A VOICE FROM THE GRAVE.
IT was close on two o'clock, and, weary of waiting for Claude, the
master of the Manor House had seated himself at the luncheon table. He
was curious to know what had taken place between his friend and Mr.
Paynton, as he judged from the length of time the interview had lasted
that some important communication must have been made. Had Claude
discovered the identity of Paynton with Jeringham? If so, had Jeringham
confessed to the crime? These questions so annoyed and perplexed Tait
that he could not swallow a mouthful of food. Throwing aside his napkin
he rose from the table to see if Larcher had returned.
As he pushed back his chair the door opened and Claude, with a roll of
papers in his hand, made his appearance. Tait turned to greet him with a
smile, but it disappeared from his face and the words died on his lips
when he saw the white and haggard countenance of his friend.
"Good Heavens, man!" he cried, hastening toward him; "what is the
matter? Here, sit down! Drink this glass of wine!"
Claude did as he was bidden; then waved his hand in the direction of
Dormer, who, stolid as ever, stood waiting orders.
"You can go, Dormer," said Tait hastily. Then, when the man leaving the
room closed the door after him, and they found themselves alone, he
continued: "Is anything wrong, Claude? Did Paynton tell----"
"Not Paynton," said Larcher, finishing his wine and setting down the
glass; "there is not such a person!"
"Aha!" remarked Tait, rubbing his hands. "I thought the name was a
feigned one. And who is our friend, Mr. Paynton?"
"My father!"
Tait opened his mouth to utter an ejaculation, shut it without doing so,
and looked dumfounded at his friend.
"What--what--what do you mean? Are you mad?" he stammered, sitting down
limply.
"No, I am not mad," groaned Claude, "though I have suffered enough to
make me so. I mean what I say. It was Jeringham who was murdered.
Jeringham, who was dressed as Darnley on that night, as was my father.
Jeringham, whose corpse was so unrecognizable by decomposition that it
was thought to be that of George Larcher. My father is alive! My father
is hiding here as Ferdinand Paynton. This is his story of the tragedy."
He placed the roll of paper in Tait's hands, and poured himself out
another glass of wine. Overcome with amazement the little man looked
first at the paper, then at his friend. It was some minutes before he
could collect his wits together and speak coherently.
"What an extraordinary thing," he said at length. "You thought both your
parents dead, but now it seems they are alive. Your mother at Clarence
Cottage, Hampstead; your father at Rose Cottage, Thorston. Did you tell
your father that Mrs. Larcher was still in existence?" he asked sharply.
"I had no time to do so," said Claude, with an effort. "My father placed
those papers in my hand, and then confessed who he was. I wished to
speak further to him, but he pushed me out of the room, saying, 'Read
that confession, and form your judgment before you accept me as your
father.' I hardly knew what I was doing till I found myself in the lane
outside. Then I came on here. I still feel quite bewildered."
"I don't wonder at it! Take another glass of wine. Did your----"
"Don't ask any questions, Tait," said Claude, rising impatiently. "Read
me the confession at once. I can't do it myself."
"Won't you have some luncheon?"
"No! Every mouthful would choke me. I'll lie down on the sofa, and you
bring your chair close to me to read."
Tait nodded, and unrolled the papers, while Claude, filling himself
another glass of claret, crossed over to the sofa and lay down thereon.
With the glass of wine on the carpet beside him; with the untasted
luncheon on the table, he closed his eyes with a weary sigh, and
compelled himself to listen. Tait glanced sympathetically at him, then
without remark, though he was burning to speak, smoothed out the paper
and began to read slowly. The writing was clear and legible, the matter
interesting, so there was no difficulty in deciphering the story of the
tragedy, as narrated by the man, who, for twenty-two years, had been
supposed to be the victim. The confession (so-called) was in the form of
a letter from father to son:
"DEAR CLAUDE:
"At length I have made up my mind to reveal myself to you, and
to set out at length the circumstances which placed me in this
position. I am led to do so by three things. Firstly, your
presence in this neighborhood with the avowed intention of
avenging my death. Secondly, the publication of the novel
entitled 'A Whim of Fate,' which sets out the particulars of
what happened at Horriston in 1866, more or less perverted for
fictional purposes. Thirdly, the advice of Francis Hilliston, an
old and valued friend, who points out that the only way to stop
you in the investigation is to admit my identity, and so do away
with your motive, viz., the avenging of my death. On reading
this I leave it to yourself whether you will still consider me
your father, and visit me accordingly, or whether you will look
on me as a guilty man. Till you are acquainted with the truth,
so far as I am aware of it, I swear that I will not approach you
or open my mouth in your presence. On this understanding I set
forth the following facts as shortly as is consistent with
clearness. Judge me as you please, but I declare before God that
I am innocent of Jeringham's death, and that I know not who
killed him. This for the prologue; and now for the story.
"You will understand that I wish to cast no aspersions on the
memory of your mother; but in the present case, it is necessary
that I should speak plainly. Your mother and I were ill suited
to one another, and lived unhappily together. Even when in the
army I was addicted to literary pursuits, and, when I sent in my
papers, I devoted myself almost entirely to study. Your mother
was gay and social. Being a beautiful woman she liked
admiration, and was never so happy as when out at balls, at the
theater, or at garden parties. She lived in a whirl of
excitement, and she quarreled bitterly with me because I
preferred a quieter life. I accompanied her sometimes, but not
often enough to please her, and when we came to reside at The
Laurels after my leaving the army, she frequently declared that
she regretted having given up Mark Jeringham for me. Naturally
enough I resented this plain speaking, and we were estranged.
Not even your birth could bridge over the abyss between us, and,
while we lived at The Laurels at Horriston, I believe we were as
unhappy and ill-matched a couple as existed in England. It was
the quick coupled with the dead, and we both suffered
accordingly.
"The first cause of our unhappiness was, as you see,
incompatibility of temper; the second was the presence of
Jeringham, who came to Horriston ostensibly on a visit, in
reality to stay near my wife.
"You can easily understand that I resented the presence of this
young man. He was remarkably like me in height, figure, and
looks, and my wife had a fancy for him before her marriage with
me. That she became my wife, she laughingly avowed, was because
of my uniform. So far as looks were concerned there was nothing
to choose between Jeringham and myself, but the glitter of the
military trappings (so she declared) turned the balance in my
favor. You may be sure I liked Jeringham none the more after
such a declaration of lukewarm affection from your mother; and
when he came to reside at Horriston, four years after our
marriage, I resented his continued presence about the house.
Your mother was angry at my expostulations, and the introduction
of this second element of discord into the house estranged us
more widely than ever. It was a miserable and most unhappy time.
"It was my friend Hilliston who pointed out the real reason for
Jeringham's visits. This latter was not in love with my wife,
but with her maid, Mona Bantry. As Denis, the brother of Mona,
was an old servant of mine, I did not care to speak to my wife
on the matter, but to keep the affair quiet, and to save the
girl from the anger of her brother, I discouraged the visits of
Jeringham on all possible occasions. We had a quarrel in public,
and, as all the gossips of Horriston knew that he had been fond
of my wife before her marriage to me, the quarrel was set down
to jealousy on my part. All the neighborhood knew there was bad
blood between Jeringham and myself, and (foolishly enough, I
admit) I made use of several expressions calculated to show my
hatred. These heated speeches were afterward remembered and
commented upon.
"Things were in this position when the fancy dress ball took
place at Horriston. Hearing that it was to be a masked ball, I
resolved to assume a similar dress to that of Jeringham, and
learn from my wife's own lips if she still cared for me. You may
think I acted in an unworthy manner, but as a matter of fact I
was nearly out of my mind with anger and jealousy, and hardly
knew what I was doing. My wife was going to the ball as Mary,
Queen of Scots, accompanied by Jeringham as Darnley. This was
sufficiently pointed to show in what direction her affections
leaned, and I took advantage of the opportunity. Feigning an
excuse, I ostensibly went to London, but in reality remained at
Horriston, where I obtained from the costumer a similar dress to
that worn by Jeringham.
"Thus masked and disguised I repaired to the ball. There I was
recognized by a Miss Belinda Pike, but she kindly consented to
keep my secret. You can guess what happened. Deceived by the
dress my wife took me for Jeringham, and I learned sufficient to
know that she loved him and hated me. I did not reveal myself,
but went away mad with wrath. My sole idea was to unmask
Jeringham, and show my wife how unworthy he was of her love. To
this end I sought out Hilliston, and, learning that my wife was
shortly returning home, Hilliston and I went to The Laurels
together, as I intended to make Mona confess that Jeringham was
her lover. I left Hilliston outside in the garden to watch for
the coming of my wife, and entered the house to see Mona. She
was waiting in the sitting room for her mistress, and I then and
there forced her to admit the truth. She declared that Jeringham
was the father of her unborn child, and implored me not to tell
her brother. Fortunately, I had directed Denis to stay in the
entrance hall, so he did not hear his sister's confession, and
she was safe for the time being.
"While I was talking with Mona, my wife entered. She immediately
accused me of having feigned a visit to London in order to stay
at home with Mona. The girl slipped out of the room, and my wife
continued her ravings. She said that Jeringham had come home
with her and was at that moment in the garden; there she swore
to join him. I prevented her leaving the room, and ultimately
she fainted. I ran out to call Mona, and found that she had left
the house, no doubt to join Jeringham in the garden, to tell him
that the secret was known. I also went into the garden to seek
for Jeringham. To my horror I stumbled over a dead body, and
hastily ran back for a light to see whose it was. Denis came
with the lantern, and we found it was the corpse of Jeringham.
He had been stabbed to the heart.
"I would have given the alarm, but that Denis, quicker-witted
than I at the moment, prevented me. He pointed out that it was
well-known that I was on bad terms with Jeringham; that the
unhappy man had been murdered in my garden; that my hands were
red with the blood, and my clothes stained owing to handling the
corpse; and said that I would be accused of the murder. I saw in
a flash the peril in which I stood. I don't know if Denis
suspected me of the crime, as he was not present when I first
found the body, but he acted the part of a friend. We threw the
body into the river and I made my preparations for flight. No
one but Hilliston and Miss Pike knew that I had returned from
London on that night, for my wife would keep silence, as I
thought, for her own sake, and Mona had disappeared. I left the
house in charge of Denis, and without a word to my wife, who had
brought about this catastrophe, I sought safety in flight. It
was cowardly, if you like, but I had no other resource. I would
have been accused of the murder had I stayed, for the evidence
was strong against me. I fled and trusted to chance to hide the
crime.
"The rest you know. My wife was accused and tried for my murder,
as Jeringham's corpse was so disfigured that it was thought to
be mine. I have mentioned the strong resemblance between us, and
this helped the deception. I was compelled to keep in hiding as
Jeringham, but I declare, had the case gone against my wife, I
should have come forward and told all. As it was I went abroad,
aided by Hilliston, who acted as my friend all through. He
looked after my unhappy wife till she died in London; he took
charge of you and brought you up like a son. He also secured me
sufficient of my own property to live quietly, so I came to
Thorston under the name of Paynton, and here I have lived ever
since. I thought to die in peace, but you, Claude, have reopened
the case. I tell you this to show you the futility of trying to
find the real murderer. I do not know who killed Jeringham, nor
do I think you will ever find out. If, after reading this, you
still consider me your father, come at once to a most unhappy
man. Be just, be lenient, my son, and forgive your unhappy
father,
"GEORGE LARCHER."