CHAPTERCLX.THE ACCUSATIONS MADE AGAINST LAURA STANBRIDGE.Mrs. Grover, or, more properly speaking, Mrs. Kensett, relict of Evershal Kensett,Esq., deceased, had spoken the words, which form the conclusion of the last chapter, in a voice which was tremulous and at times inaudible from emotion. After this she fell into a reverie.The rain still pattered upon the leaves, the lightning still dashed its gleams through the wood, the thunder still rolled menacingly.By these flashes of lightning Laura Stanbridge might have been seen pale, paralysed, and crouched rather than seated upon the log.Now she knew by whom she had been captured, and she knew also that she was in imminent danger.“Help—help!” she cried, in a loud voice. “Help—help!”Her companion was awakened by these cries.“You may shout as loud as you like—nobody will hear you. At the same time, if you do so again, I will kill you.”This was enough; Laura became silent. It was evident that this woman was remorseless, and that her best hope to protect her life lay upon the chance of some one passing by.It was a public footpath. Then she remembered that there was a young man present. He might be corrupted with a look—with a whisper.She stole a glance towards him; he remained motionless as a statue of black marble, his face hidden by his cloak.“Who can this man be?” she reflected, “whom she calls her son, and whom I cannot recognise? It must be some one whom she has hired to help her. If so, I may be saved.”She darted another look piercing as a flame upon the mysterious individual. At this look he hid his head.“Ah, he knows me, and fears to be recognised. It is perhaps, one of my old comrades. So much the better. He will understand that his employer is less powerful than I am.”She half turned her head and whispered—“A hundred pounds for my liberty.”Mrs. Grover burst into a hoarse laugh.“She is trying to bribe you. That is because she does not know you.”The figure nodded.“Woman,” exclaimed Mrs. Grover, with sudden vehemence, which made the other start, “what have you done with my son?”“With your son?”“Aye, don’t echo my words, but answer. Shall I tell you? Infamous wretch, hateful fiend, you have murdered him, and for this as well as for other crimes you have been brought here to die.”“Oh, take pity on me! You do not mean to do anything so horrible. I will give you money, all you may desire, but, oh, I am not fit to die.”“You are not fit to live, and I intend to have your life. Who was it you pushed over the cliffs at Margate? Answer me that.”Laura Stanbridge gave utterance to a piercing scream as these words fell upon her ears. She trembled in every limb, and the first thought uppermost with her was that she had been betrayed by Tom Gatliffe.“Listen to me—be reasonable,” she cried, in piteous accents. “I see now who has brought this about, and know who has charged me with this odious crime.”“Who?”“Tom Gatliffe!”The woman smiled sardonically, and shook her head.“Who, then?”“Ah, ah, my lady, you want to know too much. You can’t deny the charge.”“I do deny it.”“You do!”“Yes,” returned Laura, resolutely.The man in the cloak passed slowly round the fallen trunk and stood in front of her.The yellow light of the lantern streamed upon him. He tore open his cloak. Laura Stanbridge screamed with horror. She beheld the pale features of Alf Purvis, who uttered but one word. It was—“Murderess!”No.91.Illustration: LAURA STANBRIDGE HANGEDLAURA STANBRIDGE HANGED IN ENDEAVOURING TO ESCAPE.The lantern was hooked upon a branch and flung its ghastly rays upon the surrounding trees, and upon the young man who stood with his arms folded, a cold stern light in his eyes; upon the convicted wretch who, now cowering to the ground, uttered low moans of terror.At the same time another figure also cloaked, and with features concealed, issued from behind the trees and stood in the dark shadows of the background, unheard and unseen save by Mrs. Grover, who however seemed to be heedless of his presence.“Laura Stanbridge,” said she, “prepare to meet your fate. In a few minutes you must die.”“Why must I die?” exclaimed the wretched woman. “What have I done that my life should be thus sacrificed?”“Do not fear,” answered Mrs. Grover, “you shall be fairly judged, and I will accuse you first.”“You have me in your power, and can of course do as you please with me. It is cruel and merciless to treat me thus.”Heedless of this last observation Mrs. Grover proceeded. “I accuse you,” said she, “of decoying my child into your house, of depraving his mind and teaching him to steal, of driving me forth when I attempted to save him. How say you, Laura Stanbridge? Is that true or false?”“It is true, but you must remember that I found him starving, and that I gave him bread to eat, that I taught him to earn money as I earned it, and as you earned it, and, at the time I parted with you, you did not yourself know that he was your son, and could allege no good reason for trying to thwart my schemes.”“That I admit,” returned Mrs. Grover after a few minutes’ reflection. “We are not likely to disagree as far as that point of your history is concerned.”Laura had a glimmer of hope.“I accuse you,” said her relentless companion, “of urging my son to all sorts of crimes. I accuse you of betraying him to the law. What say you to this, Laura Stanbridge? Is it true or false?”“It is false! it is false!” she cried “you cannot prove what you say.”“Have you forgotten our conversation in the French café?”“I have not forgotten it. I remember every word. I was jesting then; you know that as well as I do myself. Would you condemn me for a few empty words?”The woman made no reply—but her son Alf Purvis, stepped forward and scowled at the prisoner.“Subterfuge and prevarication will avail you not murderess,” said he. “Thrice guilty as you are any plea for mercy will be unavailing. Miserably guilty woman, your hour has come.”“Mercy, mercy!” exclaimed Laura Stanbridge “I never meant to harm you. You drove me to desperation, and I know not what I did. You cannot, you will not turn against me.”Alf Purvis held up his hand deprecatingly. “Silence,” said he. “For you I have no pity—you have made me what I am—a thief, and an associate of thieves. This done, you betrayed me and my companions. Not content with this, you hurled me from the cliff; but Providence, more kind than my companions or friends, watched over me. Fate willed that I was not to perish.“Exhausted, and all but dead, I was picked up by a fishing-smack, and saved to become your accuser, and the avenger of those whom you have so deeply injured. Laura Stanbridge, are you prepared to die?”“Gracious heaven, no! I am unfit to die,” said she, and she made the tears rise to her eyes, and turned upon Alf Purvis, one of those mournful and languishing looks by which the hearts of men are destroyed.But this look was lost upon him. He knew her but too well.“Is this all?” she said, scornfully. “Am I to be murdered?”“My son evaded your wiles,” said Mrs. Grover. “It is well for him that he did so.”“He offered me his hand and made me love him,” returned Laura. “Then, not content with affronting me by a rejection, he became my most bitter enemy. Is it in any way surprising that I should have striven to have revenge for the injuries sustained?”“I will not answer you, infamous and merciless woman!” exclaimed Mrs. Grover. “But we have here another victim.”The third accuser now advanced and bared his aged and weather-beaten face. This was the old ferryman.“And who is this? Who is this?” cried Laura Standbridge, her hair undulating and rising over her head as if alive.Mrs. Grover laughed.“It is the faithful servant of the man you murdered—the man who patronised and protected you—it is Henry Wincott.”“Oh! no—no, it cannot be,” she cried.“Yes,” said the old ferryman, “I am Henry Wincott—the faithful servant of the gentleman whom years and years ago you robbed and murdered.”She uttered two or three wild cries, which produced a strange and melancholy effect as they died away on the night wind; then she swooned.There was a consultation. The three accusers debated for some time.They had intended taking summary vengeance on the woman who had so deeply wronged them, but a better feeling at length prevailed, and Laura Stanbridge, when she had in a measure recovered from the deep trance into which she had fallen, was taken, bound as she was, to the home of Mr. Kensett, the magistrate, where she was charged with the murder of her paramour, and attempted murder of Alf Purvis.A long examination took place, and Laura was taken to the lock-up in the neighbourhood.She was placed in one of the upper rooms of this station, and left alone for the remainder of the night.Her remorse and miserable thoughts would be difficult to describe. She became duly impressed with the hopelessness of her condition, and during the dark hours of the lonely night but one burning thought possessed her.This was to effect her escape.She tore up the sheets of her bed, contrived to unfasten one of the windows of her bedchamber, from which she flung herself, in the vain hope of reaching the ground.The circumstances connected with the attempted escape were never rightly understood, but she was found in the morning hanging from the open casement quite dead, with the shreds of the sheets around her neck.Whether she had purposely put an end to her existence, or her death was the result of accident, never transpired, but the close of her sinful life had this miserable ending.
Mrs. Grover, or, more properly speaking, Mrs. Kensett, relict of Evershal Kensett,Esq., deceased, had spoken the words, which form the conclusion of the last chapter, in a voice which was tremulous and at times inaudible from emotion. After this she fell into a reverie.
The rain still pattered upon the leaves, the lightning still dashed its gleams through the wood, the thunder still rolled menacingly.
By these flashes of lightning Laura Stanbridge might have been seen pale, paralysed, and crouched rather than seated upon the log.
Now she knew by whom she had been captured, and she knew also that she was in imminent danger.
“Help—help!” she cried, in a loud voice. “Help—help!”
Her companion was awakened by these cries.
“You may shout as loud as you like—nobody will hear you. At the same time, if you do so again, I will kill you.”
This was enough; Laura became silent. It was evident that this woman was remorseless, and that her best hope to protect her life lay upon the chance of some one passing by.
It was a public footpath. Then she remembered that there was a young man present. He might be corrupted with a look—with a whisper.
She stole a glance towards him; he remained motionless as a statue of black marble, his face hidden by his cloak.
“Who can this man be?” she reflected, “whom she calls her son, and whom I cannot recognise? It must be some one whom she has hired to help her. If so, I may be saved.”
She darted another look piercing as a flame upon the mysterious individual. At this look he hid his head.
“Ah, he knows me, and fears to be recognised. It is perhaps, one of my old comrades. So much the better. He will understand that his employer is less powerful than I am.”
She half turned her head and whispered—
“A hundred pounds for my liberty.”
Mrs. Grover burst into a hoarse laugh.
“She is trying to bribe you. That is because she does not know you.”
The figure nodded.
“Woman,” exclaimed Mrs. Grover, with sudden vehemence, which made the other start, “what have you done with my son?”
“With your son?”
“Aye, don’t echo my words, but answer. Shall I tell you? Infamous wretch, hateful fiend, you have murdered him, and for this as well as for other crimes you have been brought here to die.”
“Oh, take pity on me! You do not mean to do anything so horrible. I will give you money, all you may desire, but, oh, I am not fit to die.”
“You are not fit to live, and I intend to have your life. Who was it you pushed over the cliffs at Margate? Answer me that.”
Laura Stanbridge gave utterance to a piercing scream as these words fell upon her ears. She trembled in every limb, and the first thought uppermost with her was that she had been betrayed by Tom Gatliffe.
“Listen to me—be reasonable,” she cried, in piteous accents. “I see now who has brought this about, and know who has charged me with this odious crime.”
“Who?”
“Tom Gatliffe!”
The woman smiled sardonically, and shook her head.
“Who, then?”
“Ah, ah, my lady, you want to know too much. You can’t deny the charge.”
“I do deny it.”
“You do!”
“Yes,” returned Laura, resolutely.
The man in the cloak passed slowly round the fallen trunk and stood in front of her.
The yellow light of the lantern streamed upon him. He tore open his cloak. Laura Stanbridge screamed with horror. She beheld the pale features of Alf Purvis, who uttered but one word. It was—
“Murderess!”
No.91.
Illustration: LAURA STANBRIDGE HANGEDLAURA STANBRIDGE HANGED IN ENDEAVOURING TO ESCAPE.
LAURA STANBRIDGE HANGED IN ENDEAVOURING TO ESCAPE.
The lantern was hooked upon a branch and flung its ghastly rays upon the surrounding trees, and upon the young man who stood with his arms folded, a cold stern light in his eyes; upon the convicted wretch who, now cowering to the ground, uttered low moans of terror.
At the same time another figure also cloaked, and with features concealed, issued from behind the trees and stood in the dark shadows of the background, unheard and unseen save by Mrs. Grover, who however seemed to be heedless of his presence.
“Laura Stanbridge,” said she, “prepare to meet your fate. In a few minutes you must die.”
“Why must I die?” exclaimed the wretched woman. “What have I done that my life should be thus sacrificed?”
“Do not fear,” answered Mrs. Grover, “you shall be fairly judged, and I will accuse you first.”
“You have me in your power, and can of course do as you please with me. It is cruel and merciless to treat me thus.”
Heedless of this last observation Mrs. Grover proceeded. “I accuse you,” said she, “of decoying my child into your house, of depraving his mind and teaching him to steal, of driving me forth when I attempted to save him. How say you, Laura Stanbridge? Is that true or false?”
“It is true, but you must remember that I found him starving, and that I gave him bread to eat, that I taught him to earn money as I earned it, and as you earned it, and, at the time I parted with you, you did not yourself know that he was your son, and could allege no good reason for trying to thwart my schemes.”
“That I admit,” returned Mrs. Grover after a few minutes’ reflection. “We are not likely to disagree as far as that point of your history is concerned.”
Laura had a glimmer of hope.
“I accuse you,” said her relentless companion, “of urging my son to all sorts of crimes. I accuse you of betraying him to the law. What say you to this, Laura Stanbridge? Is it true or false?”
“It is false! it is false!” she cried “you cannot prove what you say.”
“Have you forgotten our conversation in the French café?”
“I have not forgotten it. I remember every word. I was jesting then; you know that as well as I do myself. Would you condemn me for a few empty words?”
The woman made no reply—but her son Alf Purvis, stepped forward and scowled at the prisoner.
“Subterfuge and prevarication will avail you not murderess,” said he. “Thrice guilty as you are any plea for mercy will be unavailing. Miserably guilty woman, your hour has come.”
“Mercy, mercy!” exclaimed Laura Stanbridge “I never meant to harm you. You drove me to desperation, and I know not what I did. You cannot, you will not turn against me.”
Alf Purvis held up his hand deprecatingly. “Silence,” said he. “For you I have no pity—you have made me what I am—a thief, and an associate of thieves. This done, you betrayed me and my companions. Not content with this, you hurled me from the cliff; but Providence, more kind than my companions or friends, watched over me. Fate willed that I was not to perish.
“Exhausted, and all but dead, I was picked up by a fishing-smack, and saved to become your accuser, and the avenger of those whom you have so deeply injured. Laura Stanbridge, are you prepared to die?”
“Gracious heaven, no! I am unfit to die,” said she, and she made the tears rise to her eyes, and turned upon Alf Purvis, one of those mournful and languishing looks by which the hearts of men are destroyed.
But this look was lost upon him. He knew her but too well.
“Is this all?” she said, scornfully. “Am I to be murdered?”
“My son evaded your wiles,” said Mrs. Grover. “It is well for him that he did so.”
“He offered me his hand and made me love him,” returned Laura. “Then, not content with affronting me by a rejection, he became my most bitter enemy. Is it in any way surprising that I should have striven to have revenge for the injuries sustained?”
“I will not answer you, infamous and merciless woman!” exclaimed Mrs. Grover. “But we have here another victim.”
The third accuser now advanced and bared his aged and weather-beaten face. This was the old ferryman.
“And who is this? Who is this?” cried Laura Standbridge, her hair undulating and rising over her head as if alive.
Mrs. Grover laughed.
“It is the faithful servant of the man you murdered—the man who patronised and protected you—it is Henry Wincott.”
“Oh! no—no, it cannot be,” she cried.
“Yes,” said the old ferryman, “I am Henry Wincott—the faithful servant of the gentleman whom years and years ago you robbed and murdered.”
She uttered two or three wild cries, which produced a strange and melancholy effect as they died away on the night wind; then she swooned.
There was a consultation. The three accusers debated for some time.
They had intended taking summary vengeance on the woman who had so deeply wronged them, but a better feeling at length prevailed, and Laura Stanbridge, when she had in a measure recovered from the deep trance into which she had fallen, was taken, bound as she was, to the home of Mr. Kensett, the magistrate, where she was charged with the murder of her paramour, and attempted murder of Alf Purvis.
A long examination took place, and Laura was taken to the lock-up in the neighbourhood.
She was placed in one of the upper rooms of this station, and left alone for the remainder of the night.
Her remorse and miserable thoughts would be difficult to describe. She became duly impressed with the hopelessness of her condition, and during the dark hours of the lonely night but one burning thought possessed her.
This was to effect her escape.
She tore up the sheets of her bed, contrived to unfasten one of the windows of her bedchamber, from which she flung herself, in the vain hope of reaching the ground.
The circumstances connected with the attempted escape were never rightly understood, but she was found in the morning hanging from the open casement quite dead, with the shreds of the sheets around her neck.
Whether she had purposely put an end to her existence, or her death was the result of accident, never transpired, but the close of her sinful life had this miserable ending.