"All her bright hair streaming down,
And all the coverlid was cloth of gold
Drawn to her waist, and she herself in white
All but her face, and that clear-featured face
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead,
But fast asleep, and lay as though she smiled."
--TENNYSON.
EXTRACT FROM THE NEW YORK "MARS."
"The following details in relation to the terrible crime with whose main
facts our readers are familiar will be of interest at the moment. They
were collected by our special reporter, sent in person to the scene of
the tragedy, for the purpose of gathering reliable information
concerning this case, which promises to be one of the _causes célèbres_
of the country, not only on account of the high position and wealth of
the parties concerned, but also on account of the close net of purely
circumstantial evidence which surrounds the accused man.
"TIMLOESVILLE
is a small village on the border-line between Pennsylvania and Maryland.
Legally in Pennsylvania, it possesses personally the characteristics of
a Maryland village, some of its outlying fields being fairly over the
border. It is credited with about two thousand inhabitants; but the
present observer did not see, during his stay, more than about one
thousand, including women and children. Timloesville is on a branch
railway, which connects with the main line at a junction about thirty
miles distant. It possesses two churches and a saw-mill, and was named
from a highly esteemed early settler (who may perhaps have marched with
our great Washington), Judge Jeremiah Timloe. The agricultural products
of the surrounding country are principally hay and maize--wrongly called
corn. The intelligence and morality of the community are generally
understood to be of a high order. A low fever prevails here in the
spring.
"TIMLOE HOTEL.
"At the southern edge of the town, on the line of the railway, stands
the Timloe Hotel, presenting an imposing façade to the passengers on the
trains as they roll by. It is presided over in a highly liberal and
gentlemanly manner by Mr. Casper Graub; it is, in fact, to the genial
courtesy of 'mine host' that much of this information is due, and we
take this occasion also to state that during all the confusion and
excitement necessarily accruing to his house during the present week,
the high standard of Mr. Graub's table has never once been relaxed.
"MR. GRAUB'S STORY.
"An army officer, with his right arm in a sling, arrived at the Timloe
Hotel, accompanied by his wife, and a maid or nurse named Bagshot, on
the evening of June 10, at six o'clock precisely. The officer registered
the names as follows: 'Ward Heathcote, Mrs. Heathcote and maid, New
York.' He wrote the names with his left hand. A room was assigned to
them in the front part of the house, but upon the lady's objecting to
the proximity of the trains (generally considered, however, by the
majority of Mr. Graub's guests, an enjoyable variety), another apartment
in a wing was given to them, with windows opening upon the garden. The
wing is shaped like an L. The maid, Bagshot, had a room in the bend of
the L, she too having objected, although later, to the room first
assigned to her. At half past six o'clock they had supper; the lady
then retired to her room, but the husband went out, as he said, to
stroll about the town. At half past eight he returned. At nine, Bagshot,
having been dismissed for the night, went to her own room; when she
left, Captain Heathcote was reading a newspaper, and his wife was
writing. It has since been ascertained that this newspaper was the
Baltimore _Chronos_ of the 9th inst. At ten o'clock exactly Captain
Heathcote came down stairs a second time, passed through the office, and
stopped to light a cigar. Mr. Graub noticed that he was able to use his
left hand quite cleverly, and asked him whether he was naturally
left-handed; Captain Heathcote answered that he was not, but had learned
the use only since his right arm had been disabled. Mr. Graub, seeing
him go toward the door, thought that it was somewhat singular that he
should wish to take a second walk, and casually remarked upon the warmth
of the evening. Captain Heathcote replied that it was for that very
reason he was going out; he could not breathe in the house; and he added
something not very complimentary to the air (generally considered
unusually salubrious) of Timloesville. Mr. Graub noticed that he walked
up and down on the piazza once or twice, _as if he wished to show
himself plainly to the persons who were sitting there_. He then strolled
away, going toward the main street.
"THE OUTSIDE STAIRWAY.
"As before mentioned, the second room given to Mrs. Heathcote was in a
wing. This wing is not much used; in fact, at the time, save this party
of three, it had no occupants. It is in the old part of the house. A
piazza or gallery runs across a portion of the second story, to which
access is had from the garden by a flight of wooden steps, or rather an
outside stairway. This stairway is old and sagged; in places the railing
is gone. It is probable that Mrs. Heathcote did not even see it. But
Captain Heathcote might have noticed it, and probably did notice it,
from the next street, through which he passed _when he took his first
walk before dark_.
"MRS. BAGSHOT'S TESTIMONY.
"As we have seen, Captain Heathcote left the hotel ostentatiously by the
front entrance at ten o'clock. At eleven, Mrs. Bagshot, who happened to
be looking from her window in the bend of the L, distinctly saw him (her
candle being out) _stealing up by the outside stairway_ in the only
minute of moonlight there was during the entire evening, the clouds
having suddenly and strangely parted, as if for that very purpose. She
saw him enter his wife's room through one of the long windows which
opened to the floor. In about a quarter of an hour she saw him come
forth again, close the blind behind him, and begin to descend the
stairway. As there was no longer any moonlight, she could only
distinguish him by the light that shone from the room; but in that short
space of time, while he was closing the blind, she recognized him
_beyond the possibility of a doubt_.
"THE NIGHT PORTER'S TALE.
"A little before midnight, all the hotel entrances being closed save the
main door, Captain Heathcote returned. As he passed through the office,
the night porter noticed that he looked pale, and that his clothes were
disordered; his shirt cuffs especially were wet and creased, as _though
they had been dipped in water_. He went up stairs to his room, but soon
came down again. He had knocked, but could not awaken his wife. Would
the porter be able to open the door by turning back the key? His wife
was an invalid; he feared she had fainted.
"THE TRAGEDY.
"The night porter--a most respectable person of Irish extraction, named
Dennis Haggerty--came up and opened the door. The lamp was burning
within; the blinds of the window were closed. On the bed, stabbed to the
heart, apparently while she lay asleep, was the body of the wife.
"DUMB WITNESSES.
"Red marks were found on the shutter, which are pronounced by experts to
be the partial print of a _left hand_. On the white cloth which covered
the bureau is a slight impression of finger-tips, also belonging to a
left hand. These marks are too imperfect to be relied upon in
themselves, save that they establish the fact that the hand which
touched the cloth and closed the shutter was a _left hand_.
"AN IMPROBABLE STORY.
"Captain Heathcote asserts that he left the hotel at ten, as testified,
to smoke a cigar and get a breath of fresh air. That he returned through
the garden at eleven, and seeing by the bright light that his wife was
still awake, he went up by the outside stairway, which he had previously
noted, entered the room through the long window to tell her that he was
going to take a bath in the river, and to get towels. He remained a few
minutes, put two towels in his pocket, and came out, going down the same
stairway, across the garden, and along the main road to the river. (A
track, however, has been found to the river through the large meadow
behind the house.) At the bend where road and river meet, he undressed
himself and took a bath. The disorder in his clothing and his wet cuffs
came from his own awkwardness, as he has but partial use of his right
arm. He then returned by the road as he had come, but he _forgot the
towels_. Probably they would be found on the bank where he left them.
"THE TOWEL.
"No towels were found at the point named. But at the end of the track
through the grass meadow, among the reeds on the shore, a towel _was_
found, and identified as one belonging to the hotel. This towel is
_stained with blood_.
"THE THEORY.
"The theory at Timloesville is that Heathcote had no idea that he would
be seen when he stole up that outside stairway. He knew that the entire
wing was unoccupied: a servant has testified that she told him it was;
and he thought, too, that the maid Bagshot had a room in front, not
commanding the garden. Bagshot says that the room was changed without
his knowledge, while he was absent on his first walk. He supposed, then,
that he would not be seen. He evidently took Mrs. Heathcote's diamond
rings, purse, and watch (they are all missing) in order to turn public
opinion toward the idea that the murder was for the sake of robbery. He
_says_ that a man passed him while he was bathing, and spoke to him;
proof of this would establish something toward the truth of his story.
But, strangely enough, this man can not be found. Yet Timloesville and
its neighborhood are by no means so crowded with inhabitants that the
search should be a difficult one.
"It may be regarded as a direct misfortune in the cause of justice that
the accused heard any of Bagshot's testimony against him before he was
called upon to give his own account of the events of the evening. And
yet his confused, contradictory story is another proof of the incapacity
which the most cunning murderers often display when overtaken by
suspicion; they seem to lose all power to protect themselves. If Captain
Heathcote had denied Bagshot's testimony in toto, had denied having
ascended the outside stairway at all, his chances would have been much
brighter, for people might have believed that the maid was mistaken. But
he _acknowledges the stairway_, and then denies the rest.
"HIS MOTIVE.
"But how can poor finite man detect so obscure a thing as motive? He
must hide his face and acknowledge his feebleness when he stands before
this inscrutable, heavy-browed, silent Fate. In this case, two solutions
are offered. One, that the wife's large fortune was left by will
unconditionally to her husband; the other, that Mrs. Bagshot will
testify that there was jealousy and ill feeling between these two,
linked together by God's holy ordinance, and that this ill feeling was
connected with a third person, and that person--a woman."
EXTRACT FROM THE NEW YORK "ZEUS."
"Mrs. Heathcote was apparently murdered while asleep. When found, her
face wore a natural and sweet expression, as though she had passed from
slumber into death without even a sigh. The maid testifies that her
mistress always removed her rings at night; it is probable, therefore,
that they, together with her purse and watch, were on the bureau where
the marks of the finger-tips were found.
"We refrain at present from comment upon the close circumstantial
evidence which surrounds this case; the strong hand of the law will take
hold of it at the proper time, and sift it thoroughly. Meanwhile the
attitude of all right-minded persons should be calm and impartial, and
the accused man should be held innocent until he is proven guilty. Trial
by newspaper is one of the notable evils of our modern American system,
and should be systematically discountenanced and discouraged; when a
human life is trembling in the balance, the sensation-monger should be
silenced, and his evil wares sternly rejected."
* * * * *
This negative impartiality was the nearest approach to friendliness
which the accused man received from the combined newspaper columns of
New York, Baltimore, and Washington.
The body of poor Helen was brought home, and Miss Teller herself arrayed
her darling for her long repose. Friends thronged to see her as she lay
in her luxurious drawing-room; flowers were placed everywhere as though
for a bridal--the bridal of death. Her figure was visible from head to
foot; she seemed asleep. Her still face wore a gentle expression of rest
and peace; her small hands were crossed upon her breast; her unbound
hair fell in waves behind her shoulders, a few strands lying on the
white skirt far below the slender waist, almost to the feet. The long
lashes lay upon the oval cheek; no one would ever see those bright brown
eyes again, and find fault with them because they were too narrow. The
lithe form was motionless; no one would ever again watch it move onward
with its peculiar swaying grace, and find fault with it because it was
too slender. Those who had not been willing to grant her beauty in life,
gazed at her now with tear-dimmed eyes, and willingly gave all the meed
of praise they had withheld before. Those who had not loved her while
she lived, forgot all, and burst into tears when they saw her now, the
delicately featured face once so proud and imperious, quiet forever,
grown strangely youthful too, like the face of a young girl.
Miss Teller sat beside her darling; to all she made the same set speech:
"Dear Ward, her husband, the one who loved her best, can not be here. I
am staying with her, therefore, until she is taken from us; then I shall
go to him, as _she_ would have wished." For Miss Teller believed no word
of the stories with which the newspapers teemed. Indignation and strong
affection supplied the place of whatever strength had been lacking in
her character, and never before in her life had she appeared as resolute
and clear-minded as now.
During the funeral services, Isabel Varce sat beside Miss Teller,
sobbing as if her heart would break. Rachel Bannert was next to Isabel.
She had looked once at Helen, only once, and her dark face had quivered
spasmodically; then she also took her seat beside the fair, still form,
and bowed her head. All Helen's companions were clad in mourning garb;
the tragedy of this death had invested it with a deeper sadness than
belonged to the passing away in the ordinary course of nature of even
closer friends. The old-fashioned mansion was full to overflowing; in
the halls and doorway, on the front steps, and even on the pavement
outside, men were standing, bare-headed and silent, many distinguished
faces being among them; society men also, who in general avoided
funerals as unpleasant and grewsome ceremonials. These had been Helen's
companions and friends; they had all liked and admired her, and as she
was borne past them, covered with heliotrope, there was not one whose
eyes did not grow stern in thinking of the dastard hand that did the
cruel deed.
That night, when darkness fell, many hearts remembered her, lying alone
in the far-off cemetery, the cemetery we call Greenwood, although no
wood made by Nature's hand alone bears the cold white marble flowers
which are found on those fair slopes. And when the next morning dawned,
with dull gray clouds and rain, there were many who could not help
thinking of the beautiful form which had fared softly and delicately all
its life, which had felt only the touch of finest linen and softest
silk, which had never suffered from the cold or the storm, now lying
there alone in the dark soaked earth, with the rain falling upon its
defenseless head, and no one near to replace the wet lilies which the
wind had blown from the mound.
But those who were thinking thus were mistaken: some one was near. A
girl clad in black and closely veiled stood beside the new-made grave,
with tears dropping on her cheeks, and her hand pressed over her heart.
There were many mourners yesterday; there was but one to-day. There were
many flowers then; now there was only the bunch of violets which this
girl had brought. She had knelt beside the mound, her head undefended
from the rain, and had prayed silently. Then she had risen, but still
she could not go. She paced slowly up and down beside the grave, like a
sentinel keeping watch; only when she perceived that one of the men
employed in the cemetery was watching her curiously, no doubt wondering
why she remained there in the storm, did she turn away at last, and go
homeward again by the long route she had traversed in coming.
For Anne had not dared to go to the funeral; had not dared to go to Miss
Teller. The hideous sentence in the newspaper had filled her with doubt
and vague alarm. It was not possible that she, Anne, was meant; and yet
Bagshot, from whom this as yet unrevealed testimony was to come, saw her
on the day she visited Helen, after the tidings of her husband's death.
Surely this was too slight a foundation upon which to found her vague
alarm. She repeated to herself that her dread was unreasonable, yet it
would not down. If the danger had been open, she could have faced and
defied it; but this mute, unknown something, which was only to be
revealed by the power and in the presence of the law, held her back,
bound hand and foot, afraid almost to breathe. For her presence or words
might, in some way she could not foresee or even comprehend, bring
increased danger upon the head of the accused man, already weighted down
with a crushing load of suspicion, which grew heavier every hour.
Suspense supplies a calmness of its own. Anne went into the city as
usual, gave her lessons, and went through all the forms of her
accustomed living, both at home and abroad. Yet all the time she was
accompanied by a muffled shape, its ghostly eyes fixed upon her through
its dark veil, menacing but silent. It was dread.
When the hour came, and she knew that the old words were being spoken
over Helen: "In the midst of life we are in death: of whom may we seek
for succor but of Thee?" "Before the mountains were brought forth, or
ever the earth and the world were made, Thou art God from everlasting."
"A thousand years in Thy sight are but as yesterday, seeing that is past
as a watch in the night." "And now, Lord, what is my hope? Truly my hope
is even in Thee"--she bowed her head and joined in the sentences mutely,
present at least in spirit. The next day, while the rain fell sombrely,
she went to the distant cemetery: no one would be there in the storm,
and she wished to stand once more by Helen's side--poor Helen, beautiful
Helen, taken from this life's errors forever, perhaps already, in
another world, understanding all, repentant for all, forgiving all.
There was no one to whom Anne could speak upon the subject which was
burning like a constant fire within her heart. And when, a few days
later, a letter came from Gregory Dexter, she opened it eagerly: there
would be, there must be, comfort here. She read the pages quickly, and
her heart stood still. "If I thought that there was the least danger
that the secret of this cowardly, cruel deed would not be found out,"
wrote Dexter, "I should at once leave all this labor in which I am
engaged, important as it is, and devote myself to the search for proofs
to convict the murderer. Never in my life has my desire for swift,
sharp justice been so deeply stirred."
Anne laid down the letter with a trembling hand. If he "thought that
there was the least danger"; then he thought there was none. But so far
no one had been apprehended, or even suspected, save Ward Heathcote
alone. Did he think, then, that Heathcote was guilty? _Could_ he think
this, knowing him as he did, having been in a certain sense his
companion and friend?
Dexter had not liked Heathcote personally, but he was capable of just
judgment above his personal likings and dislikings, and Anne knew it.
She knew that he had examined the testimony impartially. It must be,
then, it must be, that there were grounds for his belief. She took her
pen and wrote a burning letter--a letter of entreaty and passionate
remonstrance. And then, the next morning, she burned it: she must not
write or speak on the subject at all, not even to him.
The slow days moved onward like the processions of a dream. But no one
noticed any change in the young teacher, who journeyed wearily through
the long hours. Old Nora saw the piles of newspapers in her mistress's
room, but as she could not read, they betrayed nothing. She would not,
besides, have recognized Helen under the name of Heathcote; the
beautiful lady who had visited the half-house in the days of
Jeanne-Armande was named Lorrington. The slow days moved on, but not
without events. In this case the law had moved speedily. An indictment
had been found, and the trial was to take place without delay in the
county town of the district to which Timloesville belonged.
Miss Teller had gone to this town; the newspapers said that she had
taken a house, and would remain during the trial, or as long as Captain
Heathcote was confined there. Anne, reading these items, reading the
many descriptions of Heathcote, the suggestions regarding the murder,
the theories concerning the blunder (for it was conceded that there had
been a blunder), asked herself wonderingly if he had no friends left--no
friends on earth, save herself and Miss Teller? The whole world seemed
to be against him. But she judged only from the newspapers. There was
another side. This was a small, local, but in one way powerful,
minority, which stood by the accused man immovably. This minority was
composed almost entirely of women--women high in New York society,
Helen's own companions and friends. They formed a determined band of
champions, who, without condescending to use any arguments, but simply
through their own personality, exerted a strong influence, limited, it
is true, but despotic. If the case was tried beforehand by the
newspapers, it was also tried beforehand by sweet voices and scornful
lips in many New York drawing-rooms. Society resolved itself into two
parties--those who did and those who did not believe in the guilt of the
imprisoned man. Those who did believe were almost all men; those who did
not, almost all women; the exceptions being a few men who stood by
Heathcote in spite of the evidence, and a few women who, having logical
minds, stood by the evidence in spite of themselves.
When the trial began, not only was Miss Teller present, but Mrs. Varce
and Isabel, Mrs. Bannert and her daughter-in-law, together with others
equally well known as friends of Helen's, and prominent members of New
York's fashionable society.
Multomah, the little county town, was excited; its one hotel was
crowded. The country people came in to attend the trial from miles
around; great lawyers were to be present, there was to be "mighty fine
speaking." The gentleman had murdered his wife for the million dollars
she constantly carried with her. The gentleman had murdered his wife
because she had just discovered that he was already married before he
met her, and he was afraid she would reveal the secret. A local preacher
improved the occasion by a sermon decked profusely with Apollyons and
Abaddons. It was not clearly known what he meant, or where he stood; but
the discourse was listened to by a densely packed crowd of farming
people, who came out wiping their foreheads, and sat down on convenient
tombstones to talk it over, and eat their dinners, brought in baskets,
trying the case again beforehand for the five-hundredth time, with
texts and Scripture phrases thrown in to give it a Sabbath flavor.
The New York dailies had sent their reporters; every evening Anne read
their telegraphic summaries of the day's events; every morning, the
account of the same in detail. She was not skillful enough to extract
the real evidence from the mass of irrelevant testimony with which it
was surrounded, the questions and answers, the confusing pertinacity of
the lawyers over some little point which seemed to her as far from the
real subject as a blade of grass is from the fixed stars. She turned,
therefore, to the printed comments which day by day accompanied the
report of the proceedings, gathering from them the progress made, and
their ideas of the probabilities which lay in the future. The progress
seemed rapid; the probabilities were damning. No journal pretended that
they were otherwise. Yet still the able pens of the calmer writers
counselled deliberation. "There have been cases with even closer
evidence than this," they warningly wrote, "in which the accused, by
some unexpected and apparently trivial turn in the testimony, has been
proven clearly innocent. In this case, while the evidence is strong, it
is difficult to imagine a motive. Mrs. Heathcote was much attached to
her husband; she was, besides, a beautiful, accomplished, and
fascinating woman. That a man should deliberately plan to murder such a
wife, merely in order to obtain possession of wealth which was already
practically his, is incredible; and until some more reasonable motive is
discovered, many will refuse to believe even the evidence."
Anne, reading this sentence, felt faint. So far the mysterious testimony
to which vague allusion had been made in the beginning had not been
brought forward; the time had been occupied by the evidence concerning
the events at Timloesville, and the questioning and cross-questioning of
the Timloesville witnesses. A "more reasonable motive." The veiled shape
that accompanied her seemed to assume more definite outline, and to grow
from Dread into Fear. And yet she could not tell of what she was
afraid.
The days passed, and she wondered how it was that she could still eat,
and sleep, and speak as usual, while her whole being was away in that
little Pennsylvania town. She did speak and teach as usual, but she did
not eat or sleep. Something besides food sustained her. Was it hope? Or
fear? Oh, why did not all the world cry out that he was not, could not
be guilty! Were people all mad, and deaf, and blind? She lived on in a
suspense which was like a continual endurance of suffocation, which yet
never quite attains the relief of death.
Miss Teller's lawyers labored with skill and vigilance; all that
talent--nay, more, genius--could do, they did. Their theory was that the
murder was committed by a third person, who entered Mrs. Heathcote's
room by the same outside stairway which her husband had used, after his
departure; and they defied the prosecution to prove that they were
wrong. In answer to this theory the prosecution presented certain facts,
namely: that Heathcote was seen entering by the outside stairway, and
that no one else was seen; that the impressions found there were those
of a left hand, and that Heathcote was at the time left-handed; that a
towel, marked with the name of the hotel and stained with blood, was
found on the river-bank at the end of a direct trail from the garden,
and that the chamber-maid testified that, whereas she had placed four
towels in the room a few hours before, there were in the morning but two
remaining, and that no others were missing from the whole number owned
by the hotel.
At this stage of the proceedings, Anne, sitting in her own room as usual
now in the evening, with one newspaper in her hand and the others
scattered on the floor by her side, heard a knock on the door below,
but, in her absorption, paid no attention to it. In a few moments,
however, Nora came up to say that Mr. Dexter was in the parlor, and
wished to see her.
Here was an unexpected trial. She had sent a short, carefully guarded
answer to his long letter, and he had not written again. It had been
comparatively easy to guard written words. But could she command those
that must be spoken? She bathed her face in cold water, and stood
waiting until she felt that she had called up a calmer expression; she
charged herself to guard every look, every word, even the tones of her
voice. Then she went down.