Raped on the Railway

THE PAINTER'S WIFE

We will here leave the painter in the train, while we give a short description of the man, and some account of his antecedents.

Strong, square-shouldered, and with that well set-up appearance which is acquired by drill, he looked every inch what he had really been, a Captain in a crack cavalry Regiment. He had seen some fighting in his time, as the sword-cuts on his chest and legs, had he cared to show them, would have proved. He came of a fighting family. His brother had fallen in a charge, and his father owed the whiteness of his head less to the cares of age than to the anxiety of a forlorn hope that he had once led.

Our hero had quitted the Regiment partly for love of a woman, and partly owing to a duel with a French officer, in which he had maimed his man for the rest of his days. Owing to the scandal created by this affair, and a few tales circulated by slanderous tongues concerning a little supposed cleverness with the cards, Brandon had resolved to resign his commission and live on the ample fortune he had at his command.

In the first years of his freedom, he wandered about the world with his handsome wife, and found his way into all manner of strange places.

Clever and cute as he was, he at last met his masters and fell into the hands of a gang of sharpers who flitted between Ostend and Monaco. Like all people who lose money in these places, he at first had a run of luck, winning large sums.

Elated by success, he continued playing, only to find the tables turning against him. He then, of course, commenced to plunge, and losing his habitual caution, grew perfectly reckless. After ten days hard play he left the gorgeous gaming Palace a ruined man, white, haggard, and broken-down. His ten day's play had aged him five years. After spending the remainder of his fortune, he took to painting, for which he had always had a strong predilection; indeed, he was no mean amateur.

It was about this time that he commenced to notice a change in the bearing of his wife towards him. She was still beautiful beyond compare, and while the change of fortune had only increased his love for her, it had weakened hers for him.

She was only thirty years of age and splendidly built, and her small waist and magnificent breasts were the cynosure of all eyes. She was plump, fresh coloured, and had large greyish eyes, swimming in an ocean of voluptuousness, with red, slightly sensual lips. She would have made a capital banquet for a king. In fact, we are inclined to believe that had King David seen her, he would have overlooked the seduction of Bathsheba for the pleasure of dwelling between the thighs of Brandon's wife. It required, too; a King's purse to satisfy all the whims and caprices of this lady for dress. In the days of their wealth, toilet had formed one of the heaviest items in their expenditure. And now that they had fallen upon evil days, she could not forego the fine feathers that had once been the delight of her heart. Instead of endeavouring to humour his wife, Brandon tried to frown down this weakness.

The inevitable result was that his wife resorted to adultery in order to procure those articles of dress that she coveted. She paid for them as the vulgar saying goes, upon her back, with wriggling buttocks and legs in the air.

At last the painter had no further doubt. The tales he had heard, and had wished not to believe, could no longer be ignored: his wife had a lover. The strangest thing about it was that he should have so long remained in ignorance as to the fact. He must have known well that the low prices which were paid for his pictures were hardly sufficient for the needs of the household, let alone the terrible prices marked on the invoices that were sent home with the goods she had purchased.

She often went out driving in Hyde Park, and on long lonely country-roads, in the fashionable carriage of the Count de Sainte-Galette, a French nobleman who had been setting London society by the ears for the last two years, on account of his extravagance. When she came home in the evening after the theatre very late, her hair looked as though she had done it up in a hurry, little tufts stuck out from under her hat, which kept its place badly, and her voluptuous gray eyes shone with a strange fire of lubricity, like two shining stars. She wore the look of a woman who had first enjoyed the caresses of a lover, and who may have made some show of resistance only to give herself away with a greater amount of abandonment. She had undoubtedly taken a late supper in some private room, and enjoyed the sweetmeats and the pastry on the sofa.

Already they had many stormy scenes on account of these late and frequent absences. He had even on several occasions gone the length of beating her in a most unmerciful manner, without producing any change in her conduct.

And yet this man loved his wife with all his heart. He had talked to her and treated her like a child, but the proud and magnificent Maud had treated him with scorn.

Once, however, as they were on the point, of starting, — he was already in his dress clothes, and she, dressed all in pink silk, was standing before the cheval-glass occupied in hooking the clasp of a necklace of imitation pearls., it so happened that Brandon was abandoning himself to doleful thoughts and, thinking out loud. He said that no doubt she was pretty. Oh! of that he was sure! in this dress in which she looked like a lily in a rose. But it comes expensive, the silk and the making, and he was not rich, having barely?200 a year! And it would be necessary to diminish expenses, and not go so often to balls, if they wished to avoid falling soon into difficulties.

She turned round towards him, her cheeks flushing, a spark of anger in her eyes, and then in a sharp shrill voice that he had never yet heard from her, with her lip raised showing her little teeth, she began to speak very fast, after stamping her foot.

“Now you just listen. I intend to amuse myself. I did not get married to stick at home in a hole. If it does not please you, it's all the same to me. Let the ugly women hide themselves, that's quite right: I mean to show myself. After this ball, other balls; after this dress, other dresses. You may as well make up your mind to it. If it was a housekeeper you wanted, you should have hired one at so much a year. I am worth more than that. I have never told you so before; I tell it you now-once for all! If you have not enough money, try to make some. I must have money, and more than I have ever yet had. I tell you beforehand; I don't deceive you. Borrow, get into debt, do what you like. Honest business if you can, or dishonest business. But understand this well, find money! If you cannot, all the worse for you, my boy! It is I who will find cash. Is that plain enough, eh? It's ten o'clock, come along.”

She was already descending the stairs; he followed, amazed, stupefied. It was Maud who had spoken in these terms. He staggered from step to step, hurt and bruised as if he had received blows from a stick, or as if he had tumbled out of window.

The ball took place at the house of the Count of Sainte-Galette, a wealthy man, a man who had long remained still young, who had filled a rather high situation in the French Ministry of Foreign affairs; and who, although a widower, gave evening parties where vaguely unclassed mundane ladies might be found, and where also were to be met with wives of government employees, anxious to procure the promotion of their husbands.

Brandon was stupefied, without a thought in his brain, and had not opened his mouth in the carriage, and when he entered the drawing-room full of noise and light, staggered like a drunken man. He wished almost to escape, to return home, but Maud was already whirling along the rosy train of her ball-dress in the mazes of the waltz with noisy rustle, and the poor man leaned against the wall, unperceived by the laughing and dancing crowd. He somehow found his way to another room, went still farther on, seeking instinctively for solitude, silence, and darkness; at last he pushed open another door, and fell down into an arm-chair.

He was alone, and in a rather small room, dimly lighted from above, and in which was a bed.

He could not help thinking of Maud. She was so gentle, so good, and yet so wicked, so atrociously wicked. He could well understand that his happiness was now wrecked, that he could no longer know the tenderness of tranquil love, the smiling little familiarities of home.

To this then had Maud descended. She so gentle, and now so cruel! So good, and so wicked! She would be sulky to him, would deceive him, would even quit him, as he had no more money to give her, and since she wanted money. Oh! money! There were others who worked less than he did, and who earned hundreds and thousands. On the Stock Exchange or in trade, or even by failing in business. He on the other hand, worked for eight hours a day in his studio, for?18 or?20 a month. How can one, with that, purchase dresses at twenty pounds a piece? And there must be no mistake; if he did not enrich himself, if he could not give to Maud all the luxury she wished for, he would lose her. Sometimes, seized with rage, he wanted to go back into the ball, to take hold of his wife's arm, to take her back to the house, to tear her fine toilette to pieces, to beat her, to say to her: “Now no more silk, that is all over.

“You must take to plain cotton, without trimming, and we shall dismiss the servant, and to-morrow morning you must do the household work, you shall mend my socks while I'm in my studio.” For, after all, to mend socks, do household work, wear cotton dresses, that is the life that the honest wife of a poor man ought to lead. But he remembered that Maud had said to him: “If you cannot manage to find money; I will find it.” And she would find it. She would therefore take a lover, — a rich lover! Ah! that was horrible and appalling. He knew her now. She would do as she had threatened to do, the wicked woman, he knew her now. She would do just as she had said. Therefore he must also earn big sums. Yes, he must. But how? By what means? He was only worth a place of sub-manager. He understood nothing at all of commercial business; he just knew enough to be sub-manager in a public office. Banknotes are not found wandering in the streets, and if you stroll along before Rothschild's bank you are not likely to have a chance of picking them up on the pavement! His elbows on his knees, he drove his fists into his temples, and at last, his mind on fire, his heart tortured, he began to sob despairingly, and — poor feeble manbegan to stammer, “Money! Money! Money! for Maud!

On raising his eyes, he saw before him a little writing-bureau, made of wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. But why did he contemplate that piece of furniture? Without any object, without any reason, mechanically; the same as he looked at the lamp suspended from the ceiling, or the Chinese ornaments or the chimney.

He was still gazing at it, but more fixedly, and he noticed that the key, an extremely small key, was in the lock. That caused him at once pain and pleasure. The key was there. But in reality, he scarcely knew what he expected nor what he dreaded.

Something strange now occurred.

One of the folding doors of the escritoire, badly closed by a negligent hand, opened out slowly and widely, as if moved from within by an invisible power. The husband of Maud started up, gazing with eager eyes towards the opened piece of furniture.

On one of the shelves there was a pocket-book full of paper.

Brandon rushed to the writing-bureau, and opened the pocket-book with feverish hands.

It contained a mass of bank-notes: thirteen hundred or fourteen hundred pounds perhaps; enough money to buy Maud all the dresses she could wish for, enough money to ensure that she should never be false to him, that she should never abandon him! He trembled, a prey to the agonies of temptation. It came to his mind that he was alone, that nobody had seen him enter that room, that no one would see him leave it, that the robbery would not be discovered before three or four hours at least, that he would then be at home, that besides there were many people at this ball, that among so many persons it would be difficult to fix any suspicion. He thought that no one would ever suspect him, whose probity was known, and besides, it was not his fault after all. He had never thought of stealing anybody's money. It was the chiffonier, which opening, had suggested the idea to him. Why had this piece of furniture opened itself? Why was it opened, and who had pushed it open? What unknown force offered suddenly to him, a poor man, riches? The real culprit would be chance. No doubt, he still resisted, because he was honest. He could not, he would not steal! Leaning forward, he was about to put back into the pocketbook the bundle of banknotes which he was rumpling in his hands. But the music of a waltz, which he heard through the half-opened doors, made him lose his presence of mind. His wife was dancing. With whom? With somebody, of whom she thought perhaps of becoming the mistress. He shoved all the banknotes into his pocket and turned towards the door.

All at once he stopped, he had heard the sound of steps on the carpet; some one approaching. He would be detected! He cast his eyes around; there was no other issue than the door through which the approaching persons would enter. Having lost his wits, he rushed into the nearest window recess, and concealed himself behind the curtains, risking a look between the fringes.

Those who now entered were Maud and the Count of Sainte-Galette, and hardly were they in the room when she cast her arms about his neck, laughing close to his lips. He was reading one of his latest amorous compositions:

He was about to burst out, the curtains rustled. But then he began to tremble from head to foot, ready to faint.

He had the theft in his pocket! The banknotes swelled out his coat. No doubt, he could throw them away, hide them behind the hangings. But the chiffonier wide open, and the pocket-book open also and empty, that would be noticed, the Count would say: “I had money there. Where is it? Who has taken it? It is you.” And all the guests would hurry up. He would be arrested. And for every one he would be a thief, a thief.

Maud, clinging to the neck of Count Sainte-Galette, was saying to him tender words; those words which intoxicate and bring smiles to the lips. It was indeed charming to be there, both together, so near to all the world, and yet so for; to be in the midst of a ball and yet to be alone; how she loved him, loved him entirely, as she had never loved before and would never love again. And the Count kissed her hair as she spoke, laughing and lovely.

All that, Brandon could hear and could see.

“It is much nicer here than in the hot ball-room,” said Maud as she threw herself in an arm-chair.

“If I only had a glass of Champagne, I could be comfortable. But what would the waiter think if he found me here alone with you?”

“We can manage without his intervention,” said the Count as he opened a cupboard and took out a bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a champagne knife. “A more important question is, what will your husband think if he should miss you?

“Oh, he is never likely to miss me, and if he did he would not think of looking for me here. But you might as well shut that door.”

“What a thoughtful little woman you are,” said the Count. He put down the bottle of Champagne, walked across the room, and locked the door. Then he returned, picked up the bottle again, and began to take off the wire.

“I see you understand opening champagne,” said Maud.

“Oh, that's not the only sort of thing I open in this room,” replied the Count, smiling at her lasciviously, and then glancing at the bed.

Maud stretched out her dainty foot and gave him a little kick. “I expect you find it easier, to open the champagne than the — other thing,” she said.

The cork flew out with a loud pop, and the Count deftly poured the foaming amber liquid into two large goblets, one of which he handed her with a bow, and then came and sat down on the chair beside her. “You have seen how well I open champagne,” he said, “would you like to see how well I can open — ”

“A girl's legs?” she replied quickly. “Well, I suppose I must let you. For I see you want a bit,” and she rose and began to take off her dress. In a few moments she stood before him in only her chemise and drawers. “I was not going to have my dress spoiled,” she added, “and at any rate you will have to give me another. Beside, I know you like me better without my clothes.

“Of course I do, darling,” replied the Count. “You shall have all the dresses you want, as long as you take them off when you come to me.”

“Very well,” said Maud, “don't let us waste any time. How are you going to have me? Lying on the bed, or astride on your knees, or from behind?”

Before the Count could answer, Brandon who could contain himself no longer, had thrown aside the curtain and bounded into the room. He seized his wife by the arm and threw her from him violently.

“You miserable whore,” he cried, “I do not know what prevents me from killing you and your vile paramour together. Put on your clothes at once, and come along home with me. To-morrow I will consider what I shall do to you. As for you,” he added, turning to the Count, “you may thank your stars that you are in your own house. As it is, two of my friends shall wait on you in the morning. Dueling is forbidden in England, but there are plenty of places outside Calais or Boulogne where I suppose you could have no objection to meet me, and, since I am debarred from the pleasure of knocking you down, let me at least have the satisfaction of putting a bullet into you.”

The Count who was a man of the world, rose to his feet and bowed stiffly.

“It shall be as you wish, sir,” he said quietly; “your friends will find me here, and if you consider I owe you any reparation, I shall be happy to give it.” Suddenly he started, and then added, “In the meantime, sir, I should be glad to know how it is that my purse is in your hand.

Brandon looked at him blankly, and then he remembered, and he tossed the purse from him as though it had been a poisonous snake. He tottered to a chair, fell into it, and strong man though he was, he sobbed aloud.

The Count looked at him pityingly for a few moments, then he walked up to Brandon, and laid his hand on the painter's shoulder.

“I can see how it is, my poor fellow,” he said kindly. “You love that woman,” and he glanced at Maud who was lying in a swoon on the sofa.

“You love her so much that for her sake, and that you may supply her with everything that her extravagant nature demands, you have not hesitated to take money that did not belong to you.

“Yes,” replied Brandon; “I loved her so much that I would have sacrificed anything-even my own honour — for her sake, but my love for her has gone, for I see now that she no longer cares for me, and that you have her affection.

“My dear fellow,” said the Count, “she cares absolutely nothing for me, except for the one reason that I can give her money to satisfy her extravagant wants.” He stooped down, and whispered in Brandon's ear, “Have you a riding-whip at home?”

Brandon did not understand the question, but he nodded affirmatively.

“Well, then, take her home,” whispered the Count; “tie her up to the bed-post, and with a whip, or cane, or, better still, a birch rod, give her a sound flogging — make her smart well, but don't be too cruel, and I think you will find that will not only cure her of gadding about after other men, but will restore to both of you the love and affection you both had when you first married. Try it, and I think you will be glad you followed my advice.”

Brandon nodded, but could not reply, and at that moment Maud opened her eyes, and looked wildly round. When she saw her husband sitting at the other side of the room, with his face buried in his hands, she began to sob again, but she rose from the couch and mechanically began to put on her petticoats and dress.

The Count did not say a word, but as soon as he saw she was dressed, he left the room, and returned in a minute or two with her cloak, which he helped her to put on. Her husband took her arm, and after bowing to the Count, led her out of the room and downstairs. The Count had sent one of the footmen for a cab, which was now at the door. Maud looking half dazed, entered the cab, and Brandon having told the driver the address, entered the vehicle, which started off at that jog trot peculiar to the London growler.

Neither Maud nor Brandon spoke for some time. At last she asked, “Are you going to fight the Count?”

“Perhaps,” replied Brandon. “Would it grieve you very much if I killed him?”

“No,” she retorted angrily, “I wish you would both kill each other. I hate both of you. He gives me money, but he can only paw me about, and you who can satisfy me, have no money.”

At this moment the cab drew up at the door of their little house in Chelsea. Brandon dismissed the cab, and opened the door with his latch-key. Maud entered the house, and her husband having locked the door, lighted a candle and motioned to his wife to ascend the stairs. The servant had gone to bed, knowing that her master could let himself in.