A TRUE BILL AGAINST JEM.
"There are who, living by the legal pen,
Are held in honour--honourable men."
CRABBE.
At five minutes before two, Job Legh stood upon the door-step of the
house where Mr. Bridgenorth lodged at Assize time. He had left Mrs.
Wilson at the dwelling of a friend of his, who had offered him a room
for the old woman and Mary: a room which had frequently been his, on
his occasional visits to Liverpool, but which he was thankful now to
have obtained for them, as his own sleeping-place was a matter of
indifference to him, and the town appeared crowded and disorderly on
the eve of the Assizes.
He was shown in to Mr. Bridgenorth, who was writing. Mary and Will
Wilson had not yet arrived, being, as you know, far away on the broad
sea; but of this Job of course knew nothing, and he did not as yet
feel much anxiety about their non-appearance; he was more curious to
know the result of Mr. Bridgenorth's interview that morning with Jem.
"Why, yes," said Mr. Bridgenorth, putting down his pen, "I
have seen him, but to little purpose, I'm afraid. He's very
impracticable--very. I told him, of course, that he must be perfectly
open with me, or else I could not be prepared for the weak points. I
named your name with the view of unlocking his confidence, but--"
"What did he say?" asked Job, breathlessly.
"Why, very little. He barely answered me. Indeed, he refused to
answer some questions--positively refused. I don't know what I can do
for him."
"Then you think him guilty, sir?" said Job, despondingly.
"No, I don't," replied Mr. Bridgenorth, quickly and decisively. "Much
less than I did before I saw him. The impression (mind, 'tis only
impression; I rely upon your caution, not to take it for fact)--the
impression," with an emphasis on the word, "he gave me is, that he
knows something about the affair, but what, he will not say; and so
the chances are, if he persists in his obstinacy, he'll be hung.
That's all."
He began to write again, for he had no time to lose.
"But he must not be hung," said Job, with vehemence.
Mr. Bridgenorth looked up, smiled a little, but shook his head.
"What did he say, sir, if I may be so bold as to ask?" continued Job.
"His words were few enough, and he was so reserved and short, that
as I said before, I can only give you the impression they conveyed
to me. I told him of course who I was, and for what I was sent. He
looked pleased, I thought,--at least his face (sad enough when I went
in, I assure ye) brightened a little; but he said he had nothing to
say, no defence to make. I asked him if he was guilty, then; and by
way of opening his heart I said I understood he had had provocation
enough, inasmuch as I heard that the girl was very lovely, and had
jilted him to fall desperately in love with that handsome young
Carson (poor fellow!). But James Wilson did not speak one way or
another. I then went to particulars. I asked him if the gun was his,
as his mother had declared. He had not heard of her admission it was
evident, from his quick way of looking up, and the glance of his eye;
but when he saw I was observing him, he hung down his head again, and
merely said she was right; it was his gun."
"Well!" said Job, impatiently, as Mr. Bridgenorth paused.
"Nay! I have little more to tell you," continued that gentleman. "I
asked him to inform me in all confidence, how it came to be found
there. He was silent for a time, and then refused. Not only refused
to answer that question, but candidly told me he would not say
another word on the subject, and, thanking me for my trouble and
interest in his behalf, he all but dismissed me. Ungracious enough on
the whole, was it not, Mr. Legh? And yet, I assure ye, I am twenty
times more inclined to think him innocent than before I had the
interview."
"I wish Mary Barton would come," said Job, anxiously. "She and Will
are a long time about it."
"Ay, that's our only chance, I believe," answered Mr. Bridgenorth,
who was writing again. "I sent Johnson off before twelve to serve him
with his sub-poena, and to say I wanted to speak with him; he'll be
here soon, I've no doubt."
There was a pause. Mr. Bridgenorth looked up again, and spoke.
"Mr. Duncombe promised to be here to speak to his character. I sent
him a subpoena on Saturday night. Though after all, juries go very
little by such general and vague testimony as that to character.
It is very right that they should not often; but in this instance
unfortunate for us, as we must rest our case on the _alibi_."
The pen went again, scratch, scratch over the paper.
Job grew very fidgetty. He sat on the edge of his chair, the more
readily to start up when Will and Mary should appear. He listened
intently to every noise and every step on the stair.
Once he heard a man's footstep, and his old heart gave a leap of
delight. But it was only Mr. Bridgenorth's clerk, bringing him a
list of those cases in which the grand jury had found true bills.
He glanced it over and pushed it to Job, merely saying,
"Of course we expected this," and went on with his writing.
There was a true bill against James Wilson. Of course. And yet Job
felt now doubly anxious and sad. It seemed the beginning of the end.
He had got, by imperceptible degrees, to think Jem innocent. Little
by little this persuasion had come upon him.
Mary (tossing about in the little boat on the broad river) did not
come, nor did Will.
Job grew very restless. He longed to go and watch for them out of the
window, but feared to interrupt Mr. Bridgenorth. At length his desire
to look out was irresistible, and he got up and walked carefully and
gently across the room, his boots creaking at every cautious step.
The gloom which had overspread the sky, and the influence of which
had been felt by Mary on the open water, was yet more perceptible
in the dark, dull street. Job grew more and more fidgetty. He was
obliged to walk about the room, for he could not keep still; and he
did so, regardless of Mr. Bridgenorth's impatient little motions
and noises, as the slow, stealthy, creaking movements were heard,
backwards and forwards, behind his chair.
He really liked Job, and was interested for Jem, else his nervousness
would have overcome his sympathy long before it did. But he could
hold out no longer against the monotonous, grating sound; so at last
he threw down his pen, locked his portfolio, and taking up his hat
and gloves, he told Job he must go to the courts.
"But Will Wilson is not come," said Job, in dismay. "Just wait while
I run to his lodgings. I would have done it before, but I thought
they'd be here every minute, and I were afraid of missing them. I'll
be back in no time."
"No, my good fellow, I really must go. Besides, I begin to think
Johnson must have made a mistake, and have fixed with this William
Wilson to meet me at the courts. If you like to wait for him here,
pray make use of my room; but I've a notion I shall find him there:
in which case, I'll send him to your lodgings; shall I? You know
where to find me. I shall be here again by eight o'clock, and with
the evidence of this witness that's to prove the _alibi_, I'll have
the brief drawn out, and in the hands of counsel to-night."
So saying he shook hands with Job, and went his way. The old man
considered for a minute as he lingered at the door, and then bent
his steps towards Mrs. Jones's, where he knew (from reference to
queer, odd, heterogeneous memoranda, in an ancient black-leather
pocket-book) that Will lodged, and where he doubted not he should
hear both of him and of Mary.
He went there, and gathered what intelligence he could out of Mrs.
Jones's slow replies.
He asked if a young woman had been there that morning, and if she had
seen Will Wilson. "No!"
"Why not?"
"Why, bless you, 'cause he had sailed some hours before she came
asking for him."
There was a dead silence, broken only by the even, heavy sound of
Mrs. Jones's ironing.
"Where is the young woman now?" asked Job.
"Somewhere down at the docks," she thought. "Charley would know, if
he was in, but he wasn't. He was in mischief, somewhere or other, she
had no doubt. Boys always were. He would break his neck some day, she
knew;" so saying, she quietly spat upon her fresh iron, to test its
heat, and then went on with her business.
Job could have boxed her, he was in such a state of irritation. But
he did not, and he had his reward. Charley came in, whistling with
an air of indifference, assumed to carry off his knowledge of the
lateness of the hour to which he had lingered about the docks.
"Here's an old man come to know where the young woman is who went out
with thee this morning," said his mother, after she had bestowed on
him a little motherly scolding.
"Where she is now, I don't know. I saw her last sailing down the
river after the _John Cropper_. I'm afeared she won't reach her; wind
changed and she would be under weigh, and over the bar in no time.
She should have been back by now."
It took Job some little time to understand this, from the confused
use of the feminine pronoun. Then he inquired how he could best find
Mary.
"I'll run down again to the pier," said the boy; "I'll warrant I'll
find her."
"Thou shalt do no such a thing," said his mother, setting her back
against the door. The lad made a comical face at Job, which met with
no responsive look from the old man, whose sympathies were naturally
in favour of the parent; although he would thankfully have availed
himself of Charley's offer, for he was weary, and anxious to return
to poor Mrs. Wilson, who would be wondering what had become of him.
"How can I best find her? Who did she go with, lad?"
But Charley was sullen at his mother's exercise of authority before
a stranger, and at that stranger's grave looks when he meant to have
made him laugh.
"They were river boatmen;--that's all I know," said he.
"But what was the name of their boat?" persevered Job.
"I never took no notice;--the Anne, or William,--or some of them
common names, I'll be bound."
"What pier did she start from?" asked Job, despairingly.
"Oh, as for that matter, it were the stairs on the Prince's Pier she
started from; but she'll not come back to the same, for the American
steamer came up with the tide, and anchored close to it, blocking up
the way for all the smaller craft. It's a rough evening too, to be
out on," he maliciously added.
"Well, God's will be done! I did hope we could have saved the lad,"
said Job, sorrowfully; "but I'm getten very doubtful again. I'm
uneasy about Mary, too,--very. She's a stranger in Liverpool."
"So she told me," said Charley. "There's traps about for young women
at every corner. It's a pity she's no one to meet her when she
lands."
"As for that," replied Job, "I don't see how any one could meet her
when we can't tell where she would come to. I must trust to her
coming right. She's getten spirit and sense. She'll most likely be
for coming here again. Indeed, I don't know what else she can do, for
she knows no other place in Liverpool. Missus, if she comes, will
you give your son leave to bring her to No. 8, Back Garden Court,
where there's friends waiting for her? I'll give him sixpence for his
trouble."
Mrs. Jones, pleased with the reference to her, gladly promised. And
even Charley, indignant as he was at first at the idea of his motions
being under the control of his mother, was mollified at the prospect
of the sixpence, and at the probability of getting nearer to the
heart of the mystery.
But Mary never came.