Stowell was in the dining-room next day when he heard the clatter of
a horse's hoofs on the drive, and, a moment later, a voice in the
hall, saying,
"The Deemster will see _me_, Jane."
It was Alick Gell. His tall figure was more bent than usual; his
hair was disordered; his eyes glittered; he was deeply agitated.
"Excuse me, old fellow. You know why I've not been here before.
It's Bessie. I'm busy every hour, getting up her case. Awful, isn't
it? I can't make myself believe it even yet. Sometimes in the
middle of the night I hear myself crying 'Good God, it can't be
true!'"
Stowell could scarcely find voice to reply. He remembered what he
had advised Fenella to get Gell to do. Had Bessie told him?"
"I received Fenella's letter and of course I am taking up the
defence. I've seen Bessie, too, and arranged everything. She's
innocent and I'll fight for her to the last breath in my body. But
look here--read this," he said, dragging a crumbled newspaper from
his pocket, and handing it to Stowell with a trembling hand.
It was a copy of the day's insular paper containing a paragraph which
said that the continued illness of the new Deemster would probably
prevent him from presiding at the forthcoming sitting of the Court of
General Gaol Delivery.
"That's the first edition. When it was published at twelve o'clock I
couldn't wait until the afternoon train, so I hired a horse from
Fargher, the jobmaster, and I've galloped all the way. Don't tell me
it's true."
Stowell answered in a low tone that perhaps it might have to be,
whereupon Gell made a cry of dismay.
"Then God help my poor girl! It will be Taubman, and she'll not have
a dog's chance with him."
Taubman was a brute--especially in cases of this kind. What did
people say about him--that when he saw a woman in the dock he was
like a cat who had seen a rat? It was true. He was always bullying
the juries who showed humanity to girls in trouble.
"The infernal old blockhead! He has rheumatism in the legs, they
say. I wish to heaven he had it in his throat, and it would choke
him."
And then the barbarous old Statute! Practically repealed in every
other country, but still capable of operation in the Isle of Man.
Think of it! Five years, ten years, fifteen years--even death
itself, perhaps!
"Stowell, we are old chums .... it's not right of me, I know that
.... but for the sake of our old friendship, sit on Bessie's case
yourself."
Stowell felt as if he were on the edge of a precipice. Abysmal
depths lay before him at the next step. With an awful secret in his
heart he felt that it was almost impossible to speak one word more
without betraying himself. He was silent, for a moment while Gell
stood over him with wild eyes which he had never seen before. At
length he said,
"Bessie is to plead Not Guilty?"
"Certainly."
"Will she stick to that?"
"Undoubtedly. Why shouldn't she? Besides, she has given me her
promise."
Again Stowell was silent for a moment; then he said,
"I cannot promise to conduct the Court, but if Taubman will do so,
and I'm fit to sit with him, I'll .... I'll see she has a fair trial."
Gell made a shout of joy.
"That's good enough for me. Just like you, old fellow."
He snatched up his cap--a different man in a moment.
"I must get back to town now. I have the witnesses to arrange for.
Not too many of them unfortunately. There's the mother, she's all
right, but not likely to be good in the box. I'm not calling the
step-father. It seems he's giving the case away in the glen. The
damned old blackguard! I should like to break his ugly neck. I
jolly well will, too, one of these days. But Bessie will clear
herself. Since she's going to be my wife she must leave the Court
without a stain. Good-bye and God bless you, old chap! .... No, no,
don't come to the door." (Stowell was for seeing him out.) "Take
care of yourself. Good men are scarce. And then you've got to be
fit for the Court, you know. By-bye!"
Stowell watched him from the window as he rode down the drive on his
tired horse, patting its neck and encouraging it with cheery cries.
Now he understood why Bessie had held off while Gell had wished to
marry her. It had been a case of the wife of the Peel fisherman over
again, with the difference that Bessie (to avoid the danger of
deceiving her husband) had made away with her child before marriage
instead of after it. Wild, foolish, frantic scheme! Yet what
courage! What strength! What affection!
But if, under Taubman's searching questions, the conspiracy of love
should fail, and Bessie's defence should collapse, and Gell should
see that she had deceived him, and that _he_ too....
No, no, that must not be! After all, what outrage on Justice would
it be to keep a case like this out of the hands of a cold-blooded
inhuman legal machine who would commit more crime than he punished?
Still standing by the window, Stowell heard the clatter of a horse's
hoofs on the high road. Gell, in high spirits, was galloping home.