UP TO THE MONDAY EVENING.
On the Saturday previous to the events recorded in the last chapter,
the cathedral city had been the scene of unusual bustle. The judges
came in from Oxford to hold the Spring Assize, bringing in their wake
the customary multiplicity of followers: attendants, officers,
barristers, and others. Some of the witnesses in the different cases
to be tried, civil and criminal also came in that day, to remain until
they should be wanted the following week: so that the town was full.
Amidst the barristers who arrived was Mr. Ollivera. He was a young
man; and it was only the second time he had come on circuit. After
leaving college he had travelled a good deal, and also sojourned in
different foreign countries, acquiring legal experience, and did not
take up his profession at home as early as some do. A fresh-coloured,
pleasing, bright looking man was he, his curly hair of a light auburn,
his eyes blue, his figure elastic and of middle height. All the world
liked John Ollivera. He was essentially of a practical nature, of
sound sense, of pure mind and habits, holding a reverence for all
things holy; and in every respect just the last man who could have
been suspected of a tendency to lay violent hands on himself.
He had written to secure his former lodgings at Mr. Jones's in High
Street, and proceeded to them at once on arriving at the station. It
was the third time he had lodged there. At the previous assizes in
July he had gone there first; and the whole of the month of October,
during the long vacation, he had been there again, having, as people
supposed, taken a liking to the town. So that this was the third time.
He got in between six and seven on the Saturday evening. Ordered tea
and two mutton chops, which were got for him at once, and then went
out to pay a visit to a lady who lived within the precincts of the
cathedral. She was a widow; her husband, Colonel Joliffe, having died
about a year before, leaving her with a slender income and three
expensive daughters. During the colonel's lifetime they had lived in
good style, about two miles from the town; but a great part of his
means died with him, and Mrs. Joliffe then took a small house in the
city and had to retrench in all her ways. Which was a terrible
mortification to the young ladies.
To this lady's house Mr. Ollivera took his way when his frugal dinner
was over. He spent a couple of hours with them, and then returned to
his rooms and got out his law papers, over which he remained until
twelve o'clock, when he went to bed. He occupied the drawing-room,
which was on the first floor over the shop, and looked to the street;
and the bedroom behind it. On the following day, Sunday, he attended
early prayers in the cathedral at eight o'clock, staying to partake of
the Sacrament, and also the later service at eleven, when the judges
and corporation were present. In the afternoon he attended the
cathedral again, going to it with the Miss Joliffes; dined at home at
five, which was also Mrs. Joliffe's dinner hour, and spent the rest of
the evening at her house. Mrs. Jones, his landlady, who had a vast
amount of shrewd observation--and a shrewd tongue too on occasions, as
well as a sharp one--gave it as her opinion that he must be courting
one of the Miss Joliffes. He had been with them a little in his few
days' sojourn at the July assizes, and a great deal with them during
his stay in October.
On Monday morning the trials commenced, and Mr. Ollivera, though he
had no cause on, was in court a great portion of the day. He left it
in the afternoon, telling Mr. Kene that he had an appointment for
half-past three, a disagreeable commission that had been entrusted to
him, he added, and must go and keep it. About half-past four he
appeared at his rooms; Mrs. Jones met him in the hall, and spoke to
him as he went upstairs. When his dinner was sent up at five, the maid
found him buried in a heap of law papers. Hastily clearing a space at
one end of the table, he told her to put the dinner there. In less
than half an hour the bell was rung for the things to be taken away,
and Mr. Ollivera was then bending over his papers again.
The papers no doubt related to a cause in which he was to appear the
following day. It was a civil action, touching some property in which
Mrs. Joliffe was remotely though not actively interested. The London
solicitors were the good old firm of Greatorex and Greatorex; Mr.
Ollivera was a relative of the house; nephew of old Mr. Greatorex, in
fact; and to him had been confided the advocacy of the cause. The name
of the local solicitor it does not signify to mention. It was not a
very important cause: but a new barrister thinks all his causes
important, and Mr. Ollivera was an earnest, painstaking man, sparing
himself no trouble that could conduce to success. He had declined a
proffered dinner engagement for that evening, but accepted an
invitation for the next. So much was known of his movements up to the
Monday evening.
On that same evening, Mr. Bede Greatorex arrived at the station by the
six o'clock train from London; took a fly, and was driven to the Star
and Garter Hotel. He was the son of old Mr. Greatorex, and the second
partner in the firm. His journey down had reference to the next day's
action: something new had unexpectedly arisen; some slight information
been gained of a favourable nature, and Mr. Greatorex, senior, had
despatched his son to confer with Mr. Ollivera in preference to
writing or telegraphing. Bede Greatorex was nothing loth, and entered
on his flying journey with high good-humour, intending to be back in
London by the following midday. He was a tall, fine-looking man, in
face not unlike Mr. Ollivera, except that his hair and eyes were dark,
and his complexion a clear, pale olive; his age about thirty-four. The
cousins were cordial friends.
On arriving at the Star and Garter he declined refreshment then,
having taken an early dinner before leaving town and asked to be
directed to Mr. Ollivera's lodgings in High Street: which was readily
done, High Street being in a direct line with the hotel. Mr. Bede
Greatorex gained the house, and found it to be one of commodious
proportions, the lower part occupied as a hosier's shop, whose windows
were of plate-glass. Over the door in the middle was inscribed
"Richard Jones, hosier and patent shirt-front maker." There was a side
entrance, wide and rather handsome; the house altogether being a good
one. Ringing at the side bell, he inquired of the answering servant
for Mr. Ollivera, and was at once shown up to him.
Mr. Ollivera was seated at the table, his back to the door. The papers
he had been engaged upon were neatly stacked now, as if done with; he
appeared to be writing a note; and a pistol lay at his elbow. All this
was shown both to Mr. Bede Greatorex and the maid, by the bright flame
of the moderator lamp; then lighted.
"Well, John!" cried the visitor, in a gay, laughing tone, before the
girl could speak. "Don't be surprised at seeing me."
Mr. Ollivera turned round at the voice and evidently was surprised:
surprised and pleased.
"Why, Bede!" he cried, starting up. "I'd as soon have expected to see
a ghost."
They shook hands heartily, and Mr. Bede Greatorex sat down. The maid,
to save coming up again to ask, took the opportunity of inquiring when
Mr. Ollivera would like tea; and was answered that he might not want
any; if he did, he'd ring: he might be going out. As the servant shut
the door she heard the visitor begin to explain his errand, and that
his father had sent him in preference to writing. Her ears were always
full of curiosity.
In about an hour's time, Mr. Bede Greatorex departed. A young man
belonging to the house, Alfred Jones, who happened to be passing up
the stairs when Mr. Greatorex was quitting the drawing-room, heard
that gentleman make an appointment with Mr. Ollivera for the morning.
Mr. Bede Greatorex walked back to the hotel, ordered a fire made in
his bedroom against night, took a glass of brandy-and-water, for he
felt cold, washed the travelling dust off his face and hands, which he
had not done before, had his coat brushed, and went out again. It was
nine o'clock then, and he bent his steps quickly towards the cathedral
to call on Mrs. Joliffe, having to inquire the way. It took him
through High Street again, and as he passed his cousin's lodgings, the
same servant who had shown him in was standing at the front-door,
recognized him and dropped a curtsey.
In the drawing-room with Mrs. Joliffe were her three daughters,
Louisa, Clare, and Mary; some three or four friends were also
assembled. They were astonished to see Mr. Bede Greatorex: none of
them knew him well, except Louisa, who had paid a long visit to his
father's house the previous year. She changed colour when he was
announced: and it may have been that his voice took a tenderer tone as
it addressed her; his hand lingered longer in clasping hers than it
need have done. She was an excessively fashionable young lady: not
very young, perhaps six or seven-and-twenty: and if Bede Greatorex
coveted her for a wife it was to be hoped his pockets were well lined.
He spoke just a word to Mrs. Joliffe of having come down on a mission
to Mr. Ollivera; not stating explicitly what it was; and said he was
going back home in the morning.
"We are expecting Mr. Ollivera here tonight," observed Mrs. Joliffe.
"He is late."
"Are you?" was the reply of Mr. Greatorex. "John said he might be
going out, I remember, but I did not know it was to your house. Don't
make too sure of him, Mrs. Joliffe, he seemed idle, and complained of
headache."
"I suppose he is busy," remarked Mrs. Joliffe. "All you law people are
busy at assize time."
"Louisa, is it as it should be between us?" whispered Bede Greatorex,
in an opportunity that occurred when they were alone near the piano.
"Don't be silly, Mr. Greatorex," was the answer.
"Silly!"
She bent her bead, not speaking.
"What do you mean, Louisa? Our engagement was entered upon
deliberately: you gave me every hope. You cannot play with me now.
Speak, Louisa."
He had taken possession of her hand, and was keeping her before him;
his dark eyes, gleaming with their doubt and love, looked straight
into hers.
"What?" she faintly asked. "Why do you question it?"
"Because your manner is strange: you have avoided me ever since I came
in."
"The surprise was so great."
"Surely a pleasant surprise. I intended it as such. Do you suppose I
should have cared to come down on this business to Mr. Ollivera, when
writing would have answered every purpose? No: I came to see you. And
to learn why----"
"Not now. Don't you see mamma is looking at me?"
"And what though she is? I should have liked to speak to your mother
tonight, but for----"
"Not tonight. I pray you not tonight. Take another opportunity."
The words reassured him.
"Then, Louisa, it is all right between us."
"Yes, yes, of course it is. You offended me, Bede, last January, and
I--I have been vexed. I'll write to you as soon as you get back home,
and explain everything."
He pressed her hand with a lingering touch, and then released it.
There was nothing in the wide world so coveted by Bede Greatorex as
that false hand of hers: as many things, fair outside, false within,
are coveted by us poor mortals, blind at the best. But Miss Joliffe
looked half scared as she left him for a safer part of the room; her
eyes and manner were alike restless. Bede followed her, and they were
talking together at intervals in an undertone during the rest of the
evening. Louisa being evidently ill at ease, but striving to conceal
it.
At a quarter to eleven Mr. Bede Greatorex took his departure. In
passing up High Street, his cousin's lodgings were on the opposite
side of the way. He momentarily halted and stepped off the pavement as
if he would have crossed to go in, and then hesitated, for the
sitting-room was in darkness.
"The light's out: he's gone to bed, I dare say," said Mr. Greatorex,
speaking aloud. "No good to disturb him." And a tradesman, who
happened to be fastening his side-door and had got it about an inch
open, overheard the words Mr. Greatorex having doubtless been quite
unaware that he spoke to an auditor.
Towards the top of High Street he met Mr. Kene, the barrister. The
latter, after expressing some surprise at seeing him, and assuming he
had come direct from Mr. Ollivera's, asked whether the latter was in.
"In and in bed," replied Mr. Greatorex.
"Indeed! Why it's not eleven o'clock."
"At any rate, there's no light in his room, or I should have gone up.
He complained of headache: perhaps he has gone to bed early to sleep
it off."
"I want to see him particularly," said the barrister. "Are you sure he
is in bed?"
"You can go and ascertain, Kene. Ring the people of the house up,
should they have gone to bed too. I could see no light anywhere."
Mr. Kene did not care to ring people up, and decided to leave his
business with Mr. Ollivera until the morning. He had been dining with
some fellows he said, and had no idea how the time was running on.
Linking his arm within that of Bede Greatorex, they walked together to
the Star, and there parted. Mr. Greatorex went up at once to his
chamber, stirred the fire into a blaze, rang for the waiter, and
ordered another glass of hot brandy-and-water.
"I think I must have taken cold," he observed to the man when it was
brought to him. "There has been a chill upon me ever since I came
here."
"Nothing more likely, sir," returned the waiter. "Them trains are such
draughty things."
However Mr. Greatorex hoped he should be all right in the morning. He
gave directions to be called at a quarter before eight, and the night
wore on.
Some time before that hour chimed out from the cathedral clock, when
the morning had come, he found himself aroused by a knocking at his
door. A waiter, speaking from the outside, said that something had
happened to Mr. Ollivera. Mr. Bede Greatorex, thinking the words odd,
and not best pleased to be thus summarily disturbed, possibly from
dreams of Louisa Joliffe, called out from the downy pillow (in rather
a cross tone, it must be confessed) to know _what_ had happened to Mr.
Ollivera: and was answered that he was dead.
Springing out of bed, and dressing himself quickly, Bede Greatorex
went downstairs, and found that Kene, who had brought the news, was
gone again, leaving word that he had gone back to High Street. Mr.
Greatorex hastened to follow.
The tale to be told was very singular, very sad, and Bede Greatorex
could not help shivering as he heard it. His cold was upon him still.
It appeared that nothing more had been seen or heard of Mr. Ollivera
after Mr. Greatorex left him the previous evening. Mrs. Jones, the
mistress of the house, had gone out at seven, when the shop closed, to
sit by the bed-side of a dying relative; her sister, Miss Rye, was
also out: the maid left in charge, the only servant the house kept,
had taken the opportunity to spend _her_ time in the street; standing
now at her own door, now at other doors half a score yards off, as she
could get neighbours' servants to gossip with. About half-past ten it
occurred to the maid that she might as well go up and inquire if Mr.
Ollivera wanted anything: perhaps the fact of his not having rung at
all struck her as singular. She knew he had not gone out, or she must
have seen him, for she had contrived to keep a tolerably steady
lookout on the street door, however far she had wandered from it. Up
she went, knocked at the door, got no answer, opened it, saw that the
room was in darkness, and regarded it as a sure proof that Mr.
Ollivera had left the room for the night, for he never put the lamp
out in any other case.
"He's gone to bed early tonight," thought the girl, shutting the door
again. "I hope to goodness he didn't ring, and me not hear it.
Wouldn't missis fly out at me!"
And when Mrs. Jones came in, as she did soon after the girl got
downstairs again, and inquired after Mr. Ollivera, she was told he had
gone to bed.
Now it appeared that Miss Rye sat over the sitting-room fire (a
parlour behind the shop, underneath Mr. Ollivera's bedroom) for some
time after the rest of the house had retired to rest. When at length
she went to bed, she was unable to sleep. Towards morning she dropped
into a doze and was awakened (according to her own account) by a
dream. A very vivid dream, that startled and unnerved her. She dreamt
she saw Mr. Ollivera in his sitting-room--dead. And, as she seemed to
look at him, a terrible amount of self-reproach, far greater than any
she could ever experience in life, rushed over her mind, for not
having gone in earlier to discover him. It was this feeling that awoke
her: it had seemed that he cast it on her, that it came out direct to
her from his dead presence, cold and lifeless though he was. So real
did it all appear, that for some minutes after Miss Rye awoke, she
could not believe it to be only a dream. Turning to look at her watch
she saw it was half-past six, and the sun had risen. An early riser
always, for she had to get her living by dressmaking, Miss Rye got up
and dressed herself: but she could not throw off the impression made
upon her; and a little before seven she went down and opened the door
of Mr. Ollivera's sitting-room. Not so much to see whether it might be
true or not, as to show to herself by ocular demonstration that it was
not true: she might forget the impression then.
But it was true. What was Miss Rye's horror and astonishment at seeing
him, Mr. Ollivera, there! At the first moment of opening the door, she
observed nothing unusual. The white blinds were down before the
windows; the tables, chairs, and other furniture were as customary;
but as she stood looking in, she saw in an easy-chair near the table,
whose back was towards her, the head of Mr. Ollivera. With a strange
bounding-on of all her pulses; with a dread fear at her heart, that
caused it to cease beating, Miss Rye went in and looked at him, and
then flew out of the room, uttering startled cries.
The cries arose the house. Mrs. Jones, the young man Alfred Jones, and
the servant-maid came flocking forth: the two former were nearly
dressed; the maid had been about her work downstairs. Mr. Ollivera lay
back in the easy-chair, dead and cold. The right arm hung down over
the side, and immediately underneath it on the carpet, looking as if
it had dropped from the hand, lay the discharged pistol.
The servant and Alfred Jones ran two ways: the one for a doctor, the
other to Mr. Kene the barrister, who had been intimate with Mr.
Ollivera; Mrs. Jones, a shrewd, clever woman, locking the room up
exactly as it was, until they should arrive.
But now, by a singular coincidence, it happened that Mr. Butterby,
abroad betimes, was the first to meet the running servant-maid, and
consequently, he was first on the scene. The doctor and Mr. Kene came
next, and then Bede Greatorex. Such was the story as it greeted Bede's
ears.
On the table, just as both he and the servant had seen them the night
before, were the neatly-stacked law papers. Also a folded legal
document that had been brought from town by himself, Bede Greatorex.
There were also pens, ink, and a sheet of note-paper, on which some
lines were written. They were as follows:--
"My Dear Friend,--It is of no use. Nothing more can be done. Should I
never see you again, I beg you once for all to believe me when I say
that I _have_ made efforts, though they have been ineffectual. And when
"The pistol is ready to my hand. Goodbye."
The first portion of this letter, up to the point of the abrupt
breaking off, was written in Mr. Ollivera's usual steady hand. The
latter portion was scrawling, trembling, and blotted; the writing
bearing but a faint resemblance to the rest. Acute Mr. Butterby
remarked that it was just the kind of writing an agitated man might
pen, who was about to commit an evil deed. There was no clue as to
whom the note had been intended for, but it appeared to point too
evidently to the intention of self-destruction. Nevertheless, there
was one at least who doubted.
"Is it so, think you?" asked Mr. Kene, in a low tone, as he stood by
the side of Bede Greatorex, who was mechanically turning over the
papers on the table one by one.
"Is it what?" asked Bede, looking up, his tone sharp with pain.
"Self-destruction. There never lived a man less likely to commit it
than your cousin, John Ollivera."
"As I should have thought," returned Mr. Greatorex. "But if it is not
that, what else can it be?"
"There is one other possible solution, at least: putting any idea of
accident aside."
The supposition of accident had not occurred to Bede Greatorex. A
gleam of surprised cheerfulness crossed his face.
"Do you indeed think it could have been an accident, Kene? Then----"
"No; I think it could not have been," interrupted the barrister. "I
said, putting the idea of that aside: it is the most improbable of
any. I alluded to the other alternative."
Mr. Greatorex understood his meaning, and shrunk from its
unpleasantness. "Who would harm Ollivera, Kene? He had not an enemy in
the world."
"So far as we know. But I declare to you, Greatorex, I think it the
more likely thing of the two."
Bede Greatorex shook his head. The facts, so far as they were yet
disclosed, seemed decisive and unmistakable.
They passed into the bedroom. It was all just as the servant had left
it the past evening, ready for the occupation of Mr. Ollivera. On a
small table lay his Prayer-book, and the pocket Bible he was wont to
carry with him in travelling. Bede Greatorex felt a sudden faintness
steal over him as he looked, and leaned for a few moments against the
wall.
But he had no time for indulging grief. He went out, inquiring for the
telegraph office, and sent a message with the news to his father in
town, softening it as well as circumstances allowed: as we all like to
do at first when ill news has to be told. He simply stated that John
(the familiar name Mr. Ollivera was known by at home) had died
suddenly. The message brought down his brother, Frank Greatorex, some
hours later.
To say that the town was thrown into a commotion almost equal to that
of Mrs. Jones's house, would be superfluous. A young barrister, known
to many of the inhabitants, who had come in with the judges only on
Saturday; who was to have led in a cause in the Nisi Prius Court on
that very morning, Tuesday, and to be junior in another cause set down
for Wednesday, in which Mr. Kene, the experienced and renowned Queen's
Counsel, led, had been found dead! And by such a death! It took the
public by storm. Mrs. Jones's shop was besieged to an extent that she
had to put up her shutters; High Street was impassable: and all those
in the remotest degree connected with the deceased or with the
circumstances, were followed about and stared at as though they were
wild animals. Five hundred conjectures were hazarded and spoken: five
hundred tales told that had no foundation. Perhaps the better way to
collect the various items of fact together for the reader, will be to
transcribe some of the evidence given before the coroner. The inquest
was fixed to take place on the Wednesday morning, in the club-room of
an inn lying conveniently near.