THE TRUTH AT LAST.
"It is not impossible," said Geoffrey, thunderstruck.
Mrs. Marshall shook her head. "So possible that I always thought so
myself," she said.
"My own idea was the same," remarked Mr. Cass, who was the third person
of the party now assembled in Mr. Heron's library. "I have told you
several times, Geoffrey, that I believed Mrs. Jenner to be guilty."
The young man drew a long breath. Even now he could scarcely credit the
news. "So she really did kill her husband?"
"There can be no doubt about it," said Mr. Cass, pointing to an envelope
lying on the table. "There is a copy of her confession! She signed it
in the presence of the chaplain and the governor of the gaol."
It was the morning after the burning down of the Turnpike House that
this conversation took place. Information that two charred bodies had
been found among the ruins had led Geoffrey to believe that Jerry had
perished along with Job. Stephen had informed him on the previous
night that the creature had made his escape, and no pursuit had been
attempted. There was no doubt in Geoffrey's mind that Jerry had gone to
see Job at the Turnpike House; but why he should have done so, and why
it had come about that he and the gypsy should have met their deaths
together, he could not think. Nor was the mystery ever cleared up.
But if the death of Jerry remained a mystery that of Jenner did not.
Towards noon Mr. Cass made his appearance together with his sister to
see Mr. Heron. After some little talk about the fire, Geoffrey detailed
what had been confessed to him on the previous night.
"How did it all come about?" he asked now.
"That's what I want to know," said Inez. "Sebastian has told me nothing
beyond the bare fact as yet."
"Because I want to tell the story once and for all, and then put it out
of my mind," said her brother, solemnly. "You see, Heron, my sister and
you both know all about this case. What you have told us about Jerry
Hutt's visit supplies the last link which brings the crime home to Mrs.
Jenner. I am not going to tell anyone else how the murder took place.
I have asked the governor and the chaplain not to tell Neil the truth
when he goes up for the funeral. He has had enough trouble, poor boy;
I, for one, do not want him to have any more. He believes now that his
mother is innocent----"
"Oh, indeed!" interrupted Mrs. Marshall, with a haughty curl of her
lip. "And who does he believe guilty?"
"Job, the gypsy. He thinks that the man set fire to the Turnpike House
and destroyed himself, so as to escape the penalty of his crime. I
think it only merciful that he should be allowed to remain under that
impression."
"I quite agree with you," said Heron, heartily. "And you, Mrs.
Marshall?"
She bowed her head. "I have no ill-will towards the young man, although
I hated his mother. But she has gone to her account, so I will say no
more about her. As to Neil Webster, as he calls himself----"
"And will continue to call himself," interposed Mr. Cass, sternly.
"I will say nothing to him," continued Mrs. Marshall, taking no notice
of this interruption. "I do not wish to visit the sins of the parents
upon the children; but with one parent murdered and the other parent
a murderess, I don't see how the young man can turn out well. And I
sincerely hope that he will not marry that unfortunate Jenny Brawn."
"If he asks her to marry him, she will not accept him blindly," said
Mr. Cass, "for I intended to tell her the whole story--suppressing the
fact that Mrs. Jenner was guilty."
"That is well," put in Geoffrey. "But I should like to hear the story
of Mrs. Jenner's crime."
"I can tell it to you in a few words," said Mr. Cass. "The clerk's tale
has brought the story up to the time when Jenner flung himself on the
child. Well, Mrs. Jenner heard his cry, and rushed down into the room.
Jenner was mad with rage at the uncanny hatred shewn to him by his own
son, and had him by the hair of the head, shaking him as a terrier
does a rat. Mrs. Jenner rushed at him--she thought he would kill the
child--they struggled, and he struck her. While this was going on she
found herself near the table, and seeing the knife, blindly snatched
it up, throwing her husband to one side. Then, clutching the child to
her breast and holding out the knife to keep off the infuriated man,
she tried to make her escape from the house. But Jenner was blind with
fury, both against the child and against his wife who had instilled
such hatred into the mind of the boy. He rushed at her; she cried out
that she was holding the knife, but he took no notice of her, and ran
up against the blade, which buried itself in his heart. He fell, and
his wife fainted with the insensible child in her arms. It was when
she came to herself some time afterwards that she recalled what she
had done. But it was by accident that she had killed him--and this she
swore most solemnly; she denied that she had ever intended murder. Then
she fled from the house into the darkness until she fell insensible
under a hedge. The rest you know."
Mrs. Marshall laughed again at this account. "I believe she killed him
on purpose," she said.
"She had every reason to do it," Mr. Cass said, coldly, "but all the
same, I believe she has spoken the truth. Jenner died by accident."
"If this is so," said Geoffrey, slowly, "and I see no reason to
disbelieve it, why did Mrs. Jenner tell Neil that she had killed his
father?"
"I asked her that, and her answer was that she was afraid, if Neil
reopened the case, some evidence might be brought forward to prove that
she had really committed the murder. She had told her son that she was
innocent, and she did not wish him to learn the truth. It was only on
my giving a promise not to tell him that she consented to make the
confession. She wants him to think of her only as a mother who loved
him--not as a murderess."
"Humph!" remarked Geoffrey, doubtfully. "A queer way of shewing her
love, to put it into the head of an imaginative neurotic creature like
Neil that he himself was guilty!"
"It will not do him any harm," said Mr. Cass. "I don't pretend to say
that I approve of her clearing her own name at the expense of Neil's
peace of mind: but it is not for us to judge, and before she died she
repented of having made that statement."
"Did she know how the red pocket-book was stolen?" asked Geoffrey,
abruptly.
"No; she had been so busy struggling with Jenner for possession of the
child, she said, that she took no notice of anyone at the window. That
was why Jerry, as you say, was able to put his hand in and take the
book. It was lucky for the clearing-up of the case that Jenner had sewn
the bill inside the toy horse. If Roper had got hold of it, he would
have made it hot for Marshall. He hates him like poison on account
of----"
"I have heard enough of that story," interrupted Mrs. Marshall, "and
you seem to forget, Sebastian, that if the bill had really been in the
pocket-book I should have got it through Job. I am tired of it all. I
hope it is all ended for ever."
"Yes, Inez. You will hear no more about it. In a few days Mrs. Jenner
and her story will be buried, and we will all try and forget the past.
Neil must never know."
"I shall not tell him."
"Nor I," said Mrs. Marshall, with, for her, remarkable generosity. "No
one knows the truth but ourselves, and we will keep silence. What about
those poor wretches who have been burnt?"
"Well, Geoffrey must tell how Jerry Hutt came to see him, and in some
way we must prove the remains to be his. After all, the corpse--what is
left of it--may not be Jerry!"
"I think it is," said Heron. "Indeed, I am certain of it. I expect he
and Job got quarrelling about the bill, and Job set fire to the house
in order to burn them both. Jerry did not burn willingly, I am sure of
that. Job no doubt detained him in the burning house until it was too
late."
Mrs. Marshall shuddered. Job, indeed, was wicked, as well she knew. But
now she was relieved from his blackmailing, and had only her husband
to deal with. And she resolved--now that she was in possession of the
bill--to make short work of him. Her thoughts still seemed inclined to
separation and the Romish Church.
"Well, good-bye, Geoffrey," Mr. Cass said, shaking hands. "I hope
your ankle will soon be right. Ruth is coming over to see you. But,
remember, not a word to her."
"Not a word," said the young man. "But I say, Cass, if I were you
I should burn that copy of the confession. The original, in the
possession of the authorities, will be sufficient to prove Mrs.
Jenner's guilt should anyone else be accused, which is not likely after
all. Burn it."
"I intend to do so." And Mr. Cass dropped the document into the fire.
"I only brought it back so that you might be sure she was guilty. Ah,
it is in ashes already! I wish we could get rid of all our painful
memories so easily!" But to the end of my life I shall never forget
this case. And these were the last words they spoke on the subject,
for both Mr. Cass and Geoffrey ever afterwards carefully avoided all
mention of it. Nor was there even the Turnpike House to remind them of
the tragedy, for it had been burnt to the ground. And Mr. Heron had the
site ploughed and enclosed in the field adjoining; so that the next
year corn waved where the blood-stained habitation had stood.
Mrs. Marshall carried out her intention of separating from her husband;
she gave him a portion of her money, and made him a present of the
forged bill, and he betook himself and his money to Paris. Neil
buried his mother and mourned her for many months. Then he made his
reappearance in public, and was more successful than ever. Now that
time was healing his wounds, he began to think about his future, and
the first thing he did was to ask Jennie Brawn to share it with him.
She, poor girl, accepted him with joy; and at once sent the good news
to Ruth. Mr. Cass thereupon went up to London, and called upon the
girl at his daughter's house, for she was still teaching Mrs. Chisel's
children. He told her the whole story, not thinking it fair that she
should marry Neil in ignorance of the truth. And at first she was
horrified; but declared that nothing could alter her determination to
marry him.
"I love him," she said, and that was all.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
The strange story of the burning of the two men, and that of the murder
which had taken place in the same house twelve years before is even now
often told by winter firesides. But few know the truth, that the mother
of Neil Webster, the famous violinist, was the guilty person in the
tragedy of the Turnpike House. The truth was disclosed to Mr. Cass, to
Geoffrey Heron, to Mrs. Marshall, and to the Governor of Gaol, and the
chaplain. But as for this story it is told with other names; and the
scene is laid fifty miles from the real locality.
[THE END.]