It is dark in the bush

New Zealand Listener, Volume 6, Issue 152, 22 May 1942, Page 24

It is dark in the bush

Three students discover the body of James Collins on a tree in backblocks bush. The inquest reveals that Collins died of luminal poisoning, and the body was aftorwards hanged. Graham 1s arrested, evidence against him being that as Charles Preston he suffered a heavy jail sentence in Australia for a crime for which his secretary, Peter Langley, alias Collins, was responsible, and that he is known to have bought luminal soon after reaching New Zealand. Preston tells his lawyer that a week before the murder. Langioy came _ to Murray’s house, Te Rata, and meeting Preston, attempted to blackmail him. Preston, after several days’ hesitation, goos up to Langley’s shack with the money and finds him already dead. There is an empty bottle ot luminal on the table. Realising he will be suspected of murder, he drags the body into the bush and hangs it, hoping that in the event of its discovery, Langley will be presumed to have killed himself. "Guilty, with a strong recommendation to mercy," is the jury’s verdict. The next evening, David discovers Mrs. Marsden dead in her hotel room. She leaves a lettcr for the police confessing that she murdered Langley, and in a letter to Judith, reveals that she is John’s mother, the wife of James Murray. She and James Murray were unsuited to once another, and early in her married life sho fell in love with Peter Langloy’s charming brother. CHAPTER XXX. (Cont'd) e ATE ended the connectior. E just after my eyes were opened to my own wickedness. Kenneth Langley was killed in a car accident and three months later my husband again came back on furlough. By this time the memory of my unfaithfulness had become hateful to me, and my repentance showed itself in more dutiful behaviour towards James. When he went to sea again I found I was going to bear his child; at once the memory of poor Kenneth Langley became a torment and the fear of discovery a nightmare. How little I dreamt that Kenneth had kept my letters, and that they were to fall into the hands of his wicked brother! "With John’s birth, life became transformed. I suppose I’m the ‘type of woman made for maternity and fot much else. I only know that I adored my baby and for his sake began even to tolerate my husband and to make allowance for his harshness and jealousy. "When John was a year old, Peter Langley crossed my path and began to threaten me with exposure. At once I was flung into violent despair; my husband was due back shortly and I became so terrified that I made the fatal mistake of giving the man money to leave the town. For the following six months my life was a nightmare and at the end of that time my husband discovered the whole truth... . "He acted exactly as you would expect such a man to do. After a scene of dreadful violence, he turned me out of his home and told me never to enter his doors again. Then he took my baby away to New Zealand and presently deposited him with his brother. It is easy to talk of broken hearts, Judith, but if such things con happen and if one can live on afterwards, I think mine broke during those years when I was separated from ray child with no hope of ever seeing him again. What did I

do? Just what other broken-hearted women do — found work as a stenographer and tried to keep myself from thinking by day or dreaming by night. "That lasted for two years, till I had saved enough to take a steerage passage for New Zealand. Not long afterwards I heard -of my husband’s death, and presently I managed to obtain work in the town nearest to his brother’s farm in the hopes that sometimes I might catch a glimpse of my child. Then suddenly fate was kind again. George Murray wanted a housekeeper; I applied and obtained the position. The next twenty years you know; what you do not know, what you are too young yet to divine, is the mingled joy and pain of these years, spent so near to my beloved, yet so hopelessly separated from him. Never once did I dream of disgracing him by telling the truth; I was not afraid of George Murray’s judgment. He was gentle and forbearing as his brother had been narrow and harsh and would have been ready to forgive. But something else held me silent, a desire to make amends, to build from weakness of Elizabeth Murray a character which would help, not hinder, my son. The concealment I took for my punishment, for a discipline that would help me one day to become worthy of the kindness that Fate had shown me in allowing me to be always beside him. . . . But why write of all the struggles, the joys and tears of those years? Their sum total amounted to a great happiness and peace from which emerged the placid, selfcontrolled, ordinary woman whom you know as Mrs. Marsden. " But Fate had been kind long enough and I was not to get off with such mild punishment. Somehow Peter Langley heard of my whereabouts and deliberately planted himself at my gateway that he might the better blackmail me for the rest of his life. And here I made my fatal error; I should not have kept silent, but at this point I should have confided in George Murray and trusted the whole affair to him. But by this time concealment had become a habit with me, so that it was as hard for the woman of that day to confide as it had been for the girl Elizabeth Murray to keep silent. Also, I had an unreasonable feeling that I had atoned-as if atonement is ever complete in this world!-that something would save me; always I went on hoping, always I was slipping a little further and a little further and a little further into his clutches. ‘"Then presently I learnt that my health was endangered and a visit to a specialist soon convinced me.that I. had not much longer to fear even Langley.

My whole idea now became to hide my illness from everybody, not to let my enemy guess that he would soon lose his target, but to die with my secret intact, to die knowing that John was safe. "The end came quickly. Langley grew ever more pressing in his demands as my resources grew smaller; I realised that he was planning to leave the district and to extort every penny before he went. Cruelly he threatened to tell my story before he left; one day he casually mentioned that he had committed it all to writing and had concealed the papers. That made me desperate, for it meant that, even if I were dead and out of his power, John would remain in it. Vainly I tried to bargain with him and when that failed I deliberately planned to kill him. Yes, Judith, it was entirely deliberate. When I asked the doctor for an opiate to relieve my pain and he prescribed luminal I took care to get it in powder form and in a quantity large enough to kill my enemy. "T met Langley on the day before the sale and he gave me an ultimatum, as he had already done to Mr. Preston. The rest of the story all the world will soon know; I tried in vain to plead with him and when that failed I poisoned him. After he was dead I went back quite calmly to the house feeling no more remorse than if I had destroyed a dangerous animal. "Then the blow fell with Mr. Preston’s arrest; too late I saw that I had involved an innocent man. I played for time, not because I was afraid for myself but because I must make sure of John’s happiness first. I had already seen that he was attracted by you, and I knew that, if I had searched the world, I couldn’t have found a girl to whom I would so unhesitatingly trust his happiness. But, if I gave myself up and the truth came out, John’s name would be disgraced-and he would never offer you that. "I was terrified of the police finding those papers. I was prepared for their discovery of that piece of torn material -though not for your coming across a scrap that I thought I had destroyed. Of course I didn’t burn the dress. (One of the worst parts of this business is the number of lies in which I’ve involved myself; do forgive me that, Judith) I kept the dress, as it might be needed eventually for evidence-put it in the storeroom in a parcel hidden at the bottom of a case of apples. "Then something you said, and even more something in your eyes, convinced me that you and no one else, had the papers. I knew my secret was safe with

you. I saw you go out after David Armstrong that night and understood why you hurried on your wedding day. You meant to save John’s happiness in case the truth came out before I was ready. "You must have thought me callous to wait like that tjll the trial was over, but I hoped against hope that Mr. Preston would be acquitted and I did not want scandal to touch Te Rata-even through its housekeeper. If he had been set free, I should not have taken my life but have died — lingeringly and rather painfully-in a private hospital in a few months time. I think this is the better way, in spite of the pain and shock it will cause John at the time. "To spare Ann a little, I went out after the end of the trial and-by pretending that I wanted to buy a secondhand typewriter but must check it over first-wrote her that note in a_ shop. Then I came back and saw them off to Te Rata and made all my plans for leaving this world with as little fuss as pos-sible-to atone for some of the trouble I had caused everybody. "That, Judith dear, is all my story. You are far too wise and too sweet to condemn me; I know you have understood and pitied. Once more, I leave my secret in your hands with entire confidence. Don’t tell John just yet; you are both a little strange to each other and he might feel himself humiliated in your eyes by my shame. Later, when he has children of his own, he will understand better. He has given me so much affection that I feel I cannot spare even a little bit of it-so wait, my dear. "My love to you both, my dearest children. For the first and only time in this world, I sign myself, Your loving Mother." CHAPTER XXXII. "Do you mean to tell me that you had those papers all the time?" asked David, in amazement not unmixed with wrath. It was a few days after Mrs. Marsden’s funeral; all the publicity, all the fuss and the formalities were over. The papers had found another sensation; the Mystery in the Bush was stale already. ... In the Te Rata drawing-room the old party was gathered; but to-night there was no strolling in and out of the veranda doors. With one of those unaccountable changes that come so unseasonably in that high bleak country, a storm had risen and was raging without. Although it was February, a small fire burned in the open hearth and round it the members of the hdusehold were grouped. A little in the background and somewhat in the shadows sat the tall bowed figure of Charles Preston. Only one chair was empty, for by tacit consent no one had taken the big high-backed armchair in which Mrs. Marsden had always sat. To Judith it seemed as if her presence still dwelt amongst them, as though, if she turned (Continued on next page)

IT IS DARK IN THE BUSH (Continued from previous page) quickly, she must see the busy fingers, the quiet serene face of the dead woman, come to witness this last act of the tragedy. She started at David’s question and looked across at him. This was the moment she had dreaded, Would they allow Mrs. Marsden’s secret to remain inviolate? "The papers? Yes, I had them." "Do you mean to say you found what both Mr. Murray and I had been searching for all that* time?" "Tt was not through any great cleverness on my part; it was by sheer accident, Then after I had found them, I noticed that drawing on the shed wall and thought it would be wiser to cover it up with the sledge." "How did it happen? I’d forgotten all about those beastly papers," said John suddenly. " Somehow, they seem so absurdly unimportant-now." "Yes, they don’t matter to any of us now. Well, it was through Rough I found them, and it happened the first time I took him up to the cottage after the police had left. He hadn’t been up there since his master’s death and he was very upset and searching everywhere. Very much as you saw him, David, only more distressed. Presently he rushed across the clearing and tried to leap up the side of that tree where the papers were hidden. I suppose Langley had often gone there to gloat over his treasure and the dog was used to seeing him there. That showed me the hole and I put in my hand and felt the papers. I took them out, all but that scrap you found later, David; that must have been torn off by Langley some other time, for when I found them they were wrapped in a piece of oilcloth and I didn’t even unwrap them till I got them home." "So you must have known for weeks." "Yes, I knew. Mrs. Marsden knew that I did; she was like that, you know -she felt things. But she knew she could trust me and I felt the same about her. It was dreadful that Mr. Preston = Ann should suffer, but all along I new that it could only be temporary. and I could not interfere," "Where are the papers now?" It was the question Judith had dreaded. "T have them," "What are you going to do with them?" It was George Murray’s quiet question. "With your permission, if you all agree, I am going to destroy them." "Is that wise?" asked David’s perturbed voice. " What about the police?" The party sat with troubled faces and presently Judith spoke again. "There is only one person who has the right to know what I know, and that is John." "Because he’s your husband?" asked Ann. "Of course because he is my husband," lied Judith calmly. " John, what shall I do?"

"Burn them," said John without a moment’s hesitation. "You're perfectly right. If she’d wanted us to know, she’d have told us. Personally, I don’t want to, I-I loved Marsy too much to want to poke my nose into her affairs.’’ Without another word Judith got up and went to the desk that had been Mrs. Marsden’s, for George Murray had not allowed the dead woman’s things to be put up to public auction; with the consent of the police, he had taken them over at a valuation and had given the desk to Judith. From it she brought the bundle of papers and, amidst a dead silence, thrust it deep into the heart of the glowing coals, When every scrap was consumed, John got up, and, involuntarily glancing at the empty chair on the other side of the hearth, he said, "T can almost hear her say, "Dear, dear! Those ashes will blow all over the carpet." Then, with something between a laugh and a sob he went out of the room. Ba * ~ It was almost a year later and John and Judith were sitting in the warm summer dusk on the Te Rata veranda. They had not built themselves a house, for Mr. Murray had said, "If you can bear it, I should like you to stay here. I shall be very lonely in this big house and I shall never have another housekeeper." Judith had been reading a letter ee now that the light was beginning to fail she folded up the sheets, and smiled as she turned to her husband. "Ann sounds the happiest and proudest wife in the world. England is perfect and David is evidently to be its most promising surgeon, according to his wife." : " And her father?" "He is happy in his cottage by the sea and talks of paying us a vi@t before the year is out. ... Yes, I think that chapter has closed happily." "Do chapters ever close?" John asked thoughtfully. "Since you told me of the child that is coming, I have felt that ours is only beginning." "T hope so," said the girl gently. "A splendid new chapter, filled with infinite possibilities." They sat in silence for a few minutes, dreaming of those possibilities, and then John said, rather diffidently, "I’ve been thinking, dear, that if it’s a boy." ... Judith laughed. " Any husband to any wife!" she mocked gently. "Don’t laugh at me... . If it’s a boy and you didn’t mind, I’d rather like to call it Marsden. The name _ is honoured already in this country, and, though Marsy hadn’t anything to do with the early missionaries, I’ll swear there wasn’t a better woman amongst them all. . . . I'd like to call the child after her." "So should I. Elizabeth if it’s a girl, Marsden, if it’s a boy... .. John dear, I’m so glad you feel’ like that." "And I’m so glad you understandbut then you always do. ...I feel like that more and more as time goes on, Judith. I’m not an imaginative chap, as you know, but I have a sort of idea that

the old girl’s very near and rather pleased about us. . . . Does that seem silly?" " Not a bit, Love like hers could not die." , " Not when we loved her so much, too. » « Because, Judith, the love wasn’t by any means all on her side. . . . I-I was awfully fond of Marsy. I didn’t realise quite how much till she died, but I don’t think I could have liked her more if she'd been my real mother. . . , Funny thing, I often used to wish she was." "And do you still feel Jike that?" "More than ever. What she did makes no difference to me. It wasn’t murder, it was justice. ... No, she was the best and finest woman I have ever known, and I'd be proud to call her mother."

There was a pause and then they both "got up and went into the lighted draw-ing-room. Judith went quietly to her desk and unlocked it with a key that she always carried with her; from it she took a sealed envelope and went across to her husband. "I am so happy that you feel like that, dear," she said as she placed the letter in his hand. " Because I know now that the time has come to give you this letter and that it will make you both sad and joyful." Then. she went quietly out of the room and left him alone with ‘his mother’s secret. : (The end)