CHAPTER XIV.
“From his brimstone bed at break of day,A walking the devil is gone,To visit his little snug farm of the earth,And see how his stock went on.”Coleridge.
“From his brimstone bed at break of day,A walking the devil is gone,To visit his little snug farm of the earth,And see how his stock went on.”Coleridge.
“From his brimstone bed at break of day,A walking the devil is gone,To visit his little snug farm of the earth,And see how his stock went on.”Coleridge.
“From his brimstone bed at break of day,
A walking the devil is gone,
To visit his little snug farm of the earth,
And see how his stock went on.”
Coleridge.
Dunscomb was as good as his word. Next morning he was on his way to Biberry. He was thoughtful; had laid a bundle of papers on the front seat of the carriage, and went his way musing and silent. Singularly enough, his only companion was Anna Updyke, who had asked a seat in the carriage timidly, but with an earnestness that prevailed. Had Jack Wilmeter been at Biberry, this request would not have been made; but she knew he was in town, and that she might make the little excursion without the imputation of indelicacy, so far as he was concerned. Her object will appear in the course of the narrative.
The “best tavern” in Biberry was kept by Daniel Horton. The wife of this good man had a native propensity to talk that had been essentially cultivated in the course of five-and-twenty years’ practice in the inn where she had commenced her career as maid; and was now finishing it as mistress. As is common with persons of her class, she knew hundreds of those who frequented her house; calling each readily by name, and treating every one with a certain degree of professional familiarity that is far from uncommon in country inns.
“Mr. Dunscomb, I declare!” cried this woman, as she entered the room, and found the counsellor and his companion in possession of her best parlour. “This is a pleasure I did not expectuntil the circuit. It’s quite twenty years, ’Squire, since I had the pleasure of first waiting on you in this house. And a pleasure it has always been; for I’ve not forgotten the ejectment suit that you carried for Horton when we was only new-beginners. I am glad to see you, sir; welcome to Biberry, as is this young lady, who is your daughter, I presume, Mr. Dunscomb?”
“You forget that I am a bachelor, Mrs. Horton—no marrying man, in any sense of the word.”
“I might have known that, had I reflected a moment; for they say Mary Monson employs none but bachelors and widowers in her case; and you are her counsel, I know.”
“This is a peculiarity of which I was not aware. Timms is a bachelor, certainly, as well as myself; but to whom else can you allude? Jack Wilmeter, my nephew, can hardly be said to be employed at all; nor, for that matter, Michael Millington; though neither is married.”
“Yes, sir; we know both of the last well, they having lodged with us. If young Mr. Wilmeter is single, I fancy it is not his own fault”—here Mrs. Horton looked very wise, but continued talking—“Young gentlemen of a good appearance and handsome fortunes commonly have not much difficulty in getting wives—not as much as young ladies; for you men make the law, and you give your own sex the best chance, almost as a matter of course——”
“Pardon me, Mrs. Horton,” interrupted Dunscomb, a little formally, like one who felt great interest in the subject—“you were remarking that we have the best chance of getting married; and here have I been a bachelor all my life, trying in vain to enter into the happy state of matrimony—if, indeed, it deserve to be so termed.”
“It could not be very difficult foryouto find a companion,” said the landlady, shaking her head; “and for the reason I have just given.”
“Which was——?”
“That you men have made the laws and profit by them.Youcanaskwhom you please; but a woman is obliged to wait to be asked.”
“You never were in a greater mistake in your life, I do assure you, my good Mrs. Horton. There is no such law on the subject. Any woman may put the question, as well as any man. Thiswasthe law, and I don’t think the Code has changed it.”
“Yes, I know that well enough, and get laughed at, and pointed at, for her pains. I know that a good deal is said about leap-year; but who ever heard of a woman’s putting the question? I fancy that even Mary Monson would think twice before she took so bold a step once.”
“Mary Monson!” exclaimed Dunscomb, suddenly turning towards his hostess—“Has she a reputation for being attentive to gentlemen?”
“Not that I know of; but——”
“Then allow me to say, my good Mrs. Horton,” interrupted the celebrated counsellor, with a manner that was almost austere, “that you have been greatly to blame in hazarding the sort of remark you did. If youknownothing of the character you certainly insinuated, you should have said nothing. It is very extraordinary that women, alive as they must be to the consequences to one of their own sex, are ever more ready than men to throw out careless, and frequently malicious hints, that take away a reputation, and do a melancholy amount of harm in the world. Slander is the least respectable, the most unchristianlike, and the most unlady-like vice, of all the secondary sins of your sex. One would think the danger you are all exposed to in common, would teach you greater caution.”
“Yes, sir, that is true; but this Mary Monson is in such a pickle already, that it is not easy to makehercase much worse,” answeredMrs.Mrs.Horton, a good deal frightened at the austerity ofDunscomb’s rebuke; for his reputation was too high to render his good or bad opinion a matter of indifference to her. “If you only knew the half that is said of her in Duke’s, you wouldn’t mind a careless word or so about her. Everybody thinks her guilty; and a crime, more or less, can be of no great matter to the likes ofher.”
“Ah, Mrs. Horton, these careless words do a vast deal of harm. They insinuate away a reputation in a breath; and my experience has taught me that they who are the most apt to use them, are persons whose own conduct will least bear the light. Women with a whole log-heap of beams in their own eyes, are remarkable for discovering motes. Give me the female who floats along quietly in her sphere, unoffending and charitable, wishing for the best, and as difficult to be brought tothinkas todoevil. But, they talk a good deal against my client, do they?”
“More than I have ever known folks talk against any indicted person, man or woman. The prize-fighters, who were in for murder, had a pretty hard time of it; but nothing to Mary Monson’s. In short, until ’Squire Timms came out in her favour, she had no chance at all.”
“This is not very encouraging, certainly—but what is said, Mrs. Horton, if you will suffer me to put the question?”
“Why, ’Squire Dunscomb,” answered the woman, pursing up a very pretty American mouth of her own, “a body is never sure that you won’t call what she says slander——”
“Poh—poh—you know me better than that. I never meddle with that vile class of suits. I am employed to defend Mary Monson, you know——”
“Yes, and are well paid for it too, ’Squire Dunscomb, if all that a body hears is true,” interrupted Mrs. Horton, a little spitefully. “Five thousand dollars, they say, to a cent!”
Dunscomb, who was working literally without other reward than the consciousness of doing his duty, smiled, while he frownedat this fresh instance of the absurdities into which rumour can lead its votaries. Bowing a little apology, he coolly lighted a segar, and proceeded.
“Where is it supposed that Mary Monson can find such large sums to bestow, Mrs. Horton?” he quietly asked, when his segar was properly lighted. “It is not usual for young and friendless women to have pockets so well lined.”
“Nor is it usual for young women to rob and murder old ones, ’Squire.”
“Was Mrs. Goodwin’s stocking thought to be large enough to hold sums like that you have mentioned?”
“Nobody knows. Gold takes but little room, as witness Californy. There was General Wilton—every one thought him rich as Cæsar——”
“Do you not mean Crœsus, Mrs. Horton?”
“Well, Cæsar or Crœsus; both were rich, I do suppose, and General Wilton was thought the equal of either; but, when he died, his estate wouldn’t pay his debts. On the other hand, old Davy Davidson was set down by nobody at more than twenty thousand, and he left ten times that much money. So I say nobody knows. Mrs. Goodwin was always a saving woman, though Peter would make the dollars fly, if he could get at them. There was certainly a weak spot in Peter, though known to but a very few.”
Dunscomb now listened attentively. Every fact of this nature was of importance just then; and nothing could be said of the murdered couple that would not induce all engaged in the cause to prick up their ears.
“I have always understood that Peter Goodwin was a very respectable sort of a man,” observed Dunscomb, with a profound knowledge of human nature, which was far more likely to induce the woman to be communicative, in the way of opposition, than by any other process—“as respectable a man as any abouthere.”here.”
“So he might be, but he had his weak points as well as other respectable men; though, as I have said already, his’n wasn’t generally known. Everybody is respectable, I suppose, until they’re found out. But Peter is dead and gone, and I have no wish to disturb his grave, which I believe to be a sinful act.”
This sounded still more ominously, and it greatly increased Dunscomb’s desire to learn more. Still he saw that great caution must be used, Mrs. Horton choosing to affect much tenderness for her deceased neighbour’s character. The counsellor knew human nature well enough to be aware that indifference was sometimes as good a stimulant as opposition; and he now thought it expedient to try the virtue of that quality. Without making any immediate answer, therefore, he desired the attentive and anxious Anna Updyke to perform some little office for him; thus managing to get her out of the room, while the hostess stayed behind. Then his segar did not quite suit him, and he tried another, making divers little delays that set the landlady on the tenter-hooks of impatience.
“Yes, Peter is gone—dead and buried—and I hope the sod lies lightly on his remains!” she said, sighing ostentatiously.
“Therein you are mistaken, Mrs. Horton,” the counsellor coolly remarked—“the remains of neither of those found in the ruins of the house are under ground yet; but are kept for the trial.”
“What a time we shall have of it!—so exciting and full of mystery!”
“And you might add ‘custom,’ Mrs. Horton. The reporters alone, who will certainly come from town like an inroad of Cossacks, will fill your house.”
“Yes, and themselves too. To be honest with you, ’Squire Dunscomb, too many of those gentry wish to be kept for nothing to make them pleasant boarders. I dare say, however, we shall be full enough next week. I sometimes wish there was nosuch thing as justice, after a hard-working Oyer and Terminer court.”
“You should be under no concern, my good Mrs. Horton, on that subject. There is really so little of the thing you have mentioned, that no reasonable woman need make herself unhappy about it. So Peter Goodwin was a faultless man, was he?”
“As far from it as possible, if the truth was said of him; and seeing the man is not absolutely under ground, I do not know why it may not be told. I can respect the grave, as well as another; but, as he is not buried, one may tell the truth. Peter Goodwin was, by no means, the man he seemed to be.”
“In what particular did he fail, my good Mrs. Horton?”
To begoodin Dunscomb’s eyes, the landlady well knew, was a great honour; and she was flattered as much by the manner in which the words were uttered, as by their import. Woman-like, Mrs. Horton was overcome by this little bit of homage; and she felt disposed to give up a secret which, to do her justice, had been religiously kept now for some ten or twelve years between herself and her husband. As she and the counsel were alone, dropping her voice a little, more for the sake of appearances than for any sufficient reason, the landlady proceeded.
“Why, you must know, ’Squire Dunscomb, that Peter Goodwin was a member of meetin’, and a professing Christian, which I suppose was all the better for him, seeing that he was to be murdered.”
“And do you consider his being a ‘professing Christian,’ as you call it, a circumstance to be concealed?”
“Not at all, sir—but I consider it a good reason why the facts I am about to tell you, ought not to be generally known. Scoffers abound; and I take it that the feelings of a believer ought to be treated more tenderly than those of an unbeliever, for the church’s sake.”
“That is a fashion of the times too—one of the ways of thehour, whether it is to last or not. But, proceed if you please, my good Mrs. Horton; I am quite curious to know by what particular sin Satan managed to overcome this ‘professing Christian?’”
“He drank, ’Squire Dunscomb—no, heguzzled, for that is the best word. You must know that Dolly was avarice itself—that’s the reason she took this Mary Monson in to board, though her house was no ways suited for boarders, standing out of the way, with only one small spare bed-room, and that under the roof. Had she let this stranger woman come to one of the regular houses, as she might have done, and been far better accommodated than it was possible for her to be in a garret, it is not likely she would have been murdered. She lost her life, as I tell Horton, for meddling with other people’s business.”
“If such were the regular and inevitable punishment of that particular offence, my good landlady, there would be a great dearth of ladies,” said Tom Dunscomb, a little drily—“but, you were remarking that Peter Goodwin, the member of meeting, and Mary Monson’s supposed victim, had a weakness in favour of strong liquor?”
“Juleps were his choice—I’ve heard of a part of the country, somewhere about Virginny, I believe it is, where tee-totallers make an exception in favour of juleps—it may dothere, Squire Dunscomb, but it won’t dohere. No liquor undoes a body, in this part of the country, sooner than mint juleps. I will find you ten constitutions that can hold out ag’in brandy, or plain grog, or even grog, beer and cider, all three together, where you can find me one that will hold out ag’in juleps. I always set down a reg’lar julep fancier as a case—that is, in this part of the country.”
“Very true, my good landlady, and very sensible and just. I consider you a sensible and just woman, whose mind has been enlarged by an extensive acquaintance with human nature——”
“A body does pick up a good deal in and around a bar, ’Squire Dunscomb!”
“Pick up, indeed—I’ve known ’em picked up by the dozen myself. And Peterwouldtake the juleps?”
“Awfully fond of them! He no more dared to take one at home, however, than he dared to go and ask Minister Watch to make him one. No, he know’d better where the right sort of article was to be had, and always came down to our house when he was dry. Horton mixes stiff, or we should have been a good deal better off in the world than we are—not that we’re mis’rable, as it is. But Horton takes it strong himself, and he mixes strong for others. Peter soon found this out, and he fancied his juleps more, as he has often told me himself, than the juleps of the great Bowery-man, who has a name for ’em, far and near. Hortoncanmix a julep, if he can do nothing else.”
“And Peter Goodwin was in the habit of frequenting your house privately, to indulge this propensity.”
“I’m almost ashamed to own that he did—perhaps it was sinful in us to let him; but a body must carry out the idee of trade—our trade is tavern-keeping, and it’s our business to mix liquors, though Minister Watch says, almost every Sabbath, that professors should do nothing out of sight that they wouldn’t do before the whole congregation. I don’t hold to that, however; for it would soon break up tavern-keeping altogether. Yes, Peter did drink awfully, in a corner.”
“To intoxication, do you mean, Mrs. Horton?”
“To delirrum tremus, sir—yes, full up to that. His way was to come down to the village on the pretence of business, and to come right to our house, where I’ve known him to take three juleps in the first half-hour. Sometimes he’d pretend to go to town to see his sister, when he would stay two or three days upstairs in a room that Horton keeps for what he calls hiscases—he has given the room the name of hisward—hospital-ward he means.”
“Is the worthy Mr. Horton a member of the meeting also, my good landlady?”
Mrs. Horton had the grace to colour; but she answered without stammering, habit fortifying us in moral discrepancies much more serious than even this.
“He was, and I don’t know but I may say he is yet; though he hasn’t attended, now, for more than two years. The question got to be between meetin’ and the bar; and the bar carried the day, so far as Horton is concerned. I’ve held out better, I hope, and expect to gain a victory. It’s quite enough to have one backslider in a family, I tell my husband, ’Squire.”
“A sufficient supply, ma’am—quite a sufficiency. So Peter Goodwin lay in your house drunk, days at a time?”
“I’m sorry to say he did. He was here a week once, with delirrum tremus on him; but Horton carried him through by the use of juleps; forthat’s the time to take ’em, everybody says; and we got him home without old Dolly’s knowing that he hadn’t been with his sister the whole time. That turn satisfied Peter for three good months.”
“Did Peter pay as he went, or did you keep a score?”
“Ready money, sir. Catch us keeping an account with a man when his wife ruled the roast! No, Peter paid like a king, for every mouthful he swallowed.”
“I am far from certain that the comparison is a good one, kings being in no degree remarkable for paying their debts. But, is it not possible that Peter may have set his own house on fire, and thus have caused all this calamity, for which my client is held responsible?”
“I’ve thought that over a good deal since the murder, ’Squire, but don’t well see how it can be made out. Setting the building on fire is simple enough; but who killed the old couple, and who robbed the house, unless this Mary Monson did both?”
“The case has its difficulties, no doubt; but I have known theday to dawn after a darker night than this. I believe that Mrs. Goodwin and her husband were very nearly of the same height?”
“Exactly; I’ve seen them measure, back to back. He was a very short man, and she a very tall woman!”
“Do you know anything of a German female who is said to have lived with the unfortunate couple?”
“There has been some talk of such a person since the fire; but Dolly Goodwin kept no help. She was too stingy for that; then she had no need of it, being very strong and stirring for her time of life.”
“Might not a boarder, like Miss Monson, have induced her to take this foreigner into her family for a few weeks? The nearest neighbours, those who would be most likely to know all about it, say that no wages were given; the woman working for her food and lodging.”
“’Squire Dunscomb, you’ll never make it out that any German killed Peter and his wife.”
“Perhaps not; though even that is possible. Such, however, is not the object of my present enquiries—but, here comes my associate counsel, and I will take another occasion to continue this conversation, my good Mrs. Horton.”
Timms entered with a hurried air. For the first time in his life he appeared to his associate and old master to be agitated. Cold, calculating, and cunning, this man seldom permitted himself to be so much thrown off his guard as to betray emotion; but now he actually did. There was a tremor in his form that extended to his voice; and he seemed afraid to trust the latter even in the customary salutations. Nodding his head, hedrew adrew achair and took his seat.
“You have been to the gaol?” asked Dunscomb.
A nod was the answer.
“You were admitted, and had an interview with our client?”
Nod the third was the only reply.
“Did you put the questions to her, as I desired?”
“I did, sir; but I would sooner cross-examine all Duke’s, than undertake to get anything she does not wish to tell, out of that one young lady!”
“I fancy most young ladies have a faculty for keeping such matters to themselves as they do not wish to reveal. Am I to understand that you got no answers?”
“I really do not know, ’Squire. She was polite, and obliging, and smiling—but, somehow or other, I do not recollect her replies.”
“You must be falling in love, Timms, to return with such an account,” retorted Dunscomb, a cold but very sarcastic smile passing over his face. “Have a care, sir; ’tis a passion that makes a fool of a man sooner than any other. I do not think there is much danger of the lady’s returning your flame; unless, indeed, you can manage to make her acquittal a condition of the match.”
“I am afraid—dreadfully afraid, her acquittal will be a very desperate affair,” answered Timms, passing his hands down his face, as if to wipe away his weakness. “The deeper I get into the matter, the worse it appears!”
“Have you given our client any intimation to this effect?”
“I hadn’t the heart to do it. She is just as composed, and calm, and tranquil, and judicious—yes, and ingenious, as ifshewere only the counsel in this affair of life and death! I couldn’t distrust so much tranquillity. I wish I knew her history!”
“My interrogatories pointed out the absolute necessity of her furnishing us with the means of enlightening the court and jury on that most material point, should the worst come to the worst.”
“I know they did, sir; but they no more got at the truth than my own pressing questions. I should like to see that lady on the stand, above all things! I think she would bother saucy Williams, and fairly put him out of countenance. By the way, sir, I hearhe is employed against us by the nephew, who is quite furious about the loss of the money, which he pretends was a much larger sum than the neighbourhood has commonly supposed.”
“I have always thought the relations would employ some one to assist the public prosecutor in a case of this magnitude. The theory of our government is that the public virtue will see the laws executed; but, in my experience, Timms, this public virtue is a very acquiescent and indifferent quality, seldom troubling itself even to abate a nuisance, until its own nose is offended, or its own pocket damaged.”
“Roguery is always more active than honesty—I found that out long since, ’Squire. But, it is nat’ral for a public prosecutor not to press one on trial for life, and the accused a woman, closer than circumstances seem to demand. It is true, that popular feeling is strong ag’in Mary Monson; but it was well in the nephew to fee such a bull-dog as Williams, if he wishes to make a clean sweep of it.”
“Does our client know this?”
“Certainly; she seems to know all about her case, and has a strange pleasure in entering into the mode and manner of her defence. It would do your heart good, sir, to see the manner in which she listens, and advises, and consults. She’s wonderful handsome at such times!”
“You are in love, Timms; and I shall have to engage some other assistant. First Jack, and then you! Umph! This is a strange world, of a verity.”
“I don’t think it’s quite as bad with me as that,” said Timms, this time rubbing his shaggy eye-brows as if to ascertain whether or not he were dreaming, “though I must own I do not feel precisely as I did a month since. I wish you would see our client yourself, sir, and make her understand how important it is to her interest that we should know something of her past history.”
“Do you think her name is rightfully set forth in the indictment?”
“By no means—but, as she has called herself Mary Monson, she cannot avail herself of her own acts.”
“Certainly not—I asked merely as a matter of information. She must be made to feel the necessity of fortifying us on that particular point, else it will go far towards convicting her. Jurors do not like aliases.”
“She knows this already; for I have laid the matter before her, again and again. Nothing seems to move her, however; and as to apprehension, she appears to be above all fear.”
“This is most extraordinary!—Have you interrogated the maid?”
“How can I? She speaks no English; and I can’t utter a syllable in any foreign tongue.”
“Ha! Does she pretend to that much ignorance? Marie Moulin speaks very intelligible English, as I know from having conversed with her often. She is a clever, prudent Swiss, from one of the French cantons, and is known for her fidelity and trustworthiness. With me she will hardly venture to practise this deception. If she has feigned ignorance of English, it was in order to keep her secrets.”
Timms admitted the probability of its being so; then he entered into a longer and more minute detail of the state of the case. In the first place, he admitted that, in spite of all his own efforts to the contrary, the popular feeling was setting strong against their client. “Frank Williams,” as he called the saucy person who bore that name, had entered into the struggle might and main, and was making his customary impressions.
“His fees must be liberal,” continued Timms, “and I should think are in some way dependent on the result; for I never saw the fellow more engaged in my life.”
“This precious Code does allow such a bargain to be madebetween the counsel and his client, or any other bargain that is not downright conspiracy,” returned Dunscomb; “but I do not see what is to be shared, even should Mary Monson be hanged.”
“Do not speak in that manner of so agreeable a person,” cried Timms, actually manifesting emotion—“it is unpleasant to think of. It is true, a conviction will not bring money to the prosecution, unless it should bring to light some of Mrs. Goodwin’s hoards.”
Dunscomb shrugged his shoulders, and his associate proceeded with his narrative. Two of the reporters were offended, and their allusions to the cause, which were almost daily in their respective journals, were ill-natured, and calculated to do great harm, though so far covered as to wear an air of seeming candour. The natural effect of this “constant dropping,” in a community accustomed to refer everything to the common mind, had been “to wear away the stone.” Many of those who, at first, had been disposed to sustain the accused, unwilling to believe that one so young, so educated, so modest in deportment, so engaging in manners, and of the gentler sex, could possibly be guilty of the crimes imputed, were now changing their opinions, under the control of this potent and sinister mode of working on the public sentiment. The agents employed by Timms to counteract this malign influence had failed of their object; they working merely for money, while those of the other side were resenting what they regarded as an affront.
The family of the Burtons, the nearest neighbours of the Goodwins, no longer received Timms with the frank cordiality that they had manifested in the earlier period of his intercourse with them. Then, they had been communicative, eager to tell all that they knew, and, as the lawyer fancied, even a little more; while they were now reserved, uneasy, and indisposed to let one-half of the real facts within their knowledge be known. Timms thought they had been worked upon, and that they might expectsome hostile and important testimony from that quarter. The consultation ended by an exclamation from Dunscomb on the subject of the abuses that were so fast creeping into the administration of justice, rendering the boasted freemen of America, though in a different mode, little more likely to receive its benefit from an unpolluted stream, than they who live under the worn out and confessedly corrupt systems of the old world. Such is the tendency of things, and such one of the ways of thehour.hour.