Back Aa

Stowmarket Mystery, or, a Legacy of Hate

Close

<h3>Chapter XXX</h3> <h2>Husband and Wife</h2> Return to Table of Contents The Italian was glaring out of a window when they entered the room. He turned instantly, with a waspish ferocity. “So, madam.” he cried, “not content with deceiving me from the first moment we met, you have left your home in company with your lover!” Margaret looked at Robert beseechingly. The sailor’s face was like granite. Only his eyes flashed a warning that Capella might have noted were he less blinded by passion. “Do not attempt to shield yourself by the presence of others!” screamed Capella. “I know that Miss Layton and her father are here. That is part of the game you play. As for you, Mr. David Hume, or whatever you call yourself, your own record is not so clean that you should endeavour to cloak the misdeeds of others.” The Italian had never before seen Robert to his knowledge. He only met David for a few moments during an angry scene at Beechcroft, when Brett did most of the talking. The mistake he now made was a natural one. “It does not occur to you,” said Robert, in a voice remarkable for its calmness, “that not content with grossly insulting your wife, you are attacking the reputation of a man whom you do not know.” “Pooh!” Capella, in his excitement, snapped his fingers. “You Hume-Frazers are very fond of defending your reputations. A fig for them! You are not worthy to consort with honourable people. I feel assured that when Mr. Layton and his daughter know the truth about you they will decline to associate with you.” Whatever else might be urged against the Italian, he was no coward. Such language might well have led to a fierce attack on him by a man so greatly his superior in physical strength. But Robert sat down, near the door. “You have some object in coming here to-day,” he said. “What is it?” Margaret remained standing near the fire-place. Capella produced a bundle of papers. “I am here,” he said, “to unmask the woman who unfortunately bears my name, and at the same time to prevent you from getting Miss Layton to marry you under false pretences.” “A worthy programme!” observed Frazer suavely. “You may attain the second part of your scheme, I admit, but the first seems to be difficult.” “Is it? We shall see!” Capella flourished his papers and began a passionate avowal of the “treachery” practised on him in the matter of Margaret’s parentage, ending by saying: “That woman’s mother was the affianced bride of my father. She deceived him basely. On his death-bed he made me vow my lifelong hatred of her betrayer and all his descendants. To you, a cold-blooded Englishman, that perhaps means nothing. To me it is sacred, imperishable, dearer than life. And to think that I have been tricked into a marriage with the daughter of the man who was my father’s enemy. How mad I was not to make inquiries! What a poor, short-sighted fool! But I will have my revenge! I will expose your accursed race in the courts! I will not rest content until I am free from this snare!” Margaret would have spoken, but her cousin quickly forestalled her. “You bring two charges against your wife,” Robert said. “The first is that she deceived you before marriage; the second that she is deceiving you now. You contemplate taking divorce proceedings against her?” “I do.” “But you are lying on both counts. There is no purer or more honourable woman alive to-day than she who stands here at this moment. You are a mean and despicable hound to endeavour to take advantage of circumstances attending her birth of which she was in profound ignorance.” “She can tell that to a judge,” sneered the Italian. “I know better.” Robert rose, his face white with anger. “Margaret,” he said, “you have heard your precious husband’s views with regard to you. What do you say?” She looked from one to the other—no one knows what tumultuous thoughts coursed through her brain in that trying moment—and she answered: “I am his true and faithful wife, Robert. I have never been otherwise in word or deed.” Capella started, as well he might, when he heard the Christian name of the man who was treating him with such quiet scorn. “So,” he laughed maliciously, “I have again been fooled. You are not David, but—” Frazer strode towards him, and the words died away on his lips. “Listen, you blackguard!” he hissed. “Were it not for the presence of your wife I would choke the miserable life out of you. Go! We have done with you! You have unmasked your real character, and I cannot believe that a spark of affection can remain in your wife’s heart for you after your ignoble conduct. Go, I tell you! Do your worst. Spit your venom elsewhere than in this hotel. But first let me warn you. If you dare to approach Miss Layton, I cannot promise that my cousin David will treat you as tenderly as I propose to do. He will probably thrash you until you are unconscious. I simply place you outside this room.” He grabbed the Italian by the breast with his right hand, lifted him high in the air, gathered the papers from the table in his left hand, and carried his kicking, cursing, but helpless adversary to the door. Then he set him down again, opened the door, and remembering Brett’s advice, assisted him outside, flinging the documents after him and closing the door. With impotent rage in his heart, Capella rushed from the hotel and caught the last train to the south. He had not been in Whitby two hours, but he was now embarked upon his vengeful mission, and bitterly resolved to push it to the uttermost extremity. Margaret had not uttered a sound during the final scene. She stood as one turned to stone. Robert did not dare to speak to her. How could he offer consolation to a woman whose tenderest feelings had been so wantonly outraged? “Robert,” she said at last, “he spoke of getting a divorce. I believe he can do this by Italian law. Here it should be impossible.” “In that case,” he said calmly, “you and I will go and live in Italy.” She placed her hands before her face, and burst into a tempest of tears. “Now, my dear girl,” he murmured, “try and forget that pitiful rascal and his threats. You are well rid of him. I will leave you now for a little while. In half an hour we will go and listen to the band until dinner. Really, we have had a most enjoyable afternoon.” He went out, placid and smiling, and Margaret sobbed plentifully—until it became necessary to go to her room and remove the traces of her grief. So it may be assumed that her tears were not all occasioned by grief for the contemplated loss of her ill-chosen mate. When the others returned from their excursion, Frazer explained to them all that was needful with reference to Capella’s visit. Helen was very outspoken in her indignation, and even the rector condemned the Italian’s conduct in plain terms. He warmly approved of the resolution arrived at by Robert and David to return to London next day, and not leave Brett until a definite stage had been reached in the strangely intricate inquiry they were embarked on. They sat late into the night, discussing the pros and cons of the situation; yet among these five people, fully cognisant as they were of nearly every fact known to the able barrister who had taken charge of their affairs, not one even remotely guessed the pending sequel. Whilst they were talking and hoping for some favourable outcome, the night express from York was hurrying Capella to a weird conclusion of his efforts to discredit his wife. Had he but known what lay before him he would have left the train at the first station and hastened to Margaret, to grovel at her feet and beg her forgiveness for the foul aspersions cast upon her. It was too late. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2