THE NIGHT COMETH.
“How swift the shuttle flies that weaves thy shroud!”—_Young._
On the evening of the day of the encounter in Charlton’s library, some
of the principal persons of our story were assembled in one of the
private parlors of the Astor House in New York.
Some hours previously, Vance had introduced Clara to her nearest
relatives, the Pompilards; but before telling them her true name he had
asked them to trace a resemblance. Instantly Netty had exclaimed: “Why,
mother, it is the face you have at home in the portrait of Aunt
Leonora.” And Aunt Leonora was the grandmother of Clara!
Vance then briefly presented his proofs of the relationship. Who could
resist them? Pompilard, in a high state of excitement, put his hands
under Clara’s arms, lifted her to a level with his lips, and kissed her
on both cheeks. His wife, her grand-aunt, greeted her not less
affectionately; and in embracing “Cousin Netty,” Clara was charmed to
find a congenial associate.
Pompilard all at once recollected the gold casket which old Toussaint
had committed to his charge for Miss Berwick. Writing an order, he got
Clara to sign it, and then strode out of the room, delighted with
himself for remembering the trust. Half an hour afterwards he returned
and presented to his grand-niece the beautiful jewel-box, the gift of
her father’s step-mother, Mrs. Charlton. Clara received it with emotion,
and divesting it of the cotton-wool in which it had been kept wrapped
and untouched so many years, she unlocked it, and drew forth this
letter:—
“MY DEAR LITTLE GRANDDAUGHTER: This comes to you from one to whom you
seem nearer than any other she leaves behind. She wishes she could
make you wise through her experience. Since her heart is full of it,
let her speak it. In that event, so important to your happiness, your
marriage, may you be warned by her example, and neither let your
affections blind your reason, nor your reason underrate the value of
the affections. Be sure not only that you love, but that you are
loved. Choose cautiously, my dear child, if you choose at all; and may
your choice be so felicitous that it will serve for the next world as
well as this.
E. B. C.”
The Pompilards remained of course to dinner; and then to the expected
interview of the evening. They were introduced to the highly-dressed
bride, Mrs. Ripper, formerly Clara’s teacher; also to the quadroon lady,
Madame Volney. And then the gentlemen—Captain Onslow, Messrs. Winslow,
Semmes, and Ripper, and last, not least, Colonel Delancy Hyde and his
nephew—were all severally and formally presented to the Pompilards.
“Does it appear from Charlton’s letters to Hyde that Charlton knew of
Hyde’s villany in kidnapping the child?” asked Mr. Semmes of Vance.
“No, Charlton was unquestionably ignorant, and is so to this day, of the
fact that the true heir survives. All that he expected Hyde to do was to
so shape his testimony as to make it appear that the child died _after_
the mother and _before_ the father. On this nice point all Charlton’s
chances hung. And the letters are of the highest importance in showing
that it was intimated by the writer to Hyde, that, in case his testimony
should turn out to be of a certain nature, he, Hyde, besides having his
and Quattles’s expenses to New York all paid, should receive a thousand
dollars.”
“That is certainly a tremendous point against Charlton. Is it possible
that Hyde did not see that he held a rod over Charlton in those
letters?”
“Both he and Quattles appear to have been very shallow villains.
Probably they did not comprehend the legal points at issue, and never
realized the vital importance of their testimony.”
“Let me suggest,” said Semmes, “the importance of having Charlton
recognize Hyde in the presence of witnesses.”
“Yes, I had thought of that, and arranged for it.”
Here there was a stir in the little unoccupied anteroom adjoining. The
Charltons and Charlton’s lawyer, Mr. Detritch, had arrived. The ladies
were removing their bonnets and shawls. Hyde drew near to Vance, and the
latter threw open the door. Charlton entered first. The prospect of
recovering his New Orleans property had put him in the most gracious of
humors. His dyed hair, his white, well-starched vest, his glossy black
dress-coat and pantaloons, showed that his personal appearance was
receiving more than usual attention. He would have been called a
handsome man by those who did not look deep as Lavater.
After saluting Vance, Charlton started on recognizing the gaunt figure
of Delancy Hyde. Concluding at once that the Colonel had come as a
friend, Charlton exclaimed: “What! My old friend, Colonel Delancy Hyde?
Is it possible?”
And there was a vehement shaking of hands between them.
Detritch and the ladies having entered, all the parties were formally
introduced to one another. The mention of Miss Berwick’s name excited no
surprise on the part of any one.
The company at once disposed themselves in separate groups for
conversation. Captain Onslow gave his arm to Miss Charlton, and they
strolled through the room to talk of ambulances, sanitary commissions,
hospitals, and bullets through the lungs. Pompilard, who declared he
felt only eighteen years old while looking at his niece, divided his
delightful attentions between Madame Volney and Mrs. Ripper. Clara
invited Colonel Hyde to take a seat near her, and gave him such comfort
as might best confirm him in the good path he was treading. Hyde junior
looked at the war pictures in Harper’s Weekly. Winslow and Mrs. Charlton
found they had met five years before at Saratoga, and were soon deep in
their recollections. Semmes and Detritch skirmished like two old
roosters, each afraid of the other. Ripper made himself agreeable to
Mrs. Pompilard and Netty, by talking of paintings, of which he knew
something, having sold them at auction. Vance took soundings of
Charlton’s character, and found that rumor, for once, had not been
unjust in her disparagement. The man’s heart, what there was of it, was
in his iron safe with his coupons and his certificates of deposit.
Suddenly Vance went to the piano, and, striking some of the loud keys,
attracted the attention of the company, and then begged them to be
silent while he made a few remarks. The hum of conversation was
instantly hushed.
“We are assembled, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “on business in which
Mr. Charlton here present is deeply interested.”
Mr. Charlton, who occupied an arm-chair, and had Detritch on his right,
bowed his acknowledgments.
“If,” continued Vance, “I have not communicated privately to Mr.
Charlton, or his respectable counsel, all the startling and important
facts bearing on the case, I hope they will understand that it was not
through any failure of respect for them, and especially for Mrs. and
Miss Charlton, but simply because I have thought it right to choose the
course which seemed to me the most proper in serving the cause of
justice and of the party whose interests I represent.”
Charlton and Detritch looked at each other inquiringly, and the look
said, “What is he driving at?”
The amiable bride (Mrs. Ripper) touched Pompilard coquettishly with her
fan, and, pointing to Charlton, whispered, “O, won’t he be come up
with?”
“No innocent man,” continued Vance, “will think it ever untimely to be
told that he is holding what does not belong to him; that he has it in
his power to rectify a great wrong; to make just restitution. On the
table here under my hand are certain documents. This which I hold up is
a certified printed copy of the great Trial, by the issue of which Mr.
Charlton, here present, came into possession of upwards of a million of
dollars, derived from the estate of the brother of one of the ladies now
before me. It appears from the judge’s printed charge (see page 127) on
the Trial, that the essential testimony in the case was that given by
one Delancy Hyde and one Leonidas Quattles. With the former, Mr.
Charlton has here renewed his acquaintance. Mr. Quattles died some
months since, but we here have his deposition, duly attested, taken just
before his death.”
“What has all this to do with my property in New Orleans?” exclaimed
Charlton, thoroughly mystified.
“Be patient, sir, and you will see. The verdict, ladies and gentlemen,
turned upon the question whether, on the occasion of the explosion of
the Pontiac, the child, Clara, or her father, Henry Berwick, died first.
The testimony of Messrs. Hyde and Quattles was to the effect that the
child died first. But it now appears that the father died—”
“A lie and a trick!” shouted Charlton, starting up with features pale
and convulsed at once with terror and with rage. “A trick for extorting
money. Any simpleton might see through it. Have we been brought here to
be insulted, sir? You shall be indicted for a conspiracy. ’T is a case
for the grand jury,—eh, Detritch?”
“My advice to you, Mr. Charlton,” said Detritch, “is to turn this
gentleman over to me, and to refuse to listen yourself to anything
further he may have to say.”
In this advice Charlton snuffed, as he thought, the bad odor of a fee,
and he determined not to be guided by it. Laughing scornfully, he said,
resuming his seat: “Let the gentleman play out his farce. He hopes to
show, does he, that the child died _after_ the father!”
“No, ladies and gentleman,” said Vance, crossing the room, taking Clara
by the hand, and leading her forth, “what I have to show is, that she
didn’t die at all, and that Clara Aylesford Berwick now stands before
you.”
Charlton rose half-way from his chair, the arms of which he grasped as
if to keep himself from sinking. His features were ghastly in their
expression of mingled amazement and indignation, coupled with a horrible
misgiving of the truth of the disclosure, to which Vance’s assured
manner and the affirmative presence of Colonel Hyde gave their dreadful
support. Charlton struggled to speak, but failed, and sank back in his
chair, while Detritch, after having tried to compose his client, rose
and said: “In my legal capacity I must protest against this most
irregular and insidious proceeding, intended as it obviously is to throw
my client and myself off our guard, and to produce an alarm which may be
used to our disadvantage.”
“Sir,” replied Vance, “you entirely misapprehend my object. It is not to
your fears, but to your manhood and your sense of justice that I have
thought it right to make my first appeal. I propose to prove to you by
facts, which no sane man can resist, that the young lady whose hand I
hold is the veritable Miss Berwick, to whom her mother’s estate
belonged, and to whom it must now be restored, with interest.”
“With interest! Ha, ha, ha!” cried Charlton, with a frightful attempt at
a merriment which his pale cheeks belied.
“There will be time,” continued Vance, “for the scrutiny of the law
hereafter. I court it to the fullest extent. But I have thought it due
to Mr. Charlton, to give him the opportunity to show his disposition to
right a great wrong, in the event of my proving, as I can and will, that
this lady is the person I proclaim her to be, the veritable Miss
Berwick.”
Moved by that same infatuation which compels a giddy man to look over
the precipice which is luring him to jump, Charlton, with a deplorable
affectation of composure, wiped the perspiration from his brow, and
said: “Well, sir, bring on these proofs that you pretend are so
irresistible. I think we can afford to hear them,—eh, Detritch?”
“First,” said Vance, “I produce the confession of Hyde, here present,
and of Quattles, deceased, that the infant child of Mr. Berwick was
saved by them from the wreck of the Pontiac, taken to New Orleans, and
sold at auction as a slave. The auctioneer, Mr. Richard Ripper, is here
present, and will testify that he sold the child to Carberry Ratcliff,
whose late attorney, T. J. Semmes. Esq., is here present, and can
identify Miss Berwick as the child bought, according to Ratcliff’s own
admission, from the said Ripper. Then we have the testimony of Mrs.
Ripper, lately Mrs. Gentry, by whom the child was brought up, and of
Esha, her housemaid, both of whom are now in this house. We have further
strong collateral testimony from Hattie Davy, now in this house, the
nurse who had the child in charge at the time of the accident, and who
identifies her by the marks on her person, especially by her different
colored eyes,—a mark which I also can corroborate. We have articles of
clothing and jewels bearing the child’s initials, to the reception and
keeping of which Mrs. Ripper and Esha will testify, and which, when
unsealed, will no doubt be sworn to by Mrs. Davy as having belonged to
the child at the time of the explosion.”
“Well, sir,” said Mr. Detritch, with a sarcastic smile, “I think Brother
Semmes will admit that all this doesn’t make out a case. Unless you can
bring some proof (which I know you cannot) of improper influences being
applied by my client to induce his chief witnesses to give the testimony
they did, you can make little headway in a court of law against a party
who is fortified in what he holds by more than fourteen years of
possession.”
“Even on this point, sir,” replied Vance, “we are not weak. Here are
five original letters, with their envelopes, postage-marks, &c., all
complete, from Mr. Charlton to Colonel Delancy Hyde, offering him and
his accomplice their expenses and a thousand dollars if they will come
on to New York and testify in a certain way. Here also are letters
showing that, in the case of a colored woman named Jacobs, decoyed from
Montreal back into slavery, the writer conducted himself in a manner
which will afford corroborative proof that he was capable of doing what
these other letters show that he did or attempted.”
As Vance spoke, he held one of the letters so that Charlton could read
it. The latter, while affecting not to look, read enough to be made
aware of its purport. His fingers worked so to clutch it, that Detritch
pulled him by the coat; and then Charlton, starting up, exclaimed: “I’ll
not stay here another moment to be insulted. This is a conspiracy to
swindle. Come along, Detritch. Come, Mrs. Charlton and Lucy.”
He passed out. Detritch offered his arm to Mrs. Charlton. She declined
it, and he left the room. There was an interval of silence. Every one
felt sympathy for the two ladies. Mrs. Charlton approached Vance, and
said, “Will you allow me to examine those letters?”
“Certainly, madam,” he replied.
She took them one by one, scrutinized the handwriting, read them
carefully, and returned them to Vance. She then asked the privilege of a
private conference with Hyde, and the Colonel accompanied her into the
anteroom. This interview was followed by one, first with Mrs. Ripper,
then with Mr. Winslow, then with Esha and Mrs. Davy, and finally with
Clara. During the day Pompilard had sent home for a photograph-book
containing likenesses of Clara’s father, mother, and maternal
grandmother. These were placed in Mrs. Charlton’s hands. A glance
satisfied her of the family resemblance to the supposed child.
Re-entering the parlor Mrs. Charlton said: “Friends, there is no escape
that I can see from the proofs you offer that this young lady is indeed
Clara Aylesford Berwick. Be sure it will not be my fault if she is not
at once instated in her rights. I bid you all good evening.”
And then, escorted by Captain Onslow, she and her daughter took their
leave, and the company broke up.
Charlton, impatient, had quitted the hotel with Detritch and sent back
the carriage. They were closeted in the library when Mrs. Charlton and
Lucy returned. The unloving and unloved wife, but tender mother, kissed
her daughter for goodnight and retired to her own sleeping-room. She
undressed and went to bed; but not being able to sleep, rose, put on a
light _robe de chambre_, and sat down to read. About two o’clock in the
morning she heard the front door close and a carriage drive off.
Detritch had then gone at last!
Charlton’s sleeping-room was on the other side of the entry-way opposite
to his wife’s. She threw open her door to hear him when he should come
up to bed. She waited anxiously a full hour. She began to grow nervous.
Void as her heart was of affection for her husband, something like pity
crept in as she recalled his look of anguish and alarm at Vance’s
disclosures. Ah! is it not sad when one has to despise while one pities!
“Shall I not go, and try to cheer him?” she asked herself. Hopeless
task! What cheer could she give unless she went with a lie, telling him
that Vance’s startling revelation was all a trick!
The laggard moments crept on. Though the gas was put up bright and
flaring, she could not have so shivered with a nameless horror if she
had been alone in some charnel-house, lighted only by pale, phosphoric
gleams from dead men’s bones.
But why did not Charlton come up?
The wind, which had been rising, blew back a blind, and swept with a
mournful whistle through the trees in the area. Then it throbbed at the
casement like a living heart that had something to reveal.
Why does he not come up?
Why not go down and see?
Though the entry-ways and the stairs were lighted, it seemed a frightful
undertaking to traverse them as far as the library. Still she would do
it. She darted out, placed her hand on the broad black-walnut
balustrade, and stepped slowly down,—down,—down the broad, low, thickly
carpeted stairs.
At last she stood on one of the spacious square landings.
What terrible silence! Not even the rattle of an early milk-cart through
the streets! Heavenly Powers! Why this unaccountable pressure, as of
some horrid incubus, upon her mind, so that every thought as it
wandered, try as she might to control it, would stop short at a tomb?
She recoiled. She drew back a step or two up,—up the stairs. And then,
at that very moment, there was a dull, smothered, explosive sound which
smote like a hand on her heart. She sank powerless on the stairs, and
sat there for some minutes, gasping, horror-stricken, helpless.
Then rallying her strength she rushed up three flights to the room of
Fletcher, the man-servant, and bade him dress quickly and come to her.
He obeyed, and the two descended to the library.
Through the glass window of the door the gas shone brightly. Fletcher
entered first; and his cry of alarm told the whole tragic tale. Mrs.
Charlton followed, gave one look, and fell senseless on the floor.
Leaning back in his arm-chair,—his head erect,—his eyes open and
staring,—sat Charlton. On his white vest a crimson stain was beginning
to spread and spread, and, higher up, the cloth was blackened as if by
fire. The vase-like ornament which had attracted Pompilard’s attention
on the library table had been drawn forth from its socket, and the
pistol it concealed having been discharged, it lay on the floor, while
Charlton’s right hand, as it hung over the arm of the chair, pointed to
the deadly weapon as if in mute accusation of its instrumentality.