the
serious events which followed Josephine's perjury. In the
confusion and wretchedness of that time, he was treated with very
little ceremony, and was quite passed over when we left the
neighborhood. After pining and fretting some time, as we
afterward heard, in his lonely parsonage, he resigned his living
at the first chance he got, and took a sort of under-chaplain's
place in an English chapel abroad. He writes to my mistress once
or twice a year to ask after her health and well-being, and she
writes back to him. That is all the communication they are ever
likely to have with each other. The music they once played
together will never sound again. Its last notes have long since
faded away and the last words of this story, trembling on the
lips of the teller, may now fade with them.

THE NINTH DAY.

A LITTLE change in the weather. The rain still continues, but the
wind is not quite so high. Have I any reason to believe, because
it is calmer on land, that it is also calmer at sea? Perhaps not.
But my mind is scarcely so uneasy to-day, nevertheless.

I had looked over the newspaper with the usual result, and had
laid it down with the customary sense of disappointment, when
Jessie handed me a letter which she had received that morning. It
was written by her aunt, and it upbraided her in the highly
exaggerated terms which ladies love to employ, where any tender
interests of their own are concerned, for her long silence and
her long absence from home. Home! I thought of my poor boy and of
the one hope on which all his happiness rested, and I felt
jealous of the word when I saw it used persuasively in a letter
to our guest. What right had any one to mention "home" to her
until George had spoken first?

"I must answer it by return of post," said Jessie, with a tone of
sorrow in her voice for which my heart warmed to her. "You have
been very kind to me; you have taken more pains to interest and
amuse me than I am worth. I can laugh about most things, but I
can't laugh about going away. I am honestly and sincerely too
grateful for that."

She paused, came round to where I was sitting, perched herself on
the end of the table, and, resting her hands on my shoulders,
added gently:

"It must be the day after to-morrow, must it not?"

I could not trust myself to answer. If I had spoken, I should
have betrayed George's secret in spite of myself.

"To-morrow is the tenth day," she went on, softly. "It looks so
selfish and so ungrateful to go the moment I have heard the last
of the stories, that I am quite distressed at being obliged to
enter on the subject at all. And yet, what choice is left me?
what can I do when my aunt writes to me in that way?"

She took up the letter again, and looked at it so ruefully that I
drew her head a little nearer to me, and gratefully kissed the
smooth white forehead.

"If your aunt is only half as anxious to see you again, my love,
as I am to see my son, I must forgive her for taking you away
from us." The words came from me without premeditation. It was
not calculation this time, but sheer instinct that impelled me to
test her in this way, once more, by a direct reference to George.
She was so close to me that I felt her breath quiver on my cheek.
Her eyes had been fixed on my face a moment before, but they now
wandered away from it constrainedly. One of her hands trembled a
little on my shoulder, and she took it off.

"Thank you for trying to make our parting easier to me," she
said, quickly, and in a lower tone than she had spoken in yet. I
made no answer, but still looked her anxiously in the face. For a
few seconds her nimble delicate fingers nervously folded and
refolded the letter from her aunt, then she abruptly changed her
position.

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