Matters ran their course rapidly during the following days. The black
cloud that had so long been threatening had come down lower and nearer,
and had at last poured forth its storm upon Denville's devoted head.
And now, as he sat thinking, all that had passed seemed misty and
dreamlike, and yet he knew that it was true.
There was the finish of that terrible night, when, forced by the direct
charge of his servant, the constable had taken steps against him. He
had been arrested; there had been magisterial examinations, and appeals
to him to declare his innocency; he, the magistrates' respected
townsman, charged with this horrible crime by a drunken servant!
But he had made no denial, only listened with a strange apathy, as if
stunned, and ready to give up everything as hopeless. In fact, so
willing did he seem to accept his position that, after examination and
adjournment--one of which was really to give the broken-down, prostrate
man an opportunity for making some defence--the magistrates had had no
option but to commit the prisoner for trial.
All Saltinville had been greatly concerned, and thus taken off the scent
of the previous trouble at the Master of the Ceremonies' house. The
departure of Frank Burnett from the town, and the state of his wife's
health, became exceedingly secondary matters. Sir Harry Payne's wound
was of no more importance than Lady Drelincourt's rheumatic fever,
brought on by exposure on the Downs at her age. People forgot, too, to
notice that Sir Matthew Bray was clear of his arrest, and to heed the
rumour floating about at Miss Clode's, that Lady Drelincourt had paid
Sir Matthew's debts, her affection for the big heavy dragoon having
received a strong accession from the fact that her love was no longer
divided, her overfed dog having died, evidently from plethora.
Ordinary affairs were in abeyance, and everyone talked of Lady Teigne's
murder, and metaphorically dug the old belle up again to investigate the
affair, and, so to speak, hold a general inquest without the coroner's
help.
Lord Carboro' took the matter down on the pier with him and sat at the
end to watch Fisherman Dick shrimping; and as he watched him he did not
think of the sturdy Spanish-looking fellow, but of Lady Teigne's jewels,
and as he thought he tried to undo this knot.
"If Denville killed the old woman for her diamonds, how is it he
remained so poor?"
"Thinking, Lord Carboro'?" said a voice.
The old beau looked up quickly and encountered the dark eyes of Major
Rockley, who had also been intently watching Dick Miggles, using an
opera-glass, so as to see him empty the shrimps into his creel.
"Yes: thinking," said Lord Carboro' in a short, sharp way. "Like to
know what I was thinking?"
The Major shrugged his shoulders.
"Of the sea, perhaps, or the vessels passing, or Lady Drelincourt's
illness."
"No, sir," said Lord Carboro' shortly. "I was thinking of Lady Teigne's
jewels."
Rockley raised his eyebrows, and looked at the old man curiously.
"Of Lady Teigne's jewels?"
"Yes, sir; and it seems a strange thing to me that if Denville killed
the old woman for her diamonds, he has not become rich."
"To be sure," said Rockley; "it does seem strange."
"It's all strange, sir, deuced strange," said the old man. "Took me
aback, for I never suspected Denville, and I don't suspect him now."
They stood looking at each other for a few minutes, and then Rockley
said quietly:
"A great many people seem to believe him innocent. Do you think they
will get him off?"
"Yes, of course--of course, sir. It would be an abominable thing to
bring such a charge home to the poor old fellow. Why, I suppose, sir,
that even you would not wish that."
"I should be deeply grieved, my lord," said Rockley. "Good morning."
"The scoundrel's still thinking about Claire," said the old beau, as he
sat gazing after the handsome cavalry officer. "Well, it's of no use to
sit here. I'll go up to Clode's, and see if there is any news."
He trudged slowly along the pier and the Parade, stopping now and then
to take a pinch of snuff.
He was indulging in a very big pinch, standing by the edge of the path,
when there was the trampling of hoofs, and Cora Dean's pony-carriage was
drawn up by his side.
"Let me drive you there," said Cora's deep, rich voice.
"Drive me! Where?" said the old man.
"Where you ought to be going; to the prison to see poor Mr Denville,
and get him out. I haven't patience with you people leaving the poor
old man there--you who professed to be his friends."
"Hah! Yes! No, I don't think I'll trouble you, my dear Miss Dean,"
said the old man, recovering his balance, and speaking in his old
sarcastic tone. "You are such a female Jehu."
"Such a what?" said Cora.
"Female Jehu, my dear. You drive furiously, but you can't control your
steeds. I don't want to be brought ashore in triumph. It's all very
well for you to come on to the beach like a goddess in your car, but to
me it means rheumatism and pain. So, no thanks."
"And you are going to leave Mr Denville in trouble?"
"Perhaps," said his lordship drily. "We're a heartless lot down here,
and I'm one of the worst."
"And you think that poor old man killed Lady Teigne."
"No, I don't, my dear Miss Dean; but even if he had done so I don't
think he ought to be punished. It was a meritorious action."
"Oh, Lord Carboro'!"
"It was, my dear madam; and if some enterprising party would come and
kill off Lady Drelincourt and your humble servant, and a few more of
that stamp, it would be a blessing to society. What do you think?"
"I think that a poor old man is lying in prison," said Cora Dean,
tightening her reins; "that his broken-hearted child is tending a sick
sister, and that the world of society talks about it all as if it were
stuff sent on purpose to supply them with news. Lord Carboro', I used
to wish I were well in society. I don't wish it now. Good morning."
"One moment," said the old man hastily. "You'll shake hands?"
He held out his, but Cora gave it a tap with her whip handle, and her
ponies went off at a canter, leaving his lordship hat in hand.
"And looking dooced ridiculous," he said angrily. And then, "Confound
the jade!" he muttered. "How dare she!"
Then his wrinkled countenance changed, and a pleasant smile took the
place of the angry look.
"Confound her! What a dig to give me with her sharp tongue. Well, it's
true enough, and I like her for it. Does she like Claire, or does she
hate her and pretend to feel all this? Who can say? The more you know
of a woman, the greater mystery she seems. Poor old Denville! The
place doesn't seem natural without him and his snuff-box. I miss him
horribly. Now I wonder whether they'd miss me if I were to go--as I
shall go--soon."
He walked thoughtfully on.
"Yes; they'd miss me, and talk about me as if I were a confounded old
curiosity, and make jocular remarks about my donkey--by George, how my
corns shoot, I wish he were here. But no one will care when I'm gone--
not one; and no one will be the better for my having lived."
He walked on slowly, thinking of the last time he had seen Claire, and
of the troubles that had fallen to her share, and then he muttered:
"Yes! something must be done."
Volume Three, Chapter XII.