Detective and mystery stories; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Murder -- Investigation -- Fiction
"I admit that I was jealous of his attentions to your wife," continued
Mrs. Hilliston, "for though I did all in my power I could not win him to
my side. Regarding the efforts of Belinda Pike, I say nothing. She tried
to gain his love, and she failed. I was more successful in the end, but
not till the lapse of many years. Here I may say that I have gypsy blood
in my veins, which at times renders me insanely jealous, and in such a
state I am capable of all things. A recollection of this may enlighten
you as to my acting as I did in the garden of The Laurels.
"I knew that your wife loved Jeringham, and could have told you of it. I
am sorry I did not now, as she would have been disgraced, and then
Francis might have turned to me for consolation. But I held my peace,
and paid the cost of doing so. I am doing so now; you also; for if you
had been forewarned you would never have had to conceal yourself under a
feigned name on account of Jeringham's death.
"At the fancy dress ball held at the Town Hall, matters came to a
climax. My gypsy blood made me mad on that night, owing to the way in
which I was neglected by Francis Hilliston. With some difficulty I
learned that your wife was to be dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots, and,
with a view to making myself attractive in Hilliston's eyes, I chose the
same dress. With the assistance of the dressmaker who worked for us
both, I obtained a dress similar in all respects to that of Mrs.
Larcher, hoping that by doing so he would speak to me under the
impression that I was your wife. My stratagem was successful. I was
masked and dressed as she was; he spoke to me, thinking I was she, and I
learned then how he loved her. At that moment I could have killed her. I
could have killed him."
Here there was another note in Hilliston's handwriting: "Again I say
that the poor creature was mistaken. I did speak to her under the
impression that she was Mrs. Larcher, but I said nothing that she could
construe into a declaration of love. Her jealousy rendered her mad, and
she distorted the idle words I spoke. She took them up in the wrong
sense."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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