Chapter VI: A Broken Trust

“I am sure, Miss Bell, that there is much more in this than meets the eye. Mrs Wemysson’s conduct is so altogether unexpected and inexplicable that it can only be accounted for on the hypothesis of some peculiar development of events of which her daughter and myself are supremely ignorant.”

“Will you kindly recapitulate all the circumstances of the case to me, Mr Wigan?”

“Certainly. You see, Miss Alice Wemysson and I have known each other since we were children, and I can hardly remember the time when I did not dream of love in a cottage with Alice. Yes, it was really to be love in a cottage at first, for a more ambitious prospect did not disclose itself to us until lately. My father has too many claims upon his purse to be able to give his sons more towards a start in life than a good education. And, until he died, no one dreamed that Mr Wemysson possessed more than a modest competence.

“The attachment between Alice and myself was so patent to all our friends that our names have been coupled together for years. But no formal engagement existed between us, and though Mr Wemysson seemed to be rather fond of me than otherwise, he always insisted that his daughter was too young to know what was best for her, and that there was still plenty of time to decide her future.

“Things were in this position when Mr Wemysson died, and then it transpired that he was a comparatively rich man, having left ten thousand pounds to his wife, and ten thousand pounds to her in trust for Alice Wemysson, who was the daughter of the testator’s first wife. The young lady was then eighteen, and she was to be under the absolute guardianship of her stepmother until she was twenty-one. If she married contrary to the wishes of her guardian, she was to forfeit her inheritance.

“The last stipulation afforded nobody any uneasiness, for everyone knew Mrs Wemysson to be well disposed towards me, and could hardly understand why such a condition should have been made. As a matter of fact, Mrs Wemysson gave her cordial consent to the engagement soon after her husband’s death, but stipulated for the postponement of the marriage until the bride was of age.

“The first summer after this unfortunate event passed tranquilly enough. As winter approached my mother-in-law-elect developed a restless disposition, which culminated in a determination to travel and see the world.

“‘My means have always been too cramped to permit me to enjoy life properly,’ she remarked. ‘There is no reason, however, why I should make myself miserable now, and I mean to get all the pleasure I can this winter. Alice shall do the Continent with me; it will do her good to see something worth seeing, before she settled down to a humdrum married life.’

“To tell the truth, both Alice and I were rather shocked at this speech. It seemed to us to cast a reflection on the good man whom we had both loved and implied a certain feeling of elation at being relieved of the duties and ties of matrimony, which ill-befitted a woman who had always been treated with affection by her husband.

“But no serious objections to the proposed trip could be offered, and the day came when I bade farewell to my dear girl, never dreaming that aught could now intervene between us and our future happiness, or that the cloud which was to overshadow our destinies was already rising.

“I received my letters regularly. Alice was delighted with all she saw, and gave me wonderful descriptions of the places she and her mother visited. For many weeks all seemed to be going gaily with the travellers. Then a change came over the spirit of Alice’s letters. They were less spontaneously confidential, and a vague sense of impending trouble seemed to pervade them. But I could get no satisfaction until the travellers returned. It was in vain that I questioned. My questions were always parried evasively, and I am not at all sure that I was surprised when my darling broke down at sight of me, and welcomed me with tears instead of smiles.

“I had been waiting a long time at the station for them, my impatience leading me there a good while before the train was due. I was able to render Mrs Wemysson some little services, but could not help seeing that my attentions were unwelcome, and when I saw how harassed and ill Alice looked, I was filled with a vague foreboding of mischief to come.

“Nor was my foreboding unfounded. During the course of that same evening Mrs Wemysson informed me that I must consider my engagement with her daughter at an end, as she had other views for her.

“‘In fact,’ she said, ‘Alice is going to marry Mr Jackson, a gentleman whom we met abroad.’ Probably my anger got the better of my good manners, for I flatly contradicted the widow at this point. I pointed out that Mr Wemysson had always liked me; that she herself had consented to our engagement, and that I knew Alice to be true as steel from top to toe.

“‘Nevertheless, she will not marry you,’ I was coolly informed. ‘She knows that her father wished her to obey my judgment in the matter, and she is too good a daughter to act counter to his wishes. Besides, if she were to marry you, after I have forbidden her to do so, she would forfeit her fortune, and it is poor love that would reduce its object to poverty.’

“Now Alice certainly loved her father very much. But she is not exactly a girl to sacrifice herself without knowing the reason why. Her character is by no means as superficial and yielding as Mrs Wemysson imagines, and she vows that if she may not marry me, she will marry nobody, least of all this Mr Jackson, who is elderly, thin, bald, waspish-looking, and of altogether forbidding exterior. His face is also so indicative of craft one instinctively distrusts him.

“Now, as I have said before, Mrs Wemysson must have some powerful motive for wishing to substitute Mr Jackson for myself as her daughter’s husband, and I want you to unravel the mystery for me.”

I had listened to Mr Wigan’s story with some interest, and now proceeded to cross-question him.

“Who, or what, is this Mr Jackson?” I asked.

“He is a solicitor, with an office near Lincoln’s Inn Fields.”

“How long has Mrs Wemysson known him?”

“I should say that on and off she has known him ten years. He was the late Mr Wemysson’s solicitor, but was never on visiting terms with the family until recently.”

“Where did he meet the Wemysson’s lately?”

“At Monte Carlo. I believe the widow was alarmingly fond of the gaming tables there, and Alice suspects that she lost a lot of money.”

“Is Mr Jackson rich?”

“On the contrary, he barely subsists on a very poor business.”

“Then what was he doing at Monte Carlo?”

He had to go over there on business for another client – to watch a scapegrace young spendthrift, I believe. While there he recognised Mrs Wemysson, and speedily became quite familiar. The widow at first professed to dislike him very much, but apparently got over her dislike, and entered no protest when he proclaimed himself madly in love with her ward.”

“Can you give me any clue to this man’s influence over the widow, Mr Wigan?”

“Not the slightest. I only know that the influence was very evident, and that although Mrs Wemysson’s temper became very trying towards Alice, she submitted very quietly to a somewhat impertinent reproof from Mr Jackson.”

“Concerning what did he reprove her?”

“He told her that she had lost quite enough at the tables, and that she had better not gamble any more.”

“What banker do the Wemysson’s patronise?”

“The National and Provincial Bank.”

“Thank you. I believe that is all I wish to ask you at present, Mr Wigan. I will look into the case, and let you know the results as soon as possible.”

When my client departed he did not look very hopeful of the results of my investigations, and although my plans were already laid, I was not at all sanguine as to their success.

But of two fundamental facts I felt certain. Mrs Wemysson had committed some indiscretion, in which the welfare of her step-daughter was involved. And Mr Jackson was not only cognisant of that indiscretion, but was determined to make capital out of it.

Now, whatever the indiscretion was, it had evidently had its origin at Monte Carlo. It was probably connected with Mrs Wemysson’s rashness at the gaming tables. But at this point the puzzle became more tangled. Even if she had been losing money heavily, this would not make marriage into her family desirable for an impoverished fortune-hunter, for that Mr Jackson had actually fallen in love with Alice Wemysson was, I concluded, hardly a likely supposition to entertain. I preferred to look upon his motives as entirely mercenary.

Suppose Miss Wemysson proved to be a greater matrimonial prize than she knew herself to be? This would explain the solicitor’s conduct in forcing his attentions upon an unwilling girl. But it made the widow’s behaviour all the more inexplicable.

With a view of satisfying myself as to Miss Wemysson’s financial position, I communicated with one of the employees of the bank in which her father had invested his money, and desired him to let me know how much of this money had been withdrawn. We make a point of having friends in all sorts of unlikely places, and their co-operation often simplifies our work wonderfully. In this case the information I got startled me considerably.

Of the twenty thousand pounds left by Mr Wemysson, there was barely five thousand left! Mrs Wemysson must have been completely carried away by the gambling demon, to risk her daughter’s little fortune as well as her own. Mr Jackson evidently knew of her breach of trust and was trading upon it. Now where did his profit come in?

I determined to know.

A few days later, having watched him leave his office, I interviewed the poor underpaid soul who served him as clerk. At first I could get little information from him. But, prompted by the promise of another situation, he showed me what a scoundrel his employer really was.

Mr Jackson knew that Mrs Wemysson had gambled her daughter’s money, and threatened to expose and ruin her if she did not insist upon Alice marrying him. He forebore to tell her that Mr Wemysson’s brother, of whom they had not heard for years, had died and left his niece a fortune of fifty thousand pounds. He, as the family solicitor, knew all about it, but was keeping the information back until he had secured the heiress for his wife.

My course was now plain. I paid a visit to Mrs Wemysson and proved to her that I knew more about her own and her daughter’s affairs than she did. She was very humble and repentant. She was also grateful when I undertook to smooth over the ruffled feelings of the injured lovers.

The latter are now happily married, and have sealed their forgiveness by augmenting Mrs Wemysson’s fortune to its original amount. They have, however, taken the precaution to place only the interest at her disposal. Every Christmas brings me some wonderful presents from Mr and Mrs Wigan, who will have it that I saved them from lifelong misery by exposing Mr Jackson’s schemes ere it was too late.

Mr Jackson himself has by this time discovered that shady ways don’t pay. He has been struck off the rolls, and Lincoln’s Inn Fields knows him no more.

VII. Madame Duchesne's Garden Party

“It cost more than two hundred pounds, Miss Bell. But that is not the worst of the matter. My aunt stipulated that I should always wear it as a perpetual reminder of her past kindness and her future good intentions, and if she misses it I shall lose favour with her altogether. To lose Miss Mainwaring’s favour means to lose the splendid fortune which is hers to bequeath, so you see how very serious the matter is for me. It is, indeed, little short of life and death, for poverty would kill me now. For God’s sake do your best for me.”

“But surely, if Miss Mainwaring knows that you could not possibly have foreseen your loss, she will not be unjust enough to disinherit you?”

“Indeed she will. She believes me to be vacillating and unreliable, because I broke off an engagement with a rich man to whom I had but given a reluctant acceptance, and united myself to the man of my choice. My husband was poor and therefore beyond the pale of forgiveness, and my own pardon is only based on the most unswerving obedience to all my aunt’s injunctions. The pendant came from India, and the stones in it are said to possess occult power – I wish they had the power to come back to their rightful owner.”

The speaker heaved a sigh of desperation as she spoke, and I glanced at her with considerable interest. She was tall, pale, dark-eyed, and handsome, but her appearance bore certain signs of that vacillation and carelessness of which her aunt accredited her with the possession.

The circumstances surrounding the loss of which she complained were peculiar. She had been spending the evening at the house of the German Ambassador, and was returning home in Miss Mainwaring’s carriage, when she became aware of the fact that she had lost the jewelled pendant which her aunt had given her as a token of reconciliation when she returned to her after being suddenly widowed.

A frantic search of the carriage bore no results, and Mrs Bevan hastily told the coachman to return to the embassy. But she prudently refrained from confiding the particulars of her loss to him, for she was not quite without hope that it might be remedied. Madame von Auerbach was, however, able to give her no comfort, for she had herself suffered in like manner with her guest.

She had lost a valuable diamond-studded watch, and when the most careful search failed to discover it, the conclusion arrived at was that some thief must have been present at the reception. It was an unpleasant conclusion to arrive at. But it was the only natural one. For the Ambassador’s wife had not left her guests, or gone beyond the reception rooms, from the time she entered them, wearing the watch, to the moment when, the last visitors having just gone, she thought of looking at her watch, and found that it had disappeared.

Mrs Bevan’s return a few moments later with the news that her pendant had disappeared, confirmed the supposition that some professional thief must have been at work, and the police were at once communicated with. They were also strictly enjoined to keep the matter a profound secret, for various reasons.

But Mrs Bevan was too anxious to rely entirely upon the exertions of the regular force, hence her application to our firm and her urgent entreaty that I would act with the utmost despatch.

Soon after my client’s departure I sought an interview with Madame von Auerbach, but could glean very little useful information. The invitations had been sent out with great care, but their exclusiveness was negatived by the fact that they were all sent to So-and-so and friend. The position of those invited by name had been considered sufficient guarantee of the perfect suitability of the friends whom they might select to accompany them to the embassy, and at least a score of people had been present of whom the hostess barely heard even their names.

Of course, no one could treat any single one of these individuals as suspects without some definite suspicion to work upon, and unfortunately for our prospects of success, there was not the slightest ground for suspecting anyone in particular.

I was about to quit Madame von Auerbach’s house when a servant entered with a card upon a waiter, and upon hearing that the name inscribed thereon was that of one of the guests of the previous evening, I hastily decided to stay a little longer, and requested Madame von Auerbach to keep my vocation a secret from her visitor.

The next minute a most bewitching little woman was ushered into the room.

“Oh, my dear madame!” she exclaimed, with a charming foreign accent. “Such an unfortunate thing! I lost my beautiful diamond clasp last night. Have your servants seen anything of it?”

Madame von Auerbach turned pale, and I looked with augmented interest at the harbinger of this new development of the previous evening’s mystery. The depredations had evidently been on a large scale, and the depredators had shown remarkably good taste in the choice of their spoil. The latest victim was a French lady named Madame Duchesne, and she waxed eloquent in lamentations over her loss when it was shown to her how little hope there was of recovering her diamond clasp.

“And do you know, I feel so terribly upset,” was her pathetic protest, “that I would give anything not to have had to go on with my own garden party to-morrow. And I don’t like to say it, but it is a fact that I may also have included the thief in my invitation, and it would be awful if more things were to be stolen. Whatever shall I do?”

As no practical advice seemed to be forthcoming, Madame Duchesne studied for a moment, and then announced her intention of employing a detective.

“Not a real, horrid policeman,” she averred, “but one of those extraordinary individuals who seem able to look through and through you, and who can find anything out. Private detectives, I think they call them.”

Madame von Auerbach looked up eagerly, but I gave her a warning glance which caused her to postpone the revelation of my identity which she had felt prompted to make.

“Do you know any of these people?” was the Frenchwoman’s appeal to me. “Can you help me to the address of one?”

“There are several firms of private detectives in London, if we are to judge from their advertisements,” I answered. “I have heard of Messrs Bell and White, of Holborn, spoken of as fairly good, but, of course, there are plenty of others equally good, or probably better.”

“Bell and White, Holborn. Yes, I will try them. Thank you so much for helping me. May I ask if you live in London?”

Seizing my cue, Madame von Auerbach promptly came to my assistance.

“I am very angry with Miss Gresham,” she averred. “Since she resigned her post as governess to the Duke of Solothurn’s children, she has hardly deigned to take any notice of the numerous friends she made in Germany. But I mean to make her stay a few days with me, now that she has come to see me.”

“Then you must bring her with you to my garden party,” said Madame Duchesne, and the invitation so cleverly angled for was accepted with a faint pretence of hesitation at the idea of inflicting myself upon the hospitality of a total stranger.

After Madame Duchesne’s departure I congratulated Madame von Auerbach very warmly upon her tact and presence of mind, and arranged to visit the garden party as her friend the next day.

In due course the interesting function was in full swing, and the fascinating hostess had quite a crowd of guests to look after. My “guarantor” had left me, at my own request, to my own devices. I wanted to look about me, and to note all that was going on, without being too much in evidence myself.

Presently Madame Duchesne approached me with a very mysterious air, and introduced a very handsome man to my notice. “Don’t be shocked,” she whispered, “But this is the private detective, Mr Bell. I communicated with him at once after leaving Madame von Auerbach’s yesterday, and he is here to watch that no pickpocket secures booty here. Isn’t it too dreadful to have to take such precautions? I will never give another party in London!”

I responded to this confidential communication with due sympathy, and gravely acknowledged the attention my new companion bestowed upon me for a few moments. And I had need of my gravity and presence of mind. For the man introduced to me was not my uncle, the detective. I knew that our firm had not been applied to by Madame Duchesne, in spite of her assertion to the contrary, and as this was certainly no one who had ever been in our office, I knew that certain suspicions that I had formed yesterday were likely to be verified. Since this stranger was certainly no detective, I concluded that he was merely posing as one for the sake of diverting suspicion from the offenders whom I was anxious to run to earth. The assumption that he was the associate and helpmate of the thieves was also a very natural one, although a glance at the lovely hostess and her dainty surroundings almost seemed to belie such a supposition.

But I knew that I was on the right track, and within the hour my vigilance was rewarded. The sham detective, whose pretended avocation had been disclosed to none but Madame von Auerbach and myself, sauntered from group to group, as if intent upon scrutinising their actions. His real object was to attach their jewellery, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him possess himself of a costly watch which Lady A. was wearing in somewhat careless fashion. Instant denunciation was not my intention. I mean to probe the matter to the root, and followed “Mr Bell’s” movements with apparent nonchalance. Presently he culled a couple of beautiful standard roses, and handed them to Madame Duchesne with a graceful compliment.

The thing was beautifully done, and none but a person keenly on guard would have noticed that the watch changed hands with the roses. This little comedy over, Madame sauntered towards the house, and, five minutes later, I came upon her, quite by accident, of course, just as she was relocking a dainty cabinet from which she had taken a fresh bottle of perfume, in the use of which she was very lavish.

There were two or three other people in Madame’s charming boudoir, among them being Madame von Auerbach, by whose side I seated myself with an air of sudden weakness. She was really startled by the development of events, but she had been previously cautioned, and played her part very well indeed, when I exclaimed that I felt dreadfully ill.

“What shall I do?” she cried. “I hope it is not one of your old attacks.”

“Yes, it is,” I whispered faintly. “Do send for my uncle. He is the only one who can help me.”

I was promptly placed on the couch, and dosed with all sorts of amateur remedies, pending the arrival of my uncle, who had been sent for in hot haste, and who, “entre nous,” was waiting with a police officer in private clothes for the expected urgent summons. No sooner did they appear than my indisposition vanished, and I astonished the bystanders by springing vigorously to my feet.

“Arrest Madame Duchesne,” I cried, “and her accomplice.” Pointing to the latter, I continued, “That man has stolen Lady A.’s watch, and it is locked in that cabinet.”

What a scene of confusion there was immediately! Not only Lady A., but several other people discovered that they had been robbed, and the cabinet was found to contain a great quantity of stolen valuables, among them being Mrs Bevan’s much-prized pendant.

My discovery was only made in the nick of time. In another twelve hours the birds would have flown, for the real Madame Duchesne, the lady from whom they had stolen the letters of introduction which had obtained them the entree to London society, had arrived in London that day. An accomplice had warned them of the fact, and as they knew that this garden party they were giving at the gorgeous house they had hired would be their last opportunity for some time, they had determined to make a large haul and decamp that same evening.

Luckily for many people, I was able to frustrate their intention. At present they are lodging in infinitely less luxurious quarters, and several members of the upper classes are much more careful than formerly as to whom they associate with by virtue of letters of introduction.