THE STRANGER WHO DISCOVERED THE CORPSE.
Perhaps there is no other cry in the world, save that of "Fire!" more
calculated to spread terror and dismay, when falling suddenly and
unexpectedly upon the ears of a party of revellers, than that of "A
corpse! a corpse!"
Before a single question can be put, or a word of explanation be given,
each one who hears that ominous announcement revolves a thousand dread
conjectures in his mind: for although that cry might in reality herald
nothing more appalling than a case of sudden death from natural causes,
yet the imagination instinctively associates it with the foulest deed of
treachery and murder.
Such was the case in the present instance.
The entire party started from their seats; and the smiles that were a
moment before upon their countenances gave place to looks of profound
horror and intense curiosity.
The feelings thus denoted did not experience any mitigation from the
inquiring glances that were cast towards the gardener; for the entire
appearance of the old man was far more calculated to augment than
diminish the alarm which his strange cry had originated. His eyes rolled
wildly in their sockets—his quivering lips were livid—his frame seemed
to be influenced by one continuous shudder, and his breath came with
difficulty.
In fact, the mysterious sounds of footsteps in the passage had worked up
his feelings, already greatly moved by the discovery and exhumation of
the rotting carcass of a female, to a degree of excitement doubly
painful to behold in one so bowed with the weight of years as he; and he
sank into a seat, as we have before said, in a state of almost complete
exhaustion.
The wine that Egerton compelled him to swallow partially restored him;
and in the course of a few minutes he was enabled to relate the
particulars which we have succinctly placed before the reader.
The ladies were cruelly shocked by the narrative that thus met their
ears; and they one and all declared that nothing should ever again
induce them to visit a place into possession of which their relative
seemed to have entered under the most inauspicious circumstances. They
also requested to be taken back to London with the least possible delay;
and Sir Rupert Harborough, with his friend Chichester, hastened to give
the servants orders to get the vehicles ready.
Mrs. Bustard and her daughters retired into an ante-room to put on their
bonnets and shawls: Egerton, Dunstable, Cholmondeley, and Tedworth Jones
remained standing round the chair on which the old gardener was still
seated.
"This is a most extraordinary thing," said Dunstable, after a pause,
during which he had reflected profoundly: then, addressing himself to
his friend the Colonel, he asked in a serious tone, "Does not the
strange discovery just made remind you of something that I mentioned to
you nearly two years ago?"
"I recollect!" cried the Colonel: "you allude to the mysterious
disappearance of Lydia Hutchinson."
"I do," answered the nobleman. "That event occurred while I was lying
wounded in this house."
"Ah! I heerd of it, to be sure!" said the gardener. "But I was down in
the country when all them things took place—I was there for some months.
Do you think——"
"No—it could not be!" interrupted Dunstable: "for it was well known at
the time that Lydia decamped with Lady Ravensworth's jewel-box."
Colonel Cholmondeley turned away, and said nothing: he remembered the
evidences of desperate enmity between Adeline and Lydia, which had come
within his own cognisance; and a vague—a very vague, distant, and
undefined suspicion that the corpse just discovered might indeed be that
of Lydia Hutchinson, entered his mind. But he speedily banished it: for
the idea that Lady Ravensworth could have had any thing to do with the
murder of Lydia did not seem tenable for a moment.
"As your lordship says," observed the old gardener, after a long pause,
and now addressing himself to Dunstable, "it can't have any thing to do
with that young o'oman who was here a few weeks as my lady's maid—'cos
it's well knowed that she bolted off with the jewel-casket, as your
lordship says."
Here Cholmondeley advanced towards Dunstable, took him by the arm, and,
leading him aside, said in a hasty whisper, "Let us leave this matter
where it is. Should the body just discovered be really that of Lydia
Hutchinson, who disappeared so strangely, it would be very annoying for
us to have to explain to a Coroner's jury all we know about her and Lady
Ravensworth."
"Truly so," answered Dunstable. "And, after all, it is no affair of
ours."
This understanding being arrived at, the nobleman and his friend
returned to the table, where they helped themselves to some champagne to
allay, as they said, the disagreeable sensations produced by the sudden
interruption which their mirth had experienced.
The day seemed to be marked out by destiny as one on which various
adventures were to occur in respect to the excursion party to
Ravensworth Hall.
It will be remembered that Sir Rupert Harborough and Chichester had left
the drawing-room for the purpose of seeing the vehicles got ready with
the least possible delay.
The two friends—whom the associated roguery of many years had rendered
as intimate as even brothers could be—proceeded down stairs, and, after
some little trouble, found their way to the servants' offices. Guided by
a sound of voices, they threaded a passage, and at length found
themselves on the threshold of the room where the gardener's wife, the
stranger who had first discovered the body, the seedy coachman, the
lacquey, and the groom, were still discussing the incident that had so
recently occurred.
But the moment that the two gentlemen appeared at the door, the stranger
started from his seat, exclaiming in a loud tone, "Well met, I declare!
You're the very identical men I've long been wanting to see!"
And, putting his arms akimbo, he advanced towards them in a manner which
appeared extremely free and independent in the eyes of the lacqueys.
"Ah! my good friend Talbot!" cried the baronet, for a moment thrown off
his guard, but speedily recovering himself: "upon my honour I am
delighted to see you!"
"So am I—quite charmed to find you looking so well!" exclaimed
Chichester.
"No thanks to either of you, howsomever," said the individual thus
addressed, and without appearing to notice the hands that were extended
to him. "But you know as well as I do that my name isn't Talbot at all;
it's Bill Pocock—and, I may add, too, without telling a lie, that it's
now _honest Bill Pocock_."
"Well, my dear Pocock," exclaimed Chichester, with a glance that
implored his forbearance, "I am really quite happy to see you. But we
will step out into the garden, and just talk over a few little
matters——"
"Oh! gentlemen," said the gardener's wife, coming forward, "you're quite
welcome to step into our little parlour t'other side of the passage—if
so be you have any thing private to talk about."
"Thank you—that will exactly suit us," returned Chichester, hastily:
and, taking Pocock's arm, he drew him into the room thus offered for
their privacy.
The baronet remained behind for a few moments, to give the necessary
instructions to the servants relative to preparing the vehicles; and,
this being done, he rejoined Chichester and Pocock.
When the trio were thus assembled in the gardener's little parlour,
Pocock said, "So I find you two chaps still pursuing the old game. Got
in with a young cit named Egerton—and all his relations—eh? Pretty
goings on, I've no doubt."
"Only just in a friendly way, my dear fellow," exclaimed Chichester.
"But you stated that you had been looking for me and Harborough for a
long time?"
"Yes—I was anxious enough to see you both," returned Pocock: "and I'll
tell you the reason why. You remember that night—some few years ago—when
you two got such a precious walloping at the _Dark House_ in Brick Lane,
Spitalfields?"
"Well—well," said the baronet: "go on."
"Oh! I see you haven't forgot it! You also know that on that same night
the very young man whom we all ruined, was present—I mean Richard
Markham."
"Yes—to be sure. But what of that?" demanded Chichester.
"Why—I gave him a paper, drawed up and signed by myself,—plain William
Pocock, and none of your aristocratic Talbots."
"And that paper?" said the baronet, anxiously.
"Contained a complete confession of the whole business that brought him
into trouble," continued Pocock. "But he pledged himself not to use it
to my prejudice; and that's the reason why you never heard of it in a
legal way. On that same occasion he put a fifty-pound note into my hand,
saying, '_Accept this as a token of my gratitude and a proof of my
forgiveness; and endeavour to enter an honest path. Should you ever
require a friend, do not hesitate to apply to me._'—Those was his words;
and they made a deep impression on me. Yes—gentlemen, and I _did_ enter
an honest path," continued Pocock, proudly: "and that money prospered
me. I returned to my old business as an engraver—I left off going to
public-houses—I worked hard, and redeemed my character with my old
employers. Since that night at the _Dark House_ all has gone well with
me. I have never applied to my benefactor—because I have never required
a friend. But I have prayed for him morning and evening—yes, gentlemen,
prayed! I know that this may sound strange in your ears: it is
nevertheless true—and I am not ashamed to own it. And while that
faultless young man was pursuing his glorious career in a foreign land,
there was an obscure but grateful individual in London who wept over his
first reverses, but who laughed, and sang, and danced for joy when the
newspapers brought the tidings of his great battles. And that individual
was myself: for he was my saviour—my guardian angel—my benefactor!
Instead of heaping curses upon me, he had spoken kind words of
forgiveness and encouragement: instead of spurning me from his presence,
he had given me money, and told me to look upon him as my friend! My
God! such a man as that can save more souls and redeem more sinners than
all the Bishops that ever wore lawn sleeves! I adore his very name—I
worship him—I am as proud of his greatness as if he was my own son; and
all Prince though he now is, did it depend upon me, he should wear a
crown."
And as he spoke, the grateful man's voice became tremulous with
emotions; and the big tears rolled down his cheeks.
There was at that moment something so commanding—something so superior
about even this vulgar individual, that Chichester and Harborough found
themselves unable to reply to him in that strain of levity with which
they would have gladly sought to sneer away his eulogies of one whom
they hated and feared.
"Yes," continued Pocock: "all I possess in the world I owe to the Prince
of Montoni. I am now at my ease—I live in my own house, bought with my
own hard-earned money:—I can even afford to take a little pleasure, or
an occasional ramble, as I was doing just now when accident brought me
here. And, what is more, I always have a five-pound note to assist a
friend. You cannot wonder, then, if I worship the very name of that man
who from a comparatively humble rank has raised himself to such a proud
height by his valour and his virtues."
"But what has all this to do with your anxiety to see the baronet and
me?" inquired Chichester, in a tone displaying little of its wonted
assurance.
"A great deal," answered Pocock. "I only want an opportunity to show the
Prince how grateful I am to him; and for that reason have I looked out
for you. Great, powerful, and rich as he now is, the memory of the past
cannot oppress him; but still it would be satisfactory to his noble mind
to receive from both of you the same confession of his innocence that he
has had from me."
"What?" cried the baronet and Chichester together, as they exchanged
troubled glances.
"Yes—you know what I mean," said Pocock; "and you dare not refuse me.
Although it is my duty, perhaps, to step up stairs and quietly explain
to the people there what kind of acquaintances they have got in you, yet
the honour of the Prince is uppermost with me; and I will not expose
you, if you at once write out and sign a paper saying that _he_ was
innocent and _you_ was the guilty cause of his misfortunes."
"Impossible!" cried Harborough.
"He would transport us!" ejaculated Chichester, turning deadly pale.
"And no great harm if he did," said the engraver, drily. "But
consideration for _me_ will prevent his punishing _you_. So if you value
the friendship of your chums up stairs——"
"It would never do to be shown up before _them_!" whispered the baronet
with desperate emphasis to Chichester, whom he drew partially aside for
a moment.
"You will pledge yourself not to show to any one, save the Prince, the
paper you require of us?" asked Chichester of the engraver.
"When once you've given me that paper, I want to know nothing more of
you or your pursuits," replied Pocock.
The two gentlemen exchanged a few hurried whispers, and then signified
their assent to the arrangement proposed; for they found Egerton's purse
too useful a means to have recourse to at pleasure, to allow them to
risk the loss of their influence over him.
There were writing-materials in the room where the above conversation
took place; and the document was speedily drawn up. Chichester wrote it,
under the supervision of Pocock, who would not allow him to abate one
single tittle of all the infamy which characterised the proceedings that
had engendered the misfortunes of Richard Markham.
The paper was then duly signed, and delivered into the hands of the
engraver.
"Now that this little business is settled," said he, "perhaps you two
gentlemen will just allow me to observe that I have found an honest way
of life much happier than a dishonest one, and quite as easy to pursue,
if you only have the will; but whether you'll profit by this advice or
not, is more than I can say—and certainly much more than I should like
to answer for."
With these words Pocock took his departure, the dog following close at
his heels.
Chichester and Harborough exchanged looks expressive of mingled vexation
and contempt, and then returned to the drawing-room.
The vehicles were almost immediately afterwards driven round to the
principal entrance; and the company were on the point of leaving the
apartment where the festivities had been so unpleasantly interrupted,
when an ejaculation which escaped the lips of Colonel Cholmondeley, who
was gazing from the window, caused them all to hasten to the casements.
A travelling barouche was rapidly approaching the mansion!