THE FIRST JOURNEY TO ALSTON.
At that time Sir Richard Leatherham was the Solicitor-general, and
he had been retained as leading counsel for the prosecution. It was
quite understood by all men who did understand what was going on in
the world, that this trial had been in truth instituted by Mr. Mason
of Groby with the hope of recovering the property which had been left
away from him by his father's will. The whole matter had now been so
much discussed, that the true bearings of it were publicly known. If
on the former trial Lady Mason had sworn falsely, then there could be
no doubt that that will, or the codicil to the will, was an untrue
document, and the property would in that case revert to Mr. Mason,
after such further legal exercitations on the subject as the lawyers
might find necessary and profitable. As far as the public were
concerned, and as far as the Masons were concerned, it was known and
acknowledged that this was another struggle on the part of the Groby
Park family to regain the Orley Farm estate. But then the question
had become much more interesting than it had been in the days of the
old trial, through the allegation which was now made of Lady Mason's
guilt. Had the matter gone against her in the former trial, her child
would have lost the property, and that would have been all. But
the present issue would be very different. It would be much more
tragical, and therefore of much deeper interest.
As Alston was so near to London, Sir Richard, Mr. Furnival,
Mr. Chaffanbrass, and others, were able to go up and down by
train,--which arrangement was at ordinary assizes a great heartsore
to the hotel-keepers and owners of lodging-houses in Alston. But on
this occasion the town was quite full in spite of this facility. The
attorneys did not feel it safe to run up and down in that way, nor
did the witnesses. Mr. Aram remained, as did also Mr. Mat Round.
Special accommodation had been provided for John Kenneby and Bridget
Bolster, and Mr. Mason of Groby had lodgings of his own.
Mr. Mason of Groby had suggested to the attorneys in Bedford Row that
his services as a witness would probably be required, but they had
seemed to think otherwise. "We shall not call you," Mr. Round had
said, "and I do not suppose that the other side will do so. They
can't if they do not first serve you." But in spite of this Mr. Mason
had determined to be at Alston. If it were true that this woman had
robbed him;--if it could be proved that she had really forged a will,
and then by crime of the deepest dye taken from him for years that
which was his own, should he not be there to see? Should he not be a
witness to her disgrace? Should he not be the first to know and feel
his own tardy triumph? Pity! Pity for her! When such a word was named
to him, it seemed to him as though the speaker were becoming to a
certain extent a partner in her guilt. Pity! Yes; such pity as an
Englishman who had caught the Nana Sahib might have felt for his
victim. He had complained twenty times since this matter had been
mooted of the folly of those who had altered the old laws. That folly
had probably robbed him of his property for twenty years, and would
now rob him of half his revenge. Not that he ever spoke even to
himself of revenge. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord." He would
have been as able as any man to quote the words, and as willing.
Justice, outraged justice, was his theme. Whom had he ever robbed? To
whom had he not paid all that was owing? "All that have I done from
my youth upwards." Such were his thoughts of himself; and with such
thoughts was it possible that he should willingly be absent from
Alston during such a trial?
"I really would stay away if I were you," Mat Round had said to him.
"I will not stay away," he had replied, with a look black as a
thundercloud. Could there really be anything in those suspicions of
Dockwrath, that his own lawyer had wilfully thrown him over once, and
was now anxious to throw him over again? "I will not stay away," he
said; and Dockwrath secured his lodgings for him. About this time
he was a good deal with Mr. Dockwrath, and almost regretted that he
had not followed that gentleman's advice at the commencement of the
trial, and placed the management of the whole concern in his hands.
Thus Alston was quite alive on the morning of the trial, and the
doors of the court-house were thronged long before they were opened.
They who were personally concerned in the matter, whose presence
during the ceremony would be necessary, or who had legal connection
with the matter in hand, were of course not driven to this tedious
manner of obtaining places. Mr. Dockwrath, for instance, did
not stand waiting at the door, nor did his friend Mr. Mason. Mr.
Dockwrath was a great man as far as this day was concerned, and could
command admittance from the doorkeepers and others about the court.
But for the outer world, for men and women who were not lucky enough
to be lawyers, witnesses, jurymen, or high sheriff, there was no
means of hearing and seeing the events of this stirring day except
what might be obtained by exercise of an almost unlimited patience.
There had been much doubt as to what arrangement for her attendance
at the court it might be best for Lady Mason to make, and some
difficulty too as to who should decide as to these arrangements.
Mr. Aram had been down more than once, and had given a hint that it
would be well that something should be settled. It had ended in his
settling it himself,--he, with the assistance of Mrs. Orme. What
would Sir Peregrine have said had he known that on any subject these
two had been leagued in council together?
"She can go from hence in a carriage--a carriage from the inn," Mrs.
Orme had said.
"Certainly, certainly; a carriage from the inn; yes. But in the
evening, ma'am?"
"When the trial is over?" said Mrs. Orme, inquiring from him his
meaning.
"We can hardly expect that it shall be over in one day, ma'am. She
will continue to be on bail, and can return home. I will see that she
is not annoyed as she leaves the town."
"Annoyed?" said Mrs. Orme.
"By the people I mean."
"Will there be anything of that, sir?" she asked, turning pale at the
idea. "I shall be with her, you know."
"Through the whole affair, ma'am?"
"Yes, through the whole affair."
"They'll want to have a look at her of course; but,--Mrs. Orme, we'll
see that you are not annoyed. Yes; she had better come back home the
first day. The expense won't be much; will it?"
"Oh no," said Mrs. Orme. "I must return home, you know. How many days
will it be, sir?"
"Well, perhaps two,--perhaps three. It may run on all the week. Of
course you know, Mrs. Orme--"
"Know what?" she asked.
"When the trial is over, if--if it should go against us,--then you
must return alone."
And so the matter had been settled, and Mr. Aram himself had ordered
the carriage from the inn. Sir Peregrine's carriage would have been
at their disposal,--or rather Mrs. Orme's own carriage; but she had
felt that The Cleeve arms on The Cleeve panels would be out of place
in the streets of Hamworth on such an occasion. It would of course be
impossible that she should not be recognised in the court, but she
would do as little as possible to proclaim her own presence.
When the morning came, the very morning of the terrible day, Mrs.
Orme came down early from her room, as it was necessary that she
should breakfast two hours before the usual time. She had said
nothing of this to Sir Peregrine, hoping that she might have been
able to escape in the morning without seeing him. She had told her
son to be there; but when she made her appearance in the breakfast
parlour, she found that his grandfather was already with him. She sat
down and took her cup of tea almost in silence, for they all felt
that on such a morning much speech was impossible for them.
"Edith, my dear," said the baronet, "you had better eat something.
Think of the day that is before you."
"Yes, father, I have," said she, and she lifted a morsel of bread to
her mouth.
"You must take something with you," said he, "or you will be faint in
the court. Have you thought how many hours you will be there?"
"I will see to that," said Peregrine, speaking with a stern decision
in his voice that was by no means natural to him.
"Will you be there, Perry?" said his mother.
"Of course I shall. I will see that you have what you want. You will
find that I will be near you."
"But how will you get in, my boy?" asked his grandfather.
"Let me alone for that. I have spoken to the sheriff already. There
is no knowing what may turn up; so if anything does turn up you may
be sure that I am near you."
Then another slight attempt at eating was made, the cup of tea was
emptied, and the breakfast was finished. "Is the carriage there,
Perry?" asked Mrs. Orme.
"Yes; it is at the door."
"Good-bye, father; I am so sorry to have disturbed you."
"Good-bye, Edith; God bless you, and give you strength to bear it.
And, Edith--"
"Sir?" and she held his hand as he whispered to her.
"Say to her a word of kindness from me;--a word of kindness. Tell her
that I have forgiven her, but tell her also that man's forgiveness
will avail her nothing."
"Yes, father, I will."
"Teach her where to look for pardon. But tell her all the same that I
have forgiven her."
And then he handed her into the carriage. Peregrine, as he stood
aside, had watched them as they whispered, and to his mind also as he
followed them to the carriage a suspicion of what the truth might be
now made its way. Surely there would be no need of all this solemn
mourning if she were innocent. Had she been esteemed as innocent, Sir
Peregrine was not the man to believe that any jury of his countrymen
could find her guilty. Had this been the reason for that sudden
change,--for that breaking off of the intended marriage? Even
Peregrine, as he went down the steps after his mother, had begun to
suspect the truth; and we may say that he was the last within all
that household who did so. During the last week every servant at The
Cleeve had whispered to her fellow-servant that Lady Mason had forged
the will.
"I shall be near you, mother," said Peregrine as he put his hand into
the carriage; "remember that. The judge and the other fellows will
go out in the middle of the day to get a glass of wine. I'll have
something for both of you near the court."
Poor Mrs. Orme as she pressed her son's hand felt much relieved by
the assurance. It was not that she feared anything, but she was going
to a place that was absolutely new to her,--to a place in which the
eyes of many would be fixed on her,--to a place in which the eyes of
all would be fixed on the companion with whom she would be joined.
Her heart almost sank within her as the carriage drove away. She
would be alone till she reached Orley Farm, and there she would take
up not only Lady Mason, but Mr. Aram also. How would it be with them
in that small carriage while Mr. Aram was sitting opposite to them?
Mrs. Orme by no means regretted this act of kindness which she was
doing, but she began to feel that the task was not a light one. As
to Mr. Aram's presence in the carriage, she need have been under no
uneasiness. He understood very well when his presence was desirable,
and also when it was not desirable.
When she arrived at the door of Orley Farm house she found Mr. Aram
waiting there to receive her. "I am sorry to say," said he, raising
his hat, "that Lady Mason's son is to accompany us."
"She did not tell me," said Mrs. Orme, not understanding why this
should make him sorry.
"It was arranged between them last night, and it is very unfortunate.
I cannot explain this to her; but perhaps--"
"Why is it unfortunate, sir?"
"Things will be said which--which--which would drive me mad if they
were said about my mother." And immediately there was a touch of
sympathy between the high-bred lady and the Old Bailey Jew lawyer.
"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Orme. "It will be dreadful."
"And then if they find her guilty! It may be so, you know. And how is
he to sit there and hear the judge's charge;--and then the verdict,
and the sentence. If he is there he cannot escape. I'll tell you
what, Mrs. Orme; he should not be there at all."
But what could she do? Had it been possible that she should be an
hour alone with Lady Mason, she would have explained all this to
her,--or if not all, would have explained much of it. But now, with
no minutes to spare, how could she make this understood? "But all
that will not come to-day, will it, sir?"
"Not all,--not the charge or the verdict. But he should not be there
even to-day. He should have gone away; or if he remained at home, he
should not have shown himself out of the house."
But this was too late now, for as they were still speaking Lady Mason
appeared at the door, leaning on her son's arm. She was dressed from
head to foot in black, and over her face there was a thick black
veil. Mr. Aram spoke no word further as she stepped up the steps
from the hall door to the carriage, but stood back, holding the
carriage-door open in his hand. Lucius merely bowed to Mrs. Orme as
he assisted his mother to take her place; and then following her,
he sat himself down in silence opposite to them. Mr. Aram, who had
carefully arranged his own programme, shut the door, and mounted on
to the box beside the driver.
Mrs. Orme had held out her own hand, and Lady Mason having taken
it, still held it after she was seated. Then they started, and for
the first mile no word was spoken between them. Mrs. Orme was most
anxious to speak, if it might only be for the sake of breaking the
horrid stillness of their greeting; but she could think of no word
which it would be proper on such an occasion to say, either to
Lucius, or even before him. Had she been alone with Lady Mason there
would have been enough of words that she could have spoken. Sir
Peregrine's message was as a burden upon her tongue till she could
deliver it; but she could not deliver it while Lucius Mason was
sitting by her.
Lady Mason herself was the first to speak. "I did not know yesterday
that Lucius would come," she said, "or I should have told you."
"I hope it does not inconvenience you," he said.
"Oh no; by no means."
"I could not let my mother go out without me on such an occasion as
this. But I am grateful to you, Mrs. Orme, for coming also."
"I thought it would be better for her to have some lady with her,"
said Mrs. Orme.
"Oh yes, it is better--much better." And then no further word was
spoken by any of them till the carriage drove up to the court-house
door. It may be hoped that the journey was less painful to Mr. Aram
than to the others, seeing that he solaced himself on the coach-box
with a cigar.
There was still a great crowd round the front of the court-house when
they reached it, although the doors were open, and the court was
already sitting. It had been arranged that this case--the great case
of the assize--should come on first on this day, most of the criminal
business having been completed on that preceding; and Mr. Aram
had promised that his charge should be forthcoming exactly at ten
o'clock. Exactly at ten the carriage was driven up to the door,
and Mr. Aram jumping from his seat directed certain policemen and
sheriff's servants to make a way for the ladies up to the door, and
through the hall of the court-house. Had he lived in Alston all his
life, and spent his days in the purlieus of that court, he could not
have been more at home or have been more promptly obeyed.
"And now I think we may go in," he said, opening the door and letting
down the steps with his own hands.
At first he took them into a small room within the building, and
then bustled away himself into the court. "I shall be back in half a
minute," he said; and in half a dozen half-minutes he was back. "We
are all ready now, and shall have no trouble about our places. If you
have anything to leave,--shawls, or things of that sort,--they will
be quite safe here: Mrs. Hitcham will look after them." And then
an old woman who had followed Mr. Aram into the room on the last
occasion curtsied to them. But they had nothing to leave, and their
little procession was soon made.
Lucius at first offered his arm to his mother, and she had taken it
till she had gone through the door into the hall. Mr. Aram also had,
with some hesitation, offered his arm to Mrs. Orme; but she, in spite
of that touch of sympathy, had managed, without speaking, to decline
it. In the hall, however, when all the crowd of gazers had turned
their eyes upon them and was only kept off from pressing on them by
the policemen and sheriff's officers, Lady Mason remembered herself,
and suddenly dropping her son's arm, she put out her hand for Mrs.
Orme. Mr. Aram was now in front of them, and thus they two followed
him into the body of the court. The veils of both of them were down;
but Mrs. Orme's veil was not more than ordinarily thick, and she
could see everything that was around her. So they walked up through
the crowded way, and Lucius followed them by himself.
They were very soon in their seats, the crowd offering them no
impediment. The judge was already on the bench,--not our old
acquaintance Justice Staveley, but his friend and colleague Baron
Maltby. Judge Staveley was sitting in the other court. Mrs. Orme and
Lady Mason soon found themselves seated on a bench, with a slight
standing desk before them, much as though they were seated in
a narrow pew. Up above them, on the same seat, were the three
barristers employed on Lady Mason's behalf; nearest to the judge
was Mr. Furnival; then came Felix Graham, and below him sat Mr.
Chaffanbrass, somewhat out of the line of precedence, in order that
he might more easily avail himself of the services of Mr. Aram.
Lucius found himself placed next to Mr. Chaffanbrass, and his mother
sat between him and Mrs. Orme. On the bench below them, immediately
facing a large table which was placed in the centre of the court, sat
Mr. Aram and his clerk.
[Illustration: The Court.]
Mrs. Orme as she took her seat was so confused that she could hardly
look around her; and it may be imagined that Lady Mason must have
suffered at any rate as much in the same way. But they who were
looking at her--and it may be said that every one in the court was
looking at her--were surprised to see that she raised her veil as
soon as she was seated. She raised her veil, and never lowered it
again till she left the court, and repassed out into the hall. She
had thought much of this day,--even of the little incidents which
would occur,--and she was aware that her identification would be
necessary. Nobody should tell her to unveil herself, nor would she
let it be thought that she was afraid to face her enemies. So there
she sat during the whole day, bearing the gaze of the court.
She had dressed herself with great care. It may be said of most women
who could be found in such a situation, that they would either give
no special heed to their dress on such a morning, or that they would
appear in garments of sorrow studiously unbecoming and lachrymose, or
that they would attempt to outface the world, and have appeared there
in bright trappings, fit for happier days. But Lady Mason had dressed
herself after none of these fashions. Never had her clothes been
better made, or worn with a better grace; but they were all black,
from her bonnet-ribbon down to her boot, and were put on without
any attempt at finery or smartness. As regards dress, she had never
looked better than she did now; and Mr. Furnival, when his eye caught
her as she turned her head round towards the judge, was startled by
the grace of her appearance. Her face was very pale, and somewhat
hard; but no one on looking at it could say that it was the
countenance of a woman overcome either by sorrow or by crime. She was
perfect mistress of herself, and as she looked round the court, not
with defiant gaze, but with eyes half raised, and a look of modest
but yet conscious intelligence, those around her hardly dared to
think that she could be guilty.
As she thus looked her gaze fell on one face that she had not seen
for years, and their eyes met. It was the face of Joseph Mason of
Groby, who sat opposite to her; and as she looked at him her own
countenance did not quail for a moment. Her own countenance did not
quail; but his eyes fell gradually down, and when he raised them
again she had averted her face.