Two more days have passed, and the crowd collected at Llangorren Court
is larger than ever. But it is not now scattered, nor are people
rushing excitedly about; instead, they stand thickly packed in a close
clump, which covers all the carriage sweep in front of the house. For
the search is over, the lost one has at length been found. Found, when
the flood subsided, and the drag could do its work--_found drowned_!
Not far away, nor yet in the main river; but that narrow channel, deep
and dark, inside the eyot. In a little angular embayment at the cliff's
base, almost directly under the summer-house was the body discovered.
It came to the surface soon as touched by the grappling iron, which
caught in the loose drapery around it. Left alone for another day it
would have risen of itself.
Taken out of the water, and borne away to the house, it is now lying in
the entrance-hall, upon a long table there set centrally.
The hall, though a spacious one, is filled with people; and but for two
policemen stationed at the door would be densely crowded. These have
orders to admit only the friends and intimates of the family, with those
whose duty requires them to be there officially. There is again a
council in deliberation; but not as on days preceding. Then it was to
inquire into what had become of Gwendoline Wynn, and whether she were
still alive; to-day, it is an inquest being held over her dead body!
There lies it, just as it came out of the water. But, oh! how unlike
what it was before being submerged! Those gossamer things, silks and
laces--the dress worn by her at the ball--no more floating and
feather-like, but saturated, mud-stained, "clinging like cerements"
around a form whose statuesque outlines, even in death, show the
perfection of female beauty. And her chrome yellow hair, cast in loose
coils about, has lost its silken gloss, and grown darker in hue: while
the rich rose red is gone from her cheeks, already swollen and
discoloured; so soon had the ruthless water commenced its ravages!
No one would know Gwen Wynn now. Seeing that form prostrate and
pulseless, who could believe it the same, which but a few nights before
was there moving about, erect, lissome, and majestic? Or in that face,
dark and disfigured, who could recognise the once radiant countenance of
Llangorren's young heiress? Sad to contemplate those mute motionless
lips, so late wreathed with smiles, and speaking pleasant words! And
those eyes, dulled with "muddy impurity," that so short while ago shone
bright and gladsome, rejoicing in the gaiety of youth and the glory of
beauty--sparkling, flashing, conquering!
All is different now; her hair dishevelled, her dress disordered and
dripping, the only things upon her person unchanged being the rings on
her fingers, the wrist bracelets, the locket still pendant to her neck--
all gemmed and gleaming as ever, the impure water affecting not their
costly purity. And their presence has a significance, proclaiming an
important fact, soon to be considered.
The Coroner, summoned in haste, has got upon the ground, selected his
jury, and gone through the formularies for commencing the inquest.
These over, the first point to be established is the identification of
the body. There is little difficulty in this; and it is solely through
routine, and for form's sake, that the aunt of the deceased lady, her
cousin, the lady's-maid, and one or two other domestics are submitted to
examination. All testify to their belief that the body before them is
that of Gwendoline Wynn.
Miss Linton, after giving her testimony, is borne off to her room in
hysterics; while Eleanor Lees is led away weeping.
Then succeeds inquiry as to how the death has been brought about;
whether it be a case of suicide or assassination? If murder the motive
cannot have been robbery. The jewellery, of grand value, forbids the
supposition of this, checking all conjecture. And if suicide, why?
That Miss Wynn should have taken her own life--made away with herself--
is equally impossible of belief.
Some time is occupied in the investigation of facts, and drawing
deductions. Witnesses of all classes and kinds thought worth the
calling are called and questioned. Everything already known, or
rumoured, is gone over again, till at length they arrive at the
relations of Captain Ryecroft with the drowned lady. They are brought
out in various ways, and by different witnesses; but only assume a
sinister aspect in the eyes of the jury, on their hearing the tale of
the French _femme de chambre_--strengthened, almost confirmed, by the
incident of that ring found on the floor of the summer-house. The
finder is not there to tell how; but Miss Linton, Miss Lees, and Mr
Musgrave, vouch for the fact at second hand.
The one most wanted is Vivian Ryecroft himself, and next to him the
waterman Wingate. Neither has yet made appearance at Llangorren, nor
has either been heard of. The policeman sent after the last has
returned to report a bootless expedition. No word of the boatman at
Chepstow, nor anywhere else down the river. And no wonder there is not;
since young Powell and his friends have taken Jack's boat beyond the
river's mouth--duck-shooting along the shores of the Severn sea--there
camping out, and sleeping in places far from towns, or stations of the
rural constabulary.
And the first is not yet expected--cannot be. From London George
Shenstone had telegraphed:--"Captain Ryecroft gone to Paris, where he
(Shenstone) would follow him." There has been no _telegram_ later to
know whether the followed has been found. Even if he have, there has
not been time for return from the French metropolis.
Just as this conclusion has been reached by the coroner, his jury, the
justices, and other gentlemen interested in and assisting at the
investigation inside the hall, to the surprise of those on the sweep
without, George Shenstone presents himself in their midst; their excited
movement with the murmur of voices proclaiming his advent. Still
greater their astonishment when, shortly after--within a few seconds--
Captain Ryecroft steps upon the same ground, as though the two had come
thither in companionship! And so might it have been believed, but for
two hotel hackneys seen drawn up on the drive outside the skirts of the
crowd where they delivered their respective fares, after having brought
them separately from the railway station.
Fellow travellers they have been, but whether friends or not, the people
are surprised at the manner of their arrival; or rather, at seeing
Captain Ryecroft so present himself. For in the days just past he has
been the subject of a horrid suspicion, with the usual guesses and
conjectures relating to it and him. Not only has he been freely
calumniated, but doubts thrown out that Ryecroft is his real name, and
denial of his being an officer of the army, or ever having been; with
bold, positive asseveration that he is a swindler and adventurer! All
that while Gwen Wynn was but missing. Now that her body is found, since
its discovery, still harsher have been the terms applied to him; at
length, to culminate, in calling him a murderer!
Instead of voluntarily presenting himself at Llangorren alone, arms and
limbs free, they expected to see him--if seen at all--with a policeman
by his side, and manacles on his wrists!
Astonished, also, are those within the hall, though in a milder degree,
and from different causes. They did not look for the man to be brought
before them handcuffed; but no more did they anticipate seeing him enter
almost simultaneously, and side by side, with George Shenstone; they,
not having the hackney carriages in sight, taking it for granted that
the two have been travelling together.
However strange or incongruous the companionship, those noting have no
time to reflect about it; their attention being called to a scene that,
for a while, fixes and engrosses it.
Going wider apart as they approach the table, on which lies the body,
Shenstone and Ryecroft take opposite sides--coming to a stand, each in
his own attitude. From information already imparted to them they have
been prepared to see a corpse, but not such as that! Where is the
beautiful woman, by both beloved, fondly, passionately? Can it be
possible, that what they are looking upon is she who once was Gwendoline
Wynn?
Whatever their reflections, or whether alike, neither makes them known
in words. Instead, both stand speechless, stunned--withered-like, as
two strong trees simultaneously scathed by lightning--the bolt which has
blasted them lying between!
Volume Two, Chapter XXV.