THE INQUEST.
On this day, Thursday, the inquest was held. Most of the gay crowd
staying at Hartledon had taken flight; Mr. Carteret, and one or two more,
whose testimony might be wished for, remaining. The coroner and jury
assembled in the afternoon, in a large boarded apartment called the
steward's room. Lord Hartledon was present with Dr. Ashton and other
friends: they were naturally anxious to hear the evidence that could be
collected, and gather any light that might be thrown upon the accident.
The doors were not closed to the public, and a crowd, gentle and simple,
pressed in.
The surgeon spoke to the supposed cause of death--drowning: the miller
spoke to his house and mill having been that afternoon shut up. He and
his wife went over in their spring-cart to Garchester, and left the place
locked up, he said. The coroner asked whether it was his custom to lock
up his place when he went out; he replied that it was, when they went out
together; but that event rarely happened. Upon his return at dusk, he
found the little skiff loose in the stream, and secured it. It was his
servant-boy, David Ripper, who called his attention to it first of all.
He saw nothing of Lord Hartledon, and had not very long secured the skiff
when Mr. Percival Elster came up in the pony-carriage, asking if his
brother was there. He looked at the skiff, and said it was the one his
lordship had been in. Mr. Elster said he supposed his brother was walking
home, and he should drive slowly back and look out for him. Later Mr.
Elster returned: he had several servants with him then and lanterns; they
had come out to look for Lord Hartledon, but could not find him. It was
only just after they had gone away again that the Irish harvest-men came
up and found the body.
This was the substance of the miller's evidence; it was all he knew:
and the next witness called was the boy David Ripper, popularly styled
in the neighbourhood young Rip, in contradistinction to his father, a
day-labourer. He was an urchin of ten or twelve, with a red, round face;
quite ludicrous from its present expression of terrified consternation.
The coroner sharply inquired what he was frightened at; and the boy burst
into a roar by way of answer. He didn't know nothing, and hadn't seen
nothing, and it wasn't him that drowned his lordship; and he couldn't
tell more if they hanged him for it.
The miller interposed. The boy was one of the idlest young vagabonds he
had ever had the luck to be troubled with; and he thought it exceedingly
likely he had been off that afternoon and not near the mill at all. He
had ordered him to take two sacks into Calne; but when he reached home he
found the sacks untouched, lying where he had placed them outside. Mr.
Ripper had no doubt been playing truant on his own account.
"Where did you pass Tuesday afternoon during your master's absence?"
sternly demanded the coroner. "Take your hands from your face and answer
me, boy."
David Ripper obeyed in the best manner he was capable of, considering his
agitation. "I dun know now where I was," he said. "I was about."
"About where?"
Mr. Ripper apparently could not say where. He thought he was "setting his
bird-trap" in the stubble-field; and he see a partridge, and watched
where it scudded to; but he wasn't nigh the mill the whole time.
"Did you see anything of Lord Hartledon when he was in the skiff?"
"I never saw him," he sobbed. "I wasn't nigh the mill at all, and never
saw him nor the skiff."
"What time did you get back to the mill?" asked the coroner.
He didn't know what time it was; his master and missis had come home.
This was true, Mr. Floyd said. They had been back some little time before
Ripper showed himself. The first intimation he received of that truant's
presence was when he drew his attention to the loose skiff.
"How came you to see the skiff?" sharply asked the coroner.
Ripper spoke up with trembling lips. He was waiting outside after he came
up, and afraid to go in lest his master should beat him for not taking
the sacks, which went clean out of his mind, they did, and then he saw
the little boat; upon which he called out and told his master.
"And it was also you who first saw the body in the water," observed the
coroner, regarding the reluctant witness curiously. "How came you to see
that? Were you looking for something of the sort?"
The witness shivered. He didn't know how he come to see it. He was on the
strade, not looking for nothing, when he saw some'at dark among the
reeds, and told the harvesters when they come by. They said it was a man,
got him out, and then found it was his lordship.
There was only one peculiarity about the boy's evidence--his manner.
All he said was feasible enough; indeed, what would be most likely to
happen under the circumstances. But whence arose his terror? Had he been
of a timid temperament, it might have been natural; but the miller had
spoken the truth--he was audacious and hardy. Only upon one or two,
however, did the manner leave any impression. Pike, who made one of the
crowd in the inquest-room, was one of these. His experience of human
nature was tolerably keen, and he felt sure the boy was keeping something
behind that he did not dare to tell. The coroner and jury were not so
clear-sighted, and dismissed him with the remark that he was a "little
fool."
"Call George Gorton," said the coroner, looking at his notes.
Very much to Lord Hartledon's surprise--perhaps somewhat to his
annoyance--the man answering to this name was the one who had originally
come to Calne on a special mission to himself. Some feeling caused him to
turn from the man whilst he gave his evidence, a thing easily done in the
crowded room.
It appeared that amidst the stirring excitement in the neighbourhood on
the Tuesday night when the death became known, this stranger happened to
avow in the public-house which he made his quarters that he had seen Lord
Hartledon in his skiff just before the event must have happened. The
information was reported, and the man received a summons to appear before
the coroner.
And it may be as well to remark now, that his second appearance was owing
to a little cowardice on his own part. He had felt perfectly satisfied at
the time with the promise given him by Lord Hartledon to see the debt
paid--given also in the presence of the Rector--and took his departure in
the train, just as Pike had subsequently told Mr. Elster. But ere he had
gone two stages on his journey, he began to think he might have been too
precipitate, and to ask himself whether his employers would not tell him
so when he appeared before them, unbacked by any guarantee from Lord
Hartledon; for this, by a strange oversight, he had omitted to ask for.
He halted at once, and went back by the next return train. The following
day, Tuesday, he spent looking after Lord Hartledon, but, as it happened,
did not meet him.
The man--a dissipated young man, now that his hat was off--came forward
in his long coat, his red hair and whiskers. But it seemed that he had
really very little information to give. He was on the banks of the river
when Lord Hartledon passed in the skiff, and noticed how strangely he was
rowing, one arm apparently lying useless. What part of the river was
this, the coroner asked; and the witness avowed that he could not
describe it. He was a stranger, never there but that once; all he knew
was, that it was higher up, beyond Hartledon House. What might he have
been doing there, demanded the coroner. Only strolling about, was the
answer. What was his business at Calne? came the next question; and as it
was put, the witness caught the eye of the new Lord Hartledon through an
opening in the crowd. His business, the witness replied to the coroner,
was his own business, and did not concern the public, and he respectfully
declined to state it. He presumed Calne was a free place like other
places, where a stranger might spend a few days without question, if he
pleased.
Pike chuckled at this: incipient resistance to authority cheered that
lawless man's heart. He had stood throughout, in the shadow of the crowd,
just within the door, attentively watching the witnesses as they gave
their evidence: but he was not prepared for what was to come next.
Did the witness see any other spectators on the bank? continued the
coroner. Only one, was the answer: a man called Pike, or some such name.
Pike was watching the little boat on the river when he got up to him; he
remarked to Pike that his lordship's arm seemed tired; and he and Pike
had walked back to Calne together.
Pike would have got away had he been able, but the coroner whispered to
an officer. For one single moment Mr. Pike seemed inclined to show fight;
he began struggling, not gently, to reach the door; the next he gave it
up, and resigned himself to his fate. There was a little hubbub, in the
midst of which a slip of paper with a pencilled line from Lord Hartledon,
was handed to the coroner.
"_Press this point, whether they returned to Calne at once and
together._"
"George Gorton," cried the coroner, as he crushed the paper in his hand,
"at what hour did you return to Calne?"
"I went at once. As soon as the little boat was out of sight."
"Went alone?"
"No, sir. I and the man Pike walked together. I've said so already."
"What made you go together?"
"Nothing in particular. We were both going back, I suppose, and strolled
along talking."
It appeared to be all that the witness had to tell, and Mr. Pike came
forward perforce. As he stood there, his elegant wide-awake bent in his
hand, he looked more like the wild man of the woods he had been compared
to, than a civilized being. Rough, rude, and abrupt were his tones as he
spoke, and he bent his face and eyes downwards whilst he answered. It was
in those eyes that lay the look which had struck Mr. Elster as being
familiar to him. He persisted in giving his name as Tom, not Thomas.
But if the stranger in the long coat had little evidence to give, Pike
had even less. He had been in the woods that afternoon and sauntered to
the bank of the river just as Lord Hartledon passed in the skiff; but he
had taken very little notice of him. It was only when the last witness,
who came up at the moment, remarked upon the queer manner in which his
lordship held his arm, that he saw it was lying idle.
Not a thing more could he or would he tell. It was all he knew, he said,
and would swear it was all. He went back to Calne with the last witness,
and never saw his lordship again alive.
It did appear to be all, just as it did in the matter of the other man.
The coroner inquired whether he had seen any one else on the banks or
near them, and Pike replied that he had not set eyes on another soul,
which Percival knew to be false, for he had seen _him_. He was told to
put his signature to his evidence, which the clerk had taken down, and
affixed a cross.
"Can't you write?" asked the coroner.
Pike shook his head negatively. "Never learnt," he curtly said. And
Percival believed that to be an untruth equally with the other. He could
not help thinking that the avowal of their immediate return might also be
false: it was just as possible that one or other, or both, had followed
the course of the boat.
Mr. Carteret was examined. He could tell no more than he had already
told. They started together, but he had soon got beyond his lordship,
and had never seen him again alive. There was nothing more to be gleaned
or gathered. Not the smallest suspicion of foul play, or of its being
anything but a most unfortunate accident, was entertained for a moment by
any one who heard the evidence, and the verdict of the jury was to that
effect: Accidental Death.
As the crowd pressed out of the inquest-room, jostling one another in the
gloom of the evening, and went their several ways, Lord Hartledon found
himself close to Gorton, his coat flapping as he walked. The man was
looking round for Pike: but Mr. Pike, the instant his forced evidence was
given, had slunk away from the gaze of his fellow-men to ensconce himself
in his solitary shed. To all appearance Lord Hartledon had overtaken
Gorton by accident: the man turned aside in obedience to a signal, and
halted. They could not see much of each other's faces in the twilight.
"I wish to ask you a question," said Percival in low, impressive, and not
unkindly tones. "Did you speak with my brother, Lord Hartledon, at all on
Tuesday?"
"No, my lord, I did not," was the ready answer. "I was trying to get to
see his lordship, but did not."
"What did you want with him? What brought you back to Calne?"
"I wanted to get from him a guarantee for--for what your lordship knows
of; which he had omitted to give, and I had not thought to ask for,"
civilly replied the man. "I was looking about for his lordship on the
Tuesday morning, but did not get to see him. In the afternoon, when the
boat-race was over, I made bold to call at Hartledon, but the servants
said his lordship wasn't in. As I came away, I saw him, as I thought,
pass the lodge and go up the road, and I cut after him, but couldn't
overtake him, and at last lost sight of him. I struck into a tangled sort
of pathway through the gorse, or whatever it's called down here, and it
brought me out near the river. His lordship was just sculling down, and
then I knew it was some one else had gone by the lodge, and not him.
Perhaps it was your lordship?"
"You knew it was Lord Hartledon in the boat? I mean, you recognized him?
You did not mistake him for me?"
"I knew him, my lord. If I'd been a bit nearer the lodge, I shouldn't
have been likely to mistake even your lordship for him."
Lord Hartledon was gazing into the man's face still; never once had his
eyes been removed from it.
"You did not see Lord Hartledon later?"
"I never saw him all day but that once when he passed in the skiff."
"You did not follow him, then?"
"Of what use?" debated the man. "I couldn't call out my business from the
banks, and didn't know his lordship was going to land lower down. I went
straight back to Calne, my lord, walking with that man Pike--who is a rum
fellow, and has a history behind him, unless I'm mistaken; but it's no
business of mine. I made my mind up to another night of it in Calne,
thinking I'd get to Hartledon early next morning before his lordship had
time to go out; and I was sitting comfortably with a pipe and a glass of
beer, when news came of the accident."
Lord Hartledon believed the man to be telling the truth; and a
weight--the source of which he did not stay to analyse--was lifted from
his mind. But he asked another question.
"Why are you still in Calne?"
"I waited for orders. After his lordship died I couldn't go away without
them--carrying with me nothing but the word of a dead man. The orders
came this morning, safe enough; but I had the summons served on me then
to attend the inquest, and had to stay for it. I'm going away now, my
lord, by the first train."
Lord Hartledon was satisfied, and nodded his head. As he turned back he
met Dr. Ashton.
"I was looking for you, Lord Hartledon. If you require any assistance or
information in the various arrangements that now devolve upon you, I
shall be happy to render both. There will be a good deal to do one way or
another; more, I dare say, than your inexperience has the least idea of.
You will have your solicitor at hand, of course; but if you want me, you
know where to find me."
The Rector's words were courteous, but the tone was not warm, and the
title "Lord Hartledon" grated on Val's ear. In his impulse he grasped the
speaker's hand, pouring forth a heartfelt prayer.
"Oh, Dr. Ashton, will you not forgive me? The horrible trouble I brought
upon myself is over now. I don't rejoice in it under the circumstances,
Heaven knows; I only speak of the fact. Let me come to your house again!
Forgive me for the past."
"In one sense the trouble is over, because the debts that were a
formidable embarrassment to Mr. Elster are as nothing to Lord Hartledon,"
was the reply. "But let me assure you of one thing: that your being Lord
Hartledon will not make the slightest difference to my decision not to
give you my daughter, unless your line of conduct shall change."
"It is changed. Dr. Ashton, on my word of honour, I will never be guilty
of carelessness again. One thing will be my safeguard, though all else
should fail--the fact that I passed my word for this to my dear brother
not many hours before his death. For my sake, for Anne's sake, you will
forgive me!"
Was it possible to resist the persuasive tones, the earnestness of the
honest, dark-blue eyes? If ever Percival Elster was to make an effort for
good, and succeed, it must be now. The doctor knew it; and he knew that
Anne's happiness was at stake. But he did not thaw immediately.
"You know, Lord Hartledon--"
"Call me Val, as you used to do," came the pleading interruption; and Dr.
Ashton smiled in spite of himself.
"Percival, you know it is against my nature to be harsh or unforgiving;
just as I believe it contrary to your nature to be guilty of deliberate
wrong. If you will only be true to yourself, I would rather have you for
my son-in-law than any other man in England; as I would have had when you
were Val Elster. Do you note my words? _true to yourself_."
"As I will be from henceforth," whispered Val, earnest tears rising to
his eyes.
And as he would have been but for his besetting sin.