"My dear Mr. Driesen,
"I wish to see you immediately, as I have come back, on various accounts, to stand my trial; but do not intend to surrender myself till the day on which it is to take place. If you will come down then to the little public-house, called the Falcon, in the village of Motstone, any time to-night or to-morrow morning, you will find,
"Your's,
"Charles Tyrrell."
"Have a horse saddled directly," said Mr. Driesen, turning to the servant who waited, with looks of some surprise. "Have a horse saddled immediately, and brought round to the door."
The servant hastened to obey, and as soon as he was gone, Mr. Driesen walked up and down the room for several minutes in a state of great agitation.
"Come back to stand his trial!" he exclaimed. "He is mad. He will be hanged to a certainty. What in the name of Heaven can be done! Nothing, I am afraid; yet I must do my best, for this is terrible."
Then as he revolved all the circumstances of Charles Tyrrell's case, ignorant as he was of what had been discovered since the young baronet had made his escape in the schooner, he became more and more convinced, that if he executed his purpose and really stood his trial, he would but seal his own destruction.
"It is ruin, it is ruin"--he continued, walking up and down the room in great agitation. "He must be persuaded to return, to go back again before his coming is known, and yet, after all"--he continued, pausing and fixing his eyes upon a spot on the floor, "what signifies it? death is but a little thing; the extinction of a state of being, containing in itself more pangs than enjoyment, the only real pain of death is to the coward! Long sickness, indeed, may make it horrible. It is in the preceding things that death is painful--the act, itself, can be nothing--a mere bugbear of the imagination--and then how pleasant to lie down for a long sleep; to lie down as we do at night after a weary day; filled with cares, and anxieties, and pangs: to lie down with the blessing of knowing that we shall never wake again, to go through the same cares, and griefs, and sorrows, to endure the same pangs, and labours, and fatigues! Those must have been cunning fellows, that invented the bugbear of a future state, otherwise one half of the world would not go on till fifty. I wonder I have not cut my throat years ago. I suppose it is because I've had such good health, and no pain in life--I wonder if hanging is an easy death--laudanum they say is painful. Charcoal? the French are fond of charcoal. To think that a little carbon should be a remedy for all diseases!"
"The horse, sir," said a servant, opening the door, and Mr. Driesen walking out took his hat and gloves, flung himself on the horse's back, and cantered quickly through the park.
In the neat little parlour of the Falcon, with its well-sanded floor, its polished, black mahogany table, its corner-cupboard with a glass door, displaying sundry objects of interest and curiosity, from odd-shaped tea-pots of rich old china, to apostle-spoons and sugar-basins of the reign of Anne, whose pert and foolish motto of "semper eadem," adopted because she was the weakest and most vacillating of women, still ornamented the silver; in this neat parlour, of a little neat country inn, sat Charles Tyrrell, waiting, perhaps, with some impatience for the coming of Mr. Driesen. There were traces upon his face of the sorrows through which he had passed. He was paler, thinner, sterner, we may say more manly, than he had appeared a month before; but yet within the last few days his countenance had undergone another and a better change, a cloud had been blown from off the sky: his face was clear of some part of its anxiety. He was grave, perhaps sad; for the fire of such things as those he had undergone, tempers the iron into steel, and makes it harder for ever.
But at the same time there was the aspect of hope renewed in his countenance, there was an expression of expectation and confidence, and though he had been made aware of the nature of his father's will, he looked up with a smile on seeing the door open, thinking to take Mr. Driesen by the hand with pleasure.
It was not that gentleman, however, who entered, but the landlord of the Falcon himself, who closed the door carefully behind him, and advanced with a low bow and a respectful air.
"I have had both your notes taken, sir," he said; "one to the governor of the prison, and the other to Harbury Park, by two boys, that nobody would know as coming from here; but as you were good enough to tell me, Sir Charles your intention, of remaining here until you give yourself up again at the trial, I cannot help letting you know directly, for fear of anything going amiss, something that came to my hearing, and which may be of very great importance to you, if you can but get at the truth of it."
"What is it, landlord?" said Charles Tyrrell, "I shall be very much obliged to you for any information; for although I trust I can, without doubt, now prove, both how the blood came upon my coat, and where I was during the whole period of my absence from the house; so that of my acquittal, there cannot be the slightest doubt, yet I shall never rest satisfied, I shall never know a moment's real and complete peace, till I have, discovered and shown forth in the eyes of the whole world, whose was the hand that really killed my unfortunate father."
"Why the matter is this, Sir Charles," said the landlord of the Falcon, "there's old John Smithson, who lives about a mile and a half off, between this and the sea, and whose son is now in jail about that smuggling business, always shakes his head when the people talk about you and the murder of Sir Francis, and has been heard to say, more than once, that the judges should not condemn you for it, that he'd rather die himself. I heard about this yesterday, and I don't know how it was, but as if I had known that you would be coming here tonight, though Heaven knows I knew nothing about it. I couldn't help going down to the old man's cottage, just quietly, not as if I came to inquire, and talking to him about it. I couldn't get him to say much upon the subject, for he had heard that you had got out of prison, and he said, that being the case, it was no matter to anybody. I asked him, however, what he would do, if you should be caught and brought back again. He said, that he would not tell me what he would do; but that they should not hang you, for he would prevent that. I tried, as much as I could, to get something more out of him, but it was all no use. He would not say a word more, and I believe the only way to do with him would be, to call him up upon the trial, and make him give evidence."
"Did he know my father at all?" demanded Charles Tyrrell.
"Oh, he knew him well enough by sight, sir," replied the man; "for when he was a fisherman, I've heard, he used to supply the family, and was up every day at the house almost; and about three weeks ago, he stopped here one afternoon, to take a glass of grog, and he had seen your father that day about his son; for the old man was in a towering passion, and vowed that Sir Francis had treated him no better than a dog."
"Indeed," said Charles Tyrrell, "you don't suppose he could have done it himself."
"Why no, sir, I don't mean to say that," replied the landlord. "He's a stout old fellow, too; as young as if there were twenty years off his age, and he has a devil of a spirit of his own. He always had; but then he was always a very honest, upright man; one never heard of his doing any thing that was wrong. Some twenty years ago, indeed, he was taken up upon some smuggling business, and was in prison one day; but he proved that it was all false together, and he caught the customhouse officer some time after, and gave him such a licking that he never went near him again. No, I don't think he did it; but it is clear enough that he knows something about it, and will come forward and say what he does know, if he thinks there's any chance of your being condemned."
"Perhaps," said Charles Tyrrell, "it may be better for me to send for him, and speak with him on the matter."
"I should think not, Sir Charles," replied the landlord. "The trial, you see, is likely to come on in two or three days, and your best plan, I should think, would be to lie quiet, and have old Smithson brought up as a witness. You say that you are sure you can prove where you were, and what you were doing at the time; but when he's brought up he'll know nothing of that, and will tell all that he knows. But I would keep the whole matter quiet and calm till then, for fear of scaring other people, who may be brought into trouble by it."
The advice of the landlord seemed, to Charles Tyrrell, so judicious, that he determined to follow it, if he found that Morrison, whom he hoped to see early on the following morning, coincided with him in opinion.
As he was about to reply, however, the quick sound of a horse's feet was heard before the house, and Mr. Driesen entered the room in a minute after.
"My dear Charles," he said, grasping both the young baronet's hands; as soon as the door was shut, and they were alone, "You cannot think how anxious I am about you. In the name of Heaven, what has made you come back again, when you were once safe off?"
"First, let me thank you, my dear sir," said Charles, with true feelings of gratitude for all the emotions of apprehension and anxiety which Mr. Driesen's agitation evidently betrayed. "First, let me thank you for all your exertions in my favour, and for all the really fatherly interest that you have taken in me. Believe me, I am sincerely grateful."
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense, my dear Charles!" cried Mr. Driesen, grasping his hands, while his eyes filled with unwonted moisture. "Don't talk about gratitude, and such stuff. If I could but know that you were in safety, that would be enough. I should then be comparatively at ease--though, who knows?" and he drew a deep sigh. "But tell me, Charles, tell me, what has made you mad enough to come back here, at the imminent risk that you run?"
"In the first place, because I could not well help myself," replied Charles Tyrrell. "But, in the next, because I am now at liberty to show both where I was during that whole morning, and how the stains of blood came upon my shooting jacket."
Mr. Driesen seemed somewhat surprised, but he replied, almost immediately:--
"But can you account for the time, Charles, before you saw the gardener--can you account for the gun? I see by your face you cannot; and it is upon that, the whole business will turn. I have spoken with the lawyers myself, and they all agree that it will be held by the judge and the jury, that if you committed the act at all, it was before you passed through the garden. Indeed, indeed, Charles, you are putting your head into a lion's mouth."
"And do you, then, believe me guilty?" demanded Charles Tyrrell, in a sad tone.
Mr. Driesen instantly replied, vehemently, "No, Charles, no, Charles, no. I do not believe you guilty, but I do believe that you may be held so, unless, indeed, you could prove who it was committed the act."
"That may not be impossible either," replied Charles Tyrrell. "Indeed, I have good hope that such may be the case, though I cannot explain myself further, at present, upon the subject."
Mr. Driesen mused for several minutes, in silence, and then replied--
"Charles, you are deceiving yourself. You will sacrifice your own life--you will break the heart of Lucy Effingham--you will render all those that love you miserable. I see it plainly; I see it evidently. You are running headlong to destruction. Let me entreat you; let me conjure you, while there is yet time, to secure yourself, by flying once more. Here is a fresh strong horse at the door; he will carry you, easily, forty miles this night. You can be at a seaport before to-morrow. You can hire a ship, and ere to-morrow night be safe in France. If you want money, draw upon me for what you like; draw upon me for all your father left me. Here, I will sign a bond for it, this moment. I will sign an acknowledgment that I owe it to you--anything, anything, Charles, but save yourself directly;" and in his eagerness and anxiety, he grasped Charles Tyrrell's hands convulsively in his, gazing in his face with an earnest look of entreaty.
"Thank you, thank you, my dear sir," replied Charles, very much affected; "a thousand, and a thousand thanks, for all your kindness."
"Then do, Charles, do," cried Mr. Driesen, thinking that he had prevailed. "Make haste; get some refreshment, and put your foot in the stirrup. You are a bold horseman--you ride fast--you will soon----" but Charles stopped him.
"I am sorry," he said, "my dear sir, that I cannot do what you wish me. I was stopped on my journey by the commander of the revenue-cutter, and I pledged my honour to him that I would return and surrender myself to trial. I have already, too, given notice to the governor of the jail, that such will be the case."
Mr. Driesen struck his hand against his forehead, and exclaimed, "By ---- you are mad!--and I shall be called up to give evidence against you; to prove how you had been quarrelling with your father; to show that he was as mad as you are, and that you had scarcely any resource but to put him out of the world. This is too much; this is too much!" and he walked up and down the room in a terrible state of agitation.
Charles was a good deal agitated, also; for Mr. Driesen, certainly, put the matter in a new point of view to him. He had conceived that the whole strength of the evidence against him lay in his refusing to account for the time he had been absent after the gardener had seen him, and to explain the marks of blood upon his shooting-jacket. He now, however, saw that there were several other suspicious circumstances against him, what he had no means of doing away. He knew how slight a thing will turn the scale in criminal trials; how uncertain, we may say how capricious, are the decisions of juries. But still there was no course before him but to do as he had proposed to do, and, consequently, ceasing to argue the matter at all with Mr. Driesen, he only endeavoured to sooth the agitation which his friend was suffering, and to express the gratitude that he felt for the deep interest which he took in his welfare.
He found it all in vain, however. Mr. Driesen would but listen to one subject, and he again and again returned to his suggestion of flight, endeavouring, by all the sophistries of which he was so complete a master, and by which he so continually deceived himself to prove that there were particular circumstances in which a man was justified in doing anything for his own preservation; that there was no such thing as abstract right and wrong; that everything was relative, and depended entirely on the circumstances. His reasoning, however, did not convince Charles Tyrrell, in his own case, more than it would have done in that of others, and he remained unshaken, even in the slightest degree.
Mr. Driesen at length perceived that it was so, after spending nearly an hour in vain arguments; and finding that any further reasoning would be vain, he suddenly ceased, and became quite quiet.
"What is it, then, you wish me to do for you?" he said. "Why was it that you sent for me? though you will not be advised--though you will not be warned, I am ready to do anything for you that you may desire."
Charles again thanked him, and then replied:--
"What I wish you to do, is no very difficult task; I merely wish you to communicate to my mother and to Mrs. Effingham, what has taken place. Doubtless the latter has already heard from Lucy by this night's post; but at all events, tell her that I left her daughter safe and well, under the charge of a clergyman and his sister, at ----, on the coast of Devonshire. At first, she was so dreadfully fatigued, that I feared her health would suffer; and as no restraint was put upon me, I remained a whole day to be sure that such was not the case. After a night's good repose, however, she rose much better, and I think that the hope of my soon being able to establish my innocence, had no small share in making her get over so well, all the dangers and discomforts which she had suffered."
"The hope of your proving your innocence!" said Mr. Driesen, with melancholy bitterness. "She will be soon cured of that hope, I fear, Charles Tyrrell. However, as you are determined, there is no use in saying any more, and I shall now leave you. If I can do anything to serve you, let me know it. If you wish to see me again, I will come; otherwise, Charles, I shall not see you again till I see you at the trial; for I am not the man I was, Charles. All this has shaken me; my corporeal frame is injured. I do not know that even my intellect is what it was. Good-by--good-by. I could be a boy, or a woman, and cry for very spite, to think of your casting away your only chance of life and happiness. If you had worn out existence, I could understand it; if you were, as I am at the end of that part of life, which comprises all that is bright and happy, and at the beginning of that part which is made up altogether of desolation and decay, I could understand it; for death is nothing but one jump into forgetfulness. But with youth, and hope, and happiness before you, I cannot make out your motives. However, fare you well, fare you well, and all I trust is, that chance may better take care of you than you take care of yourself."
Charles Tyrrell bade him adieu, well knowing that, as all their views and principles were different, there was not the slightest use of entering into any argument upon the subject. He could not, indeed, help feeling a regard for Mr. Driesen, who had of late shown him much real kindness. He could not help acknowledging to himself that he had a warm, kind heart, and when, therefore, he left him, he felt some pain and grief, from which he could only free himself, by sitting down to make notes of all the matters of which he had to speak with Everard Morrison, on the following morning.
Mr. Driesen, in the meantime, turned his steps back toward Harbury Park. He went slowly and sadly, indeed. Three or four times dismounted from his horse, and walked on, holding the bridle over his arm, and when he had returned, and sought his own chamber, his foot might be heard pacing it, to and fro, during the greater part of the night. He had usually breakfasted in the library, and he had not yet finished, on the morning following his interview with Charles Tyrrell, when the butler came in and told him that there was an old man without desired to speak with him. Mr. Driesen asked who it was, and the butler replied:--
"Why it is one Smithson, sir, who used to be a good deal about the house, selling fish, some twenty years ago."
"Show him in," said Mr. Driesen; and the butler having done so, shut the door.
The old man remained in conversation with Mr. Driesen for some time. After he was gone, the butler opened the door, to see whether he should take away the breakfast things; but Mr. Driesen was still leaning with his arm upon the table, staring into the cups. In half an hour after, he rang the bell, and all the servants remarked, with surprise, that from that moment he was entirely changed. All his old liveliness and activity returned. He was gay, cheerful, and happy, writing, indeed, the greater part of the day, but bearing interruption quite tranquilly, and having some gay and cheerful word to say to everybody.
Before mid-day, on the following morning, Everard Morrison was at the door of the Falcon, but he was not alone. The large form of Captain Longly not unaccompanied by the pigtail, appeared mounted upon a short-legged, sturdy, little pony; and as Charles, who happened to be at the window at the moment of their arrival, perceived the old seaman, he felt no slight satisfaction at being the first to bear him the news of Lieutenant Hargrave's real fate. To Morrison, Charles had only communicated the fact, that he had been overtaken by the commander of the revenue-cutter, and had promised to return in order to undergo his trial, and he was, therefore, sure that the news he had in store, had not been anticipated.
The countenances of both Morrison and Longly, however, were not a little gloomy, as they entered the chamber in which the young baronet was, and, after the first salutation, Morrison broke forth with, "This is most unfortunate, indeed, Sir Charles; but as Mr. Longly was with me when your note came, I thought it but right to communicate its contents to him, and he determined to come with me, to tell you himself what he has resolved upon doing."
Charles Terrell was about to reply, but Longly instantly took up the tale, and, after having pulled the waistband of his breeches as far up as possible, and rolled something which was in his mouth into his cheek, he went on, "You see, Sir Charles, it is not fair that one man should suffer for another--not that I would ever have let you suffer for me, though you were honourable enough to keep your word with me, even to death, which must be a satisfaction to you--but now, as the case goes, you have done your best, and have tried to get away, and can't: and so, I am resolved, sir, on the trial, to come forward, and to tell all, do you see. In the first place, it rests hard upon my mind, and I can't bear up against this wind;--next, you see, sir, I would a deal rather be hanged at once, and have done with it, than go on, never knowing one day, whether I shall not be hanged the next; but, as for that, however, Mr. Everard here thinks he can get me off, because, you see, we can prove, by that young scoundrel's letter to my poor Hannah, that it was a trap he laid for her, and so I might well be angry; and then that smuggling has blown over, for all the men were acquitted at six o'clock, last night; so, if they can prove nothing against them, they can prove nothing against me;--and it is likely to be manslaughter at the worst. However, you see, Sir Charles, I do not so much care how it goes, because, before that, my Hannah is going to be married to as noble a young fellow, though I say it to his face, as ever lived, who loves her dearly, and she him--so she is taken care of; but, nevertheless, even it were not so, I should not let you be hanged for me, any how."
Although this oration, on the part of good Captain Longly, might be a little out of form and propriety of speech, it served to convey to Charles Tyrrell, a great deal of information, regarding matters of some interest, and to afford him a very fair picture of the honest seaman's feelings. He would indeed have interrupted him, in order to save him one moment of unnecessary pain, but when Captain Longly was once set going, it was no easy thing to stop him, till he had exhausted what he had to say; every appearance that he saw of a wish to cut him short, only making him raise his voice, and repeat, in a louder tone, what he had just been saying.
When he was done, however, Charles took the hand, which Longly held out to him as a sort of full stop at the end of the sentence; and replied, "I am much obliged to you, Mr. Longly, for your frankness and generous thoughts in this matter; but I have some news for you, that will surprise you, much more than it does me to find that Mr. Longly is always ready to do what is right and honourable. You fully believe that you killed Lieutenant Hargrave."
"To be sure!" exclaimed Longly, "though I have never been able to get that old scoundrel, Jenkins, to tell me what he did with the body. He winks his eye, and says it is all safe; but I can't get any more out of him. He'll be obliged to tell now, however."
"It will be unnecessary," replied Charles Tyrrell, "for I can tell you, that Lieutenant Hargrave was alive and well on board the revenue-cutter, not four days ago, and now lies buried in a small church-yard in Devonshire, having been drowned while trying to get off from the cutter, which struck on a reef called the Hog's-back."
Longly smacked his hand upon his thigh, till the place rang again, and then exclaimed, "Ay, that's what's the meaning of all that winking. But I can scarcely believe my ears--Did you see him yourself, sir? Can you swear it was him, and not his ghost?"
"I saw him with my own eyes," replied Charles; "but besides that proof, I have the acknowledgment of the commander of the cutter, his own friend, who had him on board, and did not even know that anything was the matter with him, but a spitting of blood, till I showed him the wound of the ball in the throat of the corpse, after he was drowned."[3]
Longly shook himself, much in the way of a Newfoundland dog, when he comes out of the water, exclaiming, "Well, that is something off my head--now you are quite safe, Sir Charles!"
"I am not quite sure," replied Charles Tyrrell, "two doubts have been put into my mind, by Mr. Driesen, last night, and I must speak with you, Morrison, on the subject."
He then proceeded to explain to Everard Morrison the circumstances which Mr. Driesen had mentioned, and the opinion which he had said the council had expressed, regarding the period at which the murder must have been committed; and he was somewhat pained to see that the young lawyer entertained a somewhat similar view of the case to Mr. Driesen. Morrison's opinion, however, was more favourable in some respects; but it was founded upon a shrewd view of human nature, especially when appearing, as it does, in such bodies as juries.
"Were the case to come before them, now," he said, "exactly as it really stands, the fact of the quarrel, of the gun, and the gardener having seen you, precisely in the same direction as that in which the body was found, without any other extraneous circumstances being mixed up with the matter, I should say, with Mr. Driesen, that your case bore a very ominous aspect; but the very circumstance of there having been various other suspicious matters against you, brought before the coroner's jury, and a prepossession having thus been created against you, will, in the present instance, tell greatly in your favour. You will now be able to explain all those circumstances in a manner most honourable to yourself, and the reaction will be so great, that the jury will think you have disproved the whole case against you, because you have disproved a part. The evidence of Mr. Longly and Hailes, too, need, as far as I see, in no degree implicate themselves, though, doubtless, the examining counsel will do the best they can to get to the bottom of the matter."
Upon a hint from Charles Tyrrell, that he wished to speak with Morrison alone, Captain Longly shortly after left them, and the circumstances regarding the old man, Smithson, came under discussion. Notwithstanding the view which the landlord of the inn had taken, and to which Charles Tyrrell had coincided, Morrison judged it better to go down himself to Smithson's cottage, and see if he could elicit any intimation of the real nature and character of the evidence he was willing to give. When he arrived at the cottage, however old Smithson was not at home, and Morrison had to wait for some time, ere he made his appearance. When he did come, at length, nothing was to be gained from him. He remained perversely silent, saying,
"Never you mind. I'll be there to give evidence, and I'll tell the truth, let come of it what may. That's all that anybody can expect. I won't say a word of it beforehand, for anybody, that's enough."
Finding it utterly in vain to urge him upon the subject, Morrison left him, and reported his want of success to the young baronet. He then promised him to ride over to the manor-house direct, in order to prepare the mind of Lady Tyrrell for a visit from her son, who proposed, as soon as it was dark, to go over to see his mother, with whom he had had no interview since the terrible day of his father's death.
Everard Morrison at once proceeded to execute this commission, and on arriving at the manor-house, he found Lady Tyrrell, Mrs. Effingham, and Mr. Driesen, in conversation together, and apparently in much higher spirits than he could have anticipated.
"Oh, Mr. Morrison," said Lady Tyrrell, when he entered, "here is our good friend, Mr. Driesen, has brought us tidings which have raised the spirits of the whole party. He gives me the most positive assurances that our poor Charles is certain of acquittal."
"Indeed," said Morrison, gravely, for he imagined that Mr. Driesen had been buoying up Lady Tyrrell's spirits with hopes that he did not himself entertain, and disapproving of all such policy, he determined to do nothing to encourage it. "Indeed, I had fancied, that Mr. Driesen took a rather more gloomy view of the matter."
"My good friend," replied Mr. Driesen, with a slight curl of the lip, "if you remember rightly, yesterday was a cloudy day, and to-day the sun shines, as you see: if I had said yesterday, 'What a fine morning,' you would have stared: to-day, if I were to say, 'How cold and gloomy,' you would stare as much. Now the time that has passed sufficient to drive away the clouds from the sky, may have brought matter to remove the clouds from my mind, too; and something has occurred this morning, which makes me say confidently to Lady Tyrrell, that she has no cause for the slightest apprehension, and that Charles's innocence will be established beyond all manner of doubt."
Morrison listened with no inconsiderable degree of surprise, and, if we must own the truth, with some suspicion. Now as he was, though a lawyer, by no means naturally suspicious, his doubts arose from two circumstances. In the first place, from the little he had seen of Mr. Driesen, he by no means was inclined to like or trust that gentleman; and he had, indeed, made up his mind, that Mr. Driesen, as to his real character and feelings, systematically attempted to deceive all the world, beginning with himself. There was some truth in this, although it was too general, perhaps. But in the next place, as regarded the matter in question at the moment, he remarked that Mr. Driesen's illustration of his change of opinion, was forced, unnatural, and wordy, and quite contrary to his usual tone and pointed manner of expressing himself. He determined, therefore, if possible, to unravel the mystery, and therefore replied:--
"I am very happy to hear, sir, what you say; but of course, as employed in defending Sir Charles Tyrrell, I should be very glad to hear upon what grounds you found your new-risen expectations of such a favourable result."
"There now," cried Mr. Driesen, smiling; "there now. He comes with his grave face, and his lawyer-like logic, to destroy all that I have been doing to console you two ladies. But do not let him, my dear Lady Tyrrell; do not let him: for if he were the very worst lawyer that ever was born--which Heaven forbid I should insinuate," and he made Everard Morrison a low bow, "I defy him to spoil the case of my good friend, Charles, who is as certain of being acquitted as I am of living till tomorrow morning, which I'm sure I hope I shall do, as I have no less than seven letters to write, some upon business, which might be put off very well upon the eve of a journey to the other world; but some mere letters of politeness, and the good folks would think me rude if I were to go without writing them."
As he ended, he whistled two or three bars of an air, and then suddenly turning to Mrs. Effingham, and seeming to recollect himself, he said:--
"I beg pardon, my dear lady, for presuming to whistle in your presence; but that whistling lilibullero is a bad trick, which I caught of my uncle Toby. I always do it when there's a cat or a lawyer in the room--no offence, Mr. Morrison! for I was bred a lawyer myself, you know."
"And pray, my good sir," said Morrison, "how did you manage then, if you always whistle lilibullero when there's a lawyer in the room?"
"Why, I did nothing but whistle all day long, with my hands in my pockets," replied Mr. Driesen, not at all put out of countenance; "so I was obliged to give up the law, my good sir, otherwise I should have whistled myself away altogether. As it was, I had whistled myself into the shape and likeness of a flagelet, as you now see."
While this conversation had been going on, Morrison had been turning in his own mind all the circumstances connected with the case of Charles Tyrrell, and endeavouring to fix upon some particular, which might give a clew to the sudden change which had taken place in Mr. Driesen's opinion of the case. He recollected at length, that when he had gone down to see Smithson in the morning, the old fisherman had been absent, and that he had come back to his house, by the road, which led from Harbury park. When Mr. Driesen had finished his reply, therefore, he said somewhat abruptly:--
"I suppose the truth is, Mr. Driesen, that you have had old Smithson with you this morning."
For a moment or two, Mr. Driesen made no reply, but fixed his eyes full and keenly upon him. He then answered,
"Yes, Mr. Morrison. The truth is, I have. What then, pray?"
"Why, nothing, Mr. Driesen," replied Morrison, "only that I now know the cause of your change of opinion in regard to Sir Charles Tyrrell's case, and the good spirits you seem to be in this morning."
Mr. Driesen gazed upon him for a moment or two, with a withering sneer, and then replied, rising,
"You know nothing about it! Good morning, Mrs. Effingham--good morning, Lady Tyrrell. I leave this wise young gentleman to demonstrate to you satisfactorily, that the moon is made of green cheese, or at least is inhabited by an old single gentleman like myself, with a bundle of sticks upon his back. But make your mind quite easy, nevertheless, for Charles will be acquitted for all that."
Thus saying, he left them, and Morrison saw him go without any expression of anger, merely saying,
"Good Mr. Driesen is evidently rejoiced at the prospect of Sir Charles's speedy acquittal, and proud of possessing a little knowledge more than I nave been able to extract this morning from the witness whom he has seen. I think, however, Lady Tyrrell, you may trust with some degree of confidence to what he says, for now that I know the cause of his change of opinion in some degree, I am inclined to suppose that it has not taken place without good grounds."
"That is very satisfactory to me, Mr. Morrison," said Mrs. Effingham; "for I confess I have this morning been in great great doubt and difficulty what to do. I have received a letter from Devonshire, informing me that my poor Lucy is very unwell. The medical men there say, not dangerously at present; but of course, I am anxious to set off immediately to be with her; and yet I did not like to go without being able to bear her good news of Charles, which I know would be the best medicine she could receive."
"I think, my dear madam," replied Morrison, "that you may set off with all safety, and assure her that though nothing on earth is so uncertain, of course, as the law, yet there is every probability of Charles establishing his innocence beyond a doubt. I think so the more from what Mr. Driesen had just said; but even before I heard that, I was inclined to entertain very great, though not perfectly confident hopes of a favourable result."
"If you think so," said Mrs. Effingham, "I will set off immediately. I understood that the trial was to take place to-morrow, and in a few lines in Lucy's own hand, she begged me not to come till it was over; but if you think that the result is very nearly certain, I will go at once."
Everard expressed his opinion, that she might go in safety, and consequently she set off as soon as horses could be procured.
She found Lucy much more seriously ill than she had expected. She had kept up, and exerted herself, to appear well till Charles Tyrrell had left her; but from that moment had become worse, and all the effects of the fatigue, and grief, and cold, and anxiety, that she had undergone, told upon her health, and reduced her to a situation of great danger. She was slightly better than she had been on the day that her mother arrived, and the fresh hopes which Mrs. Effingham brought her, tended to give a favourable turn to her malady.
We must now, however, pause, and once more go back to the scenes in which our tale first began, in order to show how far those hopes were realized or disappointed.
It was the morning of the trial, and the session-house was, as may be supposed crowded almost to suffocation, for the case of Charles Tyrrell had excited a degree of interest through the whole country round, unequalled in the memory of man. The whole history of the Tyrrell family, as we have given it in the beginning of this book, was buzzed about, with a thousand additions and improvements, from imagination, malice, and that love of the marvellous, which makes liars of one third, and fools of another third of the world.
Among the lower classes an impression seemed to prevail, that young Charles Tyrrell would certainly be condemned, not, indeed, from a general belief of his guilt, for that belief was by no means general; but from an impression that the sort of fate which seemed to dog his family, was about to bring it to an end in his own person, and, indeed, more than one of the jurors was affected by this sort of feeling, and went into the box with an impression that they had very little to do, but listen to the witnesses, and condemn the prisoner.
As soon as the trial was called on, Charles Tyrrell surrendered himself, and appeared at the bar. He was very pale, and his countenance was calm and firm, but grave, and even sad. There was, however, a noble expression on that face, an upright and manly character in his whole demeanour; a tranquillity, not at all approaching boldness, which produced a universal impression in his favour, and made one of those general murmurs run through the court, which nearly always evince some sudden change in the popular feeling.
The judge, in this instance, did not command silence, as he had been led to believe, by all he had heard since he came into the town, that a prepossession existed against the young baronet, and he was not sorry to see that prepossession counteracted by the favourable impression of his personal appearance.
On the first formalities being gone through, Charles Tyrrell pleaded "Not Guilty!" in a clear and distinct voice, and looked round the court with a calm, firm glance, which confirmed the feeling excited in his favour.
The counsel who conducted the cause for the crown, was one of those wise and conscientious men, who suffer no degree of passion to mingle with the exercise of their functions. We have occasionally, indeed, persons at the bar, who, when called upon to act the awful part of public accuser, suffer their own vanity to be implicated in the success of their cause, and strive, not so much to elicit truth, as to establish the case they have undertaken. Such, however, was not the character of the gentleman who appeared against Charles Tyrrell. He uttered not one word that was calculated to produce prejudice in the minds of the jury. He stated clearly and distinctly the evidence he had to produce against the prisoner at the bar. He pointed out in mild terms, the inferences which were to be drawn from the witnesses, and he ended by expressing a hope that the prisoner would be able to produce such evidence, on his own part, as would relieve the minds of the jury from any doubt as to the fact of his innocence.
He then called several of the servants of Harbury park, whose evidence tended to show on the present occasion, as it had done at the coroner's inquest, that a severe quarrel had taken place between Charles Tyrrell and his father; that the former had gone out with his gun in his hand, and had been followed by the latter; that the prisoner had been seen passing through the garden shortly after; that his father had been found murdered within a few yards of the garden-gate, by the discharge of a gun, loaded with small shot, into the back of his head; that the gun of the prisoner with which he had gone out, had been found discharged within a few yards of the dead body; and that his clothes had been spotted with blood, and his hands had also been bloody when he returned home; that he himself had declared that he had not discharged the gun at any game, and had refused to account for the time of his absence, or the blood that appeared upon his clothes.
When the servants had been examined, and it was found that no attempt was made whatsoever to cross-examine them, or shake their evidence, a considerable degree of agitation was manifested in the court, and the impression was decidedly unfavourable to the prisoner. The counsel then went on to say:--
"I will now proceed to call a most important witness upon this business;" and the name of Mr. Driesen was accordingly called. That gentleman, however, did not appear; and, after a considerable pause, some discussion took place as to what was to be the course of proceeding. The counsel for the prosecution, however, at length said, that although Mr. Driesen's evidence was important, as confirming the testimony of the other witnesses, yet that it was far more desirable that he should have been present, in order to give an opportunity to the counsel for the defence, of cross-examining him, than on any other account; but that, if his learned friend thought fit to let the testimony of that witness stand, as it had been given before the coroner, he was quite willing himself, to say that he considered his case complete.
The counsel for the defence then replied, that he was perfectly willing it should be so, as in all probability he should not have cross-examined Mr. Driesen, even if he had been present, inasmuch as all the facts stated by the witnesses were perfectly true, and not denied by the prisoner at the bar.
This admission created a new sensation in the court, accompanied by so loud a buz, that the judge was obliged to interfere, to enforce silence; and while he was so doing, a sealed paper was handed to his clerk, and then to himself. He immediately looked at the address, tore it open, and read, making a sign to the counsel for the defence to pause, ere he called any witnesses.
The paper was long and took some time to read; and when he had done, the judge spoke a few words to the clerk, who sent the beadle immediately out of court. The beadle returned in a minute or two with a reply, and the judge after seeming to hesitate for a moment as to what course he should pursue, bowed to the counsel for the defence, and said:--
"You had better go on, Mr. Plaistow. This is very important, and I will communicate it to you afterward; but I must think over some precedents, to judge how we must deal with it."
The counsel then immediately called, as the first witness, our good friend, Captain Longly, whose evidence was to the following effect:--That from a certain hour, which he stated with nautical precision, up to a certain other hour, the prisoner at the bar, Sir Charles Tyrrell, had been with him, and with two other persons, one named John Hailes, and the other known by the name of Lieutenant Hargrave, under the wall at the back of Harbury-park. He, Sir Charles Tyrrell, having agreed to meet him on private business at the park-stile, some few minutes before. He went on to say, that the park-stile at which Sir Charles Tyrrell was to have met him, lay in such a direction, that the straight course for the prisoner to pursue from the house to the stile, was through the garden; and by an ingenious question the counsel elicited from him, without any breach of the law of evidence, that, comparing the period at which Sir Charles Tyrrell was known to have left his father's house, with the time that he actually joined him under the park-wall, and comparing the distance between the two places, he, Sir Charles, must have walked with the very greatest rapidity to have accomplished it at all.
The evidence was so clear, so exact, so conclusive, in regard to the facts which it went to establish, that a well-pleased murmur ran through the court; and the counsel, who had received a hint from Morrison not to press Captain Longly farther than necessary, upon his occupation at the time, judged that he might leave the matter there, especially as he might elicit any other facts from Hailes at an after period, if he found it requisite.
The counsel for the prosecution, however, was not to be so satisfied; and as it fell to one of the junior counsel to cross-examine this witness, he did in a less mild and considerate manner than his leader might have done.
"Now, Mr. Longly," he said, "or Captain Long, as I am told you are called, you have given very good evidence; but I have got a question or two to ask you, and be so good as to remember, that you are upon your oath. Now, Mr. Longly, alias Captain Long ----"
"Make haste," said Longly, bluffly; "for though they call me Captain Long, as you say, I am fond of short questions and short answers."
"Well, then, Captain Long," he continued, "be so good as to explain to us, if it is not an impertinent question, what you were doing at the time the prisoner at the bar was with you as you have stated."
"Why, I think itisan impertinent question, Mr. Parchment-face," replied Captain Long, who did not at all admire the demeanour of his cross-examiner. "I came here to give evidence of what he was doing, not what I was doing, and so I say it is an impertinent question, and I shan't answer it."
"Then the Court must compel you," replied the lawyer
"I am afraid you must put your question in another form," said the judge. The lawyer bowed, and tried it in a different shape.
"Pray, then," he said, "what was Sir Charles Tyrrell, the prisoner at the bar, doing at the time that he was with you, you have just stated?"
Captain Long, however, was not a man to be easily outdone, and he replied:--
"Why, part of the time he was walking up under the park-wall toward me; part of the time he was talking to me, and part of the time he was walking away again; part of the time he was turning to look at what we were about; part of the time he was coming back again to us, and part of the time he was going back to his own house;" and Captain Long put his hands behind his back, and looked the lawyer straight in the face, while a general and unbecoming titter ran through the court.
"Silence!" exclaimed the judge; "this is very indecent! I do not, however, think our learned brother can press the witness to say anything that might criminate himself."
"I have no objection, my lord," replied Longly, turning toward the judge, "to say anything in the world, if I am asked in a civil way, do you see; but if he tries to brow-beat me, he shall find himself mistaken."
"You must respect the court, sir," replied the judge. "We will not suffer you to be brow-beat, but you must remember the awful nature of the proceeding in which we are engaged. The life of a fellow-creature is at stake--a terrible crime has been committed, and the law must be satisfied. Have you any objection, Mr. Longly, to answer the court what was the business you were engaged in during the time that the prisoner at the bar was with you. You are not obliged, however, to say anything to criminate yourself, therefore, let your answer be considerate."
Longly paused for a moment, ere he replied, and turned his eyes toward Everard Morrison; but then, slapping his knee after his own peculiar fashion, he answered, "Well, I don't care! It must be told one day, so it shall out now. Why, my lord, you see I was fighting a duel! There is no harm in that, I take it. There's not a man among you," and he looked around the court, "there's not a man among you that wouldn't fight, too, if a scoundrel were to come and attempt to kidnap your child--to take your daughter away against her will, and under false pretences. That's what I fought for."
The movement produced in court by Longly's words, was indescribable, and even the judge was affected; but still greater was the sensation when the old seaman went on to describe the whole that had taken place, the provocation given, the conduct of young Hargrave and that of Charles Tyrrell, and ended by declaring that the young baronet had determined to stand his trial, and even die, rather than betray the trust reposed in him.
The words that he used, in any other man's mouth, would, probably, have produced little or no effect; but there was something in the simplicity which, mingled with Longly's shrewdness, and in the contrast between the bold ingenuity with which he frustrated the efforts of the counsel to extract his secret, and the straightforward candour with which he afterward told it, all at once, that gave point to every word.
In answer to some further questions from the court, in reference to the ultimate fate of Hargrave, he said:--
"Why, my lord, I thought the scoundrel was as dead as a stock-fish; but I have heard since that he got quite well, and was drowned when the cutter got ashore on the Hog's-back. But you see, as soon as I heard that, I went and asked old Jenkins, with whom I had left him; and I made him tell me the truth; and then I found that it was only a faint that he was in. He went on fainting that way all day; but he got better afore the next morning, and then he made old Jenkins swear he would not tell but that he was dead. He had some deviltry or another in hand, depend upon it, by pretending to be dead when he was living; but, howsoever, he's as dead as a mackerel now, that's clear."
"This matter must be inquired into further," said the judge; "but, in the meantime, I hope the witness will remember the dangerous situation he not only brought himself, but others, by giving way to a spirit of revenge:" and he proceeded to read Longly a lecture, to which the other listened with great attention, being far more edified by the full wig and furred gown, than by those absurd conceits wherewith our gentlemen of the bar are compelled to disfigure themselves.
When Longly had been suffered to go down, the good fisherman, John Hailes, was called, and confirmed, in every particular, the evidence of the preceding witness.
His account of the duel between Longly and Lieutenant Hargrave, delivered in homely language, and stripped of every shade of the imaginative, made a smile run through the court; but while he went on the jury were consulting together, without attending; and as soon as he had done, the foreman addressed the judge, saying:--
"I do not think, my lord, that the case need go on. We are all agreed in regard to our verdict, and it is only putting Sir Charles Tyrrell to unnecessary pain to proceed further."
A momentary smile of satisfaction passed over Sir Charles Tyrrell's countenance as he heard the words spoken which placed his fate beyond doubt; but he turned at once to the judge, saying:--
"I feel grateful, my lord, for the consideration of the jury; but I much wish the trial to go on to the end. A most horrible imputation has been cast upon me; and I would fain not quit this bar without my character standing as clear as before the occurrence of those awful events which brought me here. There remains one more witness to be examined in my defence; I am totally ignorant of the evidence he is about to give, but from what he has been heard to say, I am inclined to believe that we may, by his means, be enabled to fix the guilt upon the real murderer of my unhappy parent."
"It is most important that his evidence should be taken," said the judge; "and, under every point of view, I think it better, also, that the trial should go on to its usual conclusion."
The degree of mystery attached to the evidence about to be given, revived at once the attention of the jury, which had begun to flag; and when John Smithson was called up, every eye in the court was fixed upon the old man, with an inquiring gaze. He appeared, however, quite calm and unabashed; advancing steadily and sternly into the witness-box, as if impressed with a strong and engrossing sense of what he was about to do, and prepared to act as he thought right, without wavering or hesitation. The counsel, indeed, felt some difficulty, as to how to shape his questions, for the old man firmly refused, to the very last moment, to give the slightest indication of what he had to tell.
At length, however, after the oath was administered, which he took with an aspect of solemn feeling, the question was put, "Where were you on the day, and about the time of the murder of the late Sir Francis Tyrrell?"
"I was in Harbury Park!" replied the old man, boldly, "within fifty yards of the door in the garden-wall, on the side toward the house."
Every ear was now attention, and Charles Tyrrell leaned forward to gaze upon the witness more fully, while the counsel proceeded,
"Did you see the prisoner at the bar, there at that time?" was the next question.
"I rather believe I did," replied the old man, "but I am not sure, for the person that I saw, and that I took to be him, was just going into the garden as I came up, and banged the door after him sharply."
"What did you see next?" demanded the counsel.
"Why, before I could think whether I should go on to the house, as I was going," answered Smithson, "or whether I should run after Master Charles, and ask him to speak a good word for me with his father; I saw Sir Francis coming along the walk from the house, at a quick rate, but not so quick as his son had gone, and there was another person following him, about twenty steps behind, going quicker than he was. I had never seen that person before at that time, but he called twice after Sir Francis Tyrrell, saying the second time, 'You must hear me, and may, therefore, as well stop! By ---- I believe you are insane!' Sir Francis was just at that moment, at the door of the garden, and he turned round and said, as the other came up--'Insane am I? You shall find that I am sane enough to make you a beggar before a week be over, and to free myself from a viper that has been feeding upon me for many a year!' They were now close together, and the other answered, 'You wish, I suppose, to make me think you scoundrel as well as madman!' and then Sir Francis lifted the stick that was in his hand, as if to strike the other; but the other caught hold of it, and being the tallest and strongest, dragged it away from him, and threw it among the plants, not far from the tool-house.
"Sir Francis ran after it, saying something I did not rightly hear, and just at that minute, the other seemed to see a gun leaning against the garden wall, for he snatched it up, put it to his shoulder as Sir Francis was looking for the stick, and fired. Sir Francis fell down upon his face, and never moved or spoke, and the other threw down the gun, and took one look round him. It was all done in a minute!"
"When he looked round, did he not see you?" demanded the counsel.
"No, he could not do that," replied the old man; "they might both, perhaps, have seen me if they had looked as they came up, for I was then only among the trees, at a short distance; but when I saw what was going on, I got behind a thin bush. However, after giving one look round, and one look at the man he had shot: but without touching him, mind: he set out for the house, as hard as he could go."
"And now, Mr. Smithson," said the counsel, "I must ask you, on your oath, have you ever seen the person you saw murder Sir Francis Tyrrell, since?"
"Why, yes, I have," replied the old man; "I saw him afterward, first at the funeral, where he who had killed him, went as chief mourner, while the son, who had not killed him, was a prisoner in this jail!" There was a dead silence through the court. "The next time I saw him, I watched him out of the house, and asked a groom his name, and the groom told me it was Mr. Driesen; and the last time I saw him, was at Harbury Park, yesterday morning, when I went up to tell him what I intended to do, for I don't think it fair to take any man by surprise."
The counsel was going to interrupt him with another question; but the look of the judge so plainly said, let him go on, that he paused, and the old man proceeded as if he were telling a tale.
"He seemed very much surprised like," he continued, "when I told him I had seen all; but not frightened either, though I thought he would have been much frightened, indeed; but he said no, that it was all quite true that I said; that he had had quite provocation enough, to justify him in what he had done; that he considered it a good to society to put such a man as Sir Francis Tyrrell out of the way, and that he wondered it had not been done years before. So I said, I thought so, too, and that was the reason I had never told anybody what I had seen; for he had aggravated me not long before, till I had well nigh knocked his brains out; but that now the young gentleman's life was in danger, and so I must tell the whole. So then again he said I was quite right, that if I had not been there to do it, he would have told the whole himself; but that as I was going to tell the whole, there was no need for him to do it, and he would, therefore, take himself out of harm's way."
"Out of harm's way, indeed!" said the judge. "Pray, did he tell you, witness, how he intended to take himself out of harm's way?"
"No, sir," replied the old man; "but I suppose in a cutter, that would be shortest."
"He has found a shorter still," answered the judge, with a sigh. "This is, altogether, as awful a case as I ever had the pain to have brought before me. A paper has been put into my hands, addressed to myself, since the beginning of the trial, with which I anticipated some difficulty in dealing. But from the turn which the evidence has taken, I think it but right and necessary, that the jury should have the advantage of its contents, in order that not the slightest doubt may remain upon the case, although, even as it stands at present, their duty would be very straight forward. It is addressed to me by a person signing himself, Henry Driesen; and I have just been informed, that it was found this morning on his dressing-table at Harbury Park, with directions to deliver it immediately, the unhappy writer having been found dead in his bed, with strong reason to suppose that he had poisoned himself, with distilled laurel leaves."
When Smithson had first mentioned, that the person who had killed his father, was the same who had acted the part of chief mourner at the funeral, Charles Tyrrell had covered his eyes with his hands, and leant forward upon the bar. But when the announcement was made by the judge, of the terrible end of his career, the young baronet withdrew his hands, and gazed up with a painful and even more horror-struck glance than before. In the meanwhile, however, the paper, which was written by Mr. Driesen, was handed to the clerk, who read as follows:--