CHAPTER V.THE ARREST.
“Why bend their brows so sternly on me, Vaughn?What have I done? Oh, tell me quickly, youth!My soul can ill endure their frowning looks.”
“Why bend their brows so sternly on me, Vaughn?What have I done? Oh, tell me quickly, youth!My soul can ill endure their frowning looks.”
“Why bend their brows so sternly on me, Vaughn?What have I done? Oh, tell me quickly, youth!My soul can ill endure their frowning looks.”
“Why bend their brows so sternly on me, Vaughn?
What have I done? Oh, tell me quickly, youth!
My soul can ill endure their frowning looks.”
Through all this long, dreadful investigation, Eudora had remained in the death-chamber of Lady Leaton, bowed down with grief, but unconscious of the heavy clouds that were gathering darkly over her young head.
She had seen the body of her aunt carried away from the chamber towards the crimson drawing-room where the coroner’s inquest was held, and where thepost-mortemexamination was made.
She had been called in her turn to give her separate testimony before the jury, and she had described the deaths of Agatha and that of Lady Leaton simply as she had witnessed them. She had not omitted to mention a circumstance that she had regarded as a dream—namely, the passage and disappearance of a dark-robed woman in Agatha’s chamber. At the close of her testimony she had been conducted back to the chamber from which she had been taken, and there she had tarried through the remainder of the investigation.
Half stunned with grief, she felt no disposition and made no attempt to leave the room. She saw the policemen guarding the doors, but did not even suspect that she was their prisoner. She had noticed in the morning the strange regards of those around her, but, absorbed in sorrow for the loss of her relatives, the circumstance had passed from her mind.
In the course of the day food and drink had been sentto her by the thoughtful attention of Malcolm Montrose, but she had partaken of nothing but a cup of tea.
And now, at the close of this long and terrible day, she remained as has been said, bowed down with grief, but totally unsuspicious of the dark storm that was gathering around her. She sat in a low chair beside the now empty bed, with her head down upon the coverlet, so dead to all external impressions, that the door was opened and the room half-filled with people before she moved. There was the Princess Pezzilini, Malcolm Montrose, Dr. Watkins, the officer who brought the warrant, the two policemen that kept the doors, and a crowd of male and female servants drawn thither by curiosity.
And still Eudora did not look up.
The Princess Pezzilini glided softly to her side and stood bending over her with looks of compassion; then raising her blue eyes swimming in tears to the faces of the doctor and Mr. Montrose, she said:
“Forgive me; I know that she is most guilty, and that I of all persons should most condemn her, for she has destroyed my benefactress; but she is so young, I cannot help pitying her, for we know that the more guilty the wretched girl may be the more needful of compassion she is.”
The voice of the princess sounding so near her ear caused Eudora to look up; and at the same moment the officer who held the warrant advanced, and laying his hand upon her shoulder, said:
“Miss Eudora Leaton, you are my prisoner.”
She did not understand. She arose quickly to her feet, and looked inquiringly into the face of the constable, and from his face into those of the persons that crowded the room and gathered around her. As her star-like eyes ranged around the circle, the eyes of those she looked upon sank to the ground, while dark frowns lowered upon every brow.
As she gazed, her perplexity gave place to a vague alarm.
“What is the matter? What is the meaning of this?” she inquired, in faltering accents.
An ominous silence followed her question, while the eyes of the crowd were once more fixed sternly upon her.
“Why do you look upon me so? What is it? Will no one speak?” she demanded, while a vague, overpowering terror took possession of her heart.
“Tell her, officer, and put an end to this,” sternly commanded the doctor.
“Miss Eudora Leaton, you are my prisoner,” repeated the constable, again laying his hand upon her.
“Your prisoner!” she exclaimed, shrinking in dismay and abhorrence from the degrading touch. “Your prisoner! what do you mean?”
“Tell her, officer, and end this,” repeated the doctor, while Eudora looked wildly from one to the other, and sank back in her chair.
“Miss Leaton,” said the constable, blandly, “the crowner’s ’quest has been and found a verdict against you, charging you with poisoning of your aunt, Matilda, Lady Leaton, and your cousin, the Honorable Agatha Leaton; and this paper in my hand is the crowner’s warrant for your arrest.”
Before he had finished, Eudora had sprung to her feet, and now she stood with her dark, starry eyes dilated and blazing with a horror that approached insanity.
At length she found her voice. Clasping her hands and raising her eyes, in a passion of self-vindication, she exclaimed:
“Great Lord of heaven! is there any one on earth capable of such heinous crimes? Is there any one here who believes me to be so?”
The doctor came to her side, saying:
“Young girl, the proof against you is too clear to leave a doubt upon the mind of any one present.”
“Proof? how can there be proof of that which never happened—which never could have happened?—a crime which my very soul abhors; at which my whole frame shudders, from which my whole nature recoils—and committed by me and upon those whom I was bound to love and respect and serve! and committed for what purpose, great Heaven! for what purpose? What object could I have had in the destruction of my own nearest kindred, dearest friends, and only protectors?” demanded the accused girl, in a tone of impassioned grief, indignation and horror.
“Your object was obvious to the dullest comprehension; it forms one of the strongest points in the evidence against you,” said the implacable doctor.
“My object, then, what was it? You, who charge me with the crime, declare the object!” exclaimed Eudora, rivetting upon his face her blazing eyes, through which her rising and indignant soul flashed repudiation at so vile a charge.
“Your object, girl, was the inheritance of their estates. Lord and Lady Leaton and their daughter being dead, you are the sole heiress of unencumbered Allworth,” replied the unflinching physician.
The fire that flashed from her eyes, the color that burned upon her cheeks, died slowly out. The pallor of unutterable horror spread like death over her face. She reeled as though she must have fallen to the floor, but recovered herself by a violent effort. Clasping her hands in the agonizing earnestness of her appeal, she exclaimed:
“Oh! does any one here believe this of me?”
Stern silence was the only reply.
“Madame Pezzilini! you have known me intimately for months—do you believe it?” she said, turning in an anguish of supplication to the Italian princess.
“Bellissima, my heart is broken—do not ask me!” said the princess, averting her face.
Eudora turned her despairing eyes to the crowd of stern, pitiless, accusing faces around her, and seeing the form of Malcolm Montrose in the background, she extended her clasped hands, in passionate prayer, towards him, and the tones of her voice arose, wild, high, and piercing in the agony of her last appeal, as she cried:
“Mr. Montrose! oh, Mr. Montrose!youdo not believe me to be such a fiend?”
“No, no, no!” said Malcolm, earnestly, fervently, vehemently, as he pushed his way through the crowd, and came to her side and took her hand. “No, Eudora! I do not believe it! I have never for an instant been tempted to believe it! You are innocent of the very thought of evil! and this I will uphold both in private and in public! I will stand by you like a brother; I will aid, protect and defend you to the last, so far as you have need of me, and I power to serve you—and to this I pledge my life, and soul, and honor! And as I keep this pledge to you, may Heaven deal with me at my own greatest extremity! Take comfort, sweet girl! Your innocence is a mighty, invincible stronghold, which all these atrocious charges must assail in vain.”
“Oh, thanks! thanks! thanks!” said Eudora, her fiery eyes melting into the first tears that she had shed since her arrest.
“Mr. Montrose, I would recommend you to be cautious,” said the doctor, severely; “for let me inform you, young gentleman, that you are not so far removed from suspicion as your friends could wish! Your betrothal to the late Miss Leaton, and your attachment to the present one, are both too well known already. And I assure you, the propriety of your own arrest as an accomplice to this crime was seriously discussed at the inquest.”
The cheeks of Malcolm Montrose glowed, his eyesflashed, and he made one threatening step towards his accuser, then recollecting himself, he dropped his hand, saying:
“No, no, no! you are an old friend of the family, and it is your zeal alone for them that urges you to such indecorous speech and action. And since the wisdom of the coroner’s jury was engaged with the question of my arrest, I wish to Heaven they had ordered it! Since they have found a verdict against this most innocent girl, I would to the Lord they had found one against me as her accomplice, that I might stand where she will have to stand; meet what she will have to meet; and endure what she will have to endure! Go, tell the nearest magistrate from me, that in all the felonies Eudora Leaton has committed Malcolm Montrose has been her aider and abettor—nay, her instigator! Tell him, from me, that when Eudora Leaton poisoned her kindred, Malcolm Montrose procured the bane and mixed the drink! Tell him that when Eudora Leaton is in the prison-cell, or waits in the prisoner’s dock, or stands upon the scaffold, Malcolm Montrose should be by her side as far the more guilty of the two! Tell him this from me, and get me arrested, and I will thank you!”
“You are mad, Mr. Montrose, as indeed the events of this day are well calculated to make you,” replied the doctor.
Then turning to the officer, he said:
“It is getting late; had you not better remove your prisoner?”
“It is some distance to the county gaol, sir. Is there such a thing as a chaise in the stables, that I could have the use of to carry her in? or else is there a messenger I could send to the Leaton Arms to fetch one?” inquired the constable.
“There is a chaise in the stables, I know. Go, John, and order it to be got ready,” commanded the doctor.
The old servant withdrew to obey. The constable turned to Eudora, and said:
“Miss Leaton, while the chaise is getting ready, you had better be putting on your things.”
“Oh, Heaven! is this some dreadful dream or raving madness that has taken possession of me, or is it true that I must leave the house where lie the dead bodies of my kindred, and go—to the county gaol, charged with the murder of my nearest relations? Oh, horror! horror! Oh, save me, Malcolm, save me!” she cried, covering her face with her hands as though to shut out some horrid vision, and sinking to the floor.
Montrose stooped and raised her, whispering:
“I will! I will, Eudora! if it is in human power to do it! You need not be taken from here to-night—you must not be! I will see the magistrates myself.”
Then turning to the crowd of servants that still lingered in the room, he inquired:
“Have the magistrates yet taken their departure?”
“No, sir; they are taking some refreshments in the dining-room,” answered one of the servants.
“Rest here, dear Eudora, until I return,” said Montrose, placing her in an easy-chair; and then going to the side of the Italian princess, he said:
“Madame, for Heaven’s sake, speak to her.”
And he hurried from the chamber, and went down into the dining-room, where the magistrates were sitting over their wine.
He addressed them respectfully, speaking of the approaching storm, the darkness of the night, and the badness of the mountain-roads that lay between Allworth and the county gaol; and proposed that as the accused was but a young and delicate girl, she might be permitted to remain at Allworth Abbey through the night.
Mr. Montrose, as the nearest male representative of the Leaton family, might be supposed to have considerableinfluence with the magistrates. The latter were, besides, pleased with their day’s work, and subdued by the genial influence of the juice of the grape; and the boon that was craved by Malcolm Montrose was not, under the circumstances, unreasonable. Therefore, after some little delay and consultation, it was agreed that the accused should remain at the Abbey through the night, securely locked up in the chamber which she now occupied, and strictly guarded by a pair of constables, one of which was to be placed on the outside of each door.
And Malcolm Montrose was authorized to bear this order to the constable.
Meanwhile Eudora had sunk back in the large chair where he had left her, and covered her face with her hands. The Princess Pezzilini had despatched a servant to the little bed-room of Eudora to fetch her bonnet and shawl. And now she stood beside the chair of the unhappy girl, urging her to arise and prepare herself to accompany the constable, and saying:
“It will all turn out for the best, Bellissima, end how it may. If you are proved innocent you will be set at liberty; if you are proved guilty you will have the privilege of expiating your crime by the death of your body and thus save your soul. So, end as it may, Bellissima, it will all be right.”
“But lawk, mum, s’posen she be innocent, and yet be found guilty, as many and many a one have been before her?” suggested Tabitha Tabs, the maid who had now returned with the bonnet and shawl, and stood with them hanging over her arm.
“In that case, my good girl, she will be a martyr, and go to bliss. So, end as it may, it will all be right. We should bow to the will of Heaven,” said the princess, piously.
“Can’t see it, mum, as it would all be right for the innocent to be conwicted, nor the will of Heaven, nyther,begging your pardon, mum, for speaking of my poor mind,” said Tabby, respectfully.
“You are a simple girl, and need instruction. Now, assist your young mistress to put on her bonnet and shawl. Eudora, stand up, my poor child, and put on your wrappings.”
“Yes, Miss, do so if you please, as the storm is rising, and it is getting late, and the roads is horrid between here and the gaol,” said the constable, showing signs of impatience.
“Ah, wait! pray wait until Mr. Montrose returns. He went to ask the magistrates if I might be confined here until morning,” pleaded Eudora.
“Do your duty, officer! Why do you stand arrested by the prayers of that evil girl? She did not fear to commit crime, she should not fear to meet its consequences. Do your duty at once, for every moment she is permitted to remain beneath this honored roof is an outrage to the memory of those whom she has hurried to their early graves,” said the doctor, sternly.
The constable still hesitated, and Eudora still stood with pale face, intense eyes, and clasped hands, silently imploring delay, when the door opened, and Malcolm Montrose entered with the order of the magistrates, commanding Eudora Leaton to be locked in the chamber, under strict guard, until the morning.
“Thank you, thank you! Oh, thank you for this short respite, dear Malcolm!” exclaimed the poor girl, bursting into tears of relief.
Malcolm pressed her hand in silence, and then whispered to her to hope.
The doctor really trembled with rage.
“Very well,” he said, “I will see at least, that her present prison is secure. Madame Pezzilini, will your highness condescend to withdraw from the room?” he added, turning respectfully to the princess.
“Good-night, Eudora; repent and pray,” said the princess, and bowing graciously to Mr. Montrose and to the doctor, she withdrew.
“Leave the room, and go about your several businesses every man and woman of you! I want this room to myself and the constable,” was the next stern order of the doctor to the assembled domestics.
All immediately departed except Tabitha Tabs, who went boldly and placed herself beside her young mistress as a tower of strength.
“Follow your fellow-servants, woman,” commenced the doctor.
“When my young lady orders me to do so, sir,” replied Tabitha, coldly.
Eudora’s left hand was clenched in that of Malcolm Montrose, and she threw out her right hand and grasped that of her humble attendant, exclaiming eagerly:
“Oh, no, no, no, do not leave me, good Tabitha!” For she felt almost safe between the two.
“Not till they tears me away piecemeal with pincers, Miss! for I reckon I’m too big to be forced away all at once,” replied Tabitha, violently, drawing up her large person, and looking defiance from her resolute eyes.
“Officers, remove that contumacious girl from the room,” said the doctor angrily.
The two constables stepped forward to obey, but Malcolm Montrose dropped the hand of Eudora and confronted them, saying:
“On your peril!”
Then turning to the enraged physician, he said:
“Doctor, nothing but my knowledge of the sincerity of your attachment to the late family enables me to endure the violence of your conduct. But you push your privileges and my patience too far. You have no right to say that this girl shall not remain in attendance upon her unhappy mistress through the night. What harm can she do? Besides,if Miss Leaton is to be guarded by constables placed on the outside of her chamber door, it is but proper that she should have a female attendant in the room with her.”
“Very well,” said the doctor, grimly, “as far as I am concerned, she may keep her waiting-womanin; but I shall take very good care that she herself does not getout.”
And so saying, he went immediately to the two high Gothic windows that lighted the vast room, closed the strong oaken shutters, placed the iron bars across them, secured the latter with padlocks, and gave the keys to the head constable, who held the warrant. He next stationed one of the officers on the other side of the door leading to the other rooms of his suite of apartments, directing him to lock the door and keep the key in his pocket. And, finally, having ascertained that all the fastenings of the chamber were well secured, he prepared to withdraw.
Malcolm Montrose pressed the hand of Eudora to his heart, saying:
“Good-night, dearest Eudora. Confide in the God who watches over to deliver innocence.” And bending lowly to her ear, he whispered:
“Hope.” Then raising his head and looking kindly toward Tabitha, he said:
“Good girl, take great care of your mistress to-night.”
“You may trust me for that, sir,” answered Miss Tabs, confidently.
And once more pressing the hand of Eudora, he resigned it and withdrew from the room.
The doctor and the head constable followed. They all paused in the hall outside until the constable had double-locked the door, and put the key in his pocket, and taken his station before the room.
“And now I think your prisoner is quite secure, even though you should sleep on your post, officer,” said the doctor, with grim satisfaction, as he walked from the spot.
Malcolm Montrose smiled strangely as he followed.
In the hall below they were met by a servant, who announced the arrival of Mr. Carter, the family solicitor, who had asked to see Mr. Montrose, and who had been shown to the library, where he now waited.
Malcolm immediately went thither, and when seated at the writing-table with the attorney, related to him all the details of the household tragedy, and the arrest of Eudora Leaton upon the awful charge of poisoning the whole family.
Even the clear-headed, case-hardened old lawyer was shocked and stupified by the dreadful story. When Malcolm had finished, and the lawyer had recovered his presence of mind, they discussed the affair as calmly as circumstances would permit. The lawyer insisted that the evidence against the accused girl was quite convicting, and that there was not in the whole wide range of human possibility a single chance of her being acquitted; while Malcolm, in agonized earnestness, persisted in upholding her perfect innocence.
“But ifshedid not do it, who did it?” pertinently inquired the lawyer.
“Aye,WHOindeed! Conjecture is at a full stand!” answered Malcolm, wiping the drops forced out by mental anguish from his brow.
“Is no one else amenable to suspicion?”
“Not one!”
“Had the late family deeply offended any person, or casually injured any one, or made any enemy?”
“No, no, no; they never wronged or offended a human being, or had an enemy in the world.”
“Was there no one whose interest ran counter to those of the late baron and his House?”
“None on earth! Lord Leaton and his family were on the best possible terms with all their friends, acquaintances and dependants. They were widely, deeply, and sincerely beloved.”
“It comes back, then, to this; that no one would haveany interest in the extinction of this whole family, except this half-Indian girl, who is their heiress, who it appears attended them in their illness, and prepared and administered the drinks of which they died, and in which the poison was detected—the poison, mark you, of theFaber Sancta Ignatii, a deadly product of the East, scarcely known in England, but familiar, no doubt, to this Asiatic girl. Mr. Montrose, the case is very clear,” said the lawyer, with an ominous shake of the head.
“Then you think,” said the young man, in a tone of anguish, “that if she is brought to trial——”
His voice was choked by his rising agony. He could utter no more.
“I think it as certain as any future event can be in this uncertain world that Eudora Leaton will be condemned and executed for the poisoning of her uncle’s family. Mr. Montrose! Good Heavens, sir, you are very ill! You—you have not partaken of any food or drink in this thrice-accursed house, but what you could rely upon?” exclaimed the lawyer, rising up in alarm, and going to the side of the young man, who had fallen back in his chair, his whole form convulsed, his pallid features writhing, and the drops of sweat, wrung from anguish that he vainly endeavored to subdue and control, beading upon his icy brow.
“Mr. Montrose—let me call——”
“No, no,” interrupted Malcolm, holding up his hand with an adjuring gesture, and struggling to regain his self-control, for manhood can ill brook to bend beneath the power of suffering.
“No! It is the blow!”
“Then, Malcolm, meet it like a man!” said the lawyer, who began to understand that it was a mental, and not a physical agony that convulsed the strong frame of the young man.
“But she, Eudora, so young and beautiful, so innocent and so beloved, to be hurled down to a destruction so appalling!”burst in groans of anguish from the heaving breast of Malcolm.
He dropped his arms and head upon the table, while sobs of agony convulsed his great chest.
“But I will save her!” he said to himself. “In spite of all this, I will save her. I have staked my life, my soul and honor upon her innocence; and now I will peril that same life, soul, and honor for her deliverance!”
This mental resolution gave him great strength, for at once he resumed the command of himself, arose, apologized to the lawyer for the exhibition of emotion into which he had been betrayed, and would have resumed the conversation in a calmer frame of mind, had not a servant entered and announced supper.
Malcolm begged the lawyer to excuse him for not appearing at the supper table, and also requested him to bear his excuses to the magistrates who had assisted at the coroner’s inquest, and who now remained to supper.
The lawyer readily promised to represent Mr. Montrose to the guests, and withdrew for that purpose.
Malcolm arose and paced the library floor, engaged in close thought for about half an hour, and then passed out to seek the privacy of his own chamber.
The whole house was in a painful though subdued bustle.
The members of the coroner’s jury, though at liberty to go, had not yet dispersed. The strange fascination that spell-binds men to the scene of any atrocious crime or awful calamity, kept them lingering about the halls and chambers of Allworth Abbey.
The undertaker’s people were also in the house making preliminary arrangements for the approaching double funeral. And the servants of the family were continually passing to and fro, waiting upon them.
Malcolm passed through them all and went to his own chamber, locked himself in, and threw himself upon a chair near the bay window that overlooked the Black Pool.
It was a beautiful summer night, and the stars that spangled the clear, blue-black canopy of heaven were reflected on the surface of the Black Pool like jewels upon an Ethiope’s dark bosom.
But Malcolm had no eye for the beauty of the starlight night. He was thinking of that black and endless night that had gathered over Eudora’s head. He rested his elbow upon the arms of his chair, and bowed his head upon his hand, and thus he sat for more than an hour without changing his position. Then he arose and looked forth from the window, and turned and paced the floor, stopping at intervals to listen. Thus passed another hour. And by this time the troubled household had settled to repose, and all was quiet.
Then Malcolm Montrose left his room, locking the door and taking the key with him, and passed down the long corridor leading to the central upper-hall and the grand staircase. When he entered the hall he saw the constable standing on guard before the chamber door of the imprisoned girl. The man was wide-awake, on the alert, and touched his hat as Mr. Montrose passed. Malcolm went down the great staircase and through the deserted lower hall to the main entrance, where he unbarred and unlocked the doors and let himself out.
He took his way immediately to the stables, entered them, drew forth a light chaise, led out a swift horse, put him between the shafts, and finally jumped into the driver’s seat, and drove off through the northern gate towards a thickly-wooded part of the park until he reached the ruins of an ancient nunnery. Then he jumped out and fastened his horse to a tree, and sought the cellars of the ruins, reiterating his resolution:
“I have staked my life, soul, and honor upon Eudora’s innocence, and now to peril life, soul, and honor for Eudora’s salvation!”