It was impossible to pass an hour in the society of Sir Arthur Dunbar,
without seeing much to admire, and much also to love,--there was a
sturdy, resolute, old-fashioned sense of honor in all his actions,
tempered by the kindest and most considerate attention to the
feelings, as well as to the interest of all with whom he might be
associated, and his sentiments were tinctured by a generous
liberality, only limited in action by the rigid restraints consequent
on a very narrow income, which he had never been known to exceed,
though he was often heard jocularly to remark, that the surplus, after
his yearly accounts were paid, would scarcely buy him a pair of
gloves.
Though the fire of Sir Arthur's eyes had been quenched by approaching
blindness, and his weather-beaten countenance had been scarred in
battle, and hardened by facing every tempest which had blown for half
a century, yet his aspect had an air of habitual distinction and
conscious dignity which commanded instant respect. There was an energy
in the expression of his feelings, and a straightforward pursuit of
what he thought right in all his actions, which gave him a singular
influence over the affections and the conduct of those with whom he
wished to associate, and the admirable use he made of which no one
afterwards ever had cause to regret. His early life had been one full
of action and of vigorous exertion, seeking, with old-fashioned
patriotism, the honor of his country, more than the promotion of his
own interests; but in advanced years, when no longer able publicly to
distinguish himself, he directed his time and talents to the diffusion
of happiness at home, and to a zealous, diligent, and humble
preparation for that long and quiet home to which he believed himself
rapidly approaching, and which he contemplated with the best of all
philosophy,--that of a truly devoted Christian.
With all the blunt frankness of his sailor-like manner, Sir Arthur
could nevertheless testify an almost feminine gentleness and sympathy
towards the unfortunate. He was often discovered to have exerted
clandestinely a degree of activity and zeal in serving the needy and
desolate, which to a mind less eager and generous, would have seemed
almost incredible,--he never lacerated the feelings of those who came
to him for comfort, by attempting to convince the sufferer, as most
people begin by doing, on such occasions, that the misfortune,
whatever it be, is all his own fault,--and he was quite as ready, as
well as better pleased, to rejoice with those that rejoiced, than to
weep with those that wept, without ever, at any period of life, having
found a place for envy in his kindest of hearts, which
"Turn'd at the touch of joy or woe,
And turning trembled too."
With a good humored smile at his own credulity in having believed that
Louis De Crespigny could ever be serious in proposing to sacrifice a
day of his gay and busy life, to a prosing tete-a-tete on the
sea-beach with an old man like himself, Sir Arthur dismissed the
subject from his thoughts, and finally relinquished all hope of seeing
his young friend, after a short soliloquy, in which he ended, by slyly
hoping that the gay Cornet would never cause those who might feel it
more, to regret his having jilted them.
Not many days following, the Admiral had retired at his usual early
hour to bed, and after some time passed in profound repose, he was
suddenly startled into wakefulness at the dawn of day, while the
watchman was calling the hour of "Past four o'clock," by a loud and
vehement knocking at the front-door of his house, accompanied by the
most fearful and vociferous out-cries of "murder!" It was the sharp,
shrill tone of a woman in the agony of fear, becoming more and more
vehement at every repetition of the cry, while Sir Arthur dressed with
the rapidity of a practised seaman, and hurried down stairs, where he
found his maid-of-all-work, and his man-of-all-work, already assembled
in breathless consternation round a trembling, terrified-looking
servant girl, whose eyes were gleaming with an expression of frantic
alarm, while, from her incoherent exclamations, Sir Arthur could only
gather that some act of unutterable horror had been perpetrated in an
opposite house, the windows of which were all partially closed, except
one in the upper story, which was wide open, and seemed to be much
broken and shattered.
Without waiting another moment to investigate the business, Sir Arthur
strode across the street, hurried in at the open door, and guided by a
momentary cry of childish distress, he mounted the staircase, with an
activity beyond his years, three steps at a time, and precipitately
entered the nearest room he could find. There he paused for a moment
on finding himself in a splendidly-furnished bed-room, adorned with a
degree of taste and elegance, far excelling what was customary in so
obscure-looking a lodging, and the Admiral was about hastily to
withdraw, when he became suddenly transfixed to the spot, and his eye
seemed perfectly blasted by the spectacle which met his agitated and
astonished gaze, while several moments elapsed before he had nerve to
advance, and ascertain the reality of a scene, which filled him with
horror.
On a magnificent couch, the rich coverlet of which was drenched in
blood, that had sprinkled the floor, and spouted to the very roof of
the room, lay the cold stiffened corpse of a young female, whose head
seemed to have been nearly severed from her body, while a violent
contusion appeared upon her forehead. The wrist of her right hand,
with which she had probably attempted to defend herself, had also been
deeply cut, and in her hand she grasped a quantity of dark hair, which
seemed to have been torn from the head of her assassin in the struggle
for life. Her teeth were clenched, and her eye-balls were starting
from their sockets with a look of agonised fear, most appalling to
behold, and her long fair hair which lay in disordered billows on her
shoulders, were matted with gore.
A table near the bed had been overturned and broken,--a knife of very
peculiar form, bent and distorted, lay conspicuously upon the pillow,
as if placed there on purpose to attract notice, and the carpet, on
which a pool of congealed blood had gathered, was likewise strewed
with money, rings, bijouterie, trinkets, and plate.
Nestled in a little crib, close beside the murdered woman, but plunged
in a slumber so profound, that it could not be natural, slept
undisturbed and uninjured, a lovely boy of about eight years old. His
head rested on his arm, and a clustering profusion of jetty black hair
fell over his blooming countenance, in which there was a look of
almost death-like repose. Awakened with the utmost difficulty by Sir
Arthur, the child, who appeared to be of wondrous beauty, opened for a
moment, a pair of bright blue, star-like eyes, and with a cry of
terror, called for his mother, but a moment afterwards, overcome by
irresistible drowsiness, his rosy cheek dropped upon the pillow, his
heavy eyes were closed, and he relapsed into the same strange,
mysterious insensibility as before.
It was a fearful sight, that young mother, with her look of ghastly
agony turned towards the ruddy healthful countenance of her child in
his peaceful slumbers, and it was evident that her last thought had
been for him, as his clothes were still convulsively held in her left
hand, while a vain attempt had obviously been made to tear them
asunder,--many deep cuts being visible on the child's night-gown,
though his person had been left uninjured.
Sir Arthur compassionately snatched the boy up in his arms, to hurry
him away from the dreadful scene, and called the watchman, who
instantly raised an alarm, and summoned the whole neighborhood to his
assistance, when before ten minutes had elapsed, the room was filled
with a crowd of agitated spectators, scared by the tremendous event,
and crowding around the bed in every attitude of astonishment, terror,
and commiseration, uttering exclamations of alarm, gazing helplessly
at the frightful spectacle, and forming a thousand conjectures
respecting the tragical event, instead of attempting to give any
rational assistance.
"Not a moment is to be lost!" said Sir Arthur, in the steady
authoritive tone of one accustomed in great emergencies, to command,
"Where are the other servants?" asked he, turning to the girl who had
first given an alarm, "and where is your master?"
"I have no master, Sir!" replied she in a low incoherent whisper. "I
think the lady was not married; but perhaps, Sir, she might be! A
gentleman called here last week."
"What was he like?" asked Sir Arthur, earnestly.
"A sort of clergyman, or gentleman, Sir! I don't know nothing about
him, but he visited sometimes at this here house. No good ever came of
it though, for my poor young mistress was always in sore distress
after he'd be gone away. Last time there be much loud talking and
argufying in the parlor, but it was none of my business to listen. I
never pays no attention to what the quality says!"
"Here is a most disastrous business!" exclaimed Sir Arthur, in a deep
and solemn tone, while he glanced at the crowd of white, livid, ashy
faces, collected around him. "Let us remember, my friends, that every
trifle we can observe here, may be of the utmost importance in
bringing this dreadful mystery to light. Touch nothing, but have all
your eyes about you to detect what you can, and let us instantly
search the house."
With the little boy in his arms, who had awakened, bewildered and
terrified by the sight of so many strangers, Sir Arthur, followed by
the whole troop of spectators, who huddled together with evident
symptoms of fearful apprehension, proceeded minutely to scrutinize the
whole house.
In one apartment on the garret floor, belonging, as the terrified
housemaid declared, to a person who had been taken in, she believed
out of charity, to teach the little boy, the bed was disordered, as if
the sleeper, when hastily rising, had thrown the bed-clothes almost
upon the floor. The window-frame was broken to shivers, by some one
violently forcing his way out; but no other sign appeared of the room
having been inhabited. Not an article of clothing could be found in
the drawers; not a book or a paper; and the search was about to be
abandoned, when Sir Arthur perceived in an obscure corner of the room,
a man's glove, stained with blood, and a red silk handkerchief, from
which the initials had evidently been erased with great care, though
he hoped that some one more accustomed to such investigations might
yet be able to trace them.
The next room which Sir Arthur attempted to enter had the door
double-locked; and though the party which accompanied him made a noise
of knocking and hammering that might have raised the dead, no answer
was returned, till at length, losing all patience, they broke it open,
and impetuously rushed forward, all gazing eagerly around, as if they
expected an immediate _denouement_ of the mystery to take place; but
some of those who were foremost shrunk back in astonishment, and
hastily made way for Sir Arthur, while the servant girl earnestly
whispered in his ear, with a look of anxiety and alarm, "This is Sarah
Davenport's room! the child's maid! Better not disturb her, Sir! She is
sometimes hardly right in her mind I think!"
When Sir Arthur, disregarding the simple girl's warning, advanced, he
perceived with surprise a very young woman, scarcely twenty, who
started up in bed, with a look of bewildered perplexity, as he
approached, asking in accents of tremulous alarm, what had occurred to
cause this extraordinary disturbance. Her cheek was of an ashy
paleness, her very lips were blanched, and her voice sounded husky and
hollow with agitation; but all this might be attributed to so sudden
an inroad of strangers, while again and again she asked with quivering
accents, whether any accident had occurred, and why they all appeared
so alarmed.
"At all events, my darling boy is safe!" added she, holding out her
arms to the child, who instantly recoiled from her, with looks of
unequivocal terror, and hiding his face on the shoulder of Sir Arthur,
he sobbed aloud with a degree of passionate grief and agitation which
seemed almost beyond his years. The observant eye of Sir Arthur
perceived that a dark scowl of malignity flitted for a moment across
the beautiful features of Sarah, whose brow became singularly
contracted over her flashing eyes; but making an effort instantly to
recover herself, she averted her countenance, and added in a subdued
voice of assumed tranquillity, "The child never knows me in a cap! I
forgot to take it off, but the hurry of seeing so many strangers has
confused me!"
In an instant she snatched off her night-cap, when her shoulders and
neck became covered with a cloud of dark massy ringlets, floating down
below her waist, and shading her pallid countenance, which had assumed
an expression of livid horror, and unnatural wildness. "Let him come
to me now!" added she again, stretching out her arms with a ghastly
smile; but the boy struggled more vehemently than before, and clung to
Sir Arthur with a tenacity and confidence, which deeply touched the
old veteran's heart, who tried to soothe the terrified child by every
endearment which his kind nature could suggest, while his attention
was nevertheless enchained by observing the rigid, marble look of the
young woman's countenance; the dragged and corpse-like appearance
which stole over her features, as if she had suffered a stroke of
paralysis.
"You have been frightened enough already, poor boy!" said Sir Arthur,
soothingly. "No one shall hurt you! With me at least you are safe!
Stay where you are, and do not be alarmed! No one shall touch you but
myself!"
The child seemed to understand Sir Arthur's promise of protection, and
his head drooped sleepily down, while his eyes again closed in that
deep unnatural slumber, from which he had been with so much difficulty
aroused, till at length,
"Now like a shutting flower, the senses close,
And on him lies the beauty of repose."
"Young woman!" said Sir Arthur, bending a look of penetrating scrutiny
on Sarah Davenport, "how came you to be quietly asleep, and partly
dressed too! while your mistress was murdered in the room immediately
below! Did you hear no disturbance? Was no alarm given?"
"My mistress!" exclaimed Sarah, clasping her hands in an attitude of
astonishment, and speaking as if every word would choke her, though
not a muscle of her face was altered from the fixed and rigid look it
had previously worn. "Oh! what will become of me!"
"What will become of you!" exclaimed Sir Arthur sternly, fixing his
penetrating eye upon her. "Think rather of your murdered mistress!
Come, come, girl! you performed that start very well; but I know good
acting! I greatly fear you are more concerned in this horrid business
than we at first suspected, and much more than you would wish to
acknowledge. Get up instantly, and follow me!"
There was something fearful and appalling in the silence which reigned
among the many persons who had gathered around, when Sarah, as a
prisoner, was led into the chamber of death. A look of shuddering
horror distorted for a moment her pale and haggard countenance, when
she was unwillingly drawn forward to the place where her deceased
mistress lay, and Sir Arthur, with silent solemnity, pointed to the
ghastly spectacle. His eyes were intensely and most mournfully fixed
on the prisoner's sullen and nearly livid countenance, while she
silently clung to a chair to support herself.
Sarah appeared neither startled nor astonished after the first thrill
of horror, but with a cold stony look of almost preternatural
calmness, she muttered to herself in a low tone, which became
nevertheless distinctly audible to all the spectators, and was
evidently meant to be heard,--
"Why am I brought here! I know nothing, about this! The poor lady has
committed suicide! No wonder! She often wished herself dead! She had a
miserable life of it, and has got rest at last! I wish!" added Sarah
suddenly, with vehement, almost frantic energy, "O how I wish that I
could change places with her! O that I could be that cold, senseless
image, without memory or feeling, without hope or fear, shut up from
living wretchedness in everlasting sleep!"
"Let us hope that the Almighty has in mercy received her never-dying
soul, and that in His own good time He will reveal the guilty
assassins who sent her so suddenly to judgment," said Sir Arthur
solemnly. "Unburden your own mind now, by confessing all, and be
assured it will relieve the agony you are so evidently suffering.
Murder is like fire, it cannot be smothered long."
"I know nothing! What could I know!" replied Sarah hurriedly. "She has
destroyed herself, or thieves have broken into the house and robbed
her. Could I help that?"
"No one has broken into this house," replied Sir Arthur, scanning the
expression of her fixed and apparently unalterable features. "But you
can perhaps tell us who escaped by that shattered window above? Not a
lock is broken--not a door is injured--not a trinket seems missing,
among the many scattered around the room. Here is money in abundance,
if gold had been the inducement! Some other motive has provoked this
crime--jealousy perhaps--or revenge----"
At the last word an angry hectic rushed over the face, arms, and neck
of the prisoner, and her eye glittered for a moment with an unnatural
fire, which rapidly faded away, leaving her as pale and death-like as
the corpse beside which she stood, and on which her eye now rested
with a look of cold and passionless indifference.
"It was only yesterday that she wished herself dead! this is her own
doing!" said Sarah, turning away. "Why am I brought here! This is too
dreadful! too shocking! It will drive me mad--it will! it will!" added
she, with rising agitation; and then suddenly bursting in a hideous
maniacal laugh, which rang with fearful sound through the gloomy
chamber, and caused the horror-struck spectators to fall hastily back,
"I would have saved her! I would! What woman ever sheds blood! but it
was too late! I would have saved her, as I saved the child; but it was
done--kill me! kill me! if you have any mercy, let me die! let me hide
myself in the grave for ever!" Saying these words, with a scream of
agony, she fell upon the floor in violent convulsions, from which it
was nearly an hour before she entirely recovered, when faint, weak,
and exhausted, Sir Arthur suggested that she could be carried to bed;
but before she left the room, anxious, if possible, to elucidate the
mystery, and to gain some clue for pursuing the actual murderer, he
detained Sarah during a moment, and desired that a glass of water
might be brought for her, hoping that the violent emotion she had
betrayed might lead her to a full confession. Laying his hand then
upon her arm, in tones of deep and awful solemnity, he looked at her,
and pointed once more to the corpse, saying,--
"By a dark and harrowing crime those lips are sealed in the silence of
death! What a tale they could disclose, if they might but once
describe all that passed in this room a few hours ago! Those very
walls have echoed this very night to her cries! You alone seem able to
throw any light upon the horrid deed. You could tell all, or I am
greatly mistaken. We shall yet know, at the day of judgment, if not
sooner, how this fearful act was done. Consider, Sarah Davenport, that
undying remorse will pursue you through life, and be the fitting
tenant of your soul, unless by timely repentance you avert the fearful
doom, and hereafter your heart will be tortured by the pangs of
eternal despair. Unfortunate woman! consider now, or during the long
period of your approaching imprisonment, whether it be better to
repent and confess at once, or to confess and suffer everlastingly."
Not a word or look gave evidence that Sarah so much as heard Sir
Arthur speak. Her large eyes were vacantly fixed on the ground, her
hands were firmly clenched, and her teeth were set with an air of
resolute determination, when, after a silence of several minutes,
during which her very stillness was frightful, supported by some of
the strangers around, she walked with almost mechanical
unconsciousness out of the room.
Again and again the house was searched that day--the very floors and
wainscots torn up; but not a trace could be discovered to throw light
upon the cause or circumstances of this disastrous event; and equally
remarkable was it, that no hint could be obtained of who or what the
murdered lady had been. There were books on the table in various
languages, but not one retained any name written on the boards, though
it was evident that on some a coat of arms had once been pasted, and
subsequently defaced. Not a letter or paper could be found with either
signature or direction, though one or two notes were discovered
beneath the pillow of the bed, all anonymous, but written in a similar
hand, and containing nothing that could identify the writer; and
several sketches of the child, beautifully executed in various
attitudes, were found in a portfolio, beside which were written many
simple verses, containing the most fervent expressions of tender
affection and anxious solicitude for the boy, and the most passionate
bursts of melancholy, but all conceived in general terms, which
baffled the researches of curiosity.
"This hand is disguised, yet surely I have seen it before," said Sir
Arthur, musingly examining the anonymous notes, which related chiefly
to remittances of money. "The face of that appalling spectacle
sometimes seems also familiar to me. Have I not met with it already,
or is this only the delusion of an excited mind? These deep and
prominent eyelids--the small aquiline nose--the delicately-pencilled
eye-brows--and that month of perfect grace and beauty, which seems
still almost to speak without a tongue, in the language of
heart-broken misery, telling of deceived affections--of blighted
hopes--of unpitied and solitary tears."
Sir Arthur seated himself on a chair beside the couch for some moments
in agitated reflection, vainly endeavoring to collect his thoughts,
and form them into some tangible remembrance. "It is a strange and
bewildering sensation, to look at the mute features of this death-like
image, and to feel as if once she had been known to me in her days of
youth and bloom. A vague harassing perplexity besets me in trying to
realize the floating and flickering remembrance, which dimly mock my
efforts to catch them. It seems like starting out on a dark night, and
trying to distinguish some busy scene, where figures and lights
appear, and vanish again before they can be identified. Where have we
met before? Surely in some dream of former days I once beheld those
fixed and glassy eyes lighted up with intelligence! but my treacherous
memory will not help me--it recalls enough to torture me with
perplexity, and not enough to be of any actual avail."
Sir Arthur wearied himself with intense efforts to identify the
lineaments before him, but in vain. They were lovely indeed, and many
a stranger came likewise to try whether they could be recognised, but
without success. The fearful story circulated like wild-fire--the
excitement and curiosity it produced became intense; but not a gleam
of light was thrown upon the dark and mysterious event.
Among the many who hurried to behold the murdered woman before her
remains were disturbed, two gentlemen arrived one evening after dusk,
and having ascertained that neither the Admiral nor any other stranger
was in the house, they gave Sir Arthur's servant, Martin, who was in
attendance, a handsome donation, and desiring him not to follow,
hurried up stairs, and remained in the room alone for several minutes.
Both were much muffled up, and evidently avoided any scrutiny of their
countenances; but they seemed greatly agitated on leaving the room;
and as they hastened past Martin, and threw themselves into a hackney
coach which awaited them at some distance, one of the party had
appeared so overcome, that he could not walk without support. Much
conjecture was aroused by this incident, which seemed to increase the
mystery and interest attached to the melancholy circumstances, and not
a doubt could be entertained that these untimely visitors had a more
than common connection with the affair, but of what nature, and to
what degree, could only admit of very vague conjecture.
Nothing could exceed the active interest taken in all the proceedings
by Sir Arthur, who seemed to forget all his years and infirmities,
while keenly promoting the cause of truth and justice. Much as he had
formerly bemoaned the trouble entailed upon him by deceased friends,
many of whom had bequeathed their estates and children to his
guardianship, he felt on this occasion, a pity so intense, for the
nameless, friendless, and helpless boy, thus unexpectedly and
tragically thrown on his compassion, that he publicly pledged himself
to harbor and protect the child in the mean time, trusting that some
connections might at last be found, to whom he more naturally
belonged. "Life has had a mournful commencement for him, poor boy! His
days are dark, and his friends are few," said Sir Arthur, with a
strong emotion of pity, "but we must hope for the best hereafter, and
do the best that can be done in the mean time, trusting that a wise
Providence, who cast him on my care and kindness, will also watch over
his future welfare."
On the night previous to that appointed by Sir Arthur for committing
to the grave the last remains of the murdered lady, he who had so
often faced death in every form, and "kiss'd the mouth of a cannon in
battle," yet felt himself awed and deeply affected in contemplating
the solemn preparations for committing to the tomb one so young, so
deeply injured, and so apparently unlamented. It was with mournful and
mysterious wonder that he stood beside the corpse, and contemplated
that mortal frame, from which the spirit had been so suddenly and so
cruelly driven; and he could not but imagine the scenes of love and
joy which those eyes had once probably looked upon--the busy thoughts
that had hurried through that lifeless head--the warm affections that
had flowed through that heart, now for ever at rest.
While yet his mind was dwelling with painful interest on all the
thoughts which crowded through his fancy, Martin hastily entered the
room, and in an agitated voice requested Sir Arthur's immediate
presence in the entrance-hall, as some persons were there who had
orders to communicate only with himself.
On arriving in the passage, Sir Arthur was astonished, and almost
startled, to find several porters in the passage, carrying a coffin
magnificently decorated, and covered with a velvet pall, on the summit
of which was conspicuously placed a large brass plate, with the date
of the murder engraved, and bearing no other inscription, but these
two words in German characters--
_My Wife._
"This is strange!" said Sir Arthur, turning anxiously to the men. "Who
sent you here?"
"A gentleman left his orders with the undertaker, Sir. No questions
were to be asked; and he paid for everything at once, leaving neither
name nor direction," said the man who seemed to have charge of the
business. "We know nothing of him; but he desired us to deliver this
note into your own hands, and perhaps it may tell you more."
Sir Arthur hastily tore open the letter offered to him, giving an
impatient glance at the handwriting, which was exactly similar to that
of the anonymous notes he had already so carefully and so vainly
scrutinized. He was astonished; and solemn as the occasion was, almost
amused to observe that his name and direction had been carefully cut
out of the newspaper paragraph which he quarrelled with some weeks
before at the Club, and that this unknown correspondent, to prevent
the possibility of his writing being detected by those who examined
the outside, had pasted these printed letters on the cover, "Sir
Arthur Dunbar, Portobello." The packet was sealed with a plain
impression on black wax; the paper bore a broad black border; and
there was an evident tremulousness in the pen which had inscribed
these words:--
"Enclosed is the sum of £200, for the benefit of Sir Arthur Dunbar's
adopted ward, Henry De Lancey. The same amount shall be transmitted
annually, so long as no effort is made to trace from whence it
originates; and the day he comes of age, it shall be increased to £500
per annum. The first attempt to find out his connections will be
detected, and shall put a final period to all intercourse. The
unfortunate woman was married to one who remained ignorant, till a few
hours ago, of the circumstances attending her death. She disgraced his
name, and abandoned his house; nevertheless her child may one day,
perhaps, be acknowledged; and the whole expenses of his education
shall be liberally defrayed, till he is grown up and has chosen a
profession."
It was a strange, cold, heartless communication from a parent, without
one expression of relenting affection, one word of solicitude for his
happiness, or one expression of gratitude to Sir Arthur for taking
upon himself so arduous a charge; but still it was to a certain extent
most satisfactory, the Admiral being relieved of a great perplexity,
by having thus ascertained in what rank of life the interesting boy
should be educated, as he felt justified now in obtaining for him the
highest cultivation, an advantage to which he attached the utmost
importance, often repeating his favorite aphorism, that "principle is
the helm, and learning the main-sail, which carries a young man
forward in life; but both would be useless, unless the wind, which
'bloweth where it listeth,' be sent from Heaven to guide and direct
him safely into harbor."