A MIDNIGHT SCENE OF MYSTERY.
"Well," said Quentin to his fellow-domestics, as they were sitting at
breakfast in the servants' hall, "the Honourable Mr. Vernon is by no
means the most agreeable gentleman that ever set foot in this house; but
his valet beats any thing I ever saw in the same shape."
"Did you ever see such a countenance?" exclaimed one of the maids. "I am
sure it was not for his good looks that Mr. Vernon could have chosen
him."
"He is just the kind of person that I should not like to meet in a lane
in a dark night," observed another member of the female branch of
dependants.
"He certainly cannot help his looks," said Quentin: "but heaven knows
they tell amazingly against him."
"And what I think somewhat extraordinary," remarked the butler, "is that
just now I found him in my pantry, balancing the silver spoons at the
end of his finger, as if to tell the weight of them. So I quietly
informed him that my pantry was sacred; and he took himself off with a
very ill grace."
"Did you notice him last night, after supper," said the first maid who
had spoken, "when we got talking about the disappearance of Lydia
Hutchinson with my lady's casket of jewels, how eagerly he joined in the
conversation, and how many questions he asked?"
"Yes, to be sure I did," returned another female servant: "he was as
curious about the matter as if Lydia was his own sister, or daughter, or
sweetheart. He wanted to learn how long ago it happened—how we knew that
she had run away with the casket—and all about it; and then, when we
told him what we thought of the matter, he cross-questioned us as if he
was a counsel and we were witnesses at a trial. But I wonder who this
widow is that came last night, and seems so intimate with my lady."
"She's a very genteel person," said Quentin; "and seems to know how to
treat servants, as if she had a great many of her own. You can always
tell the true breed of people by the way they behave to servants."
"I'm decidedly of your opinion, Mr. Quentin," observed a footman. "A
true gentleman or true lady always says '_Thank you_,' when you hand
them any thing at table, and so on. But it seems that my lady is very
unwell this morning; for she and her new friend had their breakfast in
my lady's own chamber."
"And the nurse and child are to remain altogether in my lady's private
suite of apartments," added one of the females. "Does any one know the
name of my lady's friend?"
"Mrs. Beaufort, I think the lady's-maid said," replied Quentin. "But
here comes James White."
And James White did accordingly enter the servants' hall at that moment
in the person of the Resurrection Man; for by the former name was he now
pleased to pass at Ravensworth Hall.
"Been taking a walk, Mr. White?" said Quentin, as Tidkins seated himself
at the breakfast-table.
"Yes—just looking about the grounds a little," was the answer. "Handsome
building this—fine park—beautiful gardens."
"It _is_ a handsome building, Mr. White," said Quentin; "and as
commodious as it is handsome."
"Very commodious," returned the Resurrection Man. "Nice snug little
private door, too, at the southern end," he added with a strange leer.
"Why, that was the very door that Lydia Hutchinson decamped by, when she
ran off with my lady's jewels," exclaimed one of the maids.
"Ah—indeed!" said the Resurrection Man, carelessly. "And wasn't her
ladyship cut up at the loss of the jewels?"
"Somewhat so," was the female servant's answer. "But my lady is too rich
to care very much about that."
"And was there no blue-bot—police-case, I mean, made of it?" asked
Tidkins.
"None," replied the maid. "My lady possesses too good a heart to wish to
punish even those who most wrong her."
"A very excellent trait in her character," observed the Resurrection
Man, as he deliberately made terrific inroads upon the bread and butter
and cold meat. "Was her ladyship at the Hall when that young woman
bolted?"
"No: she had gone to London early in the morning of the very same day.
But there's my lady's bell."
And the female servant who had been thus conversing with the
Resurrection Man, hastened to answer the summons.
In a few minutes she returned, saying, "Mr. Quentin, you are wanted in
the little parlour opposite my lady's room."
The valet repaired to the apartment named, where Eliza Sydney was
waiting for him.
Motioning him to close the door, she said in a low but earnest tone,
"Lady Ravensworth informs me that you were devoted to your late master:
doubtless you are equally well disposed towards his unprotected and
almost friendless wife?"
"If there is any way, madam, in which my fidelity can be put to the
test, I shall be well pleased," was the reply.
"In a word, then," continued Eliza, "your mistress and the infant heir
are in danger; and it behoves you to aid me in defeating the
machinations of their enemies. After what I have now said, are your
suspicions in no way excited?"
"I confess, madam," answered Quentin, "that the presence of a certain
person in this house——"
"You allude to the Honourable Mr. Vernon," exclaimed Eliza; "and you are
right! He has domiciled himself here without invitation—without apparent
motive; and he is attended by an individual capable of any atrocity."
"Mr. Vernon's valet?" said Quentin, interrogatively.
"The same," was the reply. "But I dare not explain myself more fully at
present. What I now require of you is to watch all the proceedings of
Mr. Vernon and his attendant, and report to me whatever you may think
worthy of observation."
"I will not fail to do so, madam," returned Quentin.
"And now I have to request you to give me a small portion of the tobacco
which the late Lord Ravensworth was accustomed to use," continued Eliza;
"and the remainder you must carefully conceal in some secure place, as
it may some day be required for inspection elsewhere."
"Your directions shall all be implicitly attended to," said Quentin.
"But might I be permitted to ask whether you are aware, madam, that the
tobacco was sent to Lord Ravensworth by Mr. Vernon?"
"It is my knowledge of that fact which induced me to give those
instructions concerning the weed—_the fatal weed_," replied Eliza,
significantly.
"Ah! madam—I also have had my suspicions on that head!" exclaimed
Quentin, who perfectly understood the lady's meaning. "I hinted those
suspicions to the medical gentleman who attended my lord in his last
moments; and he had the tobacco analysed by a skilful chemist;—but the
result did not turn out as I had expected."
"Lady Ravensworth has already mentioned this fact to me," said Eliza: "I
have, however, conceived a means of submitting the weed to a better
test. But of this and other subjects I will speak to you more fully
hereafter."
Quentin withdrew to fetch a small sample of the tobacco, with which he
shortly re-appeared. Eliza renewed her injunctions to watch the
movements of Vernon and his valet; and then hastened to rejoin Lady
Ravensworth.
The day passed without the occurrence of any thing worth relating; but
in the evening one or two little circumstances in the conduct of Mr.
Vernon's valet struck the now watchful Quentin as being somewhat
peculiar.
In the first place, Tidkins sought an excuse to lounge into the kitchen
at a moment when the servants belonging to that department of the
household were temporarily absent; and Quentin, who followed him
unperceived, was not a little astonished when he saw the Resurrection
Man hastily conceal three large meat-hooks about his person.
There were some silver forks and spoons lying on the table; but these
Tidkins did not touch. It was consequently apparent to Quentin that Mr.
Vernon's valet did not self-appropriate the meat-hooks for the sake of
their paltry value: it was clear that he required them for some
particular purpose.
"What, in the name of common sense! can he possibly want with
meat-hooks?" was the question which the astonished Quentin put to
himself.
Conjecture was vain; but the incident determined him to continue to
watch Mr. Vernon's valet very closely.
When the hour for retiring to rest arrived, a female servant offered
Tidkins a chamber candlestick; but he requested to be provided with a
lantern, saying with a carelessness which Quentin perceived to be
affected, "The truth is, I'm fond of reading in bed; and as a candle is
dangerous, I prefer a lantern."
Quentin alone suspected the truth of this statement. He, however, said
nothing. The lantern was given to Tidkins; and the servants separated
for the night.
It so happened that the bed-room allotted to the Resurrection Man was in
the same passage as that tenanted by Quentin. Suspecting that Tidkins
required the lantern for some purpose to be executed that night, Quentin
crept along the passage, and peeped through the key-hole of the other's
chamber.
He was enabled to command a good view of the interior of that room, the
key not being in the lock; and he beheld Tidkins busily engaged in
fastening the meat-hooks to a stout stick about a foot and a half long.
The Resurrection Man next took the cord which had secured his trunk, and
tied one end round the middle of the stick. He then wound the cord round
the stick, apparently to render this singular apparatus more
conveniently portable.
This being done, Tidkins put off his suit of bran new black, and dressed
himself in a more common garb, which he took from his trunk.
When he had thus changed his clothes, he secured the stick, with the
cord and meat-hooks, about his person.
"This is most extraordinary!" thought Quentin to himself. "He is
evidently going out. But what is he about to do? what can all this
mean?"
The valet's bewilderment was increased when he beheld the Resurrection
Man take a pair of pistols from his trunk, deliberately charge them with
powder and ball, and then consign them to his pocket.
"What _can_ he mean?" was the question which Quentin repeated to himself
a dozen times in a minute.
The bell on the roof of the mansion now proclaimed the hour of midnight;
and Tidkins, having suddenly extinguished the candle in the lantern,
made a motion as if he were about to leave the room.
Quentin accordingly retreated a few yards up the passage, which was
quite dark.
Almost immediately afterwards, he heard the door of Tidkins' room open
cautiously: then it was closed again, and the sharp click of a key
turning in a lock followed.
Tidkins was now stealing noiselessly down the passage, little suspecting
that any one was occupied in dogging him. He descended the stairs,
gained the servants' offices, and passed out of the mansion by a back
door.
But Quentin was on his track.
The night was almost as dark as pitch; and the valet had the greatest
difficulty in following the steps of the Resurrection Man without
approaching him so closely as to risk the chance of being overheard.
From time to time Tidkins stopped—evidently to listen; and then Quentin
stood perfectly still also. So cautious indeed was the latter in his
task of dogging the Resurrection Man, that this individual, keen as were
his ears, and piercing his eyes, neither heard nor saw any thing to
excite a suspicion that he was watched.
By degrees, black as was the night, Quentin's eyes became accustomed to
that almost profound obscurity; and by the time the Resurrection Man had
traversed the gardens, and clambered over the railings which separated
those grounds from the open fields, the valet could distinguish—only
just distinguish—a dark form moving forward before him.
"If I can thus obtain a glimpse of him," thought Quentin, "he can in the
same manner catch sight of me the first time he turns round."
And the valet was accordingly compelled to slacken his pace until he
could no longer distinguish the form of him whom he was pursuing.
But as the Resurrection Man, deeming himself quite secure, did not take
the trouble to walk lightly along the hard path which ran through the
fields, Quentin was now enabled to follow without difficulty the sounds
of his footsteps.
All of a sudden these sounds ceased; and Quentin stopped short. In
another minute, however, he heard the low rustling tread of feet walking
rapidly over the grass; and thus he recovered the trail which was so
abruptly interrupted.
The Resurrection Man had turned out of the beaten path, and was pursuing
his way diagonally across the field.
Quentin followed him with the utmost caution: and in a few moments there
was a bright flash in the corner of the field, the cause of which the
valet was at no loss to comprehend.
Tidkins had lighted a lucifer-match—doubtless to assure himself that he
was in the particular spot which he sought.
Quentin, to whom every square yard of the estate was well known,
immediately remembered that there was a pond in the corner of the field
where Tidkins had thus stopped; and close by was a thick hedge. The
valet accordingly made a short and rapid circuit in order to gain the
stile leading into the adjacent field: then, creeping carefully along
the bushes, he arrived in a few moments behind that precise portion of
the hedge which overlooked the pond.
The night was so dark that he could not follow with his eyes the exact
movements of the Resurrection Man. He was, however, enabled to
distinguish his form on the opposite bank of the pond; and not many
moments after he had taken his post behind the hedge, there was a sudden
splash in the water, as of some object thrown into it. Then the
Resurrection Man moved slowly along the bank; and it instantly struck
Quentin that he was dragging the pond.
This idea explained the purpose of the apparatus formed by the hooks,
the stout stick, and the cord:—but for what could he be dragging?
The valet shuddered as this question occurred to him;—for the nature of
the apparatus, the secresy of the whole proceeding, and the bad opinion
which Eliza Sydney's hints had induced him to form of him whom he,
however, only knew as James White,—these circumstances combined to fill
Quentin's mind with a terrible suspicion that Tidkins was dragging for a
dead body.
The Resurrection Man drew up his drag with a terrible oath, uttered
aloud, and expressive of disappointment.
"And yet this must be the spot!" he added, as he disentangled the hooks
from the cord. "I went over the whole grounds this morning—and I could
swear it was here that——"
The conclusion of the sentence was muttered to himself, and therefore
remained unheard by the valet.
The drag was thrown into the water a second time; and, at the expiration
of a few moments, Tidkins gave utterance to an exclamation expressive of
satisfaction.
Then he retreated slowly from the edge of the pond, as if dragging a
heavy object out of the water.
From behind the hedge Quentin strained his eyes, with mingled feelings
of curiosity and terror, to scrutinise as narrowly as possible the real
meaning of this strange and mysterious proceeding. At length there was a
strong gurgling of the water; and in another moment a large dark object
was moving slowly and heavily up the steep bank.
A cold shudder crept over the valet's frame; for that object bore the
appearance of a corpse!
He would have taken to flight—he would have escaped from the
contemplation of such a strange and appalling scene—he would have
hastened back to the mansion to raise an alarm;—but vague
fears—ineffable horror bound him as it were to the spot—paralysed his
limbs—and compelled him to remain a spectator of the dark proceeding.
The object was safely landed upon the bank: there was a sharp crack as
of a match—a small blue flame suddenly appeared—and then Tidkins lighted
the candle in his lantern.
This being done, he approached the object upon the bank;—and in another
moment all Quentin's doubts were cleared up—for the light of the lantern
now fell upon the body of a female!
He closed his eyes instinctively—and his brain was seized with a sudden
dizziness. But, mastering his feelings, he again looked towards the
mysterious and fearful drama which was being enacted on the opposite
bank of the pond.
The light was again extinguished; and Tidkins was stooping over the
corpse.
Suddenly an exclamation of joy escaped his lips; but Quentin was unable
to divine the cause.
Another minute elapsed; and the Resurrection Man rolled the body back
again into the water. There was a second splash a moment afterwards: it
was evidently the drag which Tidkins had thrown away, its services being
no longer required by him.
Then he retreated with rapid step from the bank of the pond; and
Quentin, scarcely able to subdue the terror which had taken possession
of him, retraced his way along the hedge,—determined, in spite of his
feelings, to watch the Resurrection Man to the end——if more there were
of this strange midnight drama yet to come.
Having hastily performed the short circuit that was necessary to bring
him back into the field through which Tidkins was now proceeding,
Quentin shortly came within sight of that individual's dark form, moving
rapidly along the beaten path.
Near the railings which bounded the gardens, there were several groups
of large trees; and at the foot of one of them Tidkins halted. Stooping
down, he appeared to be busily employed for some minutes in digging up
the earth. Quentin approached as nearly as he could without incurring
the risk of discovery; and the motions of the Resurrection Man convinced
him that he was indeed engaged in burying something at the foot of the
tree.
This task being accomplished, Tidkins clambered over the palings, and
pursued his way through the gardens towards the back gate of the Hall.
Quentin remained behind—his first impulse being to examine the spot
where the Resurrection Man had been digging. But a second thought made
him hesitate; and, after a few moments' reflection, he determined to
wait until he had reported the whole of this night's mysterious
proceedings to the lady whom he only knew as Mrs. Beaufort, and at whose
instance he had been induced to watch the proceedings of Mr. Vernon's
valet.
He accordingly pursued his way back to the mansion. But as the
Resurrection Man had bolted the back door inside, Quentin was compelled
to gain an entry through one of the windows of the servants' offices.
This he effected with safety, and noiselessly returned to his own
chamber.
But he closed not his eyes in slumber throughout the remainder of that
night; for all he had seen haunted his imagination like a spectre.