WOODBURN GRANGE.
WOODBURN GRANGE.
THE MURDER AT THE FERRY.
The circumstances related in our last chapter fearfully aggravated the state of things which had now continued two years: a year after the unfortunate visit of Miss Heritage to London, and nearly ten months after the embarkation of Dr. Leroy for India. The breach between Mr. Trant Drury and Mr. Leonard Woodburn, as well as that between different members of the community, had steadily grown wider and more irrevocable. The irritation of Mr. Woodburn against Mr. Drury had become thus more deeply intensified. As to Mr. Drury himself,he would never seem to recognise any cause of offence between them. He would always accost Mr. Woodburn, when they met, in a somewhat brusque manner, intended to be friendly, though he seldom obtained more than a “good day” from him, and a steady passing on. These occasions of cursory speech, in fact, generally added some fresh touch of irritation to Mr. Woodburn. He regarded this nonchalant and unabashed manner of Mr. Drury’s, when he knew the many offences he had given him, as fresh offence, and proof of a hard and impudent character of mind. Yet, in truth, they were only the result of Mr. Drury’s peculiar temperament, who meant no offence, but only the assertion of what, to him, were unimpeachable truths, that people ought to accept, and, sooner or later, must accept. To Mr. Woodburn, however, the position of Mr. Drury, as a man in much intercourse with the class of gentry round who were so antagonisticto all the political views of himself and most highly esteemed friends, added a deeper feeling to his dislike.
A more painful state of things cannot be conceived. To George Woodburn and Elizabeth Drury it was a state of perpetual torture. Mr. Woodburn wished George to take a house somewhere not far off, get married, and manage the paternal property. He named to him a handsome income, which he would appropriate to him; but George knew that at such a wedding his father would never meet Mr. Drury, and to such a scandal neither he nor Elizabeth would consent. George proposed to take a farm in some distant county, and to be married at some distant place quietly, but he saw that this caused his parents great pain, and though Mr. Drury was quite ready to acquiesce in this plan, George hesitated to take this only possible step for peace.
Such was the state of things when hay-harvestcame round again. Every one thought of that hay-field fête three years ago, at which Mrs. Heritage had foreseen such glooms. And greatly had these fallen. On Fair Manor itself they had fallen. Dr. Leroy had been enveloped by them, and was on the other side the globe, all his fair prospects blighted. Thorsby was away in the wilds of America. Letters to both Mr. Barnsdale and his wife had informed them that he had succeeded in putting his goods in New York into the hands of the house which apprised him of his agent’s elopement; a house with which he had had considerable and satisfactory transaction; that he was starting on the trail of the delinquent, who had gone away in company with a lady, and that he meant to pursue him to the utmost. Since then, only one or two letters had been received from him from the far interior, detailing his still hopeless pursuit, but undiminished determination to persevere to thelast. Letty was bravely working on with the business in Castleborough. Mrs. Thorsby was dead: and little Leonard, growing every day more interesting, was the great consolation of Letty’s life. Over Woodburn Grange lay a dark cloud of care and mortification, only relieved by the marriage of Ann and Sir Henry Clavering, which was at last fixed for the commencement of August, and was to be followed by a tour on the continent.
Once more July brought hay-time. The weather had been cloudy and still, and thus unfavourable to the drying of the hay. One morning Mr. Woodburn was with his work-people in the very hill-field in which the memorable hay-field fête had been held. He was standing, leaning on a rake, just above the hollow road leading down to the river ferry. The wild roses and eglantine flower-bunches were breathing sweetly from one of those luxuriant fences which Mr. Drury desiredto see cut down to a short and rigid ugliness. The hay-makers were driving the hay from beneath the large shadow of hedgerow trees up the side of the field, into the middle, to give it more air and sun, if the sun should look out. At this moment Mr. Drury himself came riding down the lane. “Ah! my friend,” he said; “now you see the nuisance of these tall hedges and trees. You cannot get an atom of sun or breeze to your hay, and you must, with much extra labour, force it into the centre of the field. Even there it will still feel the effect of these barriers against free circulation of air and light.”
Mr. Woodburn showed instantly his great irritation. The blood rushed into his face, and with a dark, stern expression he said, “Mr. Drury, this is insolence—this is intolerable. When I need your advice I will ask for it;” and with that he turned away. Mr. Drury rode on, only saying, with a sort ofhalf laugh of triumph, “Well, good morning, Woodburn.”
“Is there no good fortune,” said Mr. Woodburn, unguardedly, as he turned away, “which will turn up to rid this country of that nuisance of a man, of his cursed pride, and conceited meddling with everybody’s business?” He began working away with his rake, and it might be seen for a long time after that he was still thinking on thismal-à-propossalutation of Mr. Drury.
Four days later Mr. Woodburn returned home to tea. He had been across Wink’s Ferry, to his hay meadows on the other side the river, where he had many people at work. The weather had cleared up, and a more lovely evening never lay calmly shining over the summer earth. Mrs. Woodburn had the tea set out in the arbour in the garden, and she and her husband, George and Ann, were quietly enjoying it, and the sweetness of the garden around. The bees werehumming on the sunlit flowers, the sulphur and red butterflies were wavering here and there in the clear air; the roses and wallflowers, after the late shadowy weather and occasional showers, were pouring forth their delicious odours, which came wafted in at door and window of the summer-house.
George and his father were talking of the harvest, and of the arrangements for carrying the hay on the morrow, and the number of people who should be at work in the home fields, and the number in the meadows over the river, when, at once, came Betty Trapps, running like a maniac, from the house. Her face was a face of death in hue and terror. Her eyes seemed starting from her head.
“Mester! Mester! George!” she cried, wildly, shriekingly. “There’s Mester Drury’s horse gone up the village, all over wet and sludge, with his saddle turned, the reins under his feet; and there’s a cry Mr. Drury’s drowned!”
“Oh, Mercy!” exclaimed the ladies, starting up in horror. “Oh! God have mercy, and send it be not so!”
George ran headlong from the place, and Mr. Woodburn followed him, saying, “Be quiet, women! be quiet! it is only a fancy. I saw Mr. Drury but half an hour ago, at a distance, among his haymakers. He may be thrown, but not drowned.”
George meantime was out in front of the house, and saw several men trying to stop the horse, which was evidently much excited. “Stop him!” cried George. “Don’t let the horse run to the farm, it will cause the ladies such fright!”
He was glad to see that the men had succeeded in seizing the fallen reins. They patted and soothed the alarmed horse, and brought him back. George saw that he had evidently had a violent struggle in the river. He was covered with mud and gravel. The saddle was turned under his chest, and wastorn and scratched. The poor horse trembled with terror in every limb. George bade the man put it into the stable, and wash and clean it well; and he sent another man up the road to prevent anyone carrying the news to Bilts’ Farm till the reality was known. He then ran down to the Ferry. There were already several men and women there as well as Mr. Woodburn. The ferry-boat was drawn to this side of the river, but it betrayed no marks of any kind which could clear up the mystery. Mr. Drury was nowhere to be seen; but on searching down the bank to a little distance, the place was found where the horse had reached it, evidently from the river, and had struggled his way up it to the land.
“Did no one see what took place at the boat when Mr. Drury came over?” said Mr. Woodburn. “I came over myself only half an hour ago, and then Mr. Drury was with his people in the meadow on horseback.”
No one had seen it. The people presentwere his own people, who had seen the horse come galloping up the lane by the hill-field from the ferry, and some had gone to stop the horse, and some ran down here. Soon there were many other people assembled. Those in the meadow had caught the rumour, and there was a general running to the ferry. The river was hunted down on both sides to some distance, but without effect. The ferry-boat was then loosed from the chain, poles were cut to steer it by, and a careful search was made down the stream, George Woodburn assisting most anxiously in the exploration, whilst the rest of the crowd accompanied the boat along each bank. Long was the search, but in vain; but, on pushing the boat up the stream again, and within five yards of the ferry, it struck on something soft, and, on looking into the clear water, it was seen to be the body of Mr. Drury. Great was the horror at the discovery. Several men jumped into the stream,which was shallow, and drew forth the corpse, and laid it streaming on the boat. What a sight was that! The well-known tall figure of Mr. Drury, in his well-known blue lapelled coat, pale yellow waistcoat, kerseymere small-clothes, and smart top-boots. His riding-whip was still clenched in his right hand.
“Is it possible, then,” asked Mr. Woodburn, “that no one saw anything of this sad catastrophe? Was no one about when Mr. Drury came to the ferry?” Not a soul had seen him at the ferry; not a soul had been seen about it at the time. “They saw Mr. Woodburn go to the ferry,” the haymakers said, “and in awhile after, Mr. Drury ride towards the ferry, too. That was all that they knew.”
“It is very strange,” said Mr. Woodburn. “The question is, how it can have happened? Can the horse have taken alarm as Mr. Drury was pulling at the chain, and kicked him, or pushed him in by backing? A doctor must be fetched in all haste. Hecannot revive him, but he may throw some light on the mysterious occurrence. The body must not be moved till he comes, nor anything about him touched.”
A guard of trusty men was set over the body and boat, and George Woodburn went off to fetch the doctor. The character of the men set over the body on the boat, which was put off to midstream, and the number of spectators on each bank, was sufficient guarantee that no interference with the corpse would take place. Mr. Woodburn, therefore, slowly returned homewards. George, meantime, had ordered his horse, and, with a heart overwhelmed with grief and consternation, had gone to his mother and sister, who were in a condition not to be described.
“But,” said George, “there is a duty that some one must perform—a—a terrible duty; it is to break this awful event to the Drurys. I confess that I am unequal to it, and I must away for the doctor. You,dear mother and sister, cannot bear it.” Both the ladies shook their heads and groaned in agony. “No, no,” said Ann, “impossible.” There was but one person whom George could think of to perform this awful duty, and it must be done at once, or it would reach Bilts’ Farm by a side way—it was Betty Trapps. But Betty at first stoutly refused; she was herself lost in tears and prayers, and said she would sooner be drowned too than carry such ill-tidings. But when she saw George’s distress she said, “Well, what must be, must be,” and at once put on her bonnet and shawl and set out. Betty walked on, wrapped up in her trouble, and making one long prayer the whole way; but how she did it and how she bore it she said afterwards she did not know, but one thing she did know, that nothing should ever induce her to do such an errand, and see such a stunning misery burst upon innocent, loving heads again.
The news of such an event flies fast, and when the doctor came with George from Castleborough, for there was none nearer, there was a great crowd of men, women, and children surrounding the ferry, and a hundred different speculations were passing from mouth to mouth as to the catastrophe George Woodburn’s horse showed, by his reeking skin and panting flanks, at what a rate he had ridden, and the doctor’s smoking horse at what a rate they had returned.
A solemn silence fell over the crowd as the doctor and George walked through it, and beckoning the boat to the shore, entered upon it, and then had it put back a little from the bank again. The doctor had the drowned man’s vest opened; no wound or bruise was apparent; he drew off his hat, which still, though battered down, was upon his head. A gush of congealing blood followed it, and the hair was matted with gore.
“There is the mischief,” said the surgeon.He had a large basin of water brought, washed the head well, and examined it.
“By whatever done,” he said, “the blow is behind. Can it be a kick from his horse? I think not. It does not show the cut of the sharp edge of a horse-shoe, but looks like the blow of some blunt instrument, or of a cudgel. Can he have struck his head in falling on the edge of the boat?” He shook his head thoughtfully. “I think not: but let us examine his pockets; that may indicate whether there has been any robbery in the case.”
That the watch of the deceased had not been taken was evident to them all. It was still attached to its gold chain, and in the fob of his small-clothes waistband, as watches were then worn. From his coat pockets were produced his handkerchief, his spectacles, a knife of many blades, comb, and other things. There was found gold and silver untouched in his purse, and in the breast-pocket hispocket-book, containing some bank-notes of high value, and two or three acceptances just coming due, as if he had put them in his pocket to go to the bank to receive their contents.
“Nothing here,” said the doctor, “warrants the suspicion of any robbery; the thing is a mystery which time and inquiry may clear up. The body must be conveyed to the Grey Goose public-house for the inspection of the inquest to-morrow; let an exact list of the articles found upon the body be made, and kept by Mr. George Woodburn, and I will produce these, the money, purse, pocket-book, watch, &c., to the coroner to-morrow.”
With that the doctor and George Woodburn returned to the village. The doctor took his leave, and the body, laid on a door and covered with a bed-quilt, was carried to the public-house, followed by the silent crowd.
It may be imagined what a sensation this event created, not only in Woodburn but inthe country far round, and also in Castleborough. Mr. Trant Drury had made himself a man of too much mark to pass out of the world in this sudden and mysterious manner without producing a great shock in the public mind, and the circumstances of his death were too peculiar not to excite the faculties of wonder and curiosity in an extreme degree.
The coroner and doctor duly appeared at the Grey Goose about eleven o’clock the next day. A jury was got together from amongst the neighbouring farmers, including Mr. Howell Crusoe, the schoolmaster, as a man of superior intelligence. All the circumstances already related were reviewed, the doctor produced the purse, watch, pocket-book, &c., and gave his view as to the wound on the back of the head not being made by a kick of the horse; a thorough examination of the corpse showed no other injury. The jury then adjourned to the ferry, examined theboat, the bank where the horse had got out of the river, and had the spot pointed out to them where the body was found in it, which was still marked by a pole which one of the men thrust down at the time.
On the return to the Grey Goose, the evidence of Mr. Woodburn, of George Woodburn, and a number of the hay-makers, both from the hill-field and from beyond the river, was taken, all of which went only to show that nothing more was known than that Mr. Drury was seen alive and quite well in the hay-fields till about half an hour after Mr. Woodburn left the same meadow and passed over the same ferry. No one had witnessed the crossing, at least no one who could be found or heard of, and there were no evidences of any robbery having been perpetrated. The occurrence had taken place on a fine, bright, calm evening of July. The coroner asked whether any one was known to have any feud or had evinced any spiritof resentment towards Mr. Drury. Perhaps not a man there who was of the neighbourhood into whose mind did not flash at that question the fact that Mr. Woodburn was known to have a great dislike to Mr. Drury, and the labourers in the hill-field thought of the words of Mr. Woodburn but four days previously, namely, querying why some good fortune did not remove that troublesome man from the neighbourhood, attended with expressions of great vexation; but that Mr. Woodburn, that man of ancient honour and quiet virtues, should have had any hand in such an atrocity was an idea too wild to be dwelt upon. All were silent on that head. The jury continued in discussion on the cause of Mr. Drury’s death, and yet, at length, swayed by the words used by the surgeon, came to a verdict of “Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.”
It is impossible for any pen to describe the deep and strange feeling which rested on thepeople, both gentle and simple, in the country round and in Castleborough on this sad and mysterious event. The violent death of so strong and active a man as Mr. Trant Drury, in passing that quiet ferry, never before stained by any human blood or witness to any human crime, on one of the loveliest evenings of summer, in brightest sunshine, and within a few hundred yards of Woodburn village. It would be equally impossible to express the great distress which existed within Woodburn Grange—the still more agonising and horrified affliction of the wife and daughter of the deceased. Vast crowds assembled to witness the funeral of the man so lately in fullest life, and a strange shiver of mysterious awe and wonder seemed to hang over the whole assembly, and as these crowds dispersed, to fall more profoundly on Woodburn and its neighbouring fields. Immediately after the funeral, Elizabeth Drury and her mother left Bilts’ Farm, and went toreside amongst their relatives in Yorkshire. Sad and silent was their departure. Elizabeth wrote short and most affecting notes of adieu to her dear friends—the Woodburns and the Heritages—saying that they could not bear to see any whom they loved so much. Yet George and Elizabeth had had a most heartrending interview, and he had begged earnestly and passionately that they would not give up the idea of some day, when their feelings were more calm, coming once more amongst them. He offered to overlook the farm, left in the hands of the bailiff, till they should determine ultimately what to do; and so it was left.
After this, a calm seemed to fall on the neighbourhood and over this event; but this calm was only apparent. The subject was discussed everywhere,—in the Grey Goose amongst its evening circle; in the fields and woods by the workmen; in the cottages amongst the women; at the smithy, at JobLatter’s, where the patriarchs of the village often congregated to talk with him whilst he modelled a horse-shoe, or sharpened a ploughshare or a pick. But no inquiries, nor all the talk on the affair, had thrown, after many weeks, a single ray of light upon it. The doctor’s opinion that there had been foul play in the matter seemed to be finally that of every one, but no one had seen any person or persons about the ferry at that time. The subject was agitated in the neighbourhood, and a reward of two hundred pounds was offered by the family for the discovery of the supposed murderer or murderers. To this the Government, at the representation of the lord-lieutenant of the county, added another hundred. The constables, and many another person fond of gain, urged inquiries far and wide. Repeated visits to the ferry were made, and conjectures there thrown out of how the event might have happened accidentally or otherwise, butthey produced nothing like a ray of elucidation.
As these things and discussions went on, Mr. Woodburn began to manifest considerable uneasiness, and he suddenly said one day, as the matter was spoken of:—“You will see, they will say at last that it was I who did it.”
“Oh, God forbid!” exclaimed both Mrs. Woodburn and Ann. “What are you saying? For heaven’s sake do not utter so horrid, so ridiculous an idea.”
“Well, you will see,” continued Mr. Woodburn, “that they will lay the crime on me; and I would have you prepare for it. I was the last man who passed that way before Mr. Drury that evening; and not long before him; no mortal can be found to have witnessed how Mr. Drury came to his death; and as the public mind, following the doctor, insists on a murder—well then, I am the man who stands in closest proximity to the event.”
Mr. Woodburn might have added the unfortunate words which he used in the hayfield in the hearing of at least half a dozen men and women; but he would not add to the horror of the idea he had started to his wife and children. Their alarm was great, though they treated any imputation on such a man as their father and husband as the most impossible and ridiculous of suppositions. George said thoughtfully, but yet with a tone of melancholy, “Your character, dear father, is enough to protect you from a dozen of such charges. It will never be made; if it were, it can never be proved; because it is clear no mortal saw the transaction, and it is still more certain thatyounever did it.”
“Of course not,” said Mr. Woodburn; “I am not such a fool, if I were even such a villain.”
But not many weeks elapsed, before the worst fears of Mr. Woodburn were realised.The “Castleborough Chronicle,” the conservative journal of the county, and in which the influence of the Bullockshed, Tenterhook, and Swagsides class, and that of a much higher and nobler, the influence of the best aristocracy of the county, prevailed, had a startling article. It observed that the continued absence of any evidence of the perpetration of the crime of murder at Wink’s Ferry, after much and vigorous inquiry, led them to revert to that mysterious fact, by which a man of much eminence and activity in the county had somehow lost his life. An event of so much importance to the security of society, demanded that it should not be suffered to drift away into oblivion, without the turning of every stone which might possibly elicit the hidden and gloomy truth: and however painful it might be to prosecute the inquiries on the subject into quarters otherwise most respectable, and, therefore, unlikely, impartial justice, and the dearest interests of the public,made it imperative to endeavour to fathom the mystery, even though in the process some most estimable minds might be intensely pained.
After this preamble, the article went on to say that it was well known that the late Mr. Trant Drury, by his bold innovations and novel theories of agriculture, and it might be added, by an enthusiasm which led him sometimes to be a little too unceremonious to the long-cherished ideas of others, had made a number of enemies; or, if that term were too strong, of persons animated by no concealed resentment towards him. His introduction of machinery and other causes had made him unpopular amongst the class of agricultural labourers; but the inquiries of the police had resulted in the clearest and most positive demonstration that every man and woman of that class, for many miles round, could be shown to have been at some particular place at the hour of this catastrophe,and nearly all of them at work in the presence of numerous others.
Now, this well ascertained fact compelled them to acquit this class of the community; and to look whether there might be any member or members of Mr. Drury’s own class who might have an ill-feeling towards him, or a motive to wish him out of the way. They were very sensible of the delicate ground on which they were entering; but the paramount interests of truth and humanity required that they should wave all considerations of delicacy or respect; and they were bound to declare that there was a gentleman and near neighbour of the late Mr. Drury, who had shown a strong antagonism to him, which was well known to have gone on strengthening through a lengthened period; and who, only a few days before this lamentable event took place, had publicly, and with signs of much feeling, expressed a wish that some cause could remove Mr. Drury from theneighbourhood. The gentleman referred to was a man of wealth and position, a man of old family, of great classical attainments, it was said, and of a character against which, hitherto, not a shadow of a shade of suspicion of any kind could be brought. On the contrary, he had always borne the most honourable and admirable reputation. Yet such were the anomalies of life and human nature, that it was not impossible but that to such a man, some sudden contact and words of disagreement might have occurred, and that in a moment of sudden anger, he might have raised his hand and done, what even to himself an hour before, would have seemed utterly impossible.
They did not presume to say that any such thing had taken place; this gentleman, honoured and beloved as he was, must be regarded as innocent till he was fully proved to be otherwise; but they would submit that had any poor man lain under the same complicationof circumstances, had long entertained unfriendly feelings against the deceased—they did not yet say murdered gentleman—had he expressed an angry wish for the removal of the deceased only a few days previous, and were he the last person seen near the scene of the catastrophe, nothing could have prevented him long ago being summoned to a legal examination on that head. They thought the gentleman, if innocent, as they sincerely hoped he was, must himself desire such an inquiry for the vindication of his fair fame.
It may be imagined that the sensation created by this article was intense. What its effect was on the inhabitants of Woodburn Grange, lies not within the compass of human language. Terror, grief, distraction, astonishment, were blended into one crushing and prostrating feeling. It was now that Mrs. Woodburn and her daughters for the first time learned that Mr. Woodburn, in the hay-field,had used those unfortunate words towards Mr. Drury in a moment of irritation. George had heard of them before, and they had lain on his heart with a deadly weight. Of his father’s incapability of committing such a crime, under any circumstances, he had the same assurance as he had of his own. He cast it away from him as ridiculous: but he foresaw that they would excite much prejudice, and occasion much trouble under the circumstances. He received a letter from Elizabeth Drury, expressing her horror and indignation at such a frightful imputation or even suspicion on his father. “Never! never! never! would she believe it. She would answer for Mr. Woodburn with her own existence; but the cruel aspersions, and the misery and trouble that must arise out of it, had,” she said, “added fresh poignancy to her former grief.”
Words of indignation and of tender sympathy poured in from friends all around, andassurances of any aid that could in any way be given in defence against such a charge. Sir Henry Clavering came in haste to express his unbounded grief and resentment of such an impossible and unsupportable accusation. But instant steps, he said, must be taken to change the current of public opinion. He was on his way to secure an able refutation of the article in the paper of opposite politics. This article appeared the following week, and denounced so abominable a libel on the character of a man of the highest and most unimpeachable reputation for all that was good and kind, and against whom there was not a particle of evidence to support such a foul charge. Words of petty difference of opinion between gentlemen might, and did, frequently arise, but none but fools, considering the character of the speaker, would attach any serious import to them. Sir Henry did not wait for the issue of the paper, but that very day had the walls of thetown placarded by bills, expressing the same energetic sentiments in different words.
But the intention sufficiently manifested in the “Chronicle” article, was, notwithstanding, carried out, and in a few days afterwards a couple of constables presented themselves at Woodburn Grange, with a mission no less astounding than that of the apprehension of Mr. Leonard Woodburn, on a suspicion of murder; and amid a scene of distress only to be imagined, he was conveyed in his own carriage to the county court justice-room in Castleborough, to answer under warrant to this charge.