DISTURBING THE GRAVE.
By twos and threes, by fours and fives and tens, the curious and
excited groups were wending their way towards Dallory churchyard. For
a certain work was going on there, which had never been performed in
it within the memory of the oldest inhabitant.
Richard North was lying incapacitated at Dallory Hall. When Mr.
Seeley--assisted by Dr. Rane, who had come in--examined into his
injuries at Mrs. Gass's, he pronounced them not to be of a grave
character. The bullet had struck a fleshy part of the arm, and passed
off from it, inflicting a wound. Care and rest only would be necessary
to heal it; and the same might be said with regard to the blow on the
temple. Perfect rest was essential to guard against any after
consequences. Mrs. Gass wished Richard to remain at her house and be
nursed there; but he thought of the trouble it would cause her regular
household, and said he preferred to be taken home. Mr. Seeley
continued to attend him by Richard's own wish; not Dr. Rane. The
public thought the rejection of the latter significant, in spite of
Richard's recent exertions to do away with any impression of his
guilt.
"Absolute quiet both of body and mind," enjoined Mr. Seeley, not only
to Richard himself but to the family and servants. "If you have it,
Mr. Richard, you will be about again in a short time: if you do not
have it, I cannot answer for the result."
But Richard North, with his good common sense, was an obedient
patient. He knew how necessary it was for his business, that he should
not long be laid by, and he kept as quiet as Mr. Seeley could desire.
No stranger was allowed to disturb him; none of the household presumed
to carry him the smallest item of public or domestic news. It was
during this confinement of Richard's that Ellen Adair received her
summons for departure. Her father had arrived in London, and wrote to
Mrs. Cumberland--unconscious of that lady's death--begging that she
and Ellen would at once join him there. He apologized for not coming
to Dallory, but said that family business required his presence in
London. Mr. North at first proposed to take Ellen up herself: but he
was really not able to do it: and it was decided that madam's maid
should attend her thither.
Ellen was allowed to go in and bid goodbye to Richard before her
departure. She burst into tears as she strove to thank him for his
kindness.
"You must come and see papa as soon as you are well enough, Richard.
When I tell him how kind you have been, he will want to see and thank
you."
"Goodbye, my dear," said Richard, releasing her hand. "I trust you
will soon get up all your spirits again, now your father has come."
She smiled faintly. It was not on her father--so imperfectly, if at
all, remembered--that her spirits depended. As Ellen was passing
through the hall to enter the carriage that would take her to the
station, she found herself touched by madam, and drawn into the
dining-room.
"You have not seemed very happy with us, Miss Adair. But I have tried
to make you so."
"Yes, madam, I am sure you have; and I thank you," returned Ellen
gratefully--for madam really did appear to have been very kind to her
of late. "I trust papa will have an opportunity of thanking you and
Mr. North personally."
Madam coughed. "If you think I deserve thanks, I wish you would do me
a slight favour in return."
"If I can. Certainly."
"Some years ago, when we were in India," proceeded madam, "my late
husband, Major Bohun, and your father were acquainted with each other.
Some unpleasant circumstances took place between them: a quarrel in
fact. Major Bohun considered he was injured; Mr. Adair thought it was
himself who was so. It was altogether very painful, and I would not
for the world have that old matter raked up again; it would cost me
too much pain. Will you, then, guard from Mr. Adair's knowledge that
I, Mrs. North, am she who was once Mrs. Bohun?"
"Yes, I will," said Ellen, in the impulse of the moment, without
pausing to consider whether circumstances would allow her to do so.
"You promise me this?"
"Yes, certainly. I will never speak of it to him, madam."
"Thank you, my dear." And madam kissed her, and led her out to the
carriage.
Day by day Richard North never failed to question the surgeon as to
whether anything fresh was arising in regard to the accusation against
Dr. Rane. The answer was invariably No. In point of fact, Mr. Seeley,
not hearing more of it himself, supposed there was not; and at length,
partly in good faith, partly to calm his patient, who was restless on
the subject, he said it had dropped through altogether.
But the surgeon was wrong. During Richard's active opposition, madam
had found her power somewhat crippled; she scarcely deemed it might be
altogether to her own interest at the Hall to set him at defiance; but
the moment he was laid up, she was at work again more actively than
ever. It was nothing but providential, madam considered, that Richard
had been put out of the way for a time: and could madam have released
Poole from the consequences of his act, and sent him on his road
rewarded, she had certainly done it. She gained her point. Poor Mrs.
Rane was to be taken up from her grave.
Dale, who had it in hand, went about the proceedings as quietly and
secretly as possible. He was sorry to have to do it, for he bore no
ill-will to Richard North, but the contrary, and he knew how anxious
he was that this should not be done; whilst at the same time the
lawyer hated madam. But, he had no alternative: he had received his
orders, as coroner, to call an inquest, and could not evade it. He
issued his instructions in private, strictly charging the few who must
act, to keep silence abroad. And not a syllable transpired beforehand.
The work was commenced in the darkness of the winter's morning. By ten
o'clock, however, the men had been seen in the churchyard, and secrecy
was no longer possible. The news ran like wildfire to all parts of
Dallory--Mrs. Rane was being taken up. Never had there been such
excitement as this. The street was in an uproar, windows were alive
with heads: had Dallory suddenly found itself invaded by a destroying
army, the commotion could not have been greater.
Then began the exodus to the churchyard. Mr. Dale had foreseen this
probability, and was prepared for it. A body of police appeared in the
churchyard, and the people found they could only approach the actual
spot within a very respectful distance. Resenting this, they relieved
their feelings by talking the louder.
Jelly was there. Never nearer losing her reason than now. Between
dismay at what she had set afloat, and horror at the crime about to be
revealed, Jelly was not clear whether she stood on her head or her
heels. When the news was carried to her of what was going on, Jelly
very nearly fainted. Now that it had come to the point, she felt that
she would have given the world never to have meddled with it. It was
not so much the responsibility to herself that she thought of, as the
dreadful aspect of the thing altogether. She went into a violent fit
of trembling, and sought her chamber to hide it. When somewhat
recovered, she asked leave of Mrs. Beverage to be allowed to go out
for a few hours. To have been compelled to remain indoors would have
driven her quite mad. The morning was growing late when Jelly arrived
at the scene, and the first person she specially noticed there was
Mrs. Gass.
But Mrs. Gass had not come forth in idle curiosity as most others had
done--and there were some of the better classes amongst the mob. Mrs.
Gass was inexpressibly shocked and dismayed that it should really have
come to this. Oliver Rane was her late husband's nephew; she did not
think he could have been guilty: and she had hastened to see whether
any argument or persuasion might avail at the twelfth hour, to arrest
proceedings and spare disgrace to the North and Gass families.
But no. Stepping over the barrier-line the police had drawn, without
the smallest regard to the remonstrance of a red-faced inspector, who
was directing things, Mrs. Gass approached the small throng around the
grave. She might have spared herself the pains. In answer to her
urgent appeal she was told that no one here had any power now; it had
passed out of their hands. In returning, Mrs. Gass encountered Jelly.
"Well," said she, regarding Jelly sternly, "be you satisfied with your
work?"
Jelly never answered. In her shame, her regret, her humiliation at
what she had done, she could almost have wished herself labouring at
the treadmill that had so long haunted her dreams.
"Anyway, you might have had the decency to keep away," went on Mrs.
Gass.
"I couldn't," said Jelly, meekly. "I couldn't stop at home and bear
it."
"Then I'd have gone a mile or two the other way," retorted Mrs. Gass.
"You must be quite brazen, to show your face here. And you must have a
conscience too."
A frightful noise interrupted them: a suppressed shout of horror. The
heavy coffin was at length deposited on the ground with the pick-axes
beside it, and the populace were expressing their mixed sentiments at
the sight: some in applause at this great advance in the show: others
in a groan meant for Dr. Rane, who had caused it all. Mrs. Gass, what
with the yelling, the coffin and pick-axes, and the crush, had never
felt so humiliated in all her days; and she retired behind a remote
tree to hide her emotion.
At that moment Thomas Hepburn appeared in sight, his face sad and
pale.
"Hepburn," said Mrs. Gass, "I can't think they'll find anything wrong
there. My belief is she died naturally. Unless there were better
grounds to go upon than I know of, they ought not to have gone to this
shameful length."
"Ma'am, I don't think it, either," assented the man. "I'm sure it has
been more like a dream to me than anything else, since I heard it.
Folks say it is madam at the Hall that has forced it on."
Had Mrs. Gass been a man, she might have felt tempted to give madam a
very strong word. What right had she, in her wicked malice, to inflict
this pain on others?
"Whatever may be the upshot of this, Thomas Hepburn, it will come home
to her as sure as that we two are talking here. What are you going
there for?" added Mrs. Gass, for he was preparing to make his way
towards the grave.
"I've had orders to be here, ma'am. Some of those law officials don't
understand this sort of work as well as I do."
He crossed over, the police making way for him, Inspector Jekyll
giving him a nod. Jelly was standing against a tree not far from Mrs.
Gass, straining her eyes upon the scene. By the eagerness displayed by
the crowd, it might have been supposed they thought that they had only
to see the face of the dead, lying within, to have all suspicion of
Dr. Rane turned into fact.
The work went on. The leaden covering came off amidst a tumult, and
the common deal shell alone remained.
It was at this juncture that another spectator came slowly up. The
mob, their excited faces turned to the grave and to Thomas Hepburn,
who was already at his work, did not see his approach. Perhaps it was
as well: for the new arrival was Dr. Rane.
Even from him had these proceedings been kept secret; perhaps
especially from him: and it was only now, upon coming forth to visit a
patient in Dallory, that he learnt what was taking place in the
churchyard. He came to it at once: his countenance stern, his face
white as death.
Mrs. Gass saw him; Jelly also. Mrs. Gass silently moved to prevent his
further approach, spreading her portly black silk skirts. Her
intentions were good.
"Go back," she whispered. "Steal away before you are seen. Look at
this unruly mob. They might tear you to pieces, doctor, in the humour
they are in."
"Let them--when I have stopped _that_," he recklessly answered,
pointing to what Thomas Hepburn was doing.
"You are mad," cried Mrs. Gass in excitement. "Stop that! Why, sir,
how impossible it would be, even with the best wish, to stop it now. A
nail or two more, sir, and the lid's off."
It was as she said. Dr. Rane saw it. He took out his handkerchief, and
passed it over his damp face.
"Richard North gave me his word that he would stop it, if it came to
this," he murmured more to himself than to Mrs. Gass.
"Richard North knows no more of this than it seems, you knew of it,"
she said. "He is shut up in his room at the Hall, and hears nothing.
Doctor, take advice and get away," she whispered imploringly. "There's
still time."
"No," he doggedly said. "As it has gone so far, I'll stand my ground
now."
Mrs. Gass groaned. The sound was lost in a rush--police contending
against King Mob, King Mob against the police. Even Mrs. Gass turned
pale. Dr. Rane voluntarily arrested his advancing steps. Jelly's
troubled face was peering out from the distant tree.
The lid had been lifted, and the open shell stood exposed. It was more
than the excited numbers could witness, and be quiet. Inspector Jekyll
and his fellows keep them back from looking into it? Never. A short,
sharp struggle, and the police and their staves were nowhere. With a
triumphant whoop the crowd advanced.
But a strange hush, apparently of consternation, had fallen on those
who stood at the grave; a hush fell on these interlopers as they
reached it. The coffin was empty.
Of all unexpected stoppages to proceedings, official or otherwise, one
more complete than this had never fallen. An old magistrate who was
present, the coroner--who had just come striding over the ground, to
see how things were going on--Thomas Hepburn, and others generally,
stared at the empty coffin in profound perplexity.
And the mob, when it had duly stared also, elbowing each other in the
process,18 and fighting ruefully for precedence, burst out into a howl.
Not at all a complimentary one to Dr. Rane.
He had sold her for dissection! He had never put her in at all! He had
had a sham funeral! 'Twasn't enough to poison of her, but he must sell
her afterwards!
To accuse a man of those heinous offences behind his back, is one
thing, but it is not felt to be quite so convenient to do it in his
presence. The sight of Dr. Rane walking calmly, not to say impudently,
across the churchyard into their very midst, struck a certain timidity
on the spirits of the roarers. Silence ensued. They even parted to
allow him to pass. Dr. Rane threw his glance on the empty coffin, and
then on those who stood around it.
"Well," said he, "why don't you take me?"
And not a soul ventured to reply.
"I have murdered my wife, have I? If I _have_ done so, why, you know I
deserve no quarter. Come, Mr. Coroner, why don't you issue your orders
to arrest me? You have your officers at hand."
The independence with which this was spoken, the freedom of Dr. Rane's
demeanour, the mockery of his tone, could not be surpassed. He had the
best of it now; might say what he pleased, and laugh derisively at
them at will: and they knew it. Even Dale, the coroner, felt
small--which is saying a good deal of a lawyer.
Turning round, the doctor walked slowly back again, his head in the
air. Mrs. Gass met him.
"Tell me the truth for the love of goodness, doctor. I have never
believed it of you. You did not help her to her death?"
"Help her to her death?" he retorted. "No: my wife was too dear to me
for that. I'd have killed the whole world rather than her--if it must
have come to killing at all."
"And I believe you," was the hearty response. "And I have told
everybody, from the first, that the charge was wicked and
preposterous."
"Thank you, Mrs. Gass."
He broke away from any further questions she might have put, and
stalked on towards Dallory, coolly saying that he had a patient to
see.
As to the crowd, they really did not know what to make of it: it was a
shameful cheat. The small staff of officials, including the police,
seemed to know as little. To be enabled to take Oliver Rane into
custody for poisoning his wife they must first find the wife, and
ascertain whether she really had been poisoned. Lawyer Dale had never
met with so bewildering a check in the long course of his practice;
the red-faced Inspector stroked his chin, and the old magistrate
clearly had not recovered his proper mind yet.
By the appearance of the shell, it seemed evident that the body had
never been there at all. What had he done with it?--where could he
have hidden it? A thought crossed Mr. Jekyll, experienced in crime,
that the doctor might have concealed it in his house--or buried it in
his garden.
"How was it you did not feel the lightness of the shell when you put
it into the lead, you and your men?" asked the Inspector, turning
sharply upon Thomas Hepburn.
"We did not do it," was the undertaker's answer. "Dr. Rane undertook
that himself, on account of the danger of infection. We went and
soldered the lead down, but it was all ready for us."
A clearer proof of guilt, than this fact conveyed, could not well be
found: as they all murmured one to another. The old magistrate rubbed
up his hair, as if by that means he could also rub up his intellect.
"I don't understand," he said, still bewildered. "Why should he have
kept her out of the coffin? If he did what was wrong--surely to bury
her out of sight would be the safest place to hide away his crime.
What do you think about it, Jekyll?"
"Well, your worship, I can only think that he might have feared some
such proceeding as this, and so secured himself against it," was the
Inspector's answer. "I don't know, of course: it is only an idea."
"But _where_ is the body, Jekyll?" persisted the magistrate. "What
could he have done with it?"
"It must be our business to find out, your worship."
"Did he cut her up?" demanded the mob. For which interruption they
were chased backwards by the army of discomfited policemen.
"She may be about his premises still, your worship," said the
Inspector, hazarding the opinion. "If so, I should say she is lying a
few feet below the surface somewhere in the garden."
"Bless my heart, what a frightful thing!" cried his worship. "And
about this? What is going to be done?"
He pointed to the coffins and the open grave. Yes: what was to be
done? Lawyer Dale searched his legal memory and could not remember any
precedent to guide him. A short counsel was held.
"When her bones is found, poor lady, they'll want Chris'an bur'al: as
good let the grave lie open," interposed one of the grave-diggers
respectfully--who no doubt wished to be spared the present labour of
filling-in the earth. To which opinion the gentlemen, consulting
there, condescended to listen.
And, finally, that course was decided upon: Thomas Hepburn being
requested to have the coffins removed to his place, pending inquiry.
And the gentlemen dispersed, and the mob after them.
A very dissatisfied mob tramping out of the churchyard. They seldom
had much pleasure now, poor things, in their enforced idleness and
starvation: and to be balked in this way was about as mortifying a
termination to the day as could have happened. Only one greater evil
could be imagined--and that was a possibility not to be glanced at:
that it should have been discovered that poor Mrs. Rane had died a
natural death.
The last person left in the churchyard--excepting a man or two who
remained to guard the coffins, whilst means were being brought to take
them away--was Jelly. To watch Jelly's countenance when the empty
shell stood revealed, was as good as a play. The jaw dropped, the eyes
were strained. It was worse than even Jelly had supposed, Dr. Rane a
greater villain. Not content with taking his wife's life, he had also
made away with her body. Whether he had disposed of it in the manner
affirmed by the mob, in that suggested by the Inspector, or in any
other way, the doctor must be one of the most hardened criminals
breathing--his brazen demeanour just now in the graveyard was alone
sufficient evidence of that. And now the trouble was no nearer being
brought to light than before, and Jelly almost wished, as she had
wished many a time lately, that she might die. Hiding from the
spectators stood she, her heart faint within her. When the echoes of
the tramping mob had died away in the distance, Jelly turned to depart
also, drawing her black shawl around her with a shudder.
"_That's_ why she can't rest, poor lady; she's not laid in consecrated
ground. At the worst, I never suspected this."