The Betrayal of John Fordham

The Betrayal of John Fordham
Benjamin Farjeon

Farjeon B. L. Benjamin Leopold

The Betrayal of John Fordham

CHAPTER I.

JOHN FORDHAM'S CONFESSION

My name is John Fordham, and I am thirty-four years of age. So far as I can judge I am at present of sound mind, though sadly distraught, and my memory is fairly clear, except as to the occurrences of a certain terrible night in December two years ago, which are obscured by a black cloud which I have striven in vain to pierce. These occurrences, and the base use to which they have been turned by an enemy who has made my life a torture, have brought me to a pass which will cause me presently to stand before the world as a murderer. No man accuses me. It is I who accuse myself of the horrible crime, though I call God to witness that I know not how I came to do it, save that it must have been done in self-defense. But who will believe me in the face of the damning evidence which I afterwards found in my possession – and who will believe that when the fatal deed was done I did not see the features of the man I killed, and did not know who he was? My protestations will be regarded as weak inventions, and will be received with incredulity – as probably I should receive them were another man in my place, and I his judge. It is the guiltiest persons who most loudly proclaim their innocence, and I shall be classed among them.

Am I, then, weary of life that I deliberately place myself in deadly peril, and invite the last dread sentence of the law to be passed upon me? In one sense, yes. Not a day passes that my torturer does not present himself to sting and threaten me and aggravate my sufferings. My nights are sleepless; even when exhausted nature drives me into a brief stupor my fevered brain is crowded with frightful images and visions. So appalling are these fancies that there is a danger of my being driven mad. Death is preferable.

And yet, but a few moments before I committed the crime, I was looking forward hopefully to a life of peace and love with a dear and noble woman who sacrificed her good name for me, and whom I promised to marry when I was freed from a curse which had clung to me for years. The night was cold, the snow was falling, but there was joy in my heart, and I walked along singing. Great God! my heart throbs with anguish as I think of the heaven which might been mine had not cruel fate suddenly dashed the cup of happiness from my lips. But it is useless to repine; I yield because it is forced upon me. One consoling thought is mine. The dear woman I love with a love as true and sincere as ever beat in the heart of man, will turn to me with pity, will visit me in the prison to which I go of my own accord, and in the solemn farewell we shall bid one another will extend her hands and forgive me for the wrong I have done her and our child.

These last words cause me to waver in my purpose.

Our child! Hers – mine. I am the sweet little fellow's father. I saw him yesterday with his mother, though neither he nor my dear Ellen knew that I was near them, for I was careful they should not see my face. How he has grown! Yesterday was his fourth 'birthday, and to-day Ellen is wondering who left the toy horse and cart at her lodgings. His sturdy little limbs, his lovely hair, his large brown eyes with their wonderful lashes, the music of his voice! What bliss, what torture I endured as I followed and listened to his prattle.

"Oh, mother!" he cried, dragging at her hand. "Look – look! Do look!"

His excitement was caused by a display of toys in a window, and they stood together – Ellen and my boy – gazing at the treasures there displayed. He liked this, he liked that, and wasn't this grand, and wasn't that beautiful? and, oh! look here, mother, and here, and here! He was especially fascinated by the horse and cart. Very tenderly did Ellen coax his attention to a box of white lambs, which was to be obtained for sixpence, and they went into the shop, where it Was placed in his arms, for his little hands could not grasp it firmly, and he wanted to carry it home himself. As he and his mother walked away I observed him look longingly over his shoulder at the horse and cart, and doubtless there was in his young mind a hope that one of these fine days when he was a big, big man such a treasure might also be in his possession, and that he would be able to ride off in it straight to fairyland. I am sure Ellen would have given it to him could she have afforded it, but she is obliged to be economical and sparing with her pennies. She earns a trifle by needlework, and, through a solicitor, she receives a pound a week from me, whom she believes to be thousands of miles away. Upon this she lives in modest comfort, saving every penny she can, and looking forward cheerfully to the future. The future! Alas for her – for Reggie – for me!

Reggie's father hanged for murder! But he need never know. He does not bear my name, for Ellen would not have it so. "Not till the laws of God and man sanction it," she said, and I let her have her way. Spirit of truth and justice! Show me the path wherein my duty lies.

More than one path is open to me. I could disappear at sea beneath the waters, and my enemy would never discover how and by what means I had severed the cord of life. He would hunt for me, and gnash his teeth at the escape of his prey. Some satisfaction in that. Oh, miserable fool, to express such a sentiment! But let it stand. I have no desire to conceal my weaknesses. Being gone, Ellen would still receive her pound a week. This is secured to her, and it is this my enemy would snatch from her. "You have money left," he cried. "I will have my share of it, or I will denounce you." He shall not succeed. He shall not rob Ellen, nor shall he denounce me. No man except myself shall bring me to the bar of justice.

I could kill him, and the world would be rid of a monster. I am strong; he is weak. I have held him with one hand, so that he could not move a step from the spot upon which he stood. Dead, he could do no more mischief. Wretch that I am! Add murder to murder? No. I will not burden my soul with conscious guilt.

I will do what I resolved to do, and this confession, when it is completed, shall be sent to Ellen. Condemn me, world. Ellen, in my last hours I look to you for one blessed ray of light. There was a dread crisis in my life when you were my guardian angel, and saved me from destruction. You will not fail me now. Receiving consolation at your dear hands, from your pure heart, I shall lay down my load, and with sobs of thankfulness shall bid the world farewell. In heaven, where the truth is known, we shall meet again.

CHAPTER II

Were it not necessary I would make no mention of my child-life, but this record would be incomplete were I to pass it over in silence. All that I can do is to dwell upon it as briefly as possible.

My mother died a few weeks after I was born; my father waited but twelve months before he married again, and in less than two years his second wife was a widow. Thus I lost both my parents at too early an age to retain the slightest recollection of them. By his second marriage my father had one child, a boy; my half-brother's name was Louis, and by him and my stepmother I was regarded with aversion – by her, indeed, with a much stronger feeling, for when I was old enough to reason out things for myself I learned that she hated me.

My father had made a fortune by commerce, and in his will he behaved justly to those who had a claim upon him. Half of his fortune was left to his widow, without restriction of any kind except that she was to rear and educate me, and that her home was to be mine until I was twenty-one years of age; then I was to become entitled to my share, one-fourth, which was so securely invested and protected that she could not touch it. The remaining one-fourth was left to Louis in the same way. Two of my father's friends were appointed trustees, to see to the proper disposition of his children's inheritance.

In the conditions of this will my stepmother found a double cause for resentment. She was angry in the first place that the whole of the fortune was not bequeathed to her, and in the second place that she was not appointed trustee; and she visited her anger upon me, an unoffending child, who could have had no hand in what she conceived to be a plot against her. Upon her son she lavished a full measure of passionate love, while I was allowed to roam about, neglected and uncared for. Nothing was too good for Louis, nothing too bad for me. He had the best room in the house to sleep in, I the worst; he was always beautifully dressed, and I was made to wear his cast-off clothes. It was the breast of the fowl for Louis, the drumstick for me, and dainty dishes were prepared for him which I was not allowed to taste; my meals were measured out, and if I asked for more I was refused. He was taken to theatres and entertainments, I was left at home. His Christmas trees were at once a delight and a torture to me. They could not prevent me from looking and longing, but not a toy fell to my share. The heartless woman told me that I had robbed her and her son of their inheritance, and I have no doubt that she had nursed this grievance into a conviction. "You are nothing but a pest and a nuisance," she said. And as a pest and a nuisance I was treated. In these circumstances it would have been strange indeed if my child-life had been happy.

I was glad when I was sent to school, and I did not look forward to the holidays with any feeling of pleasure. Studious by nature, I did well at school, and good reports of my progress were sent home, which my stepmother tore up before my face. Notwithstanding this systematic oppression I strove to win affection from her and Louis, but every advance I made met with cold repulse, the result being that we became less and less friendly. At length I gave up the attempt, and suffering from a sense of injustice preserved my self-respect by an assertion of independence. Instead of bending meekly beneath the lash, I stood up boldly, and seized and broke it. This really happened. One scene, which lives in my memory, will serve as an illustration.

I do not say it in praise of myself, because these things come by nature, but I have a tender feeling towards all living creatures, and cannot bear to see them tortured. To Louis it was a delight, and even his pets did not escape when he grew tired of them. He had some white rabbits, and one day I saw him bind all the limbs of one of them round its body till it resembled a ball in form. Then he threw it high in the air again and again, and frequently failing to catch it the poor thing fell upon the gravel path in the garden till it was covered with blood. I was fourteen years of age at the time, Louis was twelve. I darted forward, and picking up the wounded animal was loosening its bonds, when he snatched it from me. I endeavored to take it from him, telling him it was cruel to torture the helpless creature. We had a struggle, and his screams brought his mother from the house. She fell upon me, and dragged me away.

"See what he has done," said Louis, pointing to the bleeding rabbit, which had fallen to the ground.

"You did it," I retorted.

"It's a lie," he screamed. "You did it, you did it."

It was not the first falsehood he had told by many to get me into trouble. Panting with rage, my stepmother ran back to the house, and returned with a cane she had often used upon me.

"I will punish you for the lie," she said. "How dare you say my darling would do such a cruel thing? You are a disgrace to the name you bear."

She flourished the cane; I stepped back.

"I have told the truth," I said, "and I don't intend to be punished any more by you for faults I do not commit."

"You do not intend!" she answered, advancing towards me. "I will teach you; I will teach you!"

Swish went the cane across my face; only once, for as she was about to repeat the blow I wrested it from her, broke it, and threw it over the garden wall. In a frenzy of ungovernable fury she seized the first weapon that caught her eye – a gardener's spade – and attacked me with it, and at the same moment Louis ran at me with a three-pronged rake. He slipped and fell, and in his fall wounded himself with the prongs. His cries of pain diverted his mother's attention from me; she flung away the spade, and caught him in her arms. Alarmed at the sight of blood dripping from his face I stepped forward to assist her.

"Keep off, you murderer!" she shrieked. "You have killed my boy! You will come to the gallows!"

She flew into the house with Louis, and I saw nothing more of her that day. Louis, as I afterwards learned, kept his room for a week; it was not till months had passed that we met again, and then I noticed a scar on his forehead which I was told he would carry with him to the grave. From that time I was made to feel that I had two bitter enemies in my father's house. Arrangements were made to keep me at school during holidays, and I was not sorry for it. Once a year only was I allowed to visit my home, and then I was shunned; my meals were served to me in a separate room, and not the slightest attention was paid to my wants. I grew to be accustomed to this, and took refuge in study, longing for the day to arrive when I should be free. I recall the conversation which took place on that day between my stepmother and me.

"You have made arrangements, I presume," she commenced, "for residing elsewhere?"

"I have been thinking what I had best do," I said.

"That is not what I asked you. It is perfectly immaterial to me what you have been thinking of. I presume your arrangements to live elsewhere are already made."

As a matter of fact they were not, but I could not pretend to misunderstand her.

"You wish me to leave the house soon?" I said.

"At once," she replied, "without a moment's unnecessary delay. You shall not eat another meal here. Your presence is hateful to me."

"I have known that all my life," I said, mournfully.

"Then why have you remained so long?" she asked, speaking with angry vehemence. "A man with a particle of spirit in him would have gone away years ago, but you, like the creature you are, have sponged upon me to the last hour. You are twenty-one to-day, and I am no longer legally obliged to keep you. Go, and disgrace yourself, as you are sure to do."

"I shall never do that."

"It has to be proved," she retorted. "As if any one knowing you would believe a word that passes your lips! We shall see your name in the papers in connection with some scandalous affair."

"You are mistaken. I bear my father's name, and I would suffer a hundred deaths rather than see it dragged through the mire."

"Swear it," she cried.

"I swear it. But, hating me as you do, why should you be so sensitive about my good name?"

"Your good name!" she said, scornfully. "It is only because I bear it, because Louis bears it, as well as you, that I exact the pledge from you. Otherwise, do you think I care what becomes of you?"

"Truly," I said, "I believe it would rejoice you to hear the worst."

"It would." %