A BITTER NIGHT.
St. Agnes' Eve--ah, bitter chill it was!
The owl, for all his feathers, was acold,
The hare limped trembling thro' the frozen grass;
And silent was the flock in woolly fold!
--_Keats_.
A freezing night. Faustina shook as with an ague-fit, and her teeth
chattered like a pair of castanets, as she crouched down in one
corner of the back seat and huddled all her wrappings close about
her. But the cold still seemed to penetrate through all her furs and
velvets and woolens and enter the very marrow of her bones.
Beside her sat the viscount, silent, grim, and still, as though he
were congealed to ice. Before her sat the two policemen, well
wrapped up in their greatcoats and thick shawls.
All were silent except Faustina. She shook and moaned and chattered
incessantly. Such a mere animal was this wretched woman that she was
quite absorbed in her present sufferings. While enduring this
intense cold she could not look forward to the terrors of the
future.
"It's insufferable!" she exclaimed, fiercely stamping her feet; "can
you not make this beast of a carriage closer, then? My flesh is
stone and my blood is ice, I tell you."
One window had been left open a little way, to let a breath of air
into the carriage, which, crowded with four persons, was otherwise
stifling. But the viscount now raised both his fettered hands and
closed up the window. The arrangement did not prove satisfactory. It
deprived the sufferers of air without making them any warmer.
Faustina shook and moaned and chattered all the same.
"Oh, wretches!" she exclaimed, in furious disgust; "open the window
again! I am suffocated! I am poisoned! They have all been eating
garlic and drinking whisky!"
The window was opened at her desire, but as they were then crossing
the narrow isthmus of rock that connected the castle steep with the
land, the wind, from that exposed position, was cutting sharp, and
drove into the aperture the stinging snow, which entered the skin
like needle points.
"Ah, shut it! shut it! It kills me! It is infamous to treat a poor
little lady so!" she cried, bursting into tears.
Again the window was closed; but not for any length of time.
Apparently she could neither bear it open nor shut. So, shaking,
moaning, and complaining, the poor creature was taken through that
long and bitter night journey which ended at last only at the
station house of Banff.
Half dead with cold, she was lifted out of the carriage by the two
policemen who stood upon the sidewalk, where she remained, shaking,
chattering, and weeping tears that froze upon her cheeks as they
fell.
She could see nothing in that dark street but the gloomy building
before her, dimly lighted by its iron lamp above the doorway.
There she remained till the viscount was handed out.
"Cuthbert," said his lordship to the old man, who had exposed
himself to the severe weather of this night and driven the carriage
for the sake of being near his master as long as possible,
"Cuthbert, take the carriage around to the 'Highlander' and put up
there for the night. We shall want it to take us back to the castle
to-morrow, after this ridiculous farce is over."
"Verra weel, me laird," replied old Cuthbert, touching his hat with
all the more deference because his master was suffering degradation.
"Ah! is it so? Will we really get back to the castle to-morrow?"
whimpered Faustina, shaking, chattering, and wringing her hands.
"Of course we will," replied his lordship.
"Ah, but how shall I get through the night? I must have a good fire
and a comfortable bed, and something warm to drink. Will you see to
it, Malcolm?" she whiningly inquired.
"Don't be a fool!" was the gentlemanly reply; for the viscount
burned with half-suppressed rage against the woman. whose fatal
beauty had led him into all this disgrace.
She burst into a passion of tears.
"That is the reward I get for all my love!" she exclaimed.
"Faustina, for your own sake, if not for any other's, exercise some
discretion!" exclaimed the viscount angrily.
"Villain!" she screamed, in fury, "I had no discretion when I
listened to you!"
"I wish to Heaven you had had then! I should not have been in this
mess," he replied.
"Ah!" she hissed. "If my hands were not fettered I would tear your
eyes!"
"Sweet angel!" sneered the viscount, in mockery and self-mockery.
"Thsche!" she hissed, "let me at him!"
The viscount laughed, a hard, bitter, scornful laugh.
And at it they went, criminating and recriminating, until the empty
carriage was driven away, and the policemen took them by the
shoulders and pushed them into the station house.
They found themselves in a large stone hall, with iron-grated
windows. It was partially warmed with a large, rusty stove, around
which many men of the roughest cast were gathered, smoking, talking,
and laughing. The walls were furnished with rude benches, upon which
some men sat, some reclined, and some lay at full length. The stone
floor was wet with the slop of the snow that had been brought in by
so many feet and had melted. In one of these slops lay a woman, dead
drunk.
"Ah! Good God! I cannot stay here!" cried Faustina, gathering up her
skirts, as well as she could with her fettered hands, and looking
around in strong disgust.
The viscount laughed in derision; he was angry, desperate, and he
rejoiced in her discomfiture.
"Eh, Saunders! take these two women in the women's room," said
McRae, beckoning a tall, broad-shouldered, red-headed Scot to his
assistance.
"Hech! it will take twa o' the strongest men here to lift yon
lassie," replied the man, lumbering slowly along towards the
prostrate woman, and trying to raise her. If he failed in lifting
her, he succeeded in waking her, and he was saluted for his pains
with a volley of curses, to which he replied with a shake or two.
"Oh, horror! I will not stay here!" cried Faustina, stamping with
rage.
"Attend to her, Christie. Dunlap, help Saunders to remove that
woman," said McRae.
Two of the policemen succeeded in raising the fallen woman, and
leading her between them into an adjoining room. The man addressed
as "Christie" would have taken Faustina by the arm, and led her
after them, but that she fiercely shook herself from his grasp.
"Follow then and ye like, lass; but gae some gait ye maun, ye ken,"
said the man good-naturedly.
She glanced around the dreary room, upon the grated windows, the
sloppy floor, the rusty stove, and the wretched men, and finally
seemed to think that she could not do better than to leave such a
repulsive scene.
"Go along, then, and I will follow, only keep your vile hands off
me," said Faustina, gathering up her dainty raiment and stepping
carefully after her leader. As she did so she turned a last look
upon Lord Vincent. The viscount had thrown himself upon a corner of
one of the benches, where he sat, with his fettered hands folded
together, and his head bent down upon his breast, as if he were in
deep despair.
"Imbecile!" was the complimentary good-night thrown by his angel, as
she passed out of the hall into the adjoining room. This--the
women's room--was in all respects similar to the men's hall, being
furnished with the like grated windows, rusty iron stove, and rude
benches. Along, on these benches, or on the floor, were scattered
wretched women in every attitude of self-abandonment; some in the
stupor of intoxication; some in the depths of sorrow; some in stony
despair; some in reckless defiance.
The men who had come in with the drunken woman deposited her on one
of the benches, from which she quickly rolled to the floor, where
she lay dead to all that was passing around her. Her misfortune was
greeted with a shout of laughter from the reckless denizens of this
room; but that shout was turned into a deafening yell when their
eyes fell upon Faustina's array.
"Eh, sirs! wha the deil hae we here fra the ball?" they cried,
gathering around her with curiosity.
"Off, you wretches!" screamed Faustina, stamping at them.
"Hech! but she hae a temper o' her ain, the quean," said one.
"Ou, aye, just! It will be for sticking her lad under the ribs she
is here," surmised another.
"Eh, sirs, how are the mighty fa'en!" exclaimed a third, as they
closed around her, and began to closely examine her rich dress.
"Rabble! how dare you?" screamed Faustina, fiercely twitching
herself away from them.
"Eh! the braw furs and silks! the town doesna often see the loike o'
them," said the first speaker, lifting up the corner of the rich
sable cloak.
"Wretch, let alone!" shrieked Faustina, stamping frantically.
The uproar brought Policeman Christie to the scene.
"Take me away from this place directly, you beast! How dare you
bring me among such wretches?" screamed the poor creature.
"My lass, I hae na commission to remove you. I dinna ken what ye hae
done to bring yoursel' here; but here ye maun bide till the morn,"
said Christie kindly and composedly.
"I will not, I say! What have I done to be placed among these vile
wretches?" she persisted, stamping.
"I dinna ken, lassie, as I telled ye before; but joodging by your
manners, I suld say ye hae guided yoursel' an unco' ill gait. But
howe'er that will be, here ye maun bide till the morn. And gin ye
will heed guid counsel, ye'll haud your tongue," said Christie, at
the same time good-naturedly setting down the hamper that contained
Faustina's luxuries. She did not want it. She threw herself down
upon one of the benches and burst into a passion of tears.
The women gathered around the hamper, and quickly tore off the lid
and made themselves acquainted with its contents.
But Faustina did not mind. She was too deeply distressed to care
what they did. The contents of the hamper were now of no use to her.
The "good fire, the comfortable bed, the warm beverage" that she had
vehemently demanded were unattainable, she knew, and she cared for
nothing else now.
While Faustina, regardless that her famished fellow-prisoners were
devouring her cakes, fruits, and wine, gave herself up to passionate
lamentations, another scene was going on in the men's hall.
Lord Vincent sat gnawing his nails and "glowering" upon the floor in
his corner. From time to time the door opened, letting in a gust of
wind, sleet, and snow, and a new party of prisoners; but the
viscount never lifted his eyes to observe them.
At length, however, he looked up and beckoned Constable McRae to his
side.
"Here, you, fellow! I would like to see your warrant again. I wish
to know who is my accuser."
"Judge Randolph Merlin, my lord, of the United States Supreme
Court," answered McRae, once more taking out his warrant and
submitting it to the inspection of his prisoner.
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the viscount affectedly. "Randolph Merlin! He
has come to the country, I suppose, to look after his daughter; and
finding that these negroes are among the missing, has pretended to
get up this charge against me! It will not answer his purpose,
however. And I only wonder that any magistrate in his senses should
have issued a warrant for the apprehension of a nobleman upon his
unsupported charge."
"Pray excuse me, my lord, but the charge was not unsupported," said
McRae respectfully.
"How--not unsupported?"
"No, my lord. The judge had for witnesses the three negroes, and--"
"The three negroes!" exclaimed the viscount, recoiling in amazement;
but quickly recovering his presence of mind, he added: "Oh! aye! of
course! they ran off with my plate, and I suppose they have
succeeded in effectually secreting it and eluding discovery. And now
I suspect they have been looked up by their old master and persuaded
to appear as false witnesses against me. Ha, ha, ha! what a weak
device! I am amazed that any magistrate should have ventured upon
such testimony to have issued a warrant for my apprehension."
"I beg your pardon, my lord; but theirs was not the only testimony.
There were several gentlemen present, fellow-voyagers of Judge
Merlin, who testified to the finding of the negroes in a state of
slavery in Cuba; their testimony corroborates that of the negroes,"
said McRae.
Lord Vincent went pale as death.
"What does that mean? Oh, I see! it is all a conspiracy," he said,
with an ineffectual effort at derision.
But at that moment there was a bustle outside; the door was thrown
open, and another prisoner was brought in by two policemen.
"What is the matter? Who is it now?" inquired McRae, going forward.
"We have got him, sir," said a constable.
"Who?" demanded McRae.
"The murderer, sir!" answered the policeman, at the same moment
dragging into view the assassin of Ailsie Dunbar, the ex-valet of
Lord Vincent, Alick Frisbie.
Heavily fettered, his knees knocking together, pale and trembling,
the wretch stood in the middle of the floor.
"Where did you take him?" inquired McRae.
"At the 'Bagpipes,' Peterhead," replied the successful captor.
"Pray, upon what charge is he arrested?" inquired the viscount, in a
shaking voice, that he tried in vain to make steady.
"A trifle of murder, among other fancy performances," said McRae.
At this moment Frisbie caught sight of his master and set up a howl,
through which his words were barely audible:
"Oh, my lord, you will never betray me! You will never be a witness
against me! You will never hang me! You promised that you would
not!"
"Hold your tongue, you abominable fool! What the fiend are you
talking about? Do you forget yourself, sir?" roared the viscount,
furious at the fatal folly of his weak accomplice.
"Oh, no, my lord, I do not forget myself! I do not forget anything.
I beg your lordship's pardon for speaking, and I will swear to be as
silent as the grave, if your lordship will only promise not to--"
"Will you stop short where you are, and not open your mouth again,
you insufferable idiot!" thundered the viscount.
Frisbie gulped his last words, whined and crouched like a whipped
hound, and subsided into silence.
And soon after this McRae and the other officers who were off duty
for the remainder of the night went home and the doors were closed.
A miserable night it was to all within the station house, and
especially to that guilty man and woman who had been torn from their
luxurious home and confined in this dreary prison. All that could
revolt, disgust, and utterly depress human nature seemed gathered
within its walls. Here were drunkenness, deadly sickness, and
reckless and shameless profanity, all of the most loathsome
character. And all this was excruciating torture to a man like Lord
Vincent, who, if he was not refined, was at least excessively
fastidious. There was no rest; every few minutes the door was opened
to receive some new prisoner, some inebriate, or some night-brawler
picked up by the watch, and brought in, and then would ensue another
scene of confusion.
An endless night it seemed, yet it came to an end at last, The
morning slowly dawned. The pale, cold, gray light of the winter day
looked sadly through the falling snow into the closely-grated, dusty
windows. And upon what a scene it looked. Men were there, scattered
over the floor and upon the benches in every stage of intoxication;
some stupid, some reckless, some despairing; some sound asleep; some
waking up and yawning, and some walking about impatiently.
As the day broadened and the hour arrived for the sitting of the
police magistrate, the policemen came in and marched off the crowd
of culprits to a hall in another part of the building, where they
were to be examined. Even the women were marched out from the inner
room after the men. It seemed that all the lighter offenders were to
be disposed of first.
Lord Vincent and Frisbie were left alone in charge of one officer.
"When are we to be examined?" demanded the viscount haughtily of
this man.
"I dinna ken," he answered, composedly lighting his pipe and smoking
away.
Lord Vincent paced up and down the wet and dirty stone floor, until
at length the door opened and McRae, the officer who arrested him,
entered.
"Ah, you have come at last. I wish to be informed why we have been
left here all this time? Everyone else has been removed," exclaimed
the viscount.
"My lord, those poor creatures who were brought here during the
night were not arrested for any grave offense. Some were brought in
only to keep them from perishing in the snowstorm, and others for
drunkenness or disorder. The sitting police magistrate disposes of
them. They will mostly be discharged. But you, my lord, are here
upon a heavy charge, and you are to go before Sir Alexander
McKetchum."
"Why, then, do you not conduct me there? Do you mean to keep me in
this beastly place all day?"
"My lord, your examination is fixed for ten o'clock; it is only nine
now," said McRae, passing on to the inner room, from which he
presently appeared with Faustina.
Wretched did the poor creature look with her pale and tear-stained
face, her reddened eyes and disheveled hair; and her rich and
elegant white evening dress with its ample skirts and lace flounces
bedraggled and bedabbled with all the filth of the station house.
"I have had a horrid night! I have been in worse than purgatory. I
have not closed my eyes. I wish I was dead. See what you have
brought me to, Malcolm! And--only look at my dress!" sobbed the
woman.
"Your dress! That is just exactly what I am looking at. A pretty
dress that to be seen in. What the demon do you think people will
take you for?" sneered his lordship.
"I do not know! I do not care! poor trampled lily that I am!"
"Poor trampled fool! Why didn't you change that Merry Andrew costume
for something plainer and decenter before you left the castle?"
"Why didn't you tell me to do it, then? I never thought of it.
Besides, I didn't know what this beast of a station house was like.
No carpets, no beds, no servants. And I'm dying for want of them
all. And now I must have my breakfast. Why don't you order it,
Malcolm?" she whimpered.
"I am afraid they do not provide breakfasts any more than they do
other luxuries for the guests of this establishment," replied the
viscount, with a malignant laugh.
"But I shall starve, then," said the poor little animal, bursting
into tears.
"I cannot help it," replied the viscount, very much in the same tone
as if he had said: "I do not care."
But here McRae spoke:
"My lord, there is nearly an hour left before we shall go before the
magistrate. If you wish, therefore, you can send out to some hotel
and order your breakfast brought to you here."
"Thank you; I will avail myself of your suggestion. Whom can I
send?" inquired the viscount.
"Christie, you can go for his lordship," said McRae to his
subordinate, who had just entered the hall.
Christie came forward to take the order.
"What will you have?" inquired Lord Vincent, curtly addressing his
"sweet angel."
"Oh, some strong coffee with cream, hot rolls with fresh butter, and
broiled moor hen with currant jelly," replied Faustina.
Lord Vincent wrote his order down with a pencil on a leaf of his
tablets, tore it out and gave it to Christie, saying:
"Take this to the 'Highlander' and tell them to send the breakfast
immediately. Also inquire for my servant, Cuthbert Allan, who is
stopping there, and order him to put my horses to the carriage and
bring them around here for my use."
The man bowed civilly and went out to do this errand.
In about half an hour he returned, accompanied by a waiter from the
"Highlander," bringing the breakfast piled up on a large tray,
unfolded the cloth and spread it upon one of the benches and
arranged the breakfast upon it.
"Did you see my servant?" inquired Lord Vincent of his messenger.
"Yes, me laird, and gi'e him your order. The carriage will be
round," replied the man.
As the viscount and his companion drew their bench up to the other
bench upon which their morning meal was laid, Mr. Frisbie, who had
been sitting in a remote corner of the hall with his head buried on
his knees, got up and humbly stood before them, as if silently
offering his services to wait at table.
"He here!" exclaimed Faustina, in amazement.
"Yes, he is in the same boat with us. Go sit down, Frisbie; we don't
need you," said Lord Vincent. And the ex-valet retired and crouched
in his corner like a repulsed dog.
Trouble did not take away the appetite of Mrs. Dugald. It does not
ever have that effect upon constitutions in which the animal nature
largely preponderates. She ate, drank, and wept, and so got through
a very hearty repast. Lord Vincent, having swallowed a single cup of
coffee, which constituted the whole of his breakfast, sat and
watched her performances with unconcealed scorn.
Before Faustina got through Officer McRae began impatiently to
consult his large silver turnip.
"It is time to go," he said at length.
But Faustina continued to suck the bones of the moor hen, between
her trickling tears.
"We must not keep the magistrate waiting," said McRae.
But Faustina continued to suck and cry.
"I am sorry to hurry you, madam; but we must go," said McRae
decisively.
"Ah, bah! what a beastly place! where a poor little lady is not
permitted to eat her breakfast in peace!" she exclaimed, throwing
down the delicate bone at which she had been nibbling, and fiercely
starting up.
As she had not removed her bonnet and cloak during the whole night
she was quite ready.
As they were going out Lord Vincent pointed to Frisbie and inquired:
"Is not that fellow to go?"
"No; he is in upon a heavier charge, you know, my lord. Your
examination precedes his," said McRae, as he conducted his prisoners
into the street, leaving Mr. Frisbie to solace himself with the
remnants of Faustina's breakfast, guarded by Christie.
The viscount's carriage was drawn up before the door.
"Is it hame, me laird I" inquired old Cuthbert, touching his hat,
from the coachman's box.
"No. You are to take your directions from this person," replied his
lordship sullenly, as he hurried into the carriage to conceal
himself and his fettered wrists from the passers-by.
McRae put Mrs. Dugald into the carriage, and then jumped up and
seated himself on the box beside the coachman, and directed him
where to drive.
The snow was still falling fast, and the streets were nearly blocked
up.