Albemarle was ashamed of his momentary hesitation.
“For the rest,” said Trenchard, “it is perfectly true that I am Mr. Wilding’s friend. But the lady is even more intimately connected with him. It happens that she is his wife.”
“His… his wife!” gasped the Duke, whilst Phelips chuckled, and Colonel Luttrell’s face grew dark.
Trenchard’s wicked smile flickered upon his mobile features. “There are rumours current of court paid her by Sir Rowland, there. Who knows?” he questioned most suggestively, arching his brows and tightening his lips. “Wives are strange kittle-kattle, and husbands have been known before to grow inconvenient. Upon reflection, Your Grace will no doubt discern the precise degree of faith to attach to what this lady may tell you against Mr. Wilding.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Ruth, her cheeks flaming crimson. “But this is monstrous!”
“Tis how I should myself describe it,” answered Trenchard without shame.
Spurred to it thus, Ruth poured out the entire story of her marriage, and so clear and lucid was her statement that it threw upon the affair a flood of light, whilst so frank and truthful was her tone, her narrative hung so well together, that the Bench began to recover from the shock to its faith, and was again in danger of believing her. Trenchard saw this and trembled. To save Wilding for the Cause he had resorted to this desperate expedient of betraying that Cause. It must be observed, however, that he had not done so save under the conviction that betrayed it was bound to be, and that since that was inevitable the thing had better come from him – for Wilding’s sake – than from Richard Westmacott. He had taken the bull by the horns in a most desperate fashion when he had determined to hoist Richard and Blake with their own petard, hoping that, after all, the harm would reach no further than the destruction of these two – a purely defensive measure. But now this girl threatened to wreck his scheme just as it was being safely steered to harbour. Suddenly he swung round, interrupting her.
“Lies, lies, lies!” he clamoured, and his interruption coming at such a time served to impress the Duke most unfavourably – as well it might.
“It is our wish to hear this lady out, Mr. Trenchard,” the Duke reproved him.
But Mr. Trenchard was undismayed. Indeed, he had just discovered a hitherto neglected card, which should put an end to this dangerous game.
“I do abhor to hear Your Grace’s patience thus abused,” he exclaimed with some show of heat. “This lady makes a mock of you. If you’ll allow me to ask two questions – or perhaps three – I’ll promise finally to prick this bubble for you. Have I Your Grace’s leave?”
“Well, well,” said Albemarle. “Let us hear your questions.” And his colleagues nodded.
Trenchard turned airily to Ruth. Behind her Diana sat – an attendant had fetched a chair for her – in fear and wonder at what she saw and heard, her eyes ever and anon straying to Sir Rowland’s back, which was towards her.
“This letter, madam,” said he, “for the possession of which you have accounted in so… so… picturesque a manner, was intended for and addressed to Mr. Wilding, you say. And you are prepared to swear to it?”
Ruth turned indignantly to the Bench. “Must I answer this man’s questions?” she demanded.
“I think, perhaps, it were best you did,” said the Duke, still showing her all deference.
She turned to Trenchard, her head high, her eyes full upon his wrinkled, cynical face. “I swear, then …” she began, but he – consummate actor that he was and versed in tricks that impress an audience – interrupted her, raising one of his gnarled, yellow hands.
“Nay, nay,” said he. “I would not have perjury proved against you. I do not ask you to swear. It will be sufficient if you pronounce yourself prepared to swear.
She pouted her lip a trifle, her whole expression manifesting her contempt of him. “I am in no fear of perjuring myself,” she answered fearlessly. “And I swear that the letter in question was addressed to Mr. Wilding.”
“As you will,” said Trenchard, and was careful not to ask her how she came by her knowledge. “The letter, no doubt, was in an outer wrapper, on which there would be a superscription – the name of the person to whom the letter was addressed?” he half questioned, and Luttrell, who saw the drift of the question, nodded gravely.
“No doubt,” said Ruth.
“Now you will acknowledge, I am sure, madam, that such a wrapper would be a document of the greatest importance, as important, indeed, as the letter itself, since we could depend upon it finally to clear up this point on which we differ. You will admit so much, I think?”
“Why, yes,” she answered, but her voice faltered a little, and her glance was not quite so fearless. She, too, saw at last the pit he had dug for her. He leaned forward, smiling quietly, his voice impressively subdued, and launched the bolt that was to annihilate the credibility of the story she had told.
“Can you, then, explain how it comes that that wrapper has been suppressed? Can you tell us how – the matter being as you state it – in very self-defence against the dangers of keeping such a letter, your brother did not also keep that wrapper?”
Her eyes fell away from his face, they turned to Albemarle, who sat scowling again, and from him they flickered unsteadily to Phelips and Luttrell, and lastly, to Richard, who, very white and with set teeth, stood listening to the working of his ruin.
“I… I do not know,” she faltered at last.
“Ah!” said Trenchard, drawing a deep breath. He turned to the Bench. “Need I suggest what was the need – the urgent need – for suppressing that wrapper?” quoth he. “Need I say what name was inscribed upon it? I think not. Your Grace’s keen insight, and yours, gentlemen, will determine what was probable.”
Sir Rowland now stood forward, addressing Albemarle. “Will Your Grace permit me to offer my explanation of this?”
Albemarle banged the table. His patience was at an end, since he came now to believe – as Trenchard had earlier suggested – that he had been played upon by Ruth.
“Too many explanations have I heard already, sir,” he answered. He turned to one of his secretaries. In his sudden access of choler he forgot his colleagues altogether. “The prisoners are committed for trial,” said he harshly, and Trenchard breathed freely at last. But the next instant he caught his breath again, for a ringing voice was heard without demanding to see His Grace of Albemarle at once, and the voice was the voice of Anthony Wilding.
Chapter XI.
The Marplot
Mr. Wilding’s appearance produced as many different emotions as there were individuals present. He made the company a sweeping bow on his admission by Albemarle’s orders, a bow which was returned by a stare from one and all. Diana eyed him in amazement, Ruth in hope; Richard averted his glance from that of his brother-in-law, whilst Sir Rowland met it with a scowl of enmity – they had not come face to face since the occasion of that encounter in which Sir Rowland’s self-love had been so rudely handled. Albemarle’s face expressed a sort of satisfaction, which was reflected on the countenances of Phelips and Luttrell; whilst Trenchard never thought of attempting to dissemble his profound dismay. And this dismay was shared, though not in so deep a measure, by Wilding himself. Trenchard’s presence gave him pause; for he had been far, indeed, from dreaming that his friend had a hand in this affair. At sight of him all was made clear to Mr. Wilding. At once he saw the role which Trenchard had assumed on this occasion, saw to the bottom of the motives that had inspired him to take the bull by the horns and level against Richard and Blake this accusation before they had leisure to level it against himself.
His quick wits having fathomed Trenchard’s motive, Mr. Wilding was deeply touched by this proof of friendship, and for a second, as deeply nonplussed, at loss now how to discharge the task on which he came.
“You are very choicely come, Mr. Wilding,” said Albemarle. “You will be able to resolve me certain doubts which have been set on foot by these traitors.”
“That,” said Mr. Wilding, “is the purpose for which I am here. News reached me of the arrest that had been made. May I beg that Your Grace will place me in possession of the facts that have so far transpired.”
It was one of his secretaries who, at Albemarle’s bidding, gave Wilding the information that he craved. He listened gravely; then, before Albemarle had time to question him on the score of the name that might have been upon the enfolding wrapper of the letter, he begged that he might confer apart a moment with Mr. Trenchard.