Read Ebook: A Whim and Its Consequences Collection of British Authors Vol. CXIV by James G P R George Payne Rainsford

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Ebook has 1315 lines and 102527 words, and 27 pages

"Is Sir William Winslow up?" inquired Mr. Tracy.

"No, Sir," answered the footman; "his windows are tight closed, and his man says he often sleeps till ten."

Mr. Tracy dressed himself, and went down stairs. He found Rose alone in the breakfast-room, making tea, after having inquired if he had risen.

"Emily does not feel well, papa," she said; "and I advised her to remain in bed. But what is this terrible news my maid tells me--a man found murdered in our grounds last night?"

"Too true, my love," answered Mr. Tracy. "The coroner's inquest, it seems, is now sitting; and I am not sure that your evidence may not be required, Rose. I know you have a strong mind, my dear child, and a true heart; and therefore I trust you will not let the unpleasantness of such a circumstance pain you too much."

"My evidence!" cried Rose--"mine! What can I tell them? I saw nothing of the matter, or you may be sure I should have told you at once."

"Of course," replied Mr. Tracy. "But it seems that Acton, the head-gardener, must have been in the grounds, and nearly at the spot, within a few minutes of the time when the crime was committed. He says that he spoke with you at the basin, and then quitted the grounds at once."

Rose now felt how dangerous a thing it is to have any concealment from a parent. She had gone on in perfect innocence with Chandos Winslow; she was accidentally a participator in his secret; she would have thought it base to betray it, even if she had not loved him; yet how much pain and embarrassment did the concealment in which she had shared, in which she must still share, cause her at that moment. She answered then with agitation and hesitation: "He spoke a few words to me at the basin as I was feeding my gold-fish, and left me as if to go from the garden. I was at the side of the pond after he quitted it. I am sure he left the garden directly."

Mr. Tracy marked his daughter's manner, and thought it strange; but he was not a very observant man; and his thoughts soon wandered away from that which he concluded was some merely accidental circumstance. "I must get some breakfast, and go down directly," he said: "so ring the bell, my love, and pour me out some tea. Where is the inquest sitting?" he continued, when the servant appeared.

"Down at the Cross-Keys, in the village," replied the man.

"Well, let me know when they come to view the body," rejoined Mr. Tracy; but the footman informed him, that the part of the proceedings which he mentioned had taken place a full hour before. Mr. Tracy then ordered his horse in half an hour; but the first post came in earlier that day than usual. Several letters engaged his attention first, and then a paragraph in the newspaper; so that the horse was kept walking up and down for fully twenty minutes. At the end of that time he mounted and rode away; but, before he had been gone a quarter of an hour, the butler, who had taken a cross-cut over the fields, entered the breakfast-room, as if looking for his master.

"Papa's gone down to attend the inquest, Taylor," said Rose, who had remained in deep thought at the table. "Tell me what has taken place?"

"Why, Ma'am, the inquest is all over," answered the butler; "and master will find them all gone."

"But what is the verdict, then?" inquired the young lady eagerly; "what have the jury discovered?"

"Why, I am sorry to say, Miss Rose," replied the man, who seemed to be made very unwillingly the bearer of bad tidings, "they have given a verdict of 'wilful murder' against Mr. Acton, our head-gardener."

"Impossible!" cried Rose, gasping for breath. "He could not be the murderer; for he quitted the garden while I myself stood by the basin."

"He came into it again, Miss Rose," said the butler in a sorrowful tone; "his feet were traced straight from the haw-haw, back to the very spot where the dead body was found. Some of his clothes were bloody, too, and those the very clothes he had on last night. The hoe too, with which the poor old man was killed was his; and nobody can deny it is all very suspicious: and so they have sent him off to the county gaol."

"Nonsense! nonsense!" cried Rose; "it was not, it could not be he;" and darting out of the breakfast-room, she entered the adjoining chamber, cast herself into a chair and burst into a violent fit of tears. Then rising suddenly, she threw open the glass doors and walked out into the grounds, as if she were half-crazed, without bonnet or shawl. On she went straight towards the basin where the fatal event had taken place, hurrying forward with a rapid pace, as if in hopes of discovering something which might exculpate her lover. She had passed through the first plantation, which lay within sight of the house, and was then going round by the walk which bordered a little second lawn, among the shrubberies, when she thought she heard a voice near, cry, "Hist! hist!" and turning round, she saw coming out between two of the stone-pines on the other side of the lawn, the gipsey-woman, Sally Stanley.

"Rose! Rose Tracy!" cried the woman; "hark to me, pretty lady; I have something to say to you."

"What is it?" cried Rose, advancing to meet her; "tell me, tell me quickly! I think I shall go mad."

"Amongst the trees, amongst the trees," said the woman, "where nobody can see us; though the gardener-people are all out of the way, revelling, as men always do, over the misfortunes of their fellow-creatures."

The day before, Rose would have been afraid to trust herself alone with that woman among the shrubberies; but anxiety for him she loved had extinguished all personal fear, and with a quick step she led the way into a dark, narrow walk, seldom trodden.

"What is it?" she asked, as soon as they were beneath the boughs; "what have you to tell me?"

"I saw him, as they were putting him into the chaise," said the old woman, with a low voice; "and the constable let me ask him, what was to become of my little boy. I knew what the answer would be well enough; but I thought it would give him the means of speaking a word with me."

"What did he say? what did he say?" cried Rose, totally forgetting in her eagerness how she was committing herself to a stranger, of not the most reputable class of society.

"He said," replied the woman, "that the boy would be taken care of by the General, and then, in a quick whisper, he bade me 'tell her who would be most interested in his fate' not to be alarmed; for he could clear himself in a moment, whenever he chose to speak."

"Thank God!" cried Rose Tracy; and, clasping her hands together, she burst into a flood of tears.

The woman stood and gazed at her with evident interest. "Ay," she said at length, "love's a pretty thing; but yet it breaks many a heart and turns many a brain. It turned mine once. But you'll marry him yet, pretty lady; I know it, and I have told you so."

Her words recalled Rose to herself; and the thought of how clearly she had exposed all the innermost feelings of her heart to that gipsey-woman, made the blood rise to her cheek till it glowed with crimson. Nevertheless, taking out her purse, she drew forth a sovereign, to reward her for the relief she had given; but the woman put it away with her hand, saying: "Not a penny--not a penny, from one that he loves and who loves him. I will bring you news of him from time to time. And don't you be afraid when you see the gipsies near you; there is not one of them will hurt you. And he will be proved innocent, depend upon it."

A thought--perhaps I ought to call it a suspicion--suddenly crossed the mind of Rose Tracy. "Could the gipsies," she asked herself, "have any share, or any knowledge, of the crime which had been committed?" Here was one of them now in the garden, when she had every reason to believe the gates were locked. Might not such have been the case with some of the men of the tribe on the preceding evening? They were a bold, reckless, lawless race; and any slight offence, any small temptation, might have led them, she thought, to commit such an act. Yet what was she to do? She was there alone with that strange woman; there might be others near at hand. She had no proofs; she had no legitimate cause even for imputing to her people so terrible a crime. She dared not do it; and yet to save Chandos Winslow, what would she not have done? A tremor came over her; and she continued for more than a minute gazing fixedly upon the dark, sun-burnt countenance before her, which, with all its beauty, had something wild and strange about the eyes.

"What is the matter?" asked the gipsey at length; "what do you fear?"

"Nothing, nothing," replied Rose. "But I would only say one word to you. Oh, if you know who has committed this crime! oh, if you can save an innocent man by revealing the name of the guilty, I adjure you, by all that is most sacred, to do so; I adjure you by the God that made us, by the Mediator who saved us, by your feelings as a woman, by your feelings as a mother, if you would not one day see your own child condemned for crimes he did not commit, speak now, if you can give the name of the real murderer."

"Poor thing!" answered the gipsey, "poor thing! you love him very terribly. But be assured, that if I knew who had done this deed I would tell it at once, even if there was no such person as Chandos Winslow upon earth. The murdered man was a good man, and kind--kind to me and my people, when there were few to be kind. But it will be found out. Murdered men die; but the murder dies not; and it hunts the doer of it to death. Murdered men are silent; but their blood cries out from the dust, and makes itself heard. Murdered men are still; but there is an arm stretched out to strike the murderer, which faileth not, no, and shall never fail!"

She spoke like one inspired, with her dark eyes flashing, her round, beautiful arm raised, and the extended finger trembling in the air; then suddenly turning away, she left Rose silent and overpowered.

The three following days were days of terrible activity; but that was what was requisite to every one at Northferry--even for peace. There was only one who took no part in all that occupied the rest--Emily Tracy. She was totally inactive. She did nothing, spoke little, hardly seemed to think.

Sir William Winslow was all fire and haste. When the news was first communicated to him, that his agent, Mr. Roberts, had been murdered in the grounds of Northferry-house, his manner denoted a severe shock; and when it was added, that the head-gardener, one Acton, between whom and Mr. Roberts there was some unexplained connexion, had been committed for the murder, he seemed to rejoice almost with a fiendish sort of triumph. He declared he would spare no means to bring the fellow to justice--that he would pursue the rascal who had killed good old Roberts, as if he had slain a relation of his own. Then, however, he recollected what embarrassment and annoyance might take place, in regard to all the affairs that his steward had been conducting, just upon the eve of his marriage too; and he rode over to Winslow Abbey, drove to Elmsly, paying the post-boys enormously to go quick. He went hither and thither like lightning; never stayed in any place more than an hour or two; was quick and hurried in his conversation, though sometimes lapsing into fits of intense thought. He drank a great deal of wine, too, at dinner, at supper, even in the morning; but it did not make him tipsy; and he transacted much business in the most rapid manner. Indeed, it was necessary that he should do so; for the third day after the committal of Chandos was the time appointed for the payment of the sums owed by Mr. Tracy, and for the signature of the marriage settlements. The morning of the fourth the marriage was to take place; and Sir William had a-thousand things to do before that event. However, all was done. The agreement for the sale of the Winslow Abbey estate finally signed, part of the purchase-money paid, and received; Mr. Tracy's pressing debt discharged; and the marriage settlements of Emily Tracy and Sir William Winslow marked with the signature of both. Emily's name was written in a fine, clear, distinct hand, every letter as straight and as firm as if it had been a specimen of penmanship. Sir William's, on the contrary, was hardly legible; each stroke running into the other, some big, and some small, with a break here and there, as if the pen, or the hand, had refused to perform its office.

Mr. Tracy was occupied all day, and the part of several nights, in the business of different kinds which had lately accumulated upon him. He had many letters to write, many preparations to make; and he made the many more, the unimportant important. He saw little of his children, except at their meals. Emily's eyes reproached him, and perhaps Rose's still more; for she felt deeply--terribly, for her sister. But Mr. Tracy tried hard to steel himself. He recollected all the conventional cant of "romantic girls," and of "love coming after marriage;" and of "those marriages being generally the happiest where reason was consulted rather than passion." But Mr. Tracy could not convince himself. He had lived too long out of the sphere of the great world for its cold sophistries to have much weight with him. He felt that he was destroying his daughter's happiness, if not affecting her health, and endangering her life; and the only tangible consolation he could apply to his own heart, was found in the reflection, that she must herself have shared in the ruin which her marriage with Sir William Winslow averted.

General Tracy was not at Northferry. Mr. Tracy had, with a cowardice not altogether singular, concealed from his brother the compact between Sir William and himself, till the old officer was in London; and had then written to tell him that Emily was engaged to the young baronet, and to be married immediately. Sheets of paper do not blush, which is a great relief to many who are doing weak, wicked, or foolish things. General Tracy had replied in a letter which Mr. Tracy had only read half through, and then burned, with a shaking hand; but as the day of the marriage approached, and he knew his brother would arrive before it, he became uneasy, irritable, listening for carriage-wheels, and evidently working his courage up for an encounter that he dreaded.

It was not till the day before that appointed for the marriage, however, that General Tracy arrived; and his carriage passed the gate about an hour before dinner. He found his brother, Sir William Winslow, and Rose, in the drawing-room; shook hands with the former and the latter, and bowed stiffly to the baronet. For five minutes he talked of ordinary subjects, mentioned the world of fashion, and the world of politics, talked of the mutations of stocks, and corn, and men's opinions; and then saying, "I have a good deal of news to give you, Arthur, after dinner; but it will keep till then," he rose, and left the room.

General Tracy proceeded not to his own chamber, however; but walked straight to that of Emily, and knocked at the door. The well-known step was heard by her within, and the voice of Miss Tracy instantly answered, "Come in." The maid, who was dressing her, left the room; and the moment she was gone Emily threw herself into her uncle's arms, and wept. "Oh, I am so glad to see you," she said.

"Calm yourself, dear Lily," said General Tracy, "and speak to me two or three words with your own truth and candour. Answer me first one question."

"Stay, my dear uncle," said Emily; "you first answer me one. I am sure you went to London to seek means of relieving my father. He has told me all; and therefore there need be no concealment. What have you done to assist him?"

"But little, my dear child," answered her uncle. "There is every probability, indeed, of many of these speculations rising in importance ere long; but at the present moment, the sale of all the shares would not produce a sufficient sum to meet even the first pressure. Nevertheless, dear Emily, that must not be the cause of your whole happiness for life being sacrificed. I have seen the principal parties concerned; they seem ready to receive an offer I have made them, after having my estate valued; and if, as I fear, this proposed marriage is repugnant to all your feelings, it must not take place."

"After having your estate valued," repeated Emily, in an abstracted tone; but then raising her head suddenly, she added, "my dear uncle, the marriage is not only proposed, but finally settled. I will not jilt any man. I will not ruin my uncle and my father. I will not retract my promise given. Thank you, thank you, dear uncle. Love your poor Emily ever; and your affection and my father's will be my reward."

Emily again cast herself into his arms to weep there; but General Tracy could make no impression, though he tried to shake her resolution. Her fate was fixed; her mind made up. She was not to be changed.

"Not only taken up, but committed upon the verdict of the coroner's jury," replied Mr. Tracy.

Sir William Winslow filled the tumbler that stood next to him with wine, and drank it off.

"The coroner's jury must be a pack of fools," said General Tracy. "Really, juries are becoming worse than a farce: a pest to the country. I have not seen a verdict for twenty years that did not bear the stamp of prejudice, falsehood, or idiotcy upon it. There is a regular hierarchy of fools in England, proceeding from the coroner's jury to the grand jury, assisted by all their officers, from the coroner to the chairman of the magistrates. Rose, my flower, you do not seem well. Take a glass of wine with me."

"I do not wonder she turns pale," said Mr. Tracy, "when you call up such a terrible subject again, Walter."

"Well, let us try something better," said the General. "How is Fleming going on? Has he got his house in order, yet? all the great rooms papered and painted?"

"He has been absent for ten days," said Mr. Tracy, who felt at his heart that his brother had not been more fortunate in his choice of a topic this time than before. "He is not expected back for a month."

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