THE LAST DAY.
Mrs. Orme was up very early on that last morning of the trial, and
had dressed herself before Lady Mason was awake. It was now March,
but yet the morning light was hardly sufficient for her as she went
through her toilet. They had been told to be in the court very
punctually at ten, and in order to do so they must leave Orley Farm
at nine. Before that, as had been arranged over night, Lucius was to
see his mother.
"You haven't told him! he doesn't know!" were the first words which
Lady Mason spoke as she raised her head from the pillow. But then she
remembered. "Ah! yes," she said, as she again sank back and hid her
face, "he knows it all now."
"Yes, dear; he knows it all; and is it not better so? He will come
and see you, and when that is over you will be more comfortable than
you have been for years past."
Lucius also had been up early, and when he learned that Mrs. Orme was
dressed, he sent up to her begging that he might see her. Mrs. Orme
at once went to him, and found him seated at the breakfast-table with
his head resting on his arm. His face was pale and haggard, and his
hair was uncombed. He had not been undressed that night, and his
clothes hung on him as they always do hang on a man who has passed
a sleepless night in them. To Mrs. Orme's inquiry after himself he
answered not a word, nor did he at first ask after his mother. "That
was all true that you told me last night?"
"Yes, Mr. Mason; it was true."
"And she and I must be outcasts for ever. I will endeavour to bear
it, Mrs. Orme. As I did not put an end to my life last night I
suppose that I shall live and bear it. Does she expect to see me?"
"I told her that you would come to her this morning."
"And what shall I say? I would not condemn my own mother; but how can
I not condemn her?"
"Tell her at once that you will forgive her."
"But it will be a lie. I have not forgiven her. I loved my mother and
esteemed her as a pure and excellent woman. I was proud of my mother.
How can I forgive her for having destroyed such feelings as those?"
"There should be nothing that a son would not forgive his mother."
"Ah! that is so easily spoken. Men talk of forgiveness when their
anger rankles deepest in their hearts. In the course of years I shall
forgive her. I hope I shall. But to say that I can forgive her now
would be a farce. She has broken my heart, Mrs. Orme."
"And has not she suffered herself? Is not her heart broken?"
"I have been thinking of that all night. I cannot understand how she
should have lived for the last six months. Well; is it time that I
should go to her?"
Mrs. Orme again went up stairs, and after another interval of half
an hour returned to fetch him. She almost regretted that she had
undertaken to bring them together on that morning, thinking that
it might have been better to postpone the interview till the trial
should be over. She had expected that Lucius would have been softer
in his manner. But it was too late for any such thought.
"You will find her dressed now, Mr. Mason," said she; "but I conjure
you, as you hope for mercy yourself, to be merciful to her. She is
your mother, and though she has injured you by her folly, her heart
has been true to you through it all. Go now, and remember that
harshness to any woman is unmanly."
"I can only act as I think best," he replied in that low stern voice
which was habitual to him; and then with slow steps he went up to his
mother's room.
When he entered it she was standing with her eyes fixed upon the door
and her hands clasped together. So she stood till he had closed the
door behind him, and had taken a few steps on towards the centre of
the room. Then she rushed forward, and throwing herself on the ground
before him clasped him round the knees with her arms. "My boy, my
boy!" she said. And then she lay there bathing his feet with her
tears.
"Oh! mother, what is this that she has told me?"
But Lady Mason at the moment spoke no further words. It seemed as
though her heart would have burst with sobs, and when for a moment
she lifted up her face to his, the tears were streaming down her
cheeks. Had it not been for that relief she could not have borne the
sufferings which were heaped upon her.
"Mother, get up," he said. "Let me raise you. It is dreadful that you
should lie there. Mother, let me lift you." But she still clung to
his knees, grovelling on the ground before him. "Lucius, Lucius," she
said, and she then sank away from him as though the strength of her
muscles would no longer allow her to cling to him. She sank away from
him and lay along the ground hiding her face upon the floor.
"Mother," he said, taking her gently by the arm as he knelt at her
side, "if you will rise I will speak to you."
"Your words will kill me," she said. "I do not dare to look at you.
Oh! Lucius, will you ever forgive me?"
And yet she had done it all for him. She had done a rascally deed,
an hideous cut-throat deed, but it had been done altogether for him.
No thought of her own aggrandisement had touched her mind when she
resolved upon that forgery. As Rebekah had deceived her lord and
robbed Esau, the first-born, of his birthright, so had she robbed him
who was as Esau to her. How often had she thought of that, while her
conscience was pleading hard against her! Had it been imputed as a
crime to Rebekah that she had loved her own son well, and loving him
had put a crown upon his head by means of her matchless guile? Did
she love Lucius, her babe, less than Rebekah had loved Jacob? And had
she not striven with the old man, struggling that she might do this
just thing without injustice, till in his anger he had thrust her
from him. "I will not break my promise for the brat," the old man had
said;--and then she did the deed. But all that was as nothing now.
She felt no comfort now from that Bible story which had given her
such encouragement before the thing was finished. Now the result of
evil-doing had come full home to her, and she was seeking pardon with
a broken heart, while burning tears furrowed her cheeks,--not from
him whom she had thought to injure, but from the child of her own
bosom, for whose prosperity she had been so anxious.
Then she slowly arose and allowed him to place her upon the sofa.
"Mother," he said, "it is all over here."
"Ah! yes."
"Whither we had better go, I cannot yet say,--or when. We must wait
till this day is ended."
"Lucius, I care nothing for myself,--nothing. It is nothing to me
whether or no they say that I am guilty. It is of you only that I am
thinking."
"Our lot, mother, must still be together. If they find you guilty
you will be imprisoned, and then I will go, and come back when they
release you. For you and me the future world will be very different
from the past."
"It need not be so,--for you, Lucius. I do not wish to keep you near
me now."
"But I shall be near you. Where you hide your shame there will I
hide mine. In this world there is nothing left for us. But there is
another world before you,--if you can repent of your sin." This too
he said very sternly, standing somewhat away from her, and frowning
the while with those gloomy eyebrows. Sad as was her condition he
might have given her solace, could he have taken her by the hand and
kissed her. Peregrine Orme would have done so, or Augustus Staveley,
could it have been possible that they should have found themselves
in that position. Though Lucius Mason could not do so, he was not
less just than they, and, it may be, not less loving in his heart.
He could devote himself for his mother's sake as absolutely as could
they. But to some is given and to some is denied that cruse of
heavenly balm with which all wounds can be assuaged and sore hearts
ever relieved of some portion of their sorrow. Of all the virtues
with which man can endow himself surely none other is so odious as
that justice which can teach itself to look down upon mercy almost as
a vice!
"I will not ask you to forgive me," she said, plaintively.
"Mother," he answered, "were I to say that I forgave you my words
would be a mockery. I have no right either to condemn or to forgive.
I accept my position as it has been made for me, and will endeavour
to do my duty."
It would have been almost better for her that he should have
upbraided her for her wickedness. She would then have fallen again
prostrate before him, if not in body at least in spirit, and
her weakness would have stood for her in place of strength. But
now it was necessary that she should hear his words and bear his
looks,--bear them like a heavy burden on her back without absolutely
sinking. It had been that necessity of bearing and never absolutely
sinking which, during years past, had so tried and tested the
strength of her heart and soul. Seeing that she had not sunk, we may
say that her strength had been very wonderful.
And then she stood up and came close to him. "But you will give me
your hand, Lucius?"
"Yes, mother; there is my hand. I shall stand by you through it all."
But he did not offer to kiss her; and there was still some pride in
her heart which would not allow her to ask him for an embrace.
"And now," he said, "it is time that you should prepare to go. Mrs.
Orme thinks it better that I should not accompany you."
"No, Lucius, no; you must not hear them proclaim my guilt in court."
"That would make but little difference. But nevertheless I will not
go. Had I known this before I should not have gone there. It was to
testify my belief in your innocence; nay, my conviction--"
"Oh, Lucius, spare me!"
"Well, I will speak of it no more. I shall be here to-night when you
come back."
"But if they say that I am guilty they will take me away."
"If so I will come to you,--in the morning if they will let me. But,
mother, in any case I must leave this house to-morrow." Then again
he gave her his hand, but he left her without touching her with his
lips.
When the two ladies appeared in court together without Lucius Mason
there was much question among the crowd as to the cause of his
absence. Both Dockwrath and Joseph Mason looked at it in the right
light, and accepted it as a ground for renewed hope. "He dare not
face the verdict," said Dockwrath. And yet when they had left the
court on the preceding evening, after listening to Mr. Furnival's
speech, their hopes had not been very high. Dockwrath had not
admitted with words that he feared defeat, but when Mason had gnashed
his teeth as he walked up and down his room at Alston, and striking
the table with his clenched fist had declared his fears, "By heavens
they will escape me again!" Dockwrath had not been able to give him
substantial comfort. "The jury are not such fools as to take all
that for gospel," he had said. But he had not said it with that tone
of assured conviction which he had always used till Mr. Furnival's
speech had been made. There could have been no greater attestation
to the power displayed by Mr. Furnival than Mr. Mason's countenance
as he left the court on that evening. "I suppose it will cost me
hundreds of pounds," he said to Dockwrath that evening. "Orley Farm
will pay for it all," Dockwrath had answered; but his answer had
shown no confidence. And, if we think well of it, Joseph Mason was
deserving of pity. He wanted only what was his own; and that Orley
Farm ought to be his own he had no smallest doubt. Mr. Furnival had
not in the least shaken him; but he had made him feel that others
would be shaken. "If it could only be left to the judge," thought Mr.
Mason to himself. And then he began to consider whether this British
palladium of an unanimous jury had not in it more of evil than of
good.
Young Peregrine Orme again met his mother at the door of the court,
and at her instance gave his arm to Lady Mason. Mr. Aram was also
there; but Mr. Aram had great tact, and did not offer his arm to Mrs.
Orme, contenting himself with making a way for her and walking beside
her. "I am glad that her son has not come to-day," he said, not
bringing his head suspiciously close to hers, but still speaking so
that none but she might hear him. "He has done all the good that he
could do, and as there is only the judge's charge to hear, the jury
will not notice his absence. Of course we hope for the best, Mrs.
Orme, but it is doubtful."
As Felix Graham took his place next to Chaffanbrass, the old lawyer
scowled at him, turning his red old savage eyes first on him and then
from him, growling the while, so that the whole court might notice
it. The legal portion of the court did notice it and were much
amused. "Good morning, Mr. Chaffanbrass," said Graham quite aloud as
he took his seat; and then Chaffanbrass growled again. Considering
the lights with which he had been lightened, there was a species of
honesty about Mr. Chaffanbrass which certainly deserved praise. He
was always true to the man whose money he had taken, and gave to his
customer, with all the power at his command, that assistance which he
had professed to sell. But we may give the same praise to the hired
bravo who goes through with truth and courage the task which he has
undertaken. I knew an assassin in Ireland who professed that during
twelve years of practice in Tipperary he had never failed when he had
once engaged himself. For truth and honesty to their customers--which
are great virtues--I would bracket that man and Mr. Chaffanbrass
together.
And then the judge commenced his charge, and as he went on with it
he repeated all the evidence that was in any way of moment, pulling
the details to pieces, and dividing that which bore upon the subject
from that which did not. This he did with infinite talent and with a
perspicuity beyond all praise. But to my thinking it was remarkable
that he seemed to regard the witnesses as a dissecting surgeon may
be supposed to regard the subjects on which he operates for the
advancement of science. With exquisite care he displayed what each
had said and how the special saying of one bore on that special
saying of another. But he never spoke of them as though they had been
live men and women who were themselves as much entitled to justice
at his hands as either the prosecutor in this matter or she who was
being prosecuted; who, indeed, if anything, were better entitled
unless he could show that they were false and suborned; for unless
they were suborned or false they were there doing a painful duty to
the public, for which they were to receive no pay and from which they
were to obtain no benefit. Of whom else in that court could so much
be said? The judge there had his ermine and his canopy, his large
salary and his seat of honour. And the lawyers had their wigs, and
their own loud voices, and their places of precedence. The attorneys
had their seats and their big tables, and the somewhat familiar
respect of the tipstaves. The jury, though not much to be envied,
were addressed with respect and flattery, had their honourable seats,
and were invariably at least called gentlemen. But why should there
be no seat of honour for the witnesses? To stand in a box, to be
bawled after by the police, to be scowled at and scolded by the
judge, to be browbeaten and accused falsely by the barristers, and
then to be condemned as perjurers by the jury,--that is the fate of
the one person who during the whole trial is perhaps entitled to
the greatest respect, and is certainly entitled to the most public
gratitude. Let the witness have a big arm-chair, and a canopy over
him, and a man behind him with a red cloak to do him honour and keep
the flies off; let him be gently invited to come forward from some
inner room where he can sit before a fire. Then he will be able to
speak out, making himself heard without scolding, and will perhaps be
able to make a fair fight with the cocks who can crow so loudly on
their own dunghills.
The judge in this case did his work with admirable skill, blowing
aside the froth of Mr. Furnival's eloquence, and upsetting the
sophistry and false deductions of Mr. Chaffanbrass. The case for the
jury, as he said, hung altogether upon the evidence of Kenneby and
the woman Bolster. As far as he could see, the evidence of Dockwrath
had little to do with it; and alleged malice and greed on the part of
Dockwrath could have nothing to do with it. The jury might take it
as proved that Lady Mason at the former trial had sworn that she
had been present when her husband signed the codicil and had seen
the different signatures affixed to it. They might also take it
as proved, that that other deed,--the deed purporting to close a
partnership between Sir Joseph Mason and Mr. Martock,--had been
executed on the 14th of July, and that it had been signed by Sir
Joseph, and also by those two surviving witnesses, Kenneby and
Bolster. The question, therefore, for the consideration of the jury
had narrowed itself to this: had two deeds been executed by Sir
Joseph Mason, both bearing the same date? If this had not been done,
and if that deed with reference to the partnership were a true
deed, then must the other be false and fraudulent; and if false and
fraudulent, then must Lady Mason have sworn falsely, and been guilty
of that perjury with which she was now charged. There might, perhaps,
be one loophole to this argument by which an escape was possible.
Though both deeds bore the date of 14th July, there might have been
error in this. It was possible, though no doubt singular, that that
date should have been inserted in the partnership deed, and the deed
itself be executed afterwards. But then the woman Bolster told them
that she had been called to act as witness but once in her life, and
if they believed her in that statement, the possibility of error as
to the date would be of little or no avail on behalf of Lady Mason.
For himself, he could not say that adequate ground had been shown
for charging Bolster with swearing falsely. No doubt she had been
obstinate in her method of giving her testimony, but that might have
arisen from an honest resolution on her part not to allow herself to
be shaken. The value of her testimony must, however, be judged by
the jury themselves. As regarded Kenneby, he must say that the man
had been very stupid. No one who had heard him would accuse him for
a moment of having intended to swear falsely, but the jury might
perhaps think that the testimony of such a man could not be taken as
having much value with reference to circumstances which happened more
than twenty years since.
The charge took over two hours, but the substance of it has been
stated. Then the jury retired to consider their verdict, and the
judge, and the barristers, and some other jury proceeded to the
business of some other and less important trial. Lady Mason and Mrs.
Orme sat for a while in their seats--perhaps for a space of twenty
minutes--and then, as the jury did not at once return into court,
they retired to the sitting-room in which they had first been placed.
Here Mr. Aram accompanied them, and here they were of course met by
Peregrine Orme.
"His lordship's charge was very good--very good, indeed," said Mr.
Aram.
"Was it?" asked Peregrine.
"And very much in our favour," continued the attorney.
"You think then," said Mrs. Orme, looking up into his face, "you
think that--" But she did not know how to go on with her question.
"Yes, I do. I think we shall have a verdict; I do, indeed. I would
not say so before Lady Mason if my opinion was not very strong. The
jury may disagree. That is not improbable. But I cannot anticipate
that the verdict will be against us."
There was some comfort in this; but how wretched was the nature of
the comfort! Did not the attorney, in every word which he spoke,
declare his own conviction of his client's guilt. Even Peregrine Orme
could not say out boldly that he felt sure of an acquittal because
no other verdict could be justly given. And then why was not Mr.
Furnival there, taking his friend by the hand and congratulating her
that her troubles were so nearly over? Mr. Furnival at this time did
not come near her; and had he done so, what could he have said to
her?
He and Sir Richard Leatherham left the court together, and the latter
went at once back to London without waiting to hear the verdict. Mr.
Chaffanbrass also, and Felix Graham retired from the scene of their
labours, and as they did so, a few words were spoken between them.
"Mr. Graham," said the ancient hero of the Old Bailey, "you are too
great for this kind of work I take it. If I were you, I would keep
out of it for the future."
"I am very much of the same way of thinking, Mr. Chaffanbrass," said
the other.
"If a man undertakes a duty, he should do it. That's my opinion,
though I confess it's a little old fashioned; especially if he takes
money for it, Mr. Graham." And then the old man glowered at him with
his fierce eyes, and nodded his head and went on. What could Graham
say to him? His answer would have been ready enough had there been
time or place in which to give it. But he had no answer ready
which was fit for the crowded hall of the court-house, and so Mr.
Chaffanbrass went on his way. He will now pass out of our sight,
and we will say of him, that he did his duty well according to his
lights.
There, in that little room, sat Lady Mason and Mrs. Orme till late in
the evening, and there, with them, remained Peregrine. Some sort of
refreshment was procured for them, but of the three days they passed
in the court, that, perhaps, was the most oppressive. There was
no employment for them, and then the suspense was terrible! That
suspense became worse and worse as the hours went on, for it was
clear that at any rate some of the jury were anxious to give a
verdict against her. "They say that there's eight and four," said Mr.
Aram, at one of the many visits which he made to them; "but there's
no saying how true that may be."
"Eight and four!" said Peregrine.
"Eight to acquit, and four for guilty," said Aram. "If so, we're
safe, at any rate, till the next assizes."
But it was not fated that Lady Mason should be sent away from the
court in doubt. At eight o'clock Mr. Aram came to them, hot with
haste, and told them that the jury had sent for the judge. The judge
had gone home to his dinner, but would return to court at once when
he heard that the jury had agreed.
"And must we go into court again?" said Mrs. Orme.
"Lady Mason must do so."
"Then of course I shall go with her. Are you ready now, dear?"
Lady Mason was unable to speak, but she signified that she was ready,
and then they went into court. The jury were already in the box, and
as the two ladies took their seats, the judge entered. But few of the
gas-lights were lit, so that they in the court could hardly see each
other, and the remaining ceremony did not take five minutes.
"Not guilty, my lord," said the foreman. Then the verdict was
recorded, and the judge went back to his dinner. Joseph Mason and
Dockwrath were present and heard the verdict. I will leave the reader
to imagine with what an appetite they returned to their chamber.