England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Mystery fiction
On the twentieth of October, at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, I was
sent to work in the shrubbery, on the side next to the garden called the
Dutch Garden. There was a summer-house in the Dutch Garden, having its
back set toward the shrubbery. The day was wonderfully fine and--warm
for the time of year.
“Passing to my work, I passed the back of the summer-house. I heard
voices inside--a man’s voice and a lady’s voice. The lady’s voice was
strange to me. The man’s voice I recognized as the voice of my master.
The ground in the shrubbery was soft, and my curiosity was excited. I
stepped up to the back of the summer-house without being heard, and I
listened to what was going on inside.
“The first words I could distinguish were spoken in my master’s voice.
He said, ‘If I could only have foreseen that you might one day be free,
what a happy man I might have been!’ The lady’s voice answered, ‘Hush!
you must not talk so.’ My master said upon that, ‘I must talk of what is
in my mind; it is always in my mind that I have lost you.’ He stopped
a bit there, and then he said on a sudden, ‘Do me one favor, my angel!
Promise me not to marry again.’ The lady’s voice spoke out thereupon
sharply enough, ‘What do you mean?’ My master said, ‘I wish no harm to
the unhappy creature who is a burden on my life; but suppose--’ ‘Suppose
nothing,’ the lady said; ‘come back to the house.’
“She led the way into the garden, and turned round, beckoning my master
to join her. In that position I saw her face plainly, and I knew it for
the face of the young widow lady who was visiting at the house. She was
pointed out to me by the head-gardener when she first arrived, for the
purpose of warning me that I was not to interfere if I found her picking
the flowers. The gardens at Gleninch were shown to tourists on certain
days, and we made a difference, of course, in the matter of the flowers
between strangers and guests staying in the house. I am quite certain of
the identity of the lady who was talking with my master. Mrs. Beauly
was a comely person--and there was no mistaking her for any other than
herself. She and my master withdrew together on the way to the house. I
heard nothing more of what passed between them.”
This witness was severely cross-examined as to the correctness of his
recollection of the talk in the summer-house, and as to his capacity for
identifying both the speakers. On certain minor points he was shaken.
But he firmly asserted his accurate remembrance of the last words
exchanged between his master and Mrs. Beauly; and he personally
described the lady in terms which proved that he had corruptly
identified her.
With this the answer to the third question raised by the Trial--the
question of the prisoner’s motive for poisoning his wife--came to an
end.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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