THE WEDDING MORNING.—THE PROGRESS OF JUSTICE, AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE
MURDERER.—THE DISSIPATION OF A SCENE.
The days flew by, and the aspect of affairs insensibly changed. Sir
Francis Varney gradually drew over the scene such an appearance of
candour and disinterestedness, that the Frasers were delighted with the
prospect of such an alliance, and they left no means of propitiating
and influencing Miss Stevens in his favour; and they succeeded to a
certain extent in stifling all expressions of dissent, and brought her
to a state of passive obedience.
She had nothing to allege against Sir Francis but her dislike to him,
and even that she felt was weaker, and the more she exerted her mind,
the weaker such impressions appeared to be; a convincing proof to her
that it was a mere blind, reasonless prejudice which it was her duty to
throw off, and she exerted herself to do so.
Thus it was she became passive in the hands of her friends; and Sir
Francis Varney had the satisfaction of seeing that he was about to
pick up a bride at length. His pleasure knew no bounds, and his eyes
glistened in a manner, that once or twice Mary recoiled from him in
terror, and she had nearly revived her first feelings against him.
However that might have been, he saw his error, and he conducted
himself differently afterwards; for he too well knew the effect it must
have upon the artless and beautiful young girl, whose affections he
cared not to win, so that he stifled her objections, and obtained her
hand—her heart was not with him an object.
“I think now,” said Captain Fraser to Sir Francis, when they were
alone—“I think, now, Sir Francis, that we ought to come to some
understanding.”
“I shall be but too happy, Captain Fraser, to do so, in every sense of
the word, and upon every subject we can have in common.”
“Then we shall have no difficulty in this affair.”
“I hope not, I assure you.”
“Well, then, Sir Francis, you desire to marry into our family?”
“Most unquestionably; my heart and fortune are at the disposal of Miss
Stevens. I care for nothing else but her—fortune, Captain Fraser, is no
object to me; I do not care for a single penny piece. I have enough for
myself.”
“Money is not happiness itself,” pursued the captain.
“I believe it—I feel it.”
“And yet Mary is not penniless; she has her dower, though by no means a
large one; yet she has one.”
“Then let the whole, whatever it may be, be safely, securely made over
for her own use, and that of her children.”
“It is generous—very generous of you, Sir Francis; and your generosity
much embarrasses me, and I hardly know how to proceed with a little
matter which I deem a part of my duty to perform.”
“Do not let me be an hindrance to you; I am sure I should regret it
much; besides, the more we know of each other, the greater confidence
we have in each other, provided our knowledge is of that character that
will increase our respect.”
“You are quite right, Sir Francis.”
“Well, captain, I hope what you are going to say, will not give me
cause to feel myself less happy than I am.”
“I hope not; I believe not; but what I was about to say is a very
ordinary and common occurrence on an occasion like the present.”
“Well, let me know all about it, and then the murder will be out.”
“Good. We have but little more than personal communication with each
other, apart from our respective homes; and we do not know much of each
other in the ordinary acceptation of the word. I wish to know something
relative to your private affairs.”
“I really cannot do so, unless you travel northward with me.”
“Indeed—indeed——”
“Stop. I can give you corroborative proof; I have none direct about me;
but I can do that much; but perhaps it will not do.”
“Quite enough. I am satisfied—if you can give me corroborative proof of
what you say, and that without premeditation, it will be still stronger
and more valuable.”
“If you think so, what do you say to those two letters, Captain Fraser?”
“Two letters.”
“The one is from my gamekeeper, and the other is from my bailiff, who
has to overlook my property, and advise me of what was being done on
the estate, and the state of my financial affairs.”
“They will do, sir, I believe.”
As Captain Fraser took the two letters, he looked at the post-marks,
and saw that they were plain and readable, and the date; they had been
correctly described by Sir Francis Varney—they came from the north,
and one was a business-like letter from the bailiff, and one quite in
keeping from the head gamekeeper, both of whom mentioned many local and
petty matters, that fully bore out all that was to be expected from
them.
“And do you keep up an establishment of this character, Sir Francis?”
“I do. I can afford it, and I do not like to turn the knaves adrift
on the world, who have, ever since they have been born, looked for
abundance from the soil that produced them; and I don’t think I shall
be justified in having the hardness of heart to turn them off.”
“You are a kind and good master.”
“I wish to be so.”
“And when, Sir Francis, do you intend to return there?”
“I am glad you ask the question. I should like to take my bride there
to spend the honeymoon. I wish now to leave other objects, and to
get back as soon as the ceremony is over. There I should like to
take her; it would be a rare and splendid life to lead in the old
gothic mansion—as much like a castle as anything I can describe; but
an ornamented castle, of course, for I don’t mean high walls, and no
windows.”
“Certainly not.”
“But will you assist me in obtaining her consent to a speedy union;
and, that effected, we will whirl off for the mansion, and you can
follow us at leisure. The union will, I hope and believe, be most
happy.”
“I hope so. I trust and believe it will.”
“In the meantime, any more information or proof you can desire shall be
obtained for you. Do not be backward upon this head.”
“I am quite satisfied, Sir Francis.”
• • • • •
Thus Sir Francis Varney had succeeded in hoodwinking Captain Fraser
and his wife, and had now entirely subdued all shew of objection, and
had so far succeeded as to obtain a quiet and tacit consent to all he
desired.
The interview described was reported to Mrs. Fraser and her sister, and
was considered liberal and satisfactory, and the marriage was spoken
of as likely to be immediate, which brought forth no remark from Mary,
and the matter was considered as nearly settled; the day only was to be
appointed, and that could not be very distant.
One morning as they were seated at breakfast, and that after the day
had been fixed at a greater distance of time than Sir Francis Varney
liked, the subject of the murder was again brought up, and Mrs. Fraser
said,—
“There is nothing more about the murder now—is there?”
“No,” replied Sir Francis; “not that I have heard of. I believe the
unfortunate man will be tried one of these days—he stands committed.”
“Stop,” said Captain Fraser, “here is something in the paper.”
“What is in it?”
“Something more about the murder.”
“What is it?” inquired Sir Francis. “I am anxious to learn if they
have done anything more, for I was sick of it, and wish to know when
such a horrible tragedy will end—the sooner it is past and forgotten,
the better.”
“That is true; for knowing a man is lying waiting for the hour to
arrive when he shall die a violent death, is truly terrible.”
“So it is. They seem to say there is some clue to another person, of
a most remarkable appearance, who escaped through another house, and
deceived the inmates by describing a fire that was up stairs.”
“Indeed! How strange,” said Sir Francis.
“Yes; they say they will not publish more, lest it defeat the ends of
justice.”
“Something else sprung up, I suppose?”
“No doubt. But here is something more: the prisoner will be tried in a
few days, and, if condemned, executed in a very short time.”
“Then I wish that one happy marriage would come off before that time. I
am sure Mary will be wretched, and I cannot be so happy as I could wish
to be.”
“Then postpone it for a few weeks.”
“No, no, no; that would never do; hasten it. Besides, we should have
to pass through all the wretchedness consequent upon knowing a man—a
murderer, it is true, and perhaps two of them—that is waiting to die.”
“I think myself,” said Captain Fraser, “that we might, with advantage,
leave Bath before the trial takes place. It would certainly be more
comfortable.”
“So it would,” said Mrs. Fraser; “and, to tell the truth, I begin to
get tired of this place, beautiful as it is. In fact, I want to get to
your mansion in the north.”
“Not more than I do, madam,” said Sir Francis. “Will Miss Stevens
permit me to persuade her to shorten my period of probation, to escape
some of the disagreeables we have mentioned relative to this unhappy
affair?”
• • • • •
The wedding morning was arrived. Sir Francis Varney had not been
sparing of his ill-gotten gains. He willingly made some handsome
presents to Mrs. Fraser and Mary Stevens; jewels were the form he gave
them in; and Sir Francis himself took care to display no small degree
of ornament, and yet he appeared to be a man who, though wearing and
having the best of all, still wore but little ornament.
But the occasion made the change in his habit. And now the post horses
are ready at the door—ready to bear them northwards. They are at the
church. Sir Francis, and Mary Stevens leaning upon his arm, come before
the altar, and the friends of the bride were on either side of them.
The clergyman was about to read, but asked first, if any knew any
causes or impediment, &c., to the marriage.
No answer was returned; when there was some bustle at the other end of
the church, and the clergy man paused to ascertain its character.
In a moment more there was a motley group of persons making towards the
altar; and foremost among these were two or three peace officers, and
after them a woman, dressed in many clothes, which added to her natural
obesity.
“Ah, that’s him—that’s the wagabone that said my house was on fire when
it warn’t; that’s him as frightened me so, that I’m quite thin through
it.”
“Shiver my timbers, and they begin to creak a bit now—d—n the gout!—but
that’s Varney, the vampyre! Who’d a thought he would always be turning
up in this way, like an old mop as nobody can use?”
Varney turned to the clergyman, and begged that these mad people might
be turned out, and, after the ceremony, he would meet any proper
accusation at a proper time and place; but he showed his anger so
strongly, that Mary shrank from him; while the two officers demanded
him as a prisoner.
The clergyman yielded; and Sir Francis, striking the officer near him
down, made a rush at a side door, and escaped.
[Illustration: Sir Francis is identified, and flees.]
The fact was, there had been more than one doubt about the murder; and
Sir Francis had been followed to the hotel the night of the murder by
one of the waiters, who came up behind him. They took his shoes, and
found they were bloody; and all things being traced home to him, it was
agreed to capture him at home; but he had left for the church, when the
officers followed him. Old Admiral Bell, who was gouty, happened to see
him pass, and determined to unmask him, which he did.