CHAPTER III

von Wilkie Collins

I held back the urge to voice my suspicions about my aunt’s condition, knowing that it would be better to wait for her to speak first. I stood there quietly, mentally preparing myself to offer her some comforting words when the moment felt right, ready to face whatever painful duty lay ahead.

“I’ve been seriously ill, Drusilla, for quite some time now,” my aunt began, her voice heavy with unspoken truths. “And strangely enough, I didn’t even realize it.”

Her words struck me, reminding me of the countless people out there who were suffering silently, unaware of their own struggles. I couldn’t shake the worry that my aunt might be one of them. “Yes, dear,” I replied, my heart sinking. “Yes.”

“I brought Rachel to London for medical advice, as you know,” she continued. “I thought it best to consult two doctors.”

Two doctors! And yet, in Rachel’s situation, not a single clergyman! “Yes, dear?” I prompted again, feeling the weight of the conversation.

“One of the doctors was a stranger to me,” my aunt said, “but the other was an old friend of my husband’s, someone who had always cared for me because of him. After examining Rachel, he asked to speak with me privately. I assumed he would give me specific instructions for managing my daughter’s health. Instead, he took my hand and said, ‘Lady Verinder, I’ve been observing you with both professional and personal concern. I’m afraid you’re in far greater need of medical attention than your daughter.’ He asked me questions that I initially brushed off, but I soon noticed how distressed my answers made him. He ended up scheduling a visit for the next day, bringing along another doctor, at a time when Rachel wouldn’t be home.

The outcome of that visit—delivered to me with kindness—made it clear to both doctors that precious time had been wasted, time that could never be reclaimed, and that my condition had progressed beyond their ability to help. For over two years, I’ve been suffering from a subtle form of heart disease that, without any alarming symptoms, has gradually worn me down. I could live for months, or I might not see another day—the doctors can’t and won’t say anything more definite than that.

It would be a lie to say I haven’t had my share of miserable moments since learning the truth about my situation. But I’m more resigned now, and I’m trying to put my affairs in order. My biggest worry is that Rachel remains unaware of what’s really happening. If she knew, she would blame herself for my failing health, thinking it was her fault because of the Diamond, and that would break her heart. Both doctors agree that the damage started two, maybe even three years ago. I trust you to keep my secret, Drusilla—I can see the genuine sorrow and sympathy in your eyes.”

Sorrow and sympathy! How strange it felt to expect such emotions from a Christian Englishwoman grounded in her faith.

Little did my poor aunt know the wave of gratitude that washed over me as she finished her sad story. A path of purpose had opened up before me! Here was a beloved relative, facing an inevitable change, completely unprepared, and by some twist of fate, she had chosen to share her situation with me! How can I express the joy I felt as I remembered that the trusted clerical friends I could count on were not just a few, but many—tens and twenties.

I gathered my aunt into my arms, my overflowing affection demanding nothing less than a hug. “Oh!” I exclaimed passionately, “the incredible inspiration you give me! I’m determined to help you, dear, before we part!” After a few more earnest words of encouragement, I offered her a choice among three wonderful friends, all dedicated to acts of kindness in her neighborhood, all tirelessly ready to lend their support at my request.

Unfortunately, the outcome was far from what I had hoped. Poor Lady Verinder looked confused and scared, responding to everything I said with a purely practical concern: she didn’t feel strong enough to meet new people. I relented—for the moment, at least. My extensive experience as a reader and visitor, having worked with no less than fourteen beloved clerical friends, told me this was a situation that required preparation through books.

I had a small library filled with works perfect for this moment, all designed to inspire, convince, prepare, enlighten, and strengthen my aunt. “You will read, won’t you?” I asked, using my most persuasive tone. “I’ll bring you my favorite books, all marked at the right places. Just look for the notes where you should pause and ask yourself, ‘Does this apply to me?’” Even that simple request seemed to startle her. She replied, “I will do what I can, Drusilla, to please you,” her expression a mix of surprise and something more unsettling.

Time was of the essence. The clock on the mantelpiece told me I had just enough time to rush home, gather my first set of selected readings—just a dozen—and return in time to witness Lady Verinder’s will. I promised to be back by five o’clock and hurried out on my mission of mercy.

When my own interests aren’t at stake, I usually take the bus. But to show my commitment to my aunt, I splurged on a cab this time.

I drove home, selected and marked my readings, and then made my way back to Montagu Square with a carpet bag full of books that I believed were unmatched in any other country’s literature. I paid the cab driver exactly what he was owed, but he responded with an oath. In response, I handed him a tract. The shock on his face was as if I had pulled a gun on him. He jumped onto his seat and drove off in a fury, but I was undeterred. I tossed a second tract through the window as he sped away.

The servant who answered the door was not the cap-ribboned maid I had dreaded, but the footman. He informed me that the doctor was still with Lady Verinder and that Mr. Bruff, the lawyer, had just arrived and was waiting in the library. I was shown into the library to wait as well.

Mr. Bruff looked surprised to see me. He was the family solicitor, and we had crossed paths before under Lady Verinder’s roof. He was a man who had grown old and weary in the service of the world, a figure who, in his professional hours, embodied the coldness of Law and Mammon, yet could also enjoy a novel or tear up a tract in his free time.

“Have you come to stay here, Miss Clack?” he asked, glancing at my carpet bag.

Revealing the contents of my precious bag to someone like him would only invite mockery. I lowered myself to his level and explained my purpose for being there.

“My aunt has told me she’s about to sign her will,” I said. “She’s kindly asked me to be one of the witnesses.”

“Aye? Well, Miss Clack, you’ll do. You’re over twenty-one, and you have no financial interest in Lady Verinder’s will.”

I felt an overwhelming sense of relief when I learned that I had no financial stake in Lady Verinder’s will. If my wealthy aunt had remembered me, someone for whom five pounds meant a lot, and had included my name in her will with a comforting legacy, my critics would have questioned my motives. They might have doubted the sincerity behind the generous gifts I had received from my library and the extravagant cab fares I had covered with my dwindling funds. Now, not even the harshest critic could cast doubt on my intentions. It was so much better this way—oh, absolutely better!

My comforting thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Bruff’s voice. My quiet contemplation seemed to weigh heavily on him, pushing him to speak against his better judgment.

“Well, Miss Clack, what’s the latest gossip in the charitable circles? How is your friend Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite doing after the rough treatment he received in Northumberland Street? They’re spinning quite a tale about that charitable gentleman at my club!”

I had chosen to overlook his earlier comments about my age and my lack of interest in my aunt’s will. But the way he spoke about dear Mr. Godfrey was too much for me to bear. After everything I had witnessed that afternoon, I felt compelled to defend my admirable friend whenever his integrity was questioned. I also felt a strong urge to give Mr. Bruff a sharp rebuttal.

“I don’t spend much time in the world outside,” I replied, “and I don’t have the privilege of belonging to a club. However, I do know the story you’re referring to, and I can assure you that a more despicable falsehood has never been told.”

“Of course, Miss Clack, you believe in your friend. That’s only natural. But Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite won’t find the world as easy to convince as a committee of charitable ladies. The evidence is stacked against him. He was in the house when the diamond was stolen, and he was the first to head to London afterward. Those are some pretty damning circumstances, ma’am, especially in light of what’s happened since.”

I knew I should have corrected him before he went any further. I should have told him that he was speaking from a place of ignorance regarding the testimony that proved Mr. Godfrey’s innocence, offered by the only person who truly understood the situation. But the temptation to lead the lawyer into a trap of his own making was too enticing. I feigned innocence and asked him what he meant by “later events.”

“By later events, Miss Clack, I mean the actions of the Indians involved,” Mr. Bruff continued, growing more condescending the longer he spoke. “What do the Indians do as soon as they’re released from prison at Frizinghall? They head straight to London and target Mr. Luker. What happens next? Mr. Luker becomes worried about the safety of a ‘valuable of great price’ that he has in his possession. He discreetly places it in his bank’s strongroom. Clever move on his part, but the Indians are just as clever. They suspect that the ‘valuable’ is being moved around, and they come up with a bold plan to confirm their suspicions. Who do they seize and search? Not just Mr. Luker, which would make sense, but also Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite. Why? Mr. Ablewhite claims they acted on blind suspicion after seeing him talking to Mr. Luker. Absurd! A dozen other people spoke to Mr. Luker that morning. Why weren’t they followed home and caught in the same trap? No, the clear implication is that Mr. Ablewhite had a personal interest in the ‘valuable’ just like Mr. Luker, and the Indians couldn’t tell which of the two had control over it, so they had no choice but to search them both. That’s what public opinion says, Miss Clack. And on this occasion, public opinion is hard to refute.”

He delivered those last words with an air of self-satisfaction that made me, to my shame, want to push him a little further before revealing the truth.

“I wouldn’t dream of arguing with a clever lawyer like you,” I said. “But is it really fair to Mr. Ablewhite to ignore the opinion of the renowned London police officer who investigated this case? According to Sergeant Cuff, there wasn’t a hint of suspicion directed at anyone but Miss Verinder.”

“Are you telling me, Miss Clack, that you agree with the Sergeant?”

“I don’t judge anyone, sir, and I don’t offer opinions.”

“I’m guilty of both those offenses, ma’am. I believe the Sergeant was completely mistaken; if he had known Rachel’s true character as well as I do, he would have suspected everyone in the house except her. Yes, she has her flaws—she can be secretive and stubborn, odd and wild, unlike other girls her age. But she is as true as steel, noble-minded, and generous to a fault. If the clearest evidence pointed one way, and only Rachel’s word stood against it, I would trust her word over the evidence, lawyer though I am! Strong words, Miss Clack; but I mean every one of them.”

“Could you clarify your point, Mr. Bruff? I want to make sure I understand you correctly. What if you found Miss Verinder inexplicably interested in what happened to Mr. Ablewhite and Mr. Luker? What if she asked the strangest questions about this dreadful scandal and showed uncontrollable agitation when she learned how it was unfolding?”

“Feel free to suppose anything you like, Miss Clack; it wouldn’t change my belief in Rachel Verinder one bit.”

“She is that completely reliable?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then I must inform you, Mr. Bruff, that Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite was in this house less than two hours ago, and Miss Verinder herself declared his complete innocence regarding the disappearance of the Moonstone, using the strongest language I’ve ever heard from a young lady.”

I relished the triumph—an unholy triumph, I admit—of seeing Mr. Bruff utterly stunned by my straightforward words. He jumped to his feet, staring at me in silence. I remained seated, calm, and recounted the entire scene as it had unfolded. “And what do you think of Mr. Ablewhite now?” I asked gently once I finished.

“If Rachel has vouched for his innocence, Miss Clack, I won’t hesitate to say that I believe in his innocence as firmly as you do. I’ve been misled by appearances, just like everyone else; and I will make the best amends I can by publicly contradicting the rumors that have tarnished your friend’s name wherever I encounter them. In the meantime, allow me to congratulate you on the masterful way you launched your full assault on me when I least expected it. You would have excelled in my profession, ma’am, had you been a man.”

With that, he turned away and began pacing irritably across the room.

I could see that the new perspective I had offered had deeply surprised and unsettled him. Certain phrases slipped from his lips as he became increasingly lost in his thoughts, hinting at the dreadful conclusions he had previously drawn about the mystery of the missing Moonstone. He had not hesitated to suspect dear Mr. Godfrey of the disgraceful act of stealing the Diamond and to interpret Rachel’s behavior as a noble attempt to hide the crime. But now, based on Miss Verinder’s own testimony—a completely unimpeachable source in Mr. Bruff’s eyes—this explanation had been proven utterly wrong. The confusion I had thrown this esteemed legal mind into was so profound that he couldn’t hide it.

“What a case!” I heard him mutter to himself, stopping at the window and drumming his fingers on the glass. “It not only defies explanation; it’s beyond conjecture.”

There was nothing in those words that required a response from me—but still, I replied! It seems almost unbelievable that I couldn’t resist the urge to engage with Mr. Bruff, even at that moment. It feels almost beyond human stubbornness that I would find, in his words, a new chance to be personally disagreeable to him. But—oh, my friends!—nothing is beyond human stubbornness, and anything seems possible when our flawed natures take over!

“Forgive me for interrupting your thoughts,” I said to the unsuspecting Mr. Bruff. “But surely there’s a theory we haven’t considered yet.”

“Perhaps, Miss Clack. I must admit, I don’t know what it is.”

“Before I was fortunate enough to convince you of Mr. Ablewhite’s innocence, you mentioned that one reason for suspecting him was that he was in the house when the Diamond was lost. I’d like to remind you that Mr. Franklin Blake was also in the house at that time.”

The seasoned lawyer left the window, took a chair directly across from mine, and looked at me intently, a hard and mocking smile on his face.

“You’re not as good a lawyer, Miss Clack, as I thought. You don’t know how to leave well enough alone.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, Mr. Bruff,” I replied, modestly.

“It won’t work, Miss Clack—it really won’t work a second time. Franklin Blake is one of my favorites, as you know. But that’s beside the point. I’ll go along with your perspective this time before you have a chance to turn it back on me. You’re absolutely right, ma’am. I’ve had my suspicions about Mr. Ablewhite, which could just as easily apply to Mr. Blake. Fine—let’s suspect them both. It fits his character, we might say, to be capable of stealing the Moonstone. The only question is whether it was in his interest to do so.”

“Mr. Franklin Blake’s debts are well-known within the family,” I pointed out.

“And Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite’s debts haven’t reached that level of notoriety yet. That’s true. But there are two major issues with your theory, Miss Clack. I manage Franklin Blake’s finances, and I can assure you that most of his creditors, knowing his father is wealthy, are perfectly happy to charge interest on their debts and wait for their money. That’s the first issue—which is tough enough. The second is even tougher. I have it directly from Lady Verinder that her daughter was ready to marry Franklin Blake before that cursed Indian Diamond vanished from the house. She had led him on and then pulled back, playing the coy young girl. But she confessed to her mother that she loved her cousin Franklin, and her mother trusted him with that secret. So there he was, Miss Clack, with creditors willing to wait and the certain prospect of marrying an heiress. By all means, consider him a scoundrel; but tell me, why would he steal the Moonstone?”

“The human heart is a mystery,” I replied gently. “Who can truly understand it?”

“In other words, ma’am—though he had no reason to take the Diamond—he might have done it anyway out of sheer depravity. Fine. Let’s say he did. Why on earth—”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bruff. If you’re going to talk about the devil like that, I must leave the room.”

“I apologize, Miss Clack—I’ll be more careful with my words from now on. All I wanted to ask was this: Why, even if he did take the Diamond, would Franklin Blake make himself the center of attention in trying to recover it? You might say he cleverly did that to divert suspicion from himself. I’d argue he had no need to divert suspicion because no one suspected him. He first steals the Moonstone (for no good reason) out of natural depravity, and then he plays a role regarding the loss of the jewel that he doesn’t need to play, which only serves to alienate the young lady who would have otherwise married him. That’s the absurd conclusion you’re forced to accept if you try to link Franklin Blake to the disappearance of the Moonstone. No, Miss Clack! After our conversation today, we’ve reached a complete deadlock in this case. Rachel’s innocence is, as her mother knows and as I know, beyond doubt. Mr. Ablewhite’s innocence is equally clear—or Rachel would never have testified to it. And Franklin Blake’s innocence, as you’ve just seen, stands unchallenged. On one hand, we’re morally certain of all these things. On the other hand, we know someone has brought the Moonstone to London, and that Mr. Luker, or his banker, currently has it in their possession. What good is my experience, or anyone’s experience, in a situation like that? It baffles me; it baffles you, it baffles everyone.”

Not everyone, though. It hadn’t baffled Sergeant Cuff. I was about to mention this, with all the gentleness I could muster, and with every necessary protest against being seen as casting doubt on Rachel—when a servant entered to inform us that the doctor had left and that my aunt was waiting for us.

This brought our discussion to an end. Mr. Bruff gathered his papers, looking a bit worn out from our conversation. I picked up my bag filled with valuable publications, feeling as if I could have talked for hours more. We made our way in silence to Lady Verinder’s room.

Before I dive into the next part of my story, I want to clarify something important. I haven’t shared my conversation with the lawyer just for the sake of it; there’s a specific reason behind it. I’ve been asked to provide a straightforward account of how suspicion shifted during the time when the Indian Diamond was thought to be in London.

I believe that recounting my discussion with Mr. Bruff in the library serves this purpose perfectly. Not only does it shed light on the situation, but it also forces me to confront my own pride, which is a necessary step for me. I have to admit that my flawed nature got the best of me. By making this humbling confession, I regain control over that flawed part of myself. The moral balance is restored, and I can breathe easier once again.

So, dear friends, let’s continue.