en-fr  THE BISHOP'S SECRET by FERGUS HUME - Chapter 37 Hard
Chaque fois que je vois cette introduction, je me demande pourquoi diable France ne la supprime pas dans l'éditeur de texte avant de valider le chapitre. Mystère.
CHAPITRE XXXVII - DEA EX MACHINA. Comme on peut le deviner, le capitaine Pendle, maintenant que l'évolution de sa grande histoire d'amour s’annonçait plus sereine, devint un visiteur assidu de la maison de Jenny Wren. Mab et lui étaient tout l'un pour l'autre, et, dans le nombrilisme de leur passion, ils ne se préoccupaient pas des agissements de leurs voisins. Il est vrai que George fut soulagé et heureux d'apprendre l'arrestation et la confession de Mosk, car Gabriel était désormais lavé de tout soupçon d'avoir commis un crime infâme ; mais une fois rassuré sur ce point, il cessa de s'intéresser à la chose. Il ignorait que son frère aimait Bell Mosk, car ni Baltic ni l'évêque ne l'en avaient informé, sinon il il ne se serait pas montré aussi indiifférent au procès imminent du misérable criminel. Ainsi donc, la grande excitation qui prévalait à Beorminster le laissait froid, et Mab et lui auraient pu tous deux habiter sur la lune étant donné le peu d'intérêt qu'ils portaient au sujet du jour. Ils vivaient, avec l'égoïsme propre aux amoureux, dans une Arcadie qu'ils s'étaient eux-même construite, et ils ignoraient tout de ce qui se passait en dehors de leur monde. Cette indifférence était assez naturelle dans leur état d'esprit.
Toutefois, George, allant et venant à l'extérieur, ramenait occasionnellement quelques bribes de nouvelles à Mab au cas où elle s'y serait intéressée. Il lui parla du retour de sa mère, de sa santé retrouvée, de sa joie d'avoir appris que les fiançailles avaient été acceptées par l'évêque, et qu'il avait délivré le message qu'elle souhaitait voir et embrasser sa future belle-fille — chacune de ces informations emplissait Mab d'un merveilleux plaisir et apportait une satisfaction considérable à Mlle Wichello, depuis qu'elle voyait qu'il n'était plus question d'inconvenance de sa nièce vis à vis de George.
— Quoi qu'il en soit tu mérites quelque récompense pour ces bonnes nouvelles, dit Mab, et elle lui présenta une écharpe de soie d'un rouge martial.
Ma chérie, s'écria le capitaine Pendle en embrassant l'écharpe, je vais la mettre près de mon cœur ; puis craignant que le baiser n'endommage la soie, il le déposa sur la joue de la dame de ses pensées.
— Erreur ! dit Mlle Marchello, avec un large sourire, mettez-la autour du cou comme un amoureux romantique.
— Les amoureux sont-ils toujours romantiques ? s'enquit le capitaine, avec un clin d'œil.
— J'en connais un qui ne l'est pas, s'écria Mab, joueuse. Non, monsieur, dit-elle en enlevant un bras empressé, vous choqueriez tatie.
Tatie s'est endurcie face à de tels comportements, sourit Mlle Whichello.
Tatie a été aussi mélancolique qu'un hibou ces derniers temps, rétorqua Mab en caressant la vieille dame ; depuis l'arrestation de ce Mosk, elle a été bien malheureuse.
— Ne parle pas de lui, Mab.
Oups ! dit George se souvenant soudainement, je savais que j'avais autre chose à te dire. Mosk est mort.
Miss Whichello poussa un léger cri et pressa fortement la main de sa nièce. — Mort ! elle cherchait son souffle, les joues pâles et la voix éteinte. Mosk mort !
— On ne peut plus mort, reprit George en admirant son cadeau ; il s'est pendu la nuit dernière avec ses bretelles, de sorte que la potence a perdu une victime et la bonne société de Beorminster un procès sensationnel.
— George ! gémit Mab, effrayée, ne parle pas ainsi ; tu vas faire défaillir tatie.
En effet, la vieille dame semblait être sur le point de s'évanouir. Son visage était blanc, sa peau était froide et, la tête penchée en arrière, elle fermait les yeux. L'information du capitaine Pendle avait produit un effet si inattendu que Mab et lui se regardaient interloqués.
— Tu ne devrais pas raconter ces horreurs, George.
— Mon amour, comment pouvais-je savoir que ta tante s'intéressait à cet homme ?
— Je ne m'intéresse pas à lui, protesta faiblement Mlle Whichello ; mais il assassine Jentham, et voilà qu'il se tue ; c'est horrible.
— Horrible, mais c'est un mal pour un bien, approuva vivement George ; un homme qui en tue un autre ne peut s'attendre à s'en sortir sans problème. Mosk n'a fait que ce que la loi allait lui faire. Néanmoins, je suis désolé pour Baltic.
— Le missionnaire ! Pourquoi, George ?
— Parce que ce suicide sera une telle déception pour lui. Il a essayé d'amener le pauvre diable — pardonnez-moi — pauvre malheureux au repentir ; mais il semblerait qu'il n'y soit pas arrivé.
— Ne s'est il pas confessé à M. Baltic ? demanda anxieusement Mlle Wichello.
— Je le crois ; il a eu un repentir tardif.
Savez-vous ce qu'il lui a dit ?
— Qu'il avait tué Jentham et lui avait volé son argent.
— A-t-il dit qu'il avait trouvé des papiers sur le corps de Jentham.
— Pas que je sache, répondit George, le regard fixe. Pourquoi ! Jentham détenait-il des documents particuliers ?
— Oh ! Je l'ignore, je ne peux l'affirmer, répondit Mlle Whichello confuse, et elle se leva en vacillant. Mab, ma chérie, tu m'excuseras, je ne me sens pas très bien, je vais aller dans ma chambre.
— Laisse-moi t'accompagner, tatie.
— Non ! Non ! répondit Mlle Whichello à sa nièce avec un petit signe. Je désire être seule, et elle quitta brusquement la pièce, sans un regard aux jeunes gens. Ils ne pouvaient comprendre ce comportement étrange. Mab, de façon typiquement féminine, se tourna vers le capitaine Pendle.
— C'est entièrement de ta faute, George, parler ainsi de meurtres et de suicides.
— Je suis terriblement navré, se repentit le capitaine, mais je pensais que tu aimerais apprendre la nouvelle.
— Merci, pas les nouvelles de la police, répondit Mab hautainement.
— Pourquoi pas ? C'est un sujet de discussion, voyons.
— Vous m'avez comme sujet de discussion, capitaine Pendle.
— Oh ! George bondit en avant. Discutons sur-le-champ de ce sujet. Tu mérites une punition pour m'avoir appelé par mon nom. Voilà, vilaine !
— George, murmura-t-elle, je...je ne le permettrai pas. Tu... Tu devrais demander la permission.
— Pure perte de temps, répondit George, pragmatique, et il l'enlaça.
— Ah, vraiment ! C'est indigne... eh bien, je ... À ce moment-là, le capitaine Pendle la punit à nouveau, et Mab rétorqua qu'il était comme tous les hommes et qu'il devrait avoir honte de se comporter de la sorte, etc, etc,etc. D'abord elle fronça les sourcils, puis sourit et finalement devint une douce et patiente Griselda pour le plus grand plaisir, non dissimulé, de l'esprit supérieur. Alors le couple oublia Mosk et sa sinistre fin, Mlle Whichello et son comportement étrange, et se retira du monde dans leur paradis terrestre, où, aux yeux de toute personne sensée, il valait mieux laisser ces amoureux fous.
Miss Whichello avait d'autres choses en tête que ces bécotages et roucoulements. Elle alla dans sa chambre, et s'allongea pendant une dizaine de minutes, puis elle se releva et se mit à faire les cent pas. Elle était préoccupée au sujet de Mosk, de sa victime, de Baltic, elle se demandait si Jentham avait été en possession de certains papiers, s'ils avaient été dérobés par Mosk, s'ils se trouvaient maintenant dans la poche de Baltic. Cette dernière idée lui glaça le sang et son cœur battit la chamade. Elle se couvrit le visage des mains, s'assit, se releva et, saisie d'une appréhension fébrile, elle s’appuya contre le mur. Puis, à la façon des personnes à bout de nerfs, elle se mit à parler toute seule.
— Je dois en parler à quelqu'un, je dois prendre conseil, marmonna-t-elle en se tordant les mains. Inutile d'aller voir M. Baltic, il est étranger à notre communauté, il pourrait refuser de m'aider. Le docteur Graham ? Non ! Il est trop cynique. L'évêque ? Elle marqua un temps d'arrêt et se frappa dans les mains. L'évêque ! Je vais aller le voir et tout lui raconter. Par amour pour son fils, il viendra en aide à ma pauvre petite chérie.
Ayant pris sa décision au sujet de sa ligne de conduite, Mlle Whichello enfila son vieux manteau de soie et son chapeau cloche. Alors elle extirpa d'une boîte en fer-blanc une liasse de papiers, jaunie avec le temps, et la glissa dans sa grande poche. Mordant ses lèvres et frottant ses joues pour ramener de la couleur, elle se glissa en bas, passa devant la porte du salon comme une créature coupable et, une minute après, se trouva sur la place. Je ne trouve pas "passing fly" je me suis dit qu'à l'époque c'était probablement des calèches.
— J'espère que je fais bien, murmura la vieille dame en soupirant. Je pense que oui ; parce que si l'évêque Pendle ne peut pas m'aider, personne d'autre ne peut le faire. Après trente ans, oh mon Dieu ! ma pauvre, ma pauvre chérie !
Dans la tragédie grecque, quand les affaires des personnages du drame étaient totalement empêtrées par les circonstances, la fatalité ou la pure folie et que leur capacité à tout remettre en ordre se trouvait dépassée, les personnes impliquées dans un tel désordre avaient l'habitude d'invoquer une divinité pour accomplir ce qui était impossible à réaliser pour de simples mortels. Le dieu sort alors de la machine pour réparer le mal et récompenser le bien, pour séparer le mouton des chèvres et pour délivrer un discours moral à l'auditoire, lui enjoignant de prendre acte de l'impossibilité pour l'homme de se passer du conseil, du jugement, et de l'aide toute puissante de la hiérarchie olympienne. La mission de Mlle Wichello était quelque chose de semblable; et bien qu'elle-même et l'évêque aient ignoré qu'elle jouait le rôle du "Deus ex Machina" consistant à diriger toutes choses pour tendre vers le bonheur de chacun, tel était bien le cas. Forcée par le Destin, elle recherchait l'homme pour lequel sa mission serait la plus acceptable ; et assise face à face avec Monseigneur Pendle dans cette bibliothèque qui avait été le théâtre de tant d'entretiens célèbres, elle lui donna à son insu un élément d'information qui mit fin à tous ses ennuis. Elle était arrivée à la onzième heure, et elle aurait aussi bien pu se présenter plus tôt ; mais la Destinée, la Dramaturgie universelle, a toujours décrété que les drames doivent être joués jusqu'au moment désigné et ne permettent jamais au médiateur d'apparaître avant le moment ultime précédant la chute du rideau vert. Pour autant que le drame de Beorminster était concerné, le moment crucial était à portée de main, l'acteur — ou plutôt l'actrice — qui allait tout arranger était sur la scène, et bientôt le rideau allait tomber sur une situation difficile en train de s'aplanir. Ensuite, sonnez hautbois, résonnez musettes, la vertu triomphe, le mal est jugulé, et la plus jolie des artistes déclame le proverbe : « Tout est bien qui finit bien ».
— Je viens vous consulter en toute confidentialité, déclara Mlle Whichello, dès que l’évêque et elle se retrouvèrent seuls dans la bibliothèque. Je désire vous demander votre avis.
— Mes conseils et mon amitié sont tous deux à votre service, chère dame, répondit l'évêque avec courtoisie.
— C'est au sujet des parents de Mab, laissa échapper la vieille dame.
— Oh ! L'évêque parut grave. Vous êtes sur le point de me dévoiler la vérité sur ces rumeurs qui couraient à Beorminster lorsque vous avez pris Mlle Arden chez vous ?
— Oui. Est-il vrai que Mme Pansey a dit toutes sortes de méchants ragots sur moi, Monseigneur ?
— Oh, non ! — Monseigneur Pendle se tortilla , mal à l'aise— elle a plutôt parlé de votre sœur que de vous. Je ne veux pas remuer le scandale, Mlle Wichello, aussi qu'il ne soit plus question de cela. Votre nièce va épouser mon fils, soyez-en assurée. C'est folie que de remuer le passé, ajouta l'évêque en soupirant.
Je dois remuer le passé ; je vous dois la vérité, dit Mlle Wichello d'un ton ferme, ne serait-ce que pour mettre fin à cette langue de vipère de Mme Pansey. Qu'a-t-elle dit, Monseigneur ?
— En vérité, en vérité, chère madame, je...
— Monseigneur, dites-moi ce qu'elle a dit sur ma sœur. je dois savoir.
À contrecœur l'évêque accéda à sa requête pressante. — Elle a dit que votre sœur s'était enfuie à Londres avec un homme qui ensuite a refusé de l'épouser, qu'elle a eu une enfant, et que cette enfant est votre nièce, Mlle Arden que vous avez ramenée à Beorminster après le décès de votre malheureuse sœur.
— Un délicat mélange de vérité et de fiction en effet, dit la vieille dame d'un ton hautain. Je suis obligée de dire que Mme Pansey a déformé les faits.
— Je crains, en effet, que Mme Pansey n'exagère, dit Monseigneur Pendle en hochant la tête.
— Avec tout le respect dû, évêque, c'est une vilaine Sapphira ! s'écria Mlle Whichello, et aussitôt elle sortit une liasse de papiers de sa poche. Annie, ma malheureuse sœur s'est enfuie, mais elle s'était mariée à son amant le jour même où elle a quitté notre maison à Londres, et ma Mab chérie est aussi légitime que votre fils George, Monseigneur Pendle.
L'évêque grimaça en entendant cette malheureuse évocation. — Avez-vous une preuve de ce mariage, Mlle Whichello ? demanda-t-il, en jetant un coup d'œil aux papiers.
— Bien sûr que oui, répondit-elle en détachant la bande rouge avec des doigts tremblants. Voici le certificat de mariage que ma pauvre Annie m'a donné sur son lit de mort. Je l'aurais montré plus tôt à tout Beorminster si j'avais su les faux colportages de Mme Pansey. Regardez-ça, évêque. Elle l'enfonça dans sa main. Ann Whichello, célibataire ; Pharaon Bosvile, célibataire. Ils se sont mariés à l'église St Chad de Hampstead, au mois de décembre 1869. Voici le certificat de naissance de Mab ; elle a été baptisée dans la même église, et est née en 1870, l'année de la guerre franco-allemande, donc puisqu'il s'agit de l'année quatre-vingt-dix-sept, elle a dorénavant vingt-sept ans, deux ans de plus que votre fils, le capitaine Pendle.
Avec beaucoup d'intérêt, l'évêque examina les deux certificats de naissance et de mariage que Mlle Whichello plaça devant lui. Ils étaient tous les deux légalement parfaits, et il voyait clairement que, si mal que Bosvile eût pu se conduire ensuite avec Annie Bosville, elle était sans doute sa femme.
Il ne l'aurait pas épousée s'il avait pu eviter, continua Mlle Whichello pendant que l'évêque regardait les documents, mais Annie avait un peu d'argent, pas grand-chose, qu'elle devait recevoir le jour de son mariage. le misérable l'épousa et écrivit à mon cher père pour demander l'argent qui, bien entendu, a dû payer, selon la dernière volonté de grand-père. Mon père ne revit jamais plus Annie, mais quand la pauvre chérie m'a écrit un an plus tard qu'elle était mourante avec une petite enfant à ses côtés, que pouvais-je faire à part la secourir ? Ah, ma pauvre Annie chérie ! sanglota la petite vieille dame, elle avait terriblement changé, par rapport à la brillante et jolie fille dont j'avais le souvenir. Son époux était devenu une brute, un ruffian et un dépensier. Il a dépensé tout son argent, et l'a abandonnée après six mois de mariage, le misérable ! Annie essaya de se subvenir à elle même par des travaux de couture, mais elle prit froid étant affamée et elle s'écroula. Puis Mab naquit et elle m'écrivit. J'y allai une fois, monseigneur, mais j'arrivai juste à temps pour fermer les yeux de ma chère Annie. Après quoi je ramenai Mab avec moi à Beorminster, mais je la gardai un certain temps à Londres à cause de mon père. Lorsque je l'ai amenée ici, et que je lui ai montré le certificat de mariage, il devint complétement gaga du petit bout de chou. Ainsi pendant toutes ces années Mab a vécu avec moi comme ma propre petite enfant, et votre fils a bien de la chance d'avoir mérité son amour, ajouta la vieille demoiselle de manière un peu incohérente. Ce n'est pas à n'importe qui que j'aurais donné l'enfant de ma chère Annie, je peux vous le dire, monseigneur. Voilà toute l'histoire, et elle est tristement banale.
— Je vous suis très reconnaissant, Mlle Wichello, répondit Monseigneur Pendle, en lui tapotant la main, et j'ai le plus grand respect pour vous et pour votre nièce. Je suis fier, chère madame qu'elle devienne ma fille. Mais dites-moi comment votre malheureuse sœur s'est-elle liée à cet homme ?
— Il était violoniste, répondit Mlle Wichello, un violoniste populaire, et il jouait magnifiquement bien. Annie l'a entendu, l'a vu, et, devant son allure et son talent, elle a perdu la tête . Il se faisait appeler Amaru, mais son vrai nom était Pharaoh Bosvile.
— Un nom étrange, Mlle Wichello.
— C'est un nom gitan, Monseigneur. Bosvile était gitan. Il avait étudié le violon en Hongrie ou en Espagne, je ne sais plus., et il en jouait magnifiquement. Ensuite il eut un accident qui lui blessa la main, et t il ne put plus jouer ; c'est pourquoi il épousa Annie — juste pour son argent, le misérable.
— Un gitan, murmura l'évêque, en pâlissant.
— Oui, un gitan anglais, mais comme tous ces gens il courait à droite à gauche. L'accident qui l'a blessé à la main lui a aussi laissé une cicatrice su la joue.
— la joue droite ? haleta Monseigneur Pendle, se penchant en avant.
— Oui, pourquoi ? dit Mlle Wichello, plutôt surprise de l'émotion de l'évêque ; c'est à çà que je l'ai reconnu quand il se faisait appeler Jentham. Il...
L'évêque se leva d'un bond en criant en proie à une agitation incontrôlable, tremblant et pâle. — Ç'é... c'était Jentham... Bos... Bosvile? bégaya-t-il. Vous... vous en êtes sûre ?
— J'en suis certaine, répondit Mlle Wichello, l'air éffrayée. Je l'ai vu une bonne douzaine de fois. Monseigneur ! Sa voix se transforma en un cri, car Monseigneur Pendle venait de s'écrouler en avant sur son bureau.
— Oh mon Dieu ! s'écria l'évêque. — Oh, Dieu est miséricorde !
La fragile vieille dame fut violemment agitée de tremblements. Elle pensa que l'évêque venait subitement de perdre la raison. Elle ne fut pas plus rassurée quand il se leva et qu'il la regarda le visage ruisselant de larmes. Jamais auparavant Mlle Whichello n'avait vu un homme pleurer et ce spectacle la terrifia beaucoup plus que n'aurait fait une explosion de colère. Elle regarda l'évêque, celui-ci la regarda, et tous deux étaient blancs comme plâtre, tous deux en proie à une forte émotion nerveuse.
Au bout d'un moment, l'évêque ouvrit un tiroir et en sortit une liasse de papiers. Il préleva, parmi la liasse de papiers, le certificat de mariage de sa femme et Krant et le compara avec celui de Pharaon Bosvile et Ann Whichello.
— Dieu soit loué ! dit-il une nouvelle fois, la voix tremblante. Cet homme a épousé votre sœur en 1869 sous l'identité de Bosvile, puis il a épousé Mme Pendle sous celle de Krant en 1870.
— Épousé Madame Pendle ! hurla mademoiselle Whichelllo, en se précipitant vers lui.
— Oui. Elle s'appelait Krant quand je l'ai épousée, son mari étant officiellement décédé, elle était donc en toute bonne foi sa veuve.
— Mais elle n'était pas veuve !
— Non, car Krant était Jentham, et Jentham était vivant après notre mariage.
— Je ne le pense pas, s'écria Mlle Whichello en posant un doigt sur le certificat de sa sœur, mais Jentham sous le nom de Bosvile a épousé Annie en 1869.
— Il a épousé ma femme en octobre 1870, dit l'évêque, le souffle coupé.
— Alors son second mariage est nul, dit mademoiselle Whichello, parce que cette année et ce mois-là, ma sœur était encore en vie. Mme Pendle n'a jamais été sa femme.
— Non, Dieu merci ! dit l'évêque en joignant les mains, c'est mon épouse légitime finalement.
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For more info, please see "discussion tab" by clicking on the title of this chapter.
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Which disregard was natural enough in their then state of mind.
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'Nonsense!'
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said Miss Whichello, smiling broadly; 'wear it round your neck like a sensible lover.
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'Are lovers ever sensible?'
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inquired the captain, with a twinkle.
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'I know one who isn't,' cried Mab, playfully.
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'No, sir,' removing an eager arm, 'you will shock aunty.
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'Aunty has become hardened to such shocks,' smiled Miss Whichello.
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'Don't speak of him, Mab.
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'Halloo!
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said George, with sudden recollection, 'I knew there was something else to tell you.
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Mosk is dead.
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Miss Whichello gave a faint shriek, and tightly clasped the hand of her niece.
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'Dead!'
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she gasped, pale-cheeked and low-toned.
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'Mosk dead!
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'George!'
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cried Mab, in alarm, 'don't talk so; you will make aunty faint.
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And indeed the little old lady looked as though she were on the point of swooning.
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'You shouldn't tell these horrors, George.
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'My love, how was I to know your aunt took an interest in the man?
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Mosk has only done for himself what the law would have done for him.
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I'm sorry for Baltic, however.
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'The missionary!
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Why, George?
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'Because this suicide will be such a disappointment to him.
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'Did he not confess to Mr Baltic?'
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asked Miss Whichello, anxiously.
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'I believe so; he repented that far.
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'Do you know what he told him?
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'That he had killed Jentham, and had stolen his money.
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'Did he say if he had found any papers on Jentham's body?
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'Not that I know of,' replied George, staring.
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'Why!
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had Jentham any particular papers in his possession?
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'Mab, my dear, you will excuse me, I am not very well; I shall go to my bedroom.
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'Let me come too, aunty.
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'No!
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no!'
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Miss Whichello waved her niece back.
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'I wish to be alone,' and she left the room abruptly, without a look at either of the young people.
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They could not understand this strange behaviour.
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Mab, woman-like, turned on Captain Pendle.
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'It is all your fault, George, talking of murders and suicides.
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'I'm awf'ly sorry,' said the captain, penitently, 'but I thought you would like to hear the news.
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'Not the police news, thank you,' said Mab, with dignity.
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'Why not?
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Something to talk about, you know.
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'You have me to talk about, Captain Pendle.
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'Oh!'
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George sprang forward.
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'Let us discuss that subject at once.
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You deserve some punishment for calling me out of my name.
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There, wicked one!
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'George,' very faintly, 'I—I shall not allow it!
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You—you should ask permission.
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'Waste of time,' said the practical George, and slipped his arm round her waist.
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'Oh, indeed!
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Miss Whichello had other things to think of than this billing and cooing.
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This last idea made her blood turn cold and her heart drum a loud tattoo.
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Then, after the manner of those over-wrought, she began to talk aloud.
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'I must tell someone; I must have advice,' she muttered, clenching her hands.
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'It is of no use seeing Mr Baltic; he is a stranger; he may refuse to help me.
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Dr Graham?
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No!
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he is too cynical.
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unit 92
The bishop?'
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unit 93
She paused and struck her hands lightly together.
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unit 94
'The bishop!
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unit 95
I shall see him and tell him all.
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unit 96
For his son's sake, he will help my poor darling.
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unit 100
unit 101
'I trust I am acting for the best,' murmured the little old lady, with a sigh.
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'I think I am; for if Bishop Pendle cannot help me, no one else can.
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After thirty years, oh God!
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my poor, poor darling!
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unit 113
'I wish to ask for your advice.
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 months ago
unit 115
'It is about Mab's parents,' blurted out the little old lady.
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'Oh!'
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The bishop looked grave.
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unit 119
'Yes.
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I daresay Mrs Pansey said all sorts of wicked things about me, bishop?
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'Well, no!
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 months ago
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'—Dr Pendle wriggled uneasily—'she spoke rather of your sister than of you.
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unit 124
Your niece shall marry my son; be assured of that.
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It is foolish to rake up the past,' added the bishop, with a sigh.
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What did she say, bishop?
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unit 128
'Really, really, my dear lady, I—.
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unit 129
'Bishop, tell me what she said about my sister.
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I will know.
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unit 131
Reluctantly the bishop spoke out at this direct request.
2 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 months ago
unit 133
'A fine mixture of truth and fiction indeed,' said the old lady, in a haughty voice.
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'I am obliged to Mrs Pansey for the way in which she has distorted facts.
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'I fear, indeed, that Mrs Pansey exaggerates,' said Dr Pendle, shaking his head.
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'With all due respect, bishop, she is a wicked old Sapphira!'
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 months ago
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cried Miss Whichello, and forthwith produced a bundle of papers out of her pocket.
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The bishop winced at this unlucky illustration.
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'Have you a proof of this marriage, Miss Whichello?'
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he asked, with a glance at the papers.
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'Of course I have,' she replied, untying the red tape with trembling fingers.
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'Here is the certificate of marriage which my poor Annie gave me on her dying bed.
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unit 145
Look at it, bishop.'
1 Translations, 2 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 months ago
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She thrust it into his hand.
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unit 147
'Ann Whichello, spinster; Pharaoh Bosvile, bachelor.
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They were married in St Chad's Church, Hampstead, in the month of December 1869.
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Ah, poor darling Annie!'
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Her husband turned out a brute and a ruffian and a spendthrift.
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He wasted all her money, and left her within six months of the marriage—the wretch!
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 months ago
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Then Mab was born, and she wrote to me.
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unit 165
So that's the whole story, and a sadly common one it is.
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I am proud, my dear lady, that she should become my daughter.
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But tell me how your unhappy sister became acquainted with this man?
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Annie heard him and saw him, and lost her head over his looks and genius.
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unit 171
He called himself Amaru, but his real name was Pharaoh Bosvile.
1 Translations, 3 Upvotes, Last Activity 7 months ago
unit 172
'A strange name, Miss Whichello.
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'It is a gipsy name, bishop.
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Bosvile was a gipsy.
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unit 177
'A gipsy,' murmured the bishop, who had turned pale.
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'Yes; an English gipsy, but like all those people he wandered far and near.
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The accident which hurt his hand also marked his cheek with a scar.
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'The right cheek?'
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gasped Dr Pendle, leaning forward.
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He—.
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'W—was Jentham—Bos—Bosvile?'
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he stammered.
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'Are—are you sure?
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'I am certain,' replied Miss Whichello, with a scared look.
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'I have seen him dozens of times.
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Bishop!'
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Her voice rose in a scream, for Dr Pendle had fallen forward on his desk.
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'Oh, my God!'
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cried the bishop.
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'Oh, God most merciful!
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The little old lady was trembling violently.
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She thought that the bishop had suddenly gone out of his mind.
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After a moment the bishop opened a drawer and took out a bundle of papers.
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'Thank God!'
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he said again, in a tremulous voice.
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unit 205
'Married Mrs Pendle!'
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shrieked Miss Whichello, darting forward.
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'Yes.
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'But she was not his widow!
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'No, for Krant was Jentham, and Jentham was alive after my marriage.
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'He married my wife in October 1870,' said the bishop, breathlessly.
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Mrs Pendle was never his wife.
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'No, thank God!'
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said the bishop, clasping his hands, 'she is my own true wife after all.
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francevw • 14086  translated  unit 90  7 months, 1 week ago
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francevw • 14086  commented  7 months, 1 week ago

Petit résumé relatif à la question du vouvoiement-tutoiement. Nous pourrons toujours le modifier si nécessaire.
- La plupart des personnages se vouvoient comme sans doute on le faisait à cette époque.
- Les époux se vouvoient
- Les enfants vouvoient leurs parents
- Les parents tutoient leurs enfants
- Le docteur Graham tutoie Harry Brace et les enfants de l'évêque
- Les fiancés ? au début ils se vouvoyaient puis il me semble qu'on a glissé vers le tutoiement
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For those who are interested in listening to the novel: https://librivox.org/the-bishops-secret-by-fergus-hume/

THE BISHOP'S SECRET by FERGUS HUME (1900)

This text will be uploaded on Translatihan, one chapter at a time, starting from chapter XVI, as the former chapters were translated on Duolingo before. Please follow each chapters’ link to the Translatihan text. Good translation.

List of the characters:
1. Miss Daisy Norsham, Belgravian spinster
2. Mrs. Pansey, an archdeacon's widow
3. Mr. George Pendle, Bishop, Dr. Pendle
4. Mrs. Amy Pendle, the bishop's wife, formerly Mrs. Creagth (widow)
5. Mr. George Pendle, bishop's son, officer, in love with Mab Arden
6. Mr. Gabriel Pendle, bishop's son, curate, allegedly chasing Miss Mosk
7. Miss Lucy Pendle, bishop's daughter
8. Sir Harry Brace, engaged to Lucy Pendle
9. Miss Mab Arden, most beautiful girl in Beorminster
10. Miss Whichello, Mab Arden's aunt
11. Mr. Michael Cargrim, bishop's chaplain, also likes Mab Arden
12. Dr. Graham, doctor, atheist, sceptic
13. Mr. William Mosk, the owner of the The Derby Winner pub
14. Mrs Mosk, his wife
15. Miss Bell Mosk, their daughter
16. Mr. Alder, dean, Dr. Alder
17. Miss Tancred, keeps telling the story about her lost purse
18. John, bishop's servant
19. Mr. Jentham, the man with the scar, the bearer of the bad news

Synopsis:
Bishop Pendle is the Church of England bishop in a small fictitious English cathedral town. Several years into his work, he receives a visit from a disreputable-looking visitor. The bishop is much upset. What transpired between them that has so upset the good churchman? And then there is the murder. Fergus Hume was one of the most prolific and most popular of 19th century novelists. "Mr. Hume won a reputation second to none for plot of the stirring, ingenious, misleading, and finally surprising kind, and for working out his plot in vigorous and picturesque English. In "The Bishop's Secret," while there is no falling off in plot and style, there is a welcome and marvelous broadening out as to the cast of characters, representing an unusually wide range of typical men and women. These are not laboriously described by the author, but are made to reveal themselves in action and speech in a way that has, for the reader, all the charm of personal intercourse with living people…."

TABLE OF CONTENTS https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Bishop%27s_Secret
PREFACE.
CHAPTER I. 'Enter Mrs Pansey As Chorus'
CHAPTER II. The Bishop Is Wanted
CHAPTER III. The Unforeseen Happens
CHAPTER IV. The Curiosity Of Mr Cargrim
CHAPTER V. The Derby Winner
CHAPTER VI. The Man With The Scar
CHAPTER VII. An Interesting Conversation
CHAPTER VIII. On Saturday Night
CHAPTER IX. An Exciting Adventure
CHAPTER X. Morning Service In The Minster
CHAPTER XI. Miss Whichello's Luncheon-party
CHAPTER XII. Bell Mosk Pays A Visit
CHAPTER XIII. A Stormy Night
CHAPTER XIV. 'Rumour Full Of Tongues'
CHAPTER XV. The Gipsy Ring
CHAPTER XVI. The Zeal Of Inspector Tinkler
CHAPTER XVII. A Clerical Detective
CHAPTER XVIII. The Chaplain On The Warpath
CHAPTER XIX. The Bishop's Request
CHAPTER XX. Mother Jael
CHAPTER XXI. Mrs Pansey's Festival
CHAPTER XXII. Mr Mosk Is Indiscreet
CHAPTER XXIII. In The Library
CHAPTER XXIV. The Bishop Asserts Himself
CHAPTER XXV. Mr Baltic, Missionary
CHAPTER XXVI. The Amazement Of Sir Harry Brace
CHAPTER XXVII. What Mother Jael Knew
CHAPTER XXVIII. The Return Of Gabriel
CHAPTER XXIX. The Confession Of Bishop Pendle
CHAPTER XXX. Blackmail
CHAPTER XXXI. Mr Baltic On The Trail
CHAPTER XXXII. The Initials
CHAPTER XXXIII. Mr Baltic Explains Himself
CHAPTER XXXIV. The Wages Of Sin
CHAPTER XXXV. The Honour Of Gabriel
CHAPTER XXXVI. The Rebellion Of Mrs Pendle
CHAPTER XXXVII. Dea Ex Machinâ
CHAPTER XXXVIII. Exit Mr Cargrim
CHAPTER XXXIX. All's Well That Ends Well

by francevw 7 months, 1 week ago

For more info, please see "discussion tab" by clicking on the title of this chapter.
CHAPTER XXXVII - DEA EX MACHINA
As may be guessed, Captain Pendle, now that the course of true love ran smoother, was an assiduous visitor to the Jenny Wren house. He and Mab were all in all to one another, and in the egotism of their love did not trouble themselves about the doings of their neighbours. It is true that George was relieved and pleased to hear of Mosk's arrest and confession, because Gabriel was thereby exonerated from all suspicion of having committed a vile crime; but when reassured on this point, he ceased to interest himself in the matter. He was ignorant that his brother loved Bell Mosk, as neither Baltic nor the bishop had so far enlightened him, else he might not have been quite so indifferent to the impending trial of the wretched criminal. As it was, the hot excitement prevalent in Beorminster left him cold, and both he and Mab might have been dwellers in the moon for all the interest they displayed in the topic of the day. They lived, according to the selfish custom of lovers, in an Arcadia of their own creation, and were oblivious to the doings beyond its borders. Which disregard was natural enough in their then state of mind.
However, George, being in the world and of the world, occasionally brought to Mab such scraps of news as he thought might interest her. He told her of his mother's return, of her renewed health, of her pleasure in hearing that the engagement had been sanctioned by the bishop, and delivered a message to the effect that she wished to see and embrace her future daughter-in-law—all of which information gave Mab wondrous pleasure and Miss Whichello a considerable amount of satisfaction, since she saw that there would be no further question of her niece's unsuitability for George.
'You deserve some reward for your good news,' said Mab, and produced a silk knitted necktie of martial red, 'so here it is!
'Dearest,' cried Captain Pendle, kissing the scarf, 'I shall wear it next to my heart;' then, thinking the kiss wasted on irresponsive silk, he transferred it to the cheek of his lady-love.
'Nonsense!' said Miss Whichello, smiling broadly; 'wear it round your neck like a sensible lover.
'Are lovers ever sensible?' inquired the captain, with a twinkle.
'I know one who isn't,' cried Mab, playfully. 'No, sir,' removing an eager arm, 'you will shock aunty.
'Aunty has become hardened to such shocks,' smiled Miss Whichello.
'Aunty has been as melancholy as an owl of late,' retorted Mab, caressing the old lady; 'ever since the arrest of that man Mosk she has been quite wretched.
'Don't speak of him, Mab.
'Halloo! said George, with sudden recollection, 'I knew there was something else to tell you. Mosk is dead.
Miss Whichello gave a faint shriek, and tightly clasped the hand of her niece. 'Dead!' she gasped, pale-cheeked and low-toned. 'Mosk dead!
'As a door nail,' rejoined George, admiring his present; 'he hanged himself last night with his braces, so the gallows have lost a victim and Beorminster society a sensation trial of—.
'George!' cried Mab, in alarm, 'don't talk so; you will make aunty faint.
And indeed the little old lady looked as though she were on the point of swooning. Her face was white, her skin was cold, and leaning back her head she had closed her eyes. Captain Pendle's item of news had produced so unexpected a result that he and Mab stared at one another in surprise.
'You shouldn't tell these horrors, George.
'My love, how was I to know your aunt took an interest in the man?
'I don't take an interest in him,' protested Miss Whichello, faintly; 'but he killed Jentham, and now he kills himself; it's horrible.
'Horrible, but necessary,' assented George, cheerfully; 'a man who murders another can't expect to get off scot-free. Mosk has only done for himself what the law would have done for him. I'm sorry for Baltic, however.
'The missionary! Why, George?
'Because this suicide will be such a disappointment to him. He has been trying to make the poor devil—beg pardon—poor wretch repent; but it would seem that he has not been successful.
'Did he not confess to Mr Baltic?' asked Miss Whichello, anxiously.
'I believe so; he repented that far.
'Do you know what he told him?
'That he had killed Jentham, and had stolen his money.
'Did he say if he had found any papers on Jentham's body?
'Not that I know of,' replied George, staring. 'Why! had Jentham any particular papers in his possession?
'Oh, I don't know; I really can't say,' answered Miss Whichello, confusedly, and rose unsteadily to her feet. 'Mab, my dear, you will excuse me, I am not very well; I shall go to my bedroom.
'Let me come too, aunty.
'No! no!' Miss Whichello waved her niece back. 'I wish to be alone,' and she left the room abruptly, without a look at either of the young people. They could not understand this strange behaviour. Mab, woman-like, turned on Captain Pendle.
'It is all your fault, George, talking of murders and suicides.
'I'm awf'ly sorry,' said the captain, penitently, 'but I thought you would like to hear the news.
'Not the police news, thank you,' said Mab, with dignity.
'Why not? Something to talk about, you know.
'You have me to talk about, Captain Pendle.
'Oh!' George sprang forward. 'Let us discuss that subject at once. You deserve some punishment for calling me out of my name. There, wicked one!
'George,' very faintly, 'I—I shall not allow it! You—you should ask permission.
'Waste of time,' said the practical George, and slipped his arm round her waist.
'Oh, indeed!'—indignantly—'well, I—' Here Captain Pendle punished her again, after which Mab said that he was like all men, that he ought to be ashamed of himself, etc., etc., etc. Then she frowned, then she smiled, and finally became a meek and patient Grissel to the unfeigned delight of the superior mind. So the pair forgot Mosk and his wretched death, forgot Miss Whichello and her strange conduct, and retreated from the world into their Arcadia—Paradise—Elysium, in which it is best that all sensible people should leave this pair of foolish lovers.
Miss Whichello had other things to think of than this billing and cooing. She went to her bedroom, and lay down for ten minutes or so; then she got up again and began pacing restlessly to and fro. Her thoughts were busy with Mosk, with his victim, with Baltic; she wondered if Jentham had been in possession of certain papers, if these had been stolen by Mosk, if they were now in the pocket of Baltic. This last idea made her blood turn cold and her heart drum a loud tattoo. She covered her face with her hands; she sat down, she rose up, and in a nervous fever of apprehension leaned against the wall. Then, after the manner of those over-wrought, she began to talk aloud.
'I must tell someone; I must have advice,' she muttered, clenching her hands. 'It is of no use seeing Mr Baltic; he is a stranger; he may refuse to help me. Dr Graham? No! he is too cynical. The bishop?' She paused and struck her hands lightly together. 'The bishop! I shall see him and tell him all. For his son's sake, he will help my poor darling.
Having made up her mind to this course, Miss Whichello put on her old-fashioned silk cloak and poke bonnet. Then she fished a bundle of papers, yellow with age, out of a tin box, and slipped them into her capacious pocket. Biting her lips and rubbing her cheeks to bring back the colour, she glided downstairs, stole past the drawing-room door like a guilty creature, and in another minute was in the square. Here she took a passing fly, and ordered the man to drive her to the palace as speedily as possible.
'I trust I am acting for the best,' murmured the little old lady, with a sigh. 'I think I am; for if Bishop Pendle cannot help me, no one else can. After thirty years, oh God! my poor, poor darling!
In the Greek drama, when the affairs of the dramatis personæ became so entangled by circumstance, or fate, or sheer folly as to be beyond their capability of reducing them to order, those involved in such disorder were accustomed to summon a deity to accomplish what was impossible for mortals to achieve. Then stepped the god out of a machine to redress the wrong and reward the right, to separate the sheep from the goats and to deliver a moral speech to the audience, commanding them to note how impossible it was for man to dispense with the guidance and judgment and powerful aid of the Olympian Hierarchy. Miss Whichello's mission was something similar; and although both she and Bishop Pendle were ignorant that she represented the 'goddess out of a machine' who was to settle all things in a way conducive to the happiness of all persons, yet such was the case. Impelled by Fate, she sought out the very man to whom her mission was most acceptable; and seated face to face with Bishop Pendle in that library which had been the scene of so many famous interviews, she unconsciously gave him a piece of information which put an end to all his troubles. She had certainly arrived at the eleventh hour, and might just as well have presented herself earlier; but Destiny, the playwright of the Universe, always decrees that her dramas should play their appointed time and never permits her arbitrator to appear until immediately before the fall of the green curtain. So far as the Beorminster drama was concerned, the crucial moment was at hand, the actor—or rather actress—who was to remedy all things was on the scene, and shortly the curtain would fall on a situation of the rough made smooth. Then red fire, marriage bells, triumphant virtue and cowering guilt, with a rhyming tag, delivered by the prettiest actress, of 'All's well that ends well!
'I come to consult you confidentially,' said Miss Whichello, when she and the bishop were alone in the library. 'I wish to ask for your advice.
'My advice and my friendship are both at your service, my dear lady,' replied the courteous bishop.
'It is about Mab's parents,' blurted out the little old lady.
'Oh!' The bishop looked grave. 'You are about to tell me the truth of those rumours which were prevalent in Beorminster when you brought Miss Arden home to your house?
'Yes. I daresay Mrs Pansey said all sorts of wicked things about me, bishop?
'Well, no!'—Dr Pendle wriggled uneasily—'she spoke rather of your sister than of you. I do not wish to repeat scandal, Miss Whichello, so let us say no more about the matter. Your niece shall marry my son; be assured of that. It is foolish to rake up the past,' added the bishop, with a sigh.
'I must rake up the past; I must tell you the truth,' said Miss Whichello, in firm tones, 'if only to put a stop to Mrs Pansey's evil tongue. What did she say, bishop?
'Really, really, my dear lady, I—.
'Bishop, tell me what she said about my sister. I will know.
Reluctantly the bishop spoke out at this direct request. 'She said that your sister had eloped in London with a man who afterwards refused to marry her, that she had a child, and that such child is your niece, Miss Arden, whom you brought to Beorminster after the death of your unhappy sister.
'A fine mixture of truth and fiction indeed,' said the old lady, in a haughty voice. 'I am obliged to Mrs Pansey for the way in which she has distorted facts.
'I fear, indeed, that Mrs Pansey exaggerates,' said Dr Pendle, shaking his head.
'With all due respect, bishop, she is a wicked old Sapphira!' cried Miss Whichello, and forthwith produced a bundle of papers out of her pocket. 'My unfortunate sister Annie did run away, but she was married to her lover on the very day she left our house in London, and my darling Mab is as legitimate as your son George, Dr Pendle.
The bishop winced at this unlucky illustration. 'Have you a proof of this marriage, Miss Whichello?' he asked, with a glance at the papers.
'Of course I have,' she replied, untying the red tape with trembling fingers. 'Here is the certificate of marriage which my poor Annie gave me on her dying bed. I would have shown it before to all Beorminster had I known of Mrs Pansey's false reports. Look at it, bishop.' She thrust it into his hand. 'Ann Whichello, spinster; Pharaoh Bosvile, bachelor. They were married in St Chad's Church, Hampstead, in the month of December 1869. Here is Mab's certificate of birth; she was christened in the same church, and born in 1870, the year of the Franco-German war, so as this is ninety-seven, she is now twenty-seven years of age, just two years older than your son, Captain Pendle.
With much interest the bishop examined the two certificates of birth and marriage which Miss Whichello placed before him. They were both legally perfect, and he saw plainly that however badly Bosvile might have behaved afterwards to Ann Bosvile she was undoubtedly his wife.
'Not that he would have married her if he could have helped it,' went on Miss Whichello, while the bishop looked at the documents, 'but Annie had a little money—not much—which she was to receive on her wedding day, so the wretch married her and wrote to my dear father for the money, which, of course, under grandfather's will, had to be paid. Father never would see Annie again, but when the poor darling wrote to me a year afterwards that she was dying with a little child by her side, what could I do but go and comfort her? Ah, poor darling Annie!' sobbed the little old lady, 'she was sadly changed from the bright, beautiful girl I remembered. Her husband turned out a brute and a ruffian and a spendthrift. He wasted all her money, and left her within six months of the marriage—the wretch! Annie tried to support herself by needlework, but she took cold in her starving condition and broke down. Then Mab was born, and she wrote to me. I went at once, bishop, but arrived just in time to get those papers and close my dear Annie's eyes. Afterwards I brought Mab back with me to Beorminster, but I kept her for some time in London on account of my father. When I did bring her here, and I showed him the marriage certificate, he got quite fond of the little pet. So all these years Mab has lived with me quite like my own sweet child, and your son is a lucky man to win her love,' added the old maid, rather incoherently. 'It is not everyone that I would give my dear Annie's child to, I can tell you, bishop. So that's the whole story, and a sadly common one it is.
'It does you great credit, Miss Whichello,' said Dr Pendle, patting her hand; 'and I have the highest respect both for you and your niece. I am proud, my dear lady, that she should become my daughter. But tell me how your unhappy sister became acquainted with this man?
'He was a violinist,' replied Miss Whichello, 'a public violinist, and played most beautifully. Annie heard him and saw him, and lost her head over his looks and genius. He called himself Amaru, but his real name was Pharaoh Bosvile.
'A strange name, Miss Whichello.
'It is a gipsy name, bishop. Bosvile was a gipsy. He learned the violin in Hungary or Spain, I don't know which, and played wonderfully. Afterwards he had an accident which hurt his hand, and he could not play; that was the reason he married Annie—just for her money, the wretch!
'A gipsy,' murmured the bishop, who had turned pale.
'Yes; an English gipsy, but like all those people he wandered far and near. The accident which hurt his hand also marked his cheek with a scar.
'The right cheek?' gasped Dr Pendle, leaning forward.
'Why, yes,' said Miss Whichello, rather astonished at the bishop's emotion; 'that was how I recognised him here when he called himself Jentham. He—.
With a cry the bishop sprang to his feet in a state of uncontrollable agitation, shaking and white. 'W—was Jentham—Bos—Bosvile?' he stammered. 'Are—are you sure?
'I am certain,' replied Miss Whichello, with a scared look. 'I have seen him dozens of times. Bishop!' Her voice rose in a scream, for Dr Pendle had fallen forward on his desk.
'Oh, my God!' cried the bishop. 'Oh, God most merciful!
The little old lady was trembling violently. She thought that the bishop had suddenly gone out of his mind. Nor was she reassured when he stood up and looked at her with a face, down which the tears were streaming. Never had Miss Whichello seen a man weeping before, and the sight terrified her much more than an outburst of anger would have done. She looked at the bishop, he looked at her, and they were both ashy white, both overcome with nervous emotion.
After a moment the bishop opened a drawer and took out a bundle of papers. Out of these he selected the marriage certificate of his wife and Krant, and compared it with the certificate of Pharaoh Bosvile and Ann Whichello.
'Thank God!' he said again, in a tremulous voice. 'This man as Bosvile married your sister in 1869, as Krant he married Mrs Pendle in 1870.
'Married Mrs Pendle!' shrieked Miss Whichello, darting forward.
'Yes. She was a Mrs Krant when I married her, and as her husband was reported dead, I believed her to be his widow.
'But she was not his widow!
'No, for Krant was Jentham, and Jentham was alive after my marriage.
'I don't mean that,' cried Miss Whichello, laying a finger on her sister's certificate, 'but Jentham as Bosvile married Annie in 1869.
'He married my wife in October 1870,' said the bishop, breathlessly.
'Then his second marriage was a false one,' said Miss Whichello, 'for in that year, in that month, my sister was still alive. Mrs Pendle was never his wife.
'No, thank God!' said the bishop, clasping his hands, 'she is my own true wife after all.