The criminal business of the office was, during the first three or four
years of our partnership, entirely superintended by Mr. Flint; he being
more _an fait_, from early practice, than myself in the art and mystery
of prosecuting and defending felons, and I was thus happily relieved of
duties which, in the days when George III. was king, were frequently very
oppressive and revolting. The criminal practitioner dwelt in an
atmosphere tainted alike with cruelty and crime, and pulsating
alternately with merciless decrees of death, and the shrieks and wailings
of sentenced guilt. And not always guilt! There exist many records of
proofs, incontestable, but obtained too late, of innocence having been
legally strangled on the gallows in other cases than that of Eliza
Fenning. How could it be otherwise with a criminal code crowded in every
line with penalties of death, nothing but--death? Juster, wiser times
have dawned upon us, in which truer notions prevail of what man owes to
man, even when sitting in judgment on transgressors; and this we owe, let
us not forget, to the exertions of a band of men who, undeterred by the
sneers of the reputedly wise and _practical_ men of the world, and the
taunts of "influential" newspapers, persisted in teaching that the rights
of property could be more firmly cemented than by the shedding of
blood--law, justice, personal security more effectually vindicated than
by the gallows. Let me confess that I also was, for many years, amongst
the mockers, and sincerely held such "theorists" and "dreamers" as Sir
Samuel Romilly and his fellow-workers in utter contempt. Not so my
partner, Mr. Flint. Constantly in the presence of criminal judges and
juries, he had less confidence in the unerring verity of their decisions
than persons less familiar with them, or who see them only through the
medium of newspapers. Nothing could exceed his distress of mind if, in
cases in which he was prosecuting attorney, a convict died persisting in
his innocence, or without a full confession of guilt. And to such a pitch
did this morbidly-sensitive feeling at length arrive, that he all at once
refused to undertake, or in any way meddle with, criminal prosecutions,
and they were consequently turned over to our head clerk, with occasional
assistance from me if there happened to be a press of business of the
sort. Mr. Flint still, however, retained a monopoly of the _defences_,
except when, from some temporary cause or other, he happened to be
otherwise engaged, when they fell to me. One of these I am about to
relate, the result of which, whatever other impression it produced,
thoroughly cured me--as it may the reader--of any propensity to sneer or
laugh at criminal-law reformers and denouncers of the gallows.
One forenoon, during the absence of Mr. Flint in Wiltshire, a Mrs.
Margaret Davies called at the office, in apparently great distress of
mind. This lady, I must premise, was an old, or at all events an elderly
maiden, of some four-and-forty years of age--I have heard a very intimate
female friend of hers say she would never see fifty again, but this was
spite--and possessed of considerable house property in rather poor
localities. She found abundant employment for energies which might
otherwise have turned to cards and scandal, in collecting her weekly,
monthly, and quarterly rents, and in promoting, or fancying she did, the
religious and moral welfare of her tenants. Very bare-faced, I well knew,
were the impositions practiced upon her credulous good-nature in money
matters, and I strongly suspected the spiritual and moral promises and
performances of her motley tenantry exhibited as much discrepancy as
those pertaining to rent. Still, deceived or cheated as she might be,
good Mrs. Davies never wearied in what she conceived to be well-doing,
and was ever ready to pour balm and oil into the wounds of the sufferer,
however self-inflicted or deserved.
"What is the matter now?" I asked as soon as the good lady was seated,
and had untied and loosened her bonnet, and thrown back her shawl, fast
walking having heated her prodigiously. "Nothing worse than
transportation is, I hope, likely to befall any of those interesting
clients of yours?"
"You are a hard-hearted man, Mr. Sharp," replied Mrs. Davies between a
smile and a cry; "but being a lawyer, that is of course natural, and, as
I am not here to consult you as a Christian, of no consequence."
"Complimentary, Mrs. Davies; but pray, go on."
"You know Jane Eccles, one of my tenants in Bank Buildings--the
embroidress who adopted her sister's orphan child?"
"I remember her name. She obtained, if I recollect rightly, a balance of
wages for her due to the child's father, a mate, who died at sea. Well,
what has befallen her?"
"A terrible accusation has been preferred against her," rejoined Mrs.
Davies; "but as for a moment believing it, that is quite out of the
question. Jane Eccles," continued the warm-hearted lady, at the same time
extracting a crumpled newspaper from the miscellaneous contents of her
reticule--"Jane Eccles works hard from morning till night, keeps herself
to herself; her little nephew and her rooms are always as clean and nice
as a new pin; she attends church regularly; and pays her rent punctually
to the day. This disgraceful story, therefore," he added, placing the
journal in my hands, "_cannot_ be true."
I glanced over the police news:--'Uttering forged Bank-of-England notes,
knowing them to be forged;' I exclaimed, "The devil!"
"There's no occasion to be spurting that name out so loudly, Mr. Sharp,"
said Mrs. Davies with some asperity, "especially in a lawyer's office.
People have been wrongfully accused before to-day, I suppose?"
I was intent on the report, and not answering, she continued, "I heard
nothing of it till I read the shameful account in the paper half an hour
agone. The poor slandered girl was, I dare say, afraid or ashamed to
send for me."
"This appears to be a very bad case, Mrs. Davies," I said at length.
"Three forged ten-pound notes changed in one day at different shops each
time, under the pretence of purchasing articles of small amount, and
another ten-pound note found in her pocket! All that has, I must say, a
very ugly look."
"I don't care," exclaimed Mrs. Davies quite fiercely, "if it looks as
ugly as sin, or if the whole Bank of England was found in her pocket! I
know Jane Eccles well; she nursed me last spring through the fever; and I
would be upon my oath that the whole story, from beginning to end, is an
invention of the devil, or something worse."
"Jane Eccles," I persisted, "appears to have been unable or unwilling to
give the slightest explanation as to how she became possessed of the
spurious notes. Who is this brother of hers, 'of such highly respectable
appearance,' according to the report, who was permitted a private
interview with her previous to the examination?"
"She has no brother that I have ever heard of," said Mrs. Davies. "It
must be a mistake of the papers."
"That is not likely. You observed of course that she was fully
committed--and no wonder!"
Mrs. Davies's faith in the young woman's integrity was not to be shaken
by any evidence save that of her own bodily eyes, and I agreed to see
Jane Eccles on the morrow, and make the best arrangements for the
defence--at Mrs. Davies' charge--which the circumstances and the short
time I should have for preparation--the Old Bailey session would be on in
a few days--permitted. The matter so far settled, Mrs. Margaret hurried
off to see what had become of little Henry, the prisoner's nephew.
I visited Jane Eccles the next day in Newgate. She was a well-grown young
woman of about two or three-and-twenty--not exactly pretty perhaps, but
very well-looking. Her brown hair was plainly worn, without a cap, and
the expression of her face was, I thought, one of sweetness and humility,
contradicted in some degree by rather harsh lines about the mouth,
denoting strong will and purpose. As a proof of the existence of this
last characteristic, I may here mention that, when her first overweening
confidence had yielded to doubt, she, although dotingly fond of her
nephew, at this time about eight years of age, firmly refused to see him,
"in order," she once said to me--and the thought brought a deadly pallor
to her face--in order that, should the worst befall, her memory might
not be involuntarily connected in his mind with images of dungeons, and
disgrace, and shame. Jane Eccles had received what is called in the
country, "a good schooling," and the books Mrs. Davies had lent her she
had eagerly perused. She was therefore to a certain extent a cultivated
person; and her speech and manners were mild, gentle, and, so to speak,
religious. I generally found, when I visited her, a Bible or prayer-book
in her hand. This, however, from my experience, comparatively slight
though it was, did not much impress me in her favor--devotional sentiment
so easily, for a brief time, assumed, being in nine such cases out of ten
a hypocritical deceit. Still she, upon the whole, made a decidedly
favorable impression on me, and I no longer so much wondered at the
bigotry of unbelief manifested by Mrs. Davies in behalf of her apparently
amiable and grateful protégée.
But beyond the moral doubt thus suggested of the prisoner's guilt, my
interviews with her utterly failed to extract anything from her in
rebutment of the charge upon which she was about to be arraigned. At
first she persisted in asserting that the prosecution was based upon
manifest error; that the impounded notes, instead of being forged, were
genuine Bank-of-England paper. It was some time before I succeeded in
convincing her that this hope, to which she so eagerly, desperately
clung, was a fallacious one. I did so at last; and either, thought I, as
I marked her varying color and faltering voice, "either you are a
consummate actress, or else the victim of some frightful delusion or
conspiracy."
"I will see you, if you please, to-morrow," she said, looking up from the
chair upon which, with her head bowed and her face covered with her
hands, she had been seated for several minutes in silence. "My thoughts
are confused now, but to-morrow I shall be more composed; better able to
decide if--to talk, I mean, of this unhappy business."
I thought it better to comply without remonstrance, and at once
took my leave.
When I returned the next afternoon, the governor of the prison informed
me that the brother of my client, James Eccles, quite a dashing
gentleman, had had a long interview with her. He had left about two hours
before, with the intention, he said, of calling upon me.
I was conducted to the room where my conferences with the prisoner
usually took place. In a few minutes she appeared, much flushed and
excited, it seemed to be alternately with trembling joy and hope, and
doubt, and nervous fear.
"Well," I said, "I trust you are now ready to give me your unreserved
confidence, without which, be assured, that any reasonable hope of a
successful issue from the peril in which you are involved is out of the
question."
The varying emotions I have noticed were clearly traceable as they swept
over her tell-tale countenance during the minute or so that elapsed
before she spoke.
"Tell me candidly, sir," she said at last, "whether, if I owned to you
that the notes were given to me by a--a person, whom I cannot, if I
would, produce, to purchase various articles at different shops, and
return him--the person I mean--the change; and that I made oath this was
done by me in all innocence of heart, as the God of heaven and earth
truly knows it was, it would avail me?"
"Not in the least," I replied, angry at such trifling. "How can you ask
such a question? We must _find_ the person who, you intimate, has
deceived you, and placed your life in peril; and if that can be proved,
hang him instead of you. I speak plainly, Miss Eccles," I added in a
milder tone; "perhaps you may think unfeelingly, but there is no further
time for playing with this dangerous matter. To-morrow a true bill will
be found against you, and your trial may then come on immediately. If you
are careless for yourself, you ought to have some thought for the
sufferings of your excellent friend, Mrs. Davies; for your nephew, soon
perhaps to be left friendless and destitute."
"Oh spare me--spare me!" sobbed the unhappy young woman, sinking
nervelessly into a seat. "Have pity upon me, wretched, bewildered as I
am!" Tears relieved her, and after awhile, she said, "It is useless, sir,
to prolong this interview. I could not, I solemnly assure you, if I
would, tell you where to search for or find the person of whom I spoke.
And," she added, whilst the lines about her mouth of which I have spoken,
grew distinct and rigid, "I would not if I could. What indeed would it,
as I have been told and believe, avail, but to cause the death of two
deceived innocent persons instead of one? Besides," she continued, trying
to speak with firmness, and repress the shudder which crept over and
shook her as with ague--"besides, whatever the verdict, the penalty will
not, cannot, I am sure, I know, be--be"--
I understood her plainly enough, although her resolution failed to
sustain her through the sentence.
"Who is this brother--James Eccles, he calls himself--whom you saw at the
police-office, and who has twice been here, I understand--once to-day?"
A quick start revealed the emotion with which she heard the question,
and her dilated eyes rested upon me for a moment with eager scrutiny.
She speedily recovered her presence of mind, and with her eyes again
fixed on the floor, said in a quivering voice, "My brother! Yes--as you
say--my brother."
"Mrs. Davies says you have no brother!" I sharply rejoined.
"Good Mrs. Davies," she replied in a tone scarcely above a whisper, and
without raising her head, "does not know all our family."
A subterfuge was, I was confident, concealed in these words; but after
again and again urging her to confide in me, and finding warning and
persuasion alike useless, I withdrew, discomfited and angry, and withal
as much concerned and grieved as baffled and indignant. On going out, I
arranged with the governor that the "brother," if he again made his
appearance, should be detained, _bongré malgré_, till my arrival. Our
precaution was too late--he did not reappear; and so little notice had
any one taken of his person, that to advertise a description of him with
a reward for his apprehension was hopeless.
A true bill was found, and two hours afterwards Jane Eccles was placed in
the dock. The trial did not last more than twenty minutes, at the end of
which, an unhesitating verdict of guilty was returned, and she was duly
sentenced to be hanged by the neck till she was dead. We had retained the
ablest counsel practicing in the court, but, with no tangible defence,
their efforts were merely thrown away. Upon being asked what she had to
say why the sentence of the law should not be carried into effect? she
repeated her previous statement--that the notes had been given her to
change by a person in whom she reposed the utmost confidence; and that
she had not the slightest thought of evil or fraud in what she did. That
person, however, she repeated once more, could not be produced. Her
assertions only excited a derisive smile; and all necessary forms having
been gone through, she was removed from the bar.
The unhappy woman bore the ordeal through which she had just passed with
much firmness. Once only, whilst sentence was being passed, her
high-strung resolution appeared to falter and give way. I was watching
her intently, and I observed that she suddenly directed a piercing look
towards a distant part of the crowded court. In a moment her eye
lightened, the expression of extreme horror which had momently darkened
her countenance passed away, and her partial composure returned. I had
instinctively, as it were, followed her glance, and thought I detected a
tall man enveloped in a cloak engaged in dumb momentary communication
with her. I jumped up from my seat, and hastened as quickly as I could
through the thronged passages to the spot, and looked eagerly around, but
the man, whosoever he might be, was gone.
The next act in this sad drama was the decision of the Privy Council upon
the recorder's report. It came. Several were reprieved, but amongst them
was _not_ Jane Eccles. She and nine others were to perish at eight
o'clock on the following morning.
The anxiety and worry inseparable from this most unhappy affair, which,
from Mr. Flint's protracted absence, I had exclusively to bear, fairly
knocked me up, and on the evening of the day on which the decision of the
Council was received, I went to bed much earlier than usual, and really
ill. Sleep I could not, and I was tossing restlessly about, vainly
endeavoring to banish from my mind the gloomy and terrible images
connected with the wretched girl and her swiftly-coming fate, when a
quick tap sounded on the door, and a servant's voice announced that one
of the clerks had brought a letter which the superscription directed to
be read without a moment's delay. I sprang out of bed, snatched the
letter, and eagerly ran it over. It was from the Newgate chaplain, a very
worthy, humane gentleman, and stated that, on hearing the result of the
deliberations of the Privy Council, all the previous stoicism and
fortitude exhibited by Jane Eccles had completely given way, and she had
abandoned herself to the wildest terror and despair. As soon as she could
speak coherently, she implored the governor with frantic earnestness to
send for me. As this was not only quite useless in the opinion of that
official, but against the rules, the prisoner's request was not complied
with. The chaplain, however, thinking it might be as well that I should
know of her desire to see me, had of his own accord sent me this note. He
thought that possibly the sheriffs would permit me to have a brief
interview with the condemned prisoner in the morning, if I arrived
sufficiently early; and although it could avail nothing as regarded her
fate in this world, still it might perhaps calm the frightful tumult of
emotion by which she was at present tossed and shaken, and enable her to
meet the inevitable hour with fortitude and resignation.
It was useless to return to bed after receiving such a communication,
and I forthwith dressed myself, determined to sit up and read, if I
could, till the hour at which I might hope to be admitted to the jail,
should strike. Slowly and heavily the dark night limped away, and as the
first rays of the cold wintry dawn reached the earth, I sallied forth. A
dense, brutal crowd were already assembled in front of the prison, and
hundreds of well-dressed sight-seers occupied the opposite windows,
morbidly eager for the rising of the curtain upon the mournful tragedy
about to be enacted. I obtained admission without much difficulty, but,
till the arrival of the sheriffs, no conference with the condemned
prisoners could be possibly permitted. Those important functionaries
happened on this morning to arrive unusually late, and I paced up and
down the paved corridor in a fever of impatience and anxiety. They were
at last announced, but before I could, in the hurry and confusion,
obtain speech of either of them, the dismal bell tolled out, and I felt
with a shudder that it was no longer possible to effect my object.
"Perhaps it is better so," observed the reverend chaplain, in a whisper.
"She has been more composed for the last two or three hours, and is now,
I trust, in a better frame of mind for death." I turned, sick at heart,
to leave the place, and in my agitation missing the right way, came
directly in view of the terrible procession. Jane Eccles saw me, and a
terrific scream, followed by frantic heart-rending appeals to me to save
her, burst with convulsive effort from her white quivering lips. Never
will the horror of that moment pass from my remembrance. I staggered
back, as if every spasmodic word struck me like a blow; and then,
directed by one of the turnkeys, sped in an opposite direction as fast
as my trembling limbs could carry me--the shrieks of the wretched
victim, the tolling of the dreadful bell, and the obscene jeers and
mocks of the foul crowd through which I had to force my way, evoking a
confused tumult of disgust and horror in my brain, which, if long
continued, would have driven me mad. On reaching home, I was bled
freely, and got to bed. This treatment, I have no doubt, prevented a
violent access of fever; for, as it was, several days passed before I
could be safely permitted to re-engage in business.
On revisiting the office, a fragment of a letter written by Jane Eccles
a few hours previous to her death, and evidently addressed to Mrs.
Davies, was placed by Mr. Flint, who had by this time returned, before
me. The following is an exact copy of it, with the exception that the
intervals which I have marked with dots,.... were filled with erasures
and blots, and that every word seemed to have been traced by a hand
smitten with palsy:--
"From my Death-place, _Midnight._
"Dear Madam--No, beloved friend--mother, let me call you.... Oh kind,
gentle mother, I am to die ... to be killed in a few hours by cruel
men!--I, so young, so unprepared for death, and yet guiltless! Oh never
doubt that I am guiltless of the offence for which they will have the
heart to hang me.... Nobody, they say, can save me now; yet if I could
see the lawyer.... I have been deceived, cruelly deceived, madam--buoyed
up by lying hopes, till just now the thunder burst, and I--oh God!.... As
they spoke, the fearful chapter in the Testament came bodily before
me--the rending of the vail in twain, the terrible darkness, and the
opened graves!.... I did not write for this, but my brain aches and
dazzles.... It is too late--too late, they all tell me! ... Ah, if these
dreadful laws were not so swift, I might yet--but no; _he_ clearly proved
to me how useless.... I must not think of that.... It is of my nephew, of
your Henry, child of my affections, that I would speak. Oh, would that
I.... But hark!--they are coming.... The day has dawned ... to me the day
of judgment!...."
This incoherent scrawl only confirmed my previous suspicions, but it was
useless to dwell further on the melancholy subject. The great axe had
fallen, and whether justly or unjustly, would, I feared, as in many, very
many other cases, never be clearly ascertained in this world. I was
mistaken. Another case of "uttering forged Bank-of-England notes, knowing
them to be forged," which came under our cognizance a few months
afterwards, revived the fading memory of Jane Eccles's early doom, and
cleared up every obscurity connected with it.
The offender in this new case, was a tall, dark-complexioned, handsome
man, of about thirty years of age, of the name of Justin Arnold. His lady
mother, whose real name I shall conceal under that of Barton, retained us
for her son's defence, and from her, and other sources, we learned the
following particulars:--
Justin Arnold was the lady's son by a former marriage. Mrs. Barton, a
still splendid woman, had, in second nuptials, espoused a very wealthy
person, and from time to time had covertly supplied Justin Arnold's
extravagance. This, however, from the wild course the young man pursued,
could not be forever continued, and after many warnings the supplies were
stopped. Incapable of reformation, Justin Arnold, in order to obtain the
means of dissipation, connected himself with a cleverly-organized band of
swindlers and forgers, who so adroitly managed their nefarious business,
that, till his capture, they had contrived to keep themselves clear of
the law--the inferior tools and dupes having been alone caught in its
fatal meshes. The defence, under these circumstances necessarily a
difficult, almost impossible one, was undertaken by Mr. Flint, and
conducted by him with his accustomed skill and energy.
I took a very slight interest in the matter, and heard very little
concerning it till its judicial conclusion by the conviction of the
offender, and his condemnation to death. The decision on the
recorder's report was this time communicated to the authorities of
Newgate on a Saturday, so that the batch ordered for execution,
amongst whom was Justin Arnold, would not be hanged till the Monday
morning. Rather late in the evening a note once more reached me from
the chaplain of the prison. Justin Arnold wished to see me--_me_, not
Mr. Flint. He had something of importance to communicate, he said,
relative to a person in whom I had once felt great interest. It
flashed across me that this Justin might be the "brother" of Jane
Eccles, and I determined to see him. I immediately sought out one of
the sheriffs, and obtained an order empowering me to see the prisoner
on the afternoon of the morrow, (Sunday).
I found that the convict had expressed great anxiety lest I should
decline to see him. My hoped-for visit was the only matter which
appeared to occupy the mind or excite the care of the mocking,
desperate young man; even the early and shameful termination of his own
life on the morrow, he seemed to be utterly reckless of. Thus prepared,
I was the less surprised at the scene which awaited me in the
prisoner's cell, where I found him in angry altercation with the pale
and affrighted chaplain.
I had never seen Justin Arnold before, this I was convinced of the
instant I saw him; but he knew and greeted me instantly by name. His
swarthy, excited features were flushed and angry; and after briefly
thanking me for complying with his wishes, he added in a violent rapid
tone, "This good man has been teasing me. He says, and truly, that I have
defied God by my life; and now he wishes me to mock that inscrutable
Being, on the eve of death, by words without sense, meaning, or truth!"
"No, no, no!" ejaculated the reverend gentleman. "I exhorted you to true
repentance, to peace, charity, to"--
"True repentance, peace, charity!" broke in the prisoner, with a scornful
burst; "when my heart is full of rage, and bitterness, and despair! Give
me _time_ for this repentance which you say is so needful--time to lure
back long since banished hope, and peace, and faith! Poh!--you but flout
me with words without meaning. I am unfit, you say, for the presence of
men, but quite fit for that of God, before whom you are about to
arrogantly cast me! Be it so--my deeds are upon my head! It is at least
not my fault that I am hurled to judgment before the Eternal Judge
himself commanded my presence there!"
"He may be unworthy to live," murmured the scared chaplain, "but oh, how
utterly unfit to die!"
"That is true," rejoined Justin Arnold, with undiminished vehemence.
"Those, if you will, are words of truth and sense--go you and preach them
to the makers and executioners of English law. In the meantime I would
speak privately with this gentleman."
The reverend pastor, with a mute gesture of compassion, sorrow, and
regret, was about to leave the cell, when he was stayed by the prisoner,
who exclaimed, "Now, I think of it, you had better, sir, remain. The
statement I am about to make cannot, for the sake of the victim's
reputation, and for her friends' sake, have too many witnesses. You both
remember Jane Eccles?" A broken exclamation from both of us answered him,
and he quickly added--"Ah, you already guess the truth, I see. Well, I do
not wonder you should start and turn pale. It _was_ a cruel, shameless
deed--a dastardly murder if there was ever one. In as few words as
possible, so you interrupt me not, I will relate _my_ share in the
atrocious business." He spoke rapidly, and once or twice during the brief
recital, the moistened eye and husky voice betrayed emotions which his
pride would have concealed.
"Jane and I were born in Hertfordshire, within a short distance of each
other. I knew her from a child. She was better off then, I worse than we
subsequently became--she by her father's bankruptcy, I by my mo--, by
Mrs. Barton's wealthy marriage. She was about nineteen, I twenty-four,
when I left the country for London. That she loved me with all the
fervor of a trusting woman I well knew; and I had, too, for some time
known that she must be either honorably wooed or not at all. That with
me, was out of the question, and, as I told you, I came about that time
to London. You can, I dare say, imagine the rest. We were--I and my
friends, I mean--at a loss for agents to dispose of our wares, and at the
same time pressed for money. I met Jane Eccles by accident. Genteel, of
graceful address and winning manners, she was just fitted for our
purpose. I feigned re-awakened love, proffered marriage, and a home
across the Atlantic, as soon as certain trifling but troublesome affairs
which momently harassed me were arranged. She believed me. I got her to
change a considerable number of notes under various pretexts, but that
they were forged she had not and could not have the remotest suspicion.
You know the catastrophe. After her apprehension I visited this prison as
her brother, and buoyed her up to the last with illusions of certain
pardon and release, whatever the verdict, through the influence of my
wealthy father-in-law, of our immediate union afterwards, and tranquil
American home. It is needless to say more. She trusted me, and I
sacrificed her; less flagrant instances of a like nature occur every day.
And now, gentlemen, I would fain be alone."
"Remorseless villain!" I could not help exclaiming under my breath as he
moved away.
He turned quickly back, and looking me in the face, without the slightest
anger, said, "An execrable villain if you like--not a remorseless one!
Her death alone sits near, and troubles my, to all else, hardened
conscience. And let me tell you, reverend sir," he continued, resuming
his former bitterness as he addressed the chaplain--"let me tell you that
it was not the solemn words of the judge the other day, but her pale,
reproachful image, standing suddenly beside me in the dock, just as she
looked when I passed my last deception on her, that caused the tremor and
affright, complacently attributed by that grave functionary to his own
sepulchral eloquence. After all, her death cannot be exclusively laid to
my charge. Those who tried her would not believe her story, and yet it
was true as death. Had they not been so confident in their own unerring
wisdom, they might have doomed her to some punishment short of the
scaffold, and could now have retrieved their error. But I am weary, and
would, I repeat, be alone. Farewell!" He threw himself on the rude
pallet, and we silently withdrew.
A paper embodying Justin Arnold's declaration was forwarded to the
secretary of state, and duly acknowledged, accompanied by an official
expression of mild regret that it had not been made in time to save the
life of Jane Eccles. No further notice was taken of the matter, and the
record of the young woman's judicial sacrifice still doubtless encumbers
the archives of the Home Office, forming, with numerous others of like
character, the dark, sanguine background upon which the achievements of
the great and good men who have so successfully purged the old Draco code
that now a faint vestige only of the old barbarism remains, stands out in
bright relief and changeless lustre.
"EVERY MAN HIS OWN LAWYER."
A smarter trader, a keener appreciator of the tendencies to a rise or
fall in colonial produce--sugars more especially--than John Linden, of
Mincing Lane, it would have been difficult to point out in the wide city
of London. He was not so immensely rich as many others engaged in the
same merchant-traffic as himself; nothing at all like it, indeed, for I
doubt that he could at any time have been esteemed worth more than from
eighty to ninety thousand pounds; but his transactions, although limited
in extent when compared with those of the mammoth colonial houses, almost
always returned more or less of profit; the result of his remarkable
keenness and sagacity in scenting hurricanes, black insurrections, and
emancipation bills, whilst yet inappreciable, or deemed afar off, by less
sensitive organizations. At least to this wonderful prescience of future
sugar-value did Mr. Linden himself attribute his rise in the world, and
gradual increase in rotundity, riches, and respectability. This constant
success engendered, as it is too apt to do, inordinate egotism, conceit,
self-esteem, vanity. There was scarcely a social, governmental, or
economical problem which he did not believe himself capable of solving as
easily as he could eat his dinner when hungry. "Common-sense
business-habits"--his favorite phrase--he believed to be quite sufficient
for the elucidation of the most difficult question in law, physic, or
divinity. The science of law, especially, he held to be an alphabet which
any man--of common sense and business habits--could as easily master as
he could count five on his fingers; and there was no end to his ridicule
of the men with horse-hair head-dresses, and their quirks, quiddits,
cases, tenures, and such-like devil's lingo. Lawyers, according to him,
were a set of thorough humbugs and impostors, who gained their living by
false pretence--that of affording advice and counsel, which every sane
man could better render himself. He was unmistakably mad upon this
subject, and he carried his insane theory into practice. He drew his own
leases, examined the titles of some house-property he purchased, and set
his hand and seal to the final deeds, guided only by his own common-sense
spectacles. Once he bid, at the Auction Mart, as high as fifty-three
thousand pounds for the Holmford estate, Herefordshire; and had he not
been outbidden by young Palliser, son of the then recently-deceased
eminent distiller, who was eager to obtain the property, with a view to a
seat in parliament which its possession was said to almost insure--he
would, I had not at the time the slightest doubt, have completed the
purchase, without for a moment dreaming of submitting the vender's title
to the scrutiny of a professional adviser. Mr. Linden, I should mention,
had been for some time desirous of resigning his business in Mincing Lane
to his son, Thomas Linden, the only child born to him by his long-since
deceased wife, and of retiring, an estated squire-arch, to the _otium
cum._, or _sine dignitate_, as the case might be, of a country life; and
this disposition had of late been much quickened by daily-increasing
apprehensions of negro emancipation and revolutionary interference with
differential duties--changes which, in conjunction with others of similar
character, would infallibly bring about that utter commercial ruin which
Mr. Linden, like every other rich and about-to-retire merchant or
tradesman whom I have ever known, constantly prophesied to be near at
hand and inevitable.
With such a gentleman the firm of Flint & Sharp had only professional
interviews, when procrastinating or doubtful debtors required that he
should put on the screw--a process which, I have no doubt, he would
himself have confidently performed, but for the waste of valuable time
which doing so would necessarily involve. Both Flint and myself were,
however, privately intimate with him--Flint more especially, who had
known him from boyhood--and we frequently dined with him on a Sunday at
his little box at Fulham. Latterly, we had on these occasions met there a
Mrs. Arnold and her daughter Catherine--an apparently amiable, and
certainly very pretty and interesting young person--to whom, Mr. Linden
confidentially informed us, his son Tom had been for some time engaged.
"I don't know much about her family," observed Mr. Linden one day, in the
course of a gossip at the office, "but she moves in very respectable
society. Tom met her at the Slades'; but I _do_ know she has something
like thirty-five thousand pounds in the funds. The instant I was informed
how matters stood with the young folk, I, as a matter of common sense and
business, asked the mother, Mrs. Arnold, for a reference to her banker or
solicitor--there being no doubt that a woman and a minor would be in
lawyers' leading-strings--and she referred me to Messrs. Dobson of
Chancery Lane. You know the Dobsons?"
"Perfectly,--what was the reply?"
"That Catherine Arnold, when she came of age--it wants but a very short
time of that now--would be entitled to the capital of thirty-four
thousand seven hundred pounds, bequeathed by an uncle, and now lodged in
the funds in the names of the trustees, Crowther & Jenkins, of Leadenhall
Street, by whom the interest on that sum was regularly paid,
half-yearly, through the Messrs. Dobson, for the maintenance and
education of the heiress. A common-sense, business-like letter in every
respect, and extremely satisfactory; and as soon as he pleases, after
Catherine Arnold comes of age, and into actual possession of her fortune,
Tom may have her, with my blessing over the bargain."
I dined at Laurel Villa, Fulham, about two months after this
conversation, and Linden and I found ourselves alone over the
dessert--the young people having gone out for a stroll, attracted
doubtless by the gay aspect of the Thames, which flows past the miniature
grounds attached to the villa. Never had I seen Mr. Linden in so gay, so
mirthful a mood.
"Pass the decanter," he exclaimed, the instant the door had closed upon
Tom and his _fiancée_. "Pass the decanter, Sharp; I have news for you, my
boy, now they are gone."
"Indeed! and what may the news be?"
"Fill a bumper for yourself, and I'll give you a toast. Here's to the
health and prosperity of the proprietor of the Holmford estate; and may
he live a thousand years, and one over!--Hip--hip--hurra!"
He swallowed his glass of wine, and then, in his intensity of glee,
laughed himself purple.
"You needn't stare so," he said, as soon as he had partially recovered
breath; "I am the proprietor of the Holmford property--bought it for
fifty-six thousand pounds of that young scant-grace and spendthrift,
Palliser--fifteen thousand pounds less than what it cost him, with the
outlay he has made upon it. Signed, sealed, delivered, paid for
yesterday. Ha! ha! ho! Leave John Linden alone for a bargain! It's worth
seventy thousand pounds if it's worth a shilling. I say," continued he,
after a renewed spasm of exuberant mirth, "not a word about it to
anybody--mind! I promised Palliser, who is quietly packing up to be off
to Italy, or Australia, or Constantinople, or the devil--all of them,
perhaps, in succession--not to mention a word about it till he was well
off--you understand? Ha! ha!--ho! ho!" again burst out Mr. Linden. "I
pity the poor creditors though! Bless you! I shouldn't have had it at
anything like the price, only for his knowing that I was not likely to be
running about exposing the affair, by asking lawyers whether an estate in
a family's possession, as this was in Dursley's for three hundred years,
had a good title or not. So be careful not to drop a word, even to
Tom--for my honor's sake. A delicious bargain, and no mistake! Worth, if
a penny, seventy thousand pounds. Ha! ha!--ho! ho!"
"Then you have really parted with that enormous sum of money without
having had the title to the estate professionally examined?"
"Title! Fiddlestick! I looked over the deeds myself. Besides, haven't I
told you the ancestors of Dursley, from whose executors Palliser
purchased the estate, were in possession of it for centuries. What better
title than prescription can there be?"
"That may be true enough; but still"--
"I ought, you think, to have risked losing the bargain by delay, and have
squandered time and money upon fellows in horse-hair wigs, in order to
ascertain what I sufficiently well knew already? Pooh! I am not in my
second childhood yet!"
It was useless to argue with him; besides the mischief, if mischief there
was, had been done, and the not long-delayed entrance of the young couple
necessitating a change of topic, I innocently inquired what he thought of
the Negro Emancipation Bill which Mr. Stanley, as the organ of the
ministry, had introduced a few evenings previously? and was rewarded by a
perfect deluge of loquacious indignation and invective--during a pause in
which hurly-burly of angry words I contrived to effect my escape.
"Crowther & Jenkins!" exclaimed one morning, Mr. Flint, looking up from
the "Times" newspaper he held in his hand. "Crowther & Jenkins!--what is
it we know about Crowther & Jenkins?"
The question was addressed to me, and I, like my partner, could not at
the moment precisely recall why those names sounded upon our ears with a
certain degree of interest as well as familiarity. "Crowther & Jenkins!"
I echoed. "True; what _do_ we know about Crowther & Jenkins? Oh, I have
it!--they are the executors of a will under which young Linden's pretty
bride, that is to be, inherits her fortune."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Flint, as he put down the paper, and looked me
gravely in the face--"I remember now; their names are in the list of
bankrupts. A failure in the gambling corn-trade too. I hope they have not
been speculating with the young woman's money."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth when Mr. Linden was announced,
and presently in walked that gentleman in a state of considerable
excitement.
"I told you," he began, "some time ago about Crowther & Jenkins being the
persons in whose names Catherine Arnold's money stood in the funds?"
"Yes," replied Flint; "and I see by the 'Gazette' they are bankrupts,
and, by your face, that they have speculated with your intended
daughter-in-law's money, and lost it!"
"Positively so!" rejoined Mr. Linden, with great heat. "Drew it out many
months ago! But they have exceedingly wealthy connections--at least
Crowther has--who will, I suppose, arrange Miss Arnold's claim rather
than their relative should be arraigned for felony."
"Felony!--you are mistaken, my good sir. There is no felony--no _legal_
felony, I mean--in the matter. Miss Arnold can only prove against the
estate like any other creditor."
"The devil she can't! Tom, then, must look out for another wife, for I am
credibly informed there won't be a shilling in the pound."
And so it turned out. The great corn-firm had been insolvent for years;
and after speculating desperately, and to a frightful extent, with a view
to recover themselves, had failed to an enormous amount--their assets,
comparatively speaking, proving to be _nil_.
The ruin spread around, chiefly on account of the vast quantity of
accommodation-paper they had afloat, was terrible; but upon no one did
the blow fall with greater severity than on young Linden and his promised
wife. His father ordered him to instantly break off all acquaintance with
Miss Arnold; and on the son, who was deeply attached to her, peremptorily
refusing to do so, Linden, senior, threatened to turn him out of doors,
and ultimately disinherit him. Angry, indignant, and in love, Thomas
Linden did a very rash and foolish thing; he persuaded Catherine Arnold
to consent to a private marriage, arguing that if the indissoluble knot
were once fairly tied, his father would, as a matter of course--he being
an only child--become reconciled to what he could no longer hope to
prevent or remedy.
The imprudent young man deceived both himself and her who trusted in his
pleasing plausibilities. Ten minutes after he had disclosed the marriage
to his father, he was turned, almost penniless, out of doors; and the
exasperated and inexorable old man refused to listen to any
representation in his favor, by whomsoever proffered, and finally, even
to permit the mention of his name in his hearing.
"It's of no use," said Mr. Flint, on returning for the last time, from a
mission undertaken to extort, if possible, some provision against
absolute starvation for the newly-wedded couple. "He is as cold and hard
as adamant, and I think, if possible, even more of a tiger than before.
He will be here presently to give instructions for his will."
"His will! Surely he will draw that up himself after his own
common-sense, business fashion?"
"He would unquestionably have done so a short time since; but some events
that have lately occurred have considerably shaken his estimate of his
own infallibility, and he is, moreover, determined, he says, that there
shall be no mistake as to effectually disinheriting his son. He has made
two or three heavy losses, and his mind is altogether in a very cankered,
distempered state."
Mr. Linden called, as he had promised to do, and gave us the written
heads of a will which he desired to have at once formally drawn up. By
this instrument he devised the Holmford estate, and all other property,
real and personal, of which he might die possessed, to certain charitable
institutions, in varying proportions, payable as soon after his death as
the property could be turned into money. "The statute of mortmain does
not give me much uneasiness," remarked the vindictive old man with a
bitter smile. "I shall last some time yet. I would have left it all to
you, Flint," he added, "only that I knew you would defeat my purpose by
giving it back to that disobedient, ungrateful, worthless boy."
"Do leave it to me," rejoined Mr. Flint, with grave emphasis, "and I
promise you faithfully this--that the wish respecting it, whatever it may
be, which trembles on your lip as you are about to leave this world for
another, and when it may be too late to formally revoke the testament you
now propose, shall be strictly carried out. That time cannot be a very
distant one, John Linden, for a man whose hair is white as yours."
It was preaching to the winds. He was deaf, blind, mute, to every attempt
at changing his resolve. The will was drawn in accordance with his
peremptorily-iterated instructions, and duly signed, sealed, and
attested. Not very long afterwards, Mr. Linden disposed of his business
in Mincing Lane, and retired to Holmford, but with nothing like the
money-fortune he had once calculated upon, the losses alluded to by Mr.
Flint, and followed by others, having considerably diminished his wealth.
We ultimately obtained a respectable and remunerative situation for
Thomas Linden in a mercantile house at Belfast, with which we were
professionally acquainted, and after securing berths in the _Erin_
steamer, he, with his wife and mother-in-law, came, with a kind of
hopeful sadness in their looks and voices, to bid us farewell--for a very
long time, they and we also feared--
For an eternity, it seemed, on reading the account of the loss of the
_Erin_, a few days afterwards, with every soul on board! Their names were
published with those of the other passengers who had embarked, and we had
of course concluded that they had perished, when a letter reached us from
Belfast, stating that, through some delay on the part of Mrs. Arnold,
they had happily lost their passage in the _Erin_, and embarked in the
next steamer for Belfast, where they arrived in perfect safety. We
forwarded this intelligence to Holmford, but it elicited no reply.
We heard nothing of Mr. Linden for about two months, except by
occasional notices in the "Hereford Times", which he regularly forwarded
to the office, relative to the improvements on the Holmford estate,
either actually begun or contemplated by its new proprietor. He very
suddenly reappeared. I was cooling my heels in the waiting-room of the
chambers of the Barons of the Exchequer, Chancery Lane, awaiting my turn
of admission, when one of our clerks came in, half-breathless with haste.
"You are wanted, sir, immediately; Mr. Flint is out, and Mr. Linden is at
the office raving like a mad-man." I instantly transferred the business I
was in attendance at chambers upon, to the clerk, and with the help of a
cab soon reached home.
Mr. Linden was not _raving_ when I arrived. The violence of the paroxysm
of rage and terror by which he was possessed had passed away, and he
looked, as I entered, the image of pale, rigid, iron, dumb despair. He
held a letter and a strip of parchment in his hand; these he presented,
and with white, stammering lips, bade me read. The letter was from an
attorney of the name of Sawbridge, giving notice of an action of
ejectment, to oust him from the possession of the Holmford estate, the
property, according to Mr. Sawbridge, of one Edwin Majoribanks; and the
strip of parchment was the writ by which the letter had been quickly
followed. I was astounded; and my scared looks questioned Mr. Linden for
further information.
"I do not quite understand it," he said in a hoarse, palpitating voice.
"No possession or title in the venders; a niece not of age--executors no
power to sell--Palliser discovered it, robbed me, absconded, and I, oh
God! am a miserable beggar!"
The last words were uttered with a convulsive scream, and after a few
frightful struggles he fell down in a fit. I had him conveyed to bed,
and as soon as he was somewhat recovered, I hastened off to ascertain
from Sawbridge, whom I knew very intimately, the nature of the claim
intended to be set up for the plaintiff, Edwin Majoribanks.
I met Sawbridge just as he was leaving his office, and as he was in too
great a hurry to turn back, I walked along with him, and he rapidly
detailed the chief facts about to be embodied in the plaintiff's
declaration. Archibald Dursley, once a London merchant, and who died a
bachelor, had bequeathed his estate, real and personal, to his brother
Charles, and a niece, his sister's child--two-thirds to the niece, and
one-third to the brother. The Holmford property, the will directed,
should be sold by public auction when the niece came of age, unless she,
by marriage or otherwise, was enabled, within six months after attaining
her majority, to pay over to Charles Dursley his third in money,
according to a valuation made for the purpose by competent assessors. The
brother, Charles Dursley, had urged upon the executors to anticipate the
time directed by the will for the sale of the property; and having
persuaded the niece to give a written authorization for the immediate
sale, the executors, chiefly, Sawbridge supposed, prompted by their own
necessities, sold the estate accordingly. But the niece not being of age
when she signed the authority to sell, her consent was of no legal value;
and she having since died intestate, Edwin Majoribanks, her cousin and
undoubted heir-at-law--for the property could not have passed from her,
even by marriage--now claimed the estate. Charles Dursley, the brother,
was dead; "and," continued Mr. Sawbridge, "the worst of it is, Linden
will never get a farthing of his purchase-money from the venders, for
they are bankrupt, nor from Palliser, who has made permanent arrangements
for continuing abroad, out of harm's reach. It is just as I tell you,"
he added, as we shook hands at parting; "but you will of course see the
will, and satisfy yourself. Good-by."
Here was a precious result of amateur common-sense lawyership! Linden
could only have examined the abstract of title furnished him by
Palliser's attorney, and not the right of Dursley's executors to sell; or
had not been aware that the niece could not during her minority,
subscribe an effective legal consent.
I found Mr. Flint at the office, and quickly imparted the astounding
news. He was as much taken aback as myself.
"The obstinate, pig-headed old ass!" he exclaimed; "it almost serves him
right, if only for his Tom-fool nonsense of 'Every man his own lawyer.'
What did you say was the niece's name?"
"Well, I don't remember that Sawbridge told me--he was in such a hurry;
but suppose you go at once and look over the will?"
"True: I will do so;" and away he went.
"This is a very singular affair, Sharp," said Mr. Flint on his return
from Doctors' Commons, at the same time composedly seating himself,
hooking his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat, crossing his
legs, and tilting his chair back on its hind legs. "A very singular
affair. Whom, in the name of the god of thieves--Mercury, wasn't he
called?--do you suppose the bankrupt executors to be? No other,"
continued Mr. Flint with a sudden burst, "than Crowther & Jenkins!"
"The devil!--and the niece then is"--
"Catherine Arnold--Tom Linden's wife--supposed to have been drowned in
the _Erin_! That's check-mate, I rather fancy--not only to Mr. Edwin
Majoribanks, but some one else we know of. The old fellow up stairs
won't refuse to acknowledge his daughter-in-law now, I fancy!"
This was indeed a happy change in the fortunes of the House of Linden;
and we discussed, with much alacrity, the best mode of turning
disclosures so momentous and surprising to the best account. As a first
step, a letter with an inclosure, was dispatched to Belfast, requiring
the return of Thomas Linden and family immediately; and the next was to
plead in form to the action. This done, we awaited Catherine Linden's
arrival in London, and Mr. Linden senior's convalescence--for his mental
agitation had resulted in a sharp fit of illness--to effect a
satisfactory and just arrangement.
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Linden and Mrs. Arnold arrived by the earliest
steamer that left Belfast after the receipt of our letter; and much
astonished were they by the intelligence that awaited them. Catherine
Linden was for confirming the validity of the sale of the Holmford estate
by her now authoritative consent at once, as a mere act of common justice
and good faith; but this, looking at the total loss of fortune she had
sustained by the knavery of the executors, and the obstinate, mulish
temper of the father-in-law, from whom she had already received such
harsh treatment, could not for a moment be permitted; and it was finally
resolved to take advantage of the legal position in which she stood, to
enforce a due present provision for herself and husband, and their
ultimate succession to the estate.
John Linden gradually recovered; and as soon as it was deemed prudent to
do so, we informed him that the niece was not dead, as the plaintiff in
the action of ejectment had supposed, and that of course, if she could
now be persuaded to ratify the imperative consent she had formerly
subscribed, he might retain Holmford. At first he received the
intelligence as a gleam of light and hope, but he soon relapsed into
doubt and gloom. "What chance was there," he hopelessly argued, "that,
holding the legal power, she would not exercise it?" It was not, he said,
in human nature to do otherwise; and he commissioned us to make liberal
offers for a compromise. Half--he would be content to lose half his
purchase-money; even a greater sacrifice than that he would agree
to--anything, indeed, that would not be utter ruin--that did not involve
utter beggary and destitution in old age.
Three days after this conversation, I announced to him that the lady and
her husband were below and desirous of seeing him.
"What do they say?" he eagerly demanded. "Will they accept of
half--two-thirds? What do they say?"
"I cannot precisely tell you. They wish to see you alone, and you can
urge your own views and offers." He trembled violently, and shrank
nervously back as I placed my hand on the door-handle of the private
office. He presently recovered in some degree his self-possession, passed
in, and I withdrew from the humiliating, but salutary spectacle, of
obdurate tyrant-power compelled to humble itself before those whom it had
previously scorned and trampled upon.
The legal arrangements which Flint and I had suggested were effected, and
Linden, senior, accompanied by his son, daughter-in-law, and Mrs. Arnold,
set off in restored amity for Holmford House. Edwin Majoribanks abandoned
his action, and Palliser, finding that matters were satisfactorily
arranged, retired to England. We afterwards knew that he had discovered
the defect of title, on applying to a well-known conveyancer, to raise a
considerable sum by way of mortgage, and that his first step was to
threaten legal proceedings against Crowther & Jenkins for the recovery of
his money; but a hint he obtained of the futility of proceedings against
them, determined him to offer the estate at a low figure to Linden,
relying upon that gentleman's ostentatious contempt of lawyers that the
blot in the title, subjected only to his own common-sense spectacles,
would not be perceived.