Death on a Pale Horse - By Donald Thomas Page 0,24
is it,” Jock butted in, “when a hymn-singer and her tambourine fall from grace, it’s for a bounder? Perhaps she thinks it’s the only way to save him.”
“In a nutshell,” Frank resumed, “Rawdon Moran was a rotter. Some fellows seemed to think him likeable. In other words, he paid for their pale ale and they laughed at his talk. No one thought him straight. After all the women he’d had, he must have found Emmeline Putney-Wilson easy to pick off. But she, poor little girl, got herself into a tangle. Love and guilt, I suppose. Wanting him and then feeling foul when she’d got what she was after. If ever the balance of a mind was disturbed, it was hers.”
Jock took his chance.
“Of course he left her, as anyone with any sense knew he would. From being pretty and prim, she began to look grim and sick. The garrison chapel saw the last of her because she couldn’t face the talk. And, of course, Putney-Wilson wouldn’t be on detachment in Delhi for ever. A month or so went by, and every day she seemed more wretched at what would happen when he came home. The affair with Moran was over, but the tittle-tattle wasn’t. Even if someone didn’t tell him outright, sooner or later Putney-Wilson was going to hear the whole story by accident.”
“And Moran?”
“Oh, he forgot her after a few weeks. Except when he was laughing with one or two cronies over having a high-style, nosein-the-air saint on her knees in front of him. To cut a long story short, the night before Putney-Wilson came back, she couldn’t take any more. She hanged herself from the bannister of their bungalow. She’d given laudanum to the two children, I suppose to prevent them growing up to hear of their mother’s shame. Mercifully for them, the dose was too small to do the job.”
“He destroyed her,” Frank chimed in; “everyone knew that. They kept his name out of the inquest and made it look like simple madness. People do go mad out here, you know. Men and women. More often than you think.”
To me, this pathetic story seemed worthy of a Greek tragedy. I was fascinated to see how the mere telling of it had sobered these two young rips. It was truly appalling.
“So the subalterns of the 109th put him on trial at midnight?”
Jock nodded.
“They took him by surprise, or they’d never have caught him. Two junior captains put him under arrest and escort. They held him in his own room until that evening. He was not allowed to speak to anyone. His meals were taken to him. There wasn’t much documentation, and the case was simple. He had never hidden what he did.”
“What about the regimental commander?”
“Colonel Tommy? I daresay he’d be glad to get rid of Moran at any price. Officially, he knew nothing about the trial. Unofficially, he must have known. Still, he was a good sort, the last man to interfere. Most of them hoped they’d see Moran kicked out of the regiment. A piper playing the Rogue’s March while they cut off his buttons and epaulettes. But without Emmeline Putney-Wilson to give evidence, there was no simple proof of a crime. What Moran had done seemed worse than most crimes, but he put it all on her as an hysterical little girl who couldn’t handle a bit of fun. Even in front of the court, the wretched fellow took a high tone. He wouldn’t answer any charge or enter a plea. He refused to recognise the court or to have any part of it. They gave him an officer for his defence. Captain Learmont, from the support company. Captain Canning, the adjutant, was elected president with four lieutenants to sit with him. It took them just one session, a couple of hours, starting at midnight.”
“But there must have been a charge?”
“Conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman, I should think. It doesn’t sound much on its own, but they can tie a lot more to it.”
“Such as?”
“Is there such a thing as constructive murder in the common law?”
“I daresay.”
“Look,” said Frank, “why should it matter what they called it? Her death was his crime. Of course, it could have gone to a general court-martial. But what good would that do? He might have got off Scot-free. Whatever old Josh Sellon thinks, better deal with it quietly and not let the poor woman’s name be dragged through a court. As though the inquest wasn’t bad enough.”