The Changeling

"That I can well believe."

"If he has seven devils now, after this disclosure he will have seventy-seven devils."

"That also I can well believe. But, of course, I do not think about him."

"Then, Mr. Woodroffe, can you not persuade that poor woman to go home, to be content with what she has seen and you have proved?"

"No, I cannot."

"Can you not remind her that she sold the child on the condition that she would never trouble about him, or seek to know where he might be living?"

"No, I cannot. She has seen her son; she knows who he is; she wants your acknowledgment. Give her that, and, I don't know, in fact, what will happen afterwards."

Lady Woodroffe sat down and sighed heavily. "Be it so," she said. "You will go on; you will do your worst."

Richard Woodroffe regarded her with a sense of pity, and even of respect. The woman had supported her position by a succession of shameless lies; she was now virtually confessing to him that they were lies. But she had so much to lose – her great position among religious and charitable people, her reputation, the respect which her blameless life and her great abilities had won for her. All these things were threatened.

"Madam," he said, his face full of emotion, "if it were only your son to be thought of, I would retire. But there is this poor lady, who is only kept alive, I believe, by the hope and belief that her son will be restored to her. Believe me, if I may speak of pity for you – "

"Pity?" She sprang to her feet with fire and fury in her cheeks and eyes. It is, happily, the rarest thing in the world to see a woman – I mean a woman of culture – overmastered by passion. Yet it lies there; it is always possible. In the heart of the meekest maiden, the most self-governed and most highly bred woman, there lies hidden the tigress, the fish-wife, the scold, the shrew. Formerly, whenever women were gathered together, they quarrelled; whenever they quarrelled, they fought – sometimes with fists, cudgels, brooms, chairs, sometimes with tongues. Men were so horribly frightened by the scolding wife, that they ducked her, put her in a cage, carried her round in a cart. The little word "pity" was the last drop in the cup. Lady Woodroffe raged and stormed at the unfortunate Richard. For the time her mind was beyond control; afterwards, he remembered that such a fit of passion showed the tension of her mind. He made no reply. When her torrent of words and threats was exhausted, she threw herself into her chair, and buried her face in her hands.

Then Richard quietly withdrew.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A HORRID NIGHT

Richard Woodroffe walked away with hanging head. A second time he had learned that his proofs might not be so convincing, after all. The defence set up by a woman of the highest social position, character, and personal influence, that she had never been in Birmingham in her life, that on the day of the alleged death of her child she was in Scotland, that she knew nothing of the person who was said to have assumed her name, could only be met by evidence concerning that person by an identification of that person with Lady Woodroffe by an old man, speaking of an event of four and twenty years ago, and by an alleged resemblance; as to the packet of clothes, that would certainly be no evidence at all. He himself was perfectly certain of the fact; there was no doubt left in his own mind. But would his proofs be accepted in a court of justice?

As he walked along with these heavy reflections, he was startled by a hand upon his shoulder – a thing which, in former times, caused the sufferer to swoon with terror, because it was the familiar greeting of the sheriff's officer, the man with a writ. That part of the officer's duty is now, however, gone. It was, in fact, the hand of Sir Robert Steele, who, his day's work finished, was taking the air.

"Dick," he cried, "I haven't seen you since – since – when?"

"Since the day when you made a study of heredity."

"Oh, you mean when you dined with me? Yes, Dick, my boy, I have heard things about you – the Strange Adventures of a Singer."

"Of course you have. Lady Woodroffe has told you."

"How you are fishing in troubled waters, and catching nothing. Yes, I have seen Mrs. Haveril – a most interesting woman; but she ought to go home and keep quiet. Keep her quiet, Dick. Put down your fishing-rod, and make that good lady sit down, and keep that good lady quiet."

"I will as soon as I have restored her son to her. We have found him, you know."

"You tell me so. You think it is Sir Humphrey Woodroffe, is it not?"

"We are perfectly certain it is. Lady Woodroffe has told you, I dare say, what we have done."

"Something – something. You are working, no doubt, in the interests of the second baronet?"

"Yes, oh yes." Dick grinned. "He is my half-brother, you know. I am anxious to restore him to his real rank, which is mine. He shall become what he is pleased to describe me – an outsider and a cad."

"Two Cains and no Abel. A slaughterous pair. Well, have you proved your case yet?"

"To our own satisfaction, perfectly. To the complete satisfaction of the world as soon as the story is told. For lawyers – well – there is one point lacking."

"That one point! That one point! Always that one point! It is like connecting your family with illustrious ancestry – always the one point wanting. I need not ask what that point is."

"No, because you are the person who can supply the link."

"Is that so?" asked the doctor, dryly. "Then, while you are waiting for that link, my dear Richard, I advise you to tie up your papers and go back to legitimate business." He stopped, because they were arrived at his own door. "Come in," he said. "Now then, my dear boy, sit down and let us have it out. First of all, however, understand that you cannot establish that link. You say that I am the only person who can supply it. Well, if that is so, remember that I shall not."

"You mean, will not."

"Just as you like. The distinction between will and shall is sometimes too subtle for the rules of syntax."

"But, my dear Sir Robert, just consider what a lot I can prove. Lady Woodroffe goes to a hotel in Birmingham. She drives in hurriedly; her child is ill. She sends for a medical man. She takes two bedrooms and a sitting-room. She has an ayah. The medical man stays with her the whole night. In the morning the child dies – "

"How do you know all these things?"

"By the note-book of the man who was called in, by the books of the hotel, by the evidence of the medical man himself, by the evidence of a waiter who remembers the case, by the register of deaths."

"All this looks strong, I admit."

"So that we can actually prove the death of Sir Humphrey's only son. And we can call upon Lady Woodroffe to inform us who is the man calling himself Sir Humphrey's only son."

"You prove that a woman calling herself Lady Woodroffe did all these things."

"And we can produce a witness who will swear to her identity."

"After all these years I doubt if you could – if that evidence would be received. I admit that you have a case. As it is, you could make a cause célèbre. You are able to make things horribly uncomfortable for Lady Woodroffe; and you are able to inspire the young man, her son, with a lively animosity against yourself."

"I don't mind that in the least. I shall go and see him. I shall say, 'You are my half-brother. You are first cousin to a collection of common folk, whose commonness will rejoice your heart. I will introduce you to them. You shall take tea with them – the tea of shrimps, periwinkles, and watercress, that you have yet to learn – and to love.' I shall exhaust myself in congratulations."

"With the domestic affections I never interfere. Here, however, is a difficulty. You say 'we' will do this and that. Who is 'we'? You yourself? Suppose you spring all this upon the world? And suppose nobody takes any notice?"

"I may advertise the whole history, and offer a reward for the discovery of the identification of the woman."

"But nobody can identify Lady Woodroffe."

"My old doctor – "

"Your old doctor would break down. Lady Woodroffe has only to deny absolutely that she is the woman. Counsel can always suggest – man in India – another woman – assumption of name – real wife with her father, Lord Dunedin – letters to prove it – old nobleman swears it. Venerable old nobleman – ever seen him? – rather like Abraham."

"Well, we shall find some way of forcing the history upon the public. And a certain event has just happened which may give me an opportunity."

"What is that?"

"My father is dead. He died yesterday. He was also Humphrey's father."