A Mad Marriage

Waikato Times, Volume 93, Issue 15311, 11 August 1923, Page 12 (Supplement)

A Mad Marriage

By KATHARINE TYNAN. Author of “Oh What a Plague is Love,” “ She Walks in Beauty,” “Peggy, the Daughter, “The Handsome Brandons," etc. CHAPTER XXV. The Judge’s business took him to Ireland by the morning mail from. Euston. it was a cold, long journey to Dublin; at another time he might have knocked at one of the many doors which would open gladly to receive' him; but he preferred to. stay the night at a Dublin hotel, and go on by the morning train to the West. He had not yet begun to feel the burden of his years. ,1., „. He generally travelled with an amount of reading matter; but he had been too absorbed in his thoughts on leaving Euston to do more than take a few papers from the bookstall, while he talked to an old and valued friend; Mr Jones, the stationmaster. To Mr Jones everyone turned for help and guidance, which were given; while Mr Jones' had a subtle art of persuading each person that only he or she was in his thoughts. After the train had got well out he opened yesterday’s Times, which had lain unfolded in his bag, companioning one or two volumes of poetry and a review or two. He had gathered yesterday’s news from a briefer exponent than the Times.. It was cheerless enough. He turned to the page containing the fashionable intelligence, not in search of it, indeed, but because there was usually an article on that page which he liked to read. As he glanced idly over the page a familiar name caught his eye. “A marriage has been arranged and will shortly, take place, between Louise, third daughter of Silas Maxwell, of Lower Houghton, Lines, and Sir ’ Maximilian Bauer, of Ashe, Bucks, Glen Niddray, Perthshire Castle Shannon, Ireland, and 420, pgj»j£ TirinP. 11 The Judge smiled as be read, and for once his face was cynical. “Louise has anticipated," he said to himself. “Weli, I’m glad she is out of the Way of the lovers. But —old Max Bauer. —ugh I ; Imagine a girl marrying Max Bauer 1“ So Louise, -with a multi-millionaire, passes out Of the story for good and all. “Simon’s comments will be rich, said the Judge pursuing his train of thought: ‘"‘But how could the girl do it? Hyperion to a Satyr. He is a fine fellow, that' Kit Sinclair, clean and upstanding, and he will be able to hold his own : , and his wife’s, against that sour fanatic' ViHiers. It is luck Mary has her mother’s property, and that the boy'is provided for.” It was early afternoon when he arrived at Clonegar; and, having greeted the many old friends at the railway station who recognised him, he went on through the muddy streets to thehotel, where a warm welcome awaited him from Miss Clety, the proprietress. Clcry’S had- .always put its best foot: foremost ..for ".the judges; and Miss Clery”- while lamenting that this unofficial visit found her unprepared, had the Judges.!: Rooms, which are a feature in the old-fashioned hotels in the assize towns, opened and, aired and fires lit, while the Judge was being fed and warmed in Miss ClSry’s' private sitting-room. While he listened to the chronicles of the town, and the changes that had taken place :since he was last there, he put in , a question as to whether Dr Finegan was still at the asylum. - “He is then,” said Miss Clery, “and he’s brought home a wife in the place of the one he lost'.- She used to be a nurse at., the inlfrmary—-a little, soft-spoken- one, apd.*"an agreeable lady-like woman now;. He might have made a worse choice.”

“Seeing you gave him 1 no encouragement he had to console himself elsewhere,” said the Judge, which remark set Miss Clefy’to giggling and blushing like a girl, while she told the Judge that he was just as bad as ev#, so 'he was. ; .. .. ~ ' ; • After lunch the Judge took his hat and stick and sallied off “up tho town.” After many handshakes and friendly talks—for, great man as he was, he knew the people of Clonegar, men, women and children, a? thoroughly as the constantly changing population would allow —he. -arrived at the fortress-like building atop ot the hill, out of all proportion to tho size of the .town,.which was Clonegar Lunatic Asylum.

Dr. Finegan was at home, and tho Judge was ushered into the pretty dra\Ving-room, which betokened an excellent taste in the new Mrs. Finegan. IBs visit caused rather a lluttor at the doctor’s house, and as lie' sat talking to the doctor, he had a shrewd idea that Mrs Finegan would appear presently, looking her best and smartest, to pour out his ten. “Wot), Sir John, it's good for sore eyes to see you,” said Dr. Finegan. “We miss you badly since you retired. The other judges haven’t a. look in with you with the ladies. I hope you’ll stay and hard a eup of tea with Mrs Finegan and myself, unless you’d like a whisky arid soda better. Mrs. Finegan herself will be here in a minute. She’ll be proud to meet you.”

The Judge preferred tea to whisky and soda. Despite liis preoccupation, ho was interested in seeing Mrs. Finegan. lie remembered Ilie first Mrs. Finegan—a pretentious, vain woman, who had worried her goodnatured husband and injured him in his profession. lie hoped Finegan had done better for himself this time. “And what at alt brings you to the West, Sir John?—where you’re as welcome as the flowers in May, to he sure,” the doctor asked, with the insinuating smile which had amused the Judge of old. . Pir John had been seeing old friends in the. West—which was quite true. And, finding himself in Clonegar, of course he must see another old friend and congratulate him on his new venture in matrimony. They recalled the old days and lhe famous trials over which the Judge had presided. The Judge gave (he conversation the lead lie desired. The doctor remembered perfectly the trial of Mrs liunogliue for poisoning her husband.

“The old villain of the world,” lie said of Teague Donoghue, “Wasn’t it a pity of her, the poor little woman! Sure. I’d have poisoned him

myself, with a clear conscience, so I would if lie came iny way.” ■ “She was a martyr,” said the Judge. “You never did a better day’s work than when you got her off,” said Dr. Finegan 1 . ' “And poor Harry Lambert!’’ he wont on. :.“A mad marriage, wasn’t it? _.I met duuan who met’ them long afterwurds jn Franco somewhere, at some wretched seaside place out of the season. Ho said they-looked like two old withered leaves that some-wind o-P,evil chance had blown about -the- world. The mischief bother him!. Old, indeed — why, Harry Lambert, if he!s alive, and myself are of an age. Fiftytwo! Wbat’s fifty-two V The people were very bad to‘him-here —his own class. They wouldn’t look at the poor fellow. A hard, stiff-necked lot, and they so godly! " They didn’t get much mercy here’. Heaven help them! I’d like to know he was happy somehow.” “I have often wondered,” said the Judge, “whether that doctor who attended old Teague—the Army surgeon chap—he died with yoii ' here —- could have thrown any light on the poisoning? it was a. case that baffled me, I don’t mind telling you.” “Jim O’Donnell, ,1s it? . Poor Jim! The nicest fellow! Bedad, that’s a queer thing for you' to bring up at this minute, Sir John, so it is. The missus will have something to say about that,” he said, turning round as the door opened.

“Ah I here’s Molsheem” His voice had a-lilt in it like a lark’s or a lover’s, quite enough to tell that astute observer, the Judge, that here was a man in love with his wife, and happily sp. Mrs. Finegan—Sir John. Somers. He’ll have tea with us, Molsheem He never cared much for whisky.” The gallantry of the Judge’s manner and speech brought the colour to Mrs. Finegan’s brown cheeks. She was a very attractive little woman, with soft brown eyes and abundant brown hair, in which was the lightest powdering of grey, and she was dressed very prettily in a blue gown that brought out the colour of, her eyes and liaii’.

“The Judge has just been asking me, Molshecn, about poor Jim O’Donnell that you nursed beyond in the infirmary till ho died. Mrs. Finegan, Sir John, used to take her patients’ troubles so much to heart that I wonder there is any of her left to make me- the happiest man alive. A grand little nurse she was for all that, never allowing her feelings to come between her and what she had to do, no matter how hard it was.” “Quit talking about me, Michael,” said Mrs. Finegan, in the gentlest of vpices. “Sir John will be thinking you a very soft man entirely.” “So I am, Mrs. Finegan, so I am, In your hands,” said the doctor, jocularly. “But listen, Molsheen! Would you mind telling the Judge the queer yarn you were telling me the other day about Jim O’Donnell and what he said the night before he died? Sir John brought it up himself asking if I remembered Jim 0-Donnell—-as though anyone ever forgot Jim that knew him!” Would Sir John really like to hear it? It was a queer story. entirely. The poor boy was raving most likely, Mrs Finegian began, with heightened colour, having been prevailed upon to tell the story, since the Judge took an interest in it. She told it slowly, and was a little while before she got to the point, but the Judge showed no impatience while she praised and pitied the man who seemed to have won such affection from all who came in contact wth hm. “Poor Jim! 1 He was that nice that even when his- poor mind was gone he was gentle. God was good to him and he died a lovely death. Thd last night of all he came to himself, glory be to God. I didn’t like to think of him going out in that darkness and lie wandering. Father Tierney had come and gone, and poor Jim was ready for his journey—and he was lying very quiet; so quiet that I went over to look at him once or twice, for I thought he was gone. But there he was staring up at me, his eyes looking big "in "his face, and, says he, ‘Xurse, it was I gave the arsenic.’ ‘Yes,’ says I, for I thought he was wandering again, l 'and was just' humouring him. ‘No one is to sutler for it,’ says he. ‘I don’t know what e-ame over me to do it, for he was my patient, arid that ought to have saved him,""villain' that he was —but it was something he said to me himself, and the signs of his ill-treat-ment that'l saw on her. Her little white breast that she kept covered up with a hankerchief was bruised black where lie had struck her. She showed il to me, leafing' there was going to he. trouble. . I saw,she was walking laine, and I asked her about it and slio wouldn’t tell me. . Then I asked him, the old sinner, and lie boasted that he'd done it. ‘She’ll carry my-mark till the day she dies,’ ho said, ‘anil it’ll keep her from gadding after men.’ Then my head went. Ho was having arsenic lor his skin. 1 gave him an over-dose. It would he so easy to explain to anyone afterwards. Is he dead, and is siie free?’ ‘Oh, yes, she’s free,’ said I. 'Thank Heaven for [hat,’ said lie; and that, was the last word lie spoke. lie had the best sister, and the kindest woman I over knew, with him when lie died. She was a darling, that Mary O’Donnell.”

“And you never told anyone about it?” Hie Judge asked curiously. “What would be tiic use? Poor Kitty had got off, thanks to yourself, Sir John, and a gentleman had fallen in love with her and married her, and they’d gone far- away out of the place. It would only bn raking it all up again and it would have broken Mary .O'PoniieH’s heart if the truth had come to light, even if lie wasn't responsible, Ihe poor fellow. Fiii not saying lie did il. it might lie only fancy.”

“1 hope John Conway will forgive me, wherever lie is," said the Judge. “Somehow I tlieiigtil lie had a hand in il, despite the alibi.” “Would you mind wriling out. that story for me, Mrs. Finegan?” lie asked, a little later. “Not to he made public, you know, hut just because it interests me. II is a lilting climax lo a Very rumatilic slory."

When Ihe Judge left Clou,-gar the next day lie carried witii him Mrs. Fiuegan's signed statement. lie had p.yfs'i it into his breast-pocket with ©are, as though it were some-

thing precious. The .strange tifle kept coming between him and his hook a s the train jogged along leisurely through the bogs under the great dome of sky. After all, life was belter than literature, thougii literature was very good. Oddly enough, his thoughts were as much with Mrs. Ponsonby as with Hester. Was Kitty Lambert destined always to came between her and those she loved best? CHAPTER XXVI. The Judge’s mind was still exercised on the long jqurney between Dublin and London. Should he tell or should he not, that lie had heard from Mrs. Finegan of Jim O’Donnell’s confession? At last he came to a decision. Bettor let things lie. The old . tragedy was forgotten. It was too late to reopen the case, and he doubted very much if Jim O’Donnell’s dying statement would stand in a court of law. Harry Lambert was beyond being helped or hindered by the world’s verdict; his wife was 1 not long for this world. They had loved greatly and they would not be long parted. She had looked very frail when ho saw her, very frail and suffering. Not for lqng would she stand between her daughter and the woman who had 'mothered her so faithfully. No use wounding Jim O’Donnell’s tender sister by digging up the old troubles. Perhaps the poor fellow, with his fine mind gone wrong; had been God’s avenger. The Judge had ne sentimental pity to spare for Teague Donoghue. He went with Mrs. Ponsonby a day or two later to Duncow, anil never had he admired that charming woman so much as when she put what must be her natural jealousy on one side and took not only Hester, but Hester’s mother into her soft, comforting embrace. Her efficiency, too, amazed him. He had seen her hitherto moving in a luxurious world, in which, by the influence of money, life went easily. Now, in the mean little bouse, without a servant of any kind, she took command of things bringing order out of disorder, comfort out of cold desolation.

The weather was miserable in the days following the funeral, and the place reeked with damp. All day the country lay- under mists, and marshy exhalations rose from the earth, smelling dankly. “We shall be racked with rheumatism if we stay here much longer,” said the Judge, and felt premonitory twinges.

“We must get away to the Riviera as soon as we can,” said Mrs. Ponsonby. “Meanwhile I propose that we all return to Bruton street. You can be quieter in London than anywhere else in the world if you want to be,- and this house gives me the creeps. I shall wire • for the car. But, no, 1 shall not wire. I won’t have the servants’ hall discussing the situation here. We’ll go by train. We can look up the house and leave the key with the sexton’s wife next door.” The Cot was cheek-by-jowl with the old church and churchyard. “That poor thing will do just as she's told. She’s flazed. Well, I don’t grudge her Hester, as I’ve had her for a long time.” “You needn’t,” said the Judge; and did not explain himself. He was very glad Hester had come in, time for her father and mother'.

They returned to all tho bustle of Christmas week, the Christmas that was to have been so gay for them. The evening of their return, after Hester ‘and her mother had beea sent off to bed, the Judge and Mrs. Ponsonby talked over the situation.

“You think Malvern will not come before Christmas?” she asked anxiously. ' “He has not written. 1 thought there might be a letter here. It Is not like him not to write.”

“How many days since be went — 1 fourteen? What would he make ol Hester’s silence?”

“She has not been altogether silent. She wrote from Essex to say that she was nursing a sick relative, and was in great anxiety. He was not to expect to hear from her for the present If lie comes?—he thought his Chief might release him if matters were nol too pressing; and now things seem to be settling down.” “I shall meet him if he comes. My friend, that thought of secrecy of yours was unlike your usual excellent good sense. It was impossible. Malvern must decide for himself.” “He. will decide to break off his engagement and my child will suffer,” said Mrs. Ponsonby, wringing her hands.

“If he so decides Hester will not break her heart," said the Judge. “She is a girl of spirit and sense. 1 trust Malvern. The world might call a mad marriage. I don’t think he would trouble about the world.”

When, on the very morning ol Christmas Eve,. Lord Malvern arrived at Bruton street and asked for Mrs. Ponsonby he was shown into the drawing-room, and there found Sir John Somers.

“There is nothing wrong?" he asked anxiously. “X have had only one letter from Hester; she put mo outside her grief, whatever it was. It was not like Hester. Something must be wrong.” “You must decide for yourself, my dear Malvern, how much is wrong,” said the Judge. “As a matter of fact Hester has been seeing her father die.” “Iter father? But her father died long ago!” “Listen,” said the Judge, “I have a sad story to tell you. You must lie patient with me if I am a bit slow, and remember that if your happiness is threatened only you yourself can pull it down. Hester is well and she loves you. But she will not know you are here until you make your decision. She would leave you free as air.” “Free? But I could never be free of Hester," said Malvern simply. • Then the Judge began the story ot Hester's mother, her miserable first marriage, her martyrdom, her trial, the strange romance of Harry Lambert’s love for her, ttie mad marriage, ns people called it, their ostracism by the county, the gradual deterioration of Harry Lambert, the poverty, the despair. Then came the adoption ot Hester by Mrs. Ponsonby, who hud befriended the tragic couple. When lie had linished the story lie brought out what he called “Mrs. Fincgan’s Narrative,” and handed it to Malvern to read. The young man had been oddly quiet while he listened to the amazing story. He had shifted his chair at Hie beginning so that the light did not fall upon tiis face, and the chair, of Ihe grandfather kind, left only his profile visible—a beautiful stern young■ protile, of which Hie old man who loved Hester was a little afraid lie wished lie could have seen .Malvern’s eyes. -Impossible to say how lie was Inking il from just that glimpse of profile.

Again and again during the narraliv« the Judge had paused, as though lie wailed f or a sign, hut none had come. When lie handed the paper for' the young mail to react Malvern leaned forward to Ihe light, and his full face came into view. But there was no revelation there, and ’ho

Judge’s heart began to ache. Wo-uld .Malvern net rise to it, and was bis girl going to suffer?

He watched Malvern narrowly while he road the paper to the end, then laid it on the table very gently. “Does Hester know about this?” “Some of it. Tlzat paper you haw just read has been seen by noone but our two selves.” “Ah, you meant it for my own assurance, and mine only.”

“Perhaps; you slisall do what you will with it.” “Can I see Hester 1 ?”

"What are you swing to say to her? You are not going to hurt her?” tho Judge’s voice was sharp with anxiety. “1 am going to tell her that there must be no moce concealments. Of course, I know she was not aware, poor child. She is the soul ot frankness. For ttue future I shall share her cares, if they come." “You moan—?"’

The Judge stared at the young man's face, in wbtich the eyes of Don Quixote corrected Use noble severity of the profile. “I mean to marry Hester in her own name. By the way, I too had an anonymous letter. I put it in the fire unread. There must be no more opportunities for tbje anonymous letter-writer."

“PeopJe will say that it is a mad marriage, as they sasid when Harry Lambert married her mother.”

“We shall not hear what they say.” The pride with which the words were said was indescribable. “Of course, I am glad of this document. But if you had not brought it to me I should still have thought no ill of Hester’s mother.”

The Judge showed nothing of ills immense relief.

“You may have to persuade Hester,” he said. “She is very' proud.” “I am not afraid of that.” The Judge put out his hand, and Malvern’s met it in a firm, warm grip. It was as though one man gave a pledge and the other received it. “I knew you were to bo trusted,” the Judge said, “like> the poet's young man.” He quoted softly': ‘lf she love me\, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve.’ ” “Thank you,” said Malvern simply, “but there is no question of dying—only a question living and being happy with the one woman. I am the most fortunate ’ fellow alive.” The Judge’s forcast of the future was: “The world will not attempt to punish Malvern as that little' cruel world of Western Ireland, and with its small aristocracy, hide-bound and insolent, punished poor Harry Lambert long ago. Lady Malvern will hold back for a time, and accept the marriage when she sees there is no longer any use in opposing, it. For the rest of the world it will. be a nine days’ wonder, after which they will recognise it, when they reftvember it, as something charmingly romantic. Y r ou will see.”

Tile remark was made to Mrs. Ponsonby, who had not shared in the secret ol' her beloved brother’s confession.

"Malvcrrn is—just Malvern,” she said. “There is no one like him.There never was, except it might be iny Jim or poor Harry Lambert, with whom I was once tremendously in love. Think of his kindness to poor Kitty, his beautiful Way with her, his plans to bring her poor broken health back I Well, well, God is very good.” She turned away from the subject and with her brown eyes full of a strange light she said: “I was in love with Horry Lambert, onco myself. All the girls were. He' justified us by his mad marriage. I don’t know that I wouldn’t have changed piaoes with Kitty when he married her, for all the suffering that had gone over her poor little head.” “I thought so,” said the- Judge to himself, but to her he said: “He was deserving of love. Hester is proud of him. Malvern is proud of him. I am sure poor Mrs. Lambert would not have changed places with happier women. To us, and to Hester’s children and those that come after her his memory must remain as that of a very chivalrous gentleman, a true knight." [The End.]