THE CORONER'S INQUEST.
During the short time that elapsed between the heavy blow which had
occasioned Ussher's death, and the departure of Pat Brady with the
gig, a great many thoughts had passed through Thady's mind, although
he had been in action the whole time. His first idea had certainly
been that Ussher was carrying off Feemy against her will; the last
words which Ussher had spoken before his death, and which were the
only words of his that Thady had heard,--"This is d----d nonsense;
you know you must come now,"--certainly were calculated to make him
think so. But he soon reflected that had this been so, Feemy could
not have been sitting alone in the place where Ussher found her;
besides, her own conduct when she came to herself disproved it. Feemy
had therefore evidently been a consenting party. Still, however,
he thought that he could not but be justified in doing what he had
done in his sister's defence, even though his interference was in
opposition to her wishes. Then he thought of the man himself, whom he
had known so long, seen so frequently, and hated so bitterly. There
he was now--dead--a cold corpse--entirely harmless, and unable to
injure him or his more. But Thady already felt his enemy's blood
heavy on his conscience, and he would have died himself to see him
rise on his feet. Thoughts as to his own safety crowded on his mind;
he felt that if he intended boldly to justify the deed, he should
himself declare what he had done--see that the body was properly
taken care of--and give himself up at once to the police. As to the
fact of his having killed the man, that he had declared to his sister
before he had at all thought what his conduct ought to be, and he had
done the same to Brady; it was useless for him therefore to attempt
to conceal it, even if he had wished to do so. But he felt afraid
to give himself up to the police; he abhorred the idea of what he
thought would be the disgrace of being in confinement; and instead
of going, as he at first thought to have done, at once to Father
John, and telling him all that had happened, he listened to Brady's
traitorous advice, and determined to take himself, at any rate for a
time, to the fancied security of Joe Reynolds and his haunts.
After Brady had departed he stood on the road, till he could hear no
longer the sound of the retreating wheels, and while standing there
determined he would not leave the place, for the last time perhaps,
till he had told his father what had happened, and ascertained
whether Feemy had recovered. He reflected that it would be a dreadful
thing for her to tell her father and the servants, and to be called
on to explain why her brother was away; having made this resolution
he walked again up to the house.
He pushed the door open, and at once went into his sister's room.
Here she was still lying on the sofa, and Katty was sitting beside
her--begging her mistress to tell her what was the matter. But Feemy
had not spoken since she had been there; she had recovered her
senses, for she held her hands before her eyes, and the tears were
falling fast beneath them: but she had not spoken a word to Katty
since her brother had placed her on the sofa.
When he entered the room she uncovered her eyes for a moment; but
as soon as she saw him she buried her face in the pillow, and it
was plain from her sobbing that she was crying more violently than
before.
Thady walked up to the sofa, and as he did so the girl got up.
"Go out, Katty," said he, "I want to spake a word to your misthress,
but be in the kitchen; I'll call you when I've done."
She retreated,--not, however, farther than the door, which she
closed, and left the brother and sister together. The last time they
had been so in that room--the last time the two had conversed alone
together before, was when Thady cautioned his sister against the man
he just now killed; he thought of this, but he was too generous to
let the reflection dwell on his mind at such a moment.
"Feemy," he said, as he attempted to take his sister's hand--which,
however, she violently drew back from him--"Feemy, I'm going to lave
you a long time, and I must spake to you first,--perhaps the last
words I'll ever be able to say to you at all. Feemy darling, won't
you listen to me then?--eh, Feemy?"
Feemy, however, only buried her head further in the sofa, and did not
answer him a word.
"I must spake a word to you," continued Thady, "about him that is
now--him that was with you on the avenue. I told you, Feemy, he was
dead, and what I told you then was only too true. God knows when I
struck him I did not wish for that; but how was I to see him with you
in his arms--carrying you off through the dark night, and from your
own house, without raising my stick to strike him? I don't say this
to be blaming you now, and I don't ask you to tell me why you were
there; but you must know, dearest, that it was for your sake I raised
my hand; and though the blow I struck has killed him you loved,
you shouldn't now at such a moment turn from your brother, who has
brought all this upon himself only to protect your honer and your
name."
Still Feemy did not turn her face towards him, or answer him.
"Well! I know what's on your heart, and may be it's as heavy as that
which is weighing on my own. I must say a word or two to the owld
man, that he may not larn from sthrangers what it is his son has
done; and then I must wish good-bye to Ballycloran--I trust for iver!
But there's one thing I'll ask you, Feemy, before I go. There 'll be
men from Carrick here before the night is over, looking for me; and
when they come, they'll be asking you all manner of questions about
this deed; tell them it was I that did it--but tell them how, and why
I did it; tell them that it was not my purpose to kill the man, but
that I could not see him dragging my sister from her house before my
eyes, without raising my stick against the man that was doing it;
that, Feemy, is all I want of you,"--and he turned to go, but when he
reached the door, he returned, and putting his hand on his sister's
shoulder, said--"Sister, my own sister, will you kiss me before I
lave you for so long?"
Feemy shuddered horribly as she felt his hand upon her. Thady quickly
withdrew it, for he saw it was all covered with blood; Feemy,
however, had seen it, for she screamed loudly--she had raised
her head to answer, and at last she said--"Kiss you! no; I hate
you--you're a murdherer; you've murdhered him because you knew I
loved him; go away--go out of that; you'll kill me too if you stand
there with his blood upon your hand!"
Thady, who had fallen on his knees to kiss his sister, now hastily
jumped upon his feet, and a dark frown came upon his brow. It was
just upon his lips to tell his sister to whose folly it was owing
that Myles Ussher was now a corpse; but before the words had left
his mouth he checked himself. Even then, at that saddest moment of
all, when the horrid word he so dreaded, had been applied to him by
the only person whom he really loved, he was able to restrain his
passion, and was too high-minded to add to the suffering of his
sister, though she was so unjust and cruel to him.
"God forgive you, Feemy," he said; "but that's a cruel word to
come from you!"--and he left the room. He met the two girls in the
passage, for Biddy had returned from Mrs. Mehan's, whither she had
gone after Ussher had passed, and she was now horrified to find
that her mistress's plans had been, as she thought, defeated by her
brother, and her departure prevented.
"Good God! Mr. Thady," said she, with pretended astonishment, "what
ails the misthress then?"
"Go in to her, Biddy, she'll want you; Captain Ussher is dead," and
he went into his father's room.
Here a still more distressing scene awaited him. He felt that if he
meant to escape he should not lose much time, but he could not leave
his father in ignorance of what had taken place. Larry was sitting,
as usual, over the fire with his pipe in his mouth, and was nearly
asleep, when Thady came in. The noise of the closing door roused him,
however; but he only put his empty glass to his lips, and when he
found there was nothing in it he turned round again dissatisfied to
the fire.
"Larry," said his son, "I've bad news for you."
"You've always bad news. I niver knew you have anything else."
"I'm going to lave you, father, altogether."
"Faix, then, that's no such bad news," said the cross old man. "The
door's open, and you've my lave; may be we 'll do as well without
you, as we're like to do with you."
Thady made no answer to this piece of silly ill-nature, but
continued--"Larry, you'll be sorry to hear what I've to tell you, but
I'd sooner you should hear it from me than from another. Myles Ussher
is dead; it was I, father, that killed him."
At the first declaration the old man had turned round in his chair,
and he sat staring at his son; but when he heard the second and more
dreadful part of the story, his jaw dropped, and he sat for some time
the picture of an idiot.
"He was bringing disgrace on you, Larry, and on your name; he was
disgracing your family and your daughter, and myself; he was dragging
Feemy away with him by night. I saw him with her, speechless and
fainting in his arms, and I struck him down as he was doing it with
my stick. I didn't think, father, to strike so hard, but his skull
was broken, and he died without a struggle."--The old man still
stared at him, and Thady continued,
"And now, father, I am going to lave you; for av I'm found here,
when they come to look for me, they'll take me to prison, and may
be when they come to hear the truth of it all,--and I suppose they
will,--they'll see I didn't mane to kill him; but if they call it
murdher, why then I trust you'll niver see me agin."
"Murdher," at last said the old man, laughing; "who doubts but that
it was murdher? in course they'll call it murdher. Well, he was the
only frind you'd left me, and now that you've murdhered him, you may
go now; you may go now--but mind I tell you, they'll be sure to hang
you."
This was old Macdermot's last address to his son. It was very evident
that the poor old man had gradually become more and more imbecile
during the last few days, and the suddenness of the melancholy news
he now heard utterly destroyed his mind. Each, however, of the
dreadful words he uttered fell with an awful appearance of intention
and sane purpose on the ears of his son. He had hitherto restrained
his feeling powerfully, and had shown no outward signs of strong
emotion; but when his father said that there was no doubt the deed
he'd done was murder, he burst into a flood of tears, and left the
room without being able to articulate a word.
When the police came, which they did before the night was over, in
search of Thady, they were unable to make anything of the old man; at
first he took them for emissaries of Keegan's, and swore that they
should not have admittance into the house, and when they were in it
he endeavoured to hide himself, declaring at the same time, that he
understood the law; that the money was not due till November, and
that Keegan had no right to send the men there, harassing him, yet.
When, however, he was made to understand that it was not about Keegan
and the rents, but about the death of Ussher that they had come, he
whimpered and whined, declaring that he had not murdered him; that he
loved Ussher better than any one in the world--yes, better than his
own children--and that for the world he would not hurt him. When at
length the men explained to him that they were only there to look
for Thady, he was worse than ever; for he began cursing his son
dreadfully, swearing that if he had committed the murder, he would
neither hide nor screen him, and finally declaring that he hoped they
might catch him and hang him.
The next morning he was taken away to give evidence before the
Coroner at Carrick-on-Shannon. It was the first day since the summer
that he had been above a few yards from his own hall-door, and though
the day was fine, he suffered much from the cold. When he got to his
destination he could hardly speak; the room was greatly crowded, for
the whole neighbourhood had by that time heard of the event; and when
the poor old man had warmed himself by the fire, near which a seat
had been procured for him, he smiled and nodded to those around,
perfectly unconscious of the cause which had brought him there, but
evidently thinking it must be holiday occasion.
Brady had stated to the Coroner pretty accurately what he knew, for
there was nothing which it could have benefited him to falsify. The
two girls proved that after Brady had started with the body, Thady
had had interviews with his sister and his father, and it was
necessary that both of them should be examined.
When the book, on which he was to be sworn, was handed to Larry
Macdermot, he at first refused it, and when it was again tendered to
him, he put it in his pocket, and made the man who gave it to him a
bow. The Coroner, seeing he was in such a state of mind as rendered
him unable to give evidence and unfit to be sworn, asked him some
questions on the subject, but Larry instantly began to cry, and
protest his own innocence, swearing, as he had done before, that he
had loved Ussher better even than his own family.
It was a most melancholy sight--that poor, weak old man, whom so many
of those now present had known so long, and who so very few years
before had been in the full strength of manhood and health, for even
now he was hardly more than fifty.
But sad as all this was, the examination of Feemy was still worse.
As she had been actually present at the moment when Ussher had been
killed, it was absolutely necessary that her evidence should be taken
by the Coroner; and the sergeant of police, who came with a car from
Carrick for them in the morning, insisted, in spite of all that she
and the maids could say to the contrary, that she must accompany him
back. She had got on the same car with her father; Biddy and the
other girl were on the same seat with her, one on each side; but
before they reached Drumsna, she was in such a state, that they could
hardly keep her on the seat.
When they reached that village, the car was stopped by Father John.
He had heard of the sad occurrence late on the previous evening, for
Pat Brady had spared no exertions in disseminating the news of the
catastrophe far and wide as he returned from Carrick. He had stopped
at the priest's gate, and finding Father John absent on a sick visit,
had nearly frightened Judy out of her life, by telling her what had
happened. Father John had not returned home till two in the morning,
and he then heard some garbled version of the story, from which he
was led to believe that Thady was in custody at Carrick, for the
murder of Ussher.
Early on the morning of the inquest, he went into Carrick, and there
learnt from the police the truth, and ascertained the fact that an
inquest was held on the body that day, and that both old Macdermot
and his daughter were to be examined at it.
Up to this time Father John did not know that Feemy had left Drumsna;
and though the police informed him that she had been absolutely
present when the fatal blow was struck, he could not believe it, and
hurried off to Mrs. McKeon's, to tell her all that he knew, and learn
from her all that she could tell him.
The kind-hearted man hardly knew what he was doing, so shocked was
he, and surprised by what he had heard. He could hardly believe that
after what Thady had said to him, after the promises he had made, he
would deliberately, and with premeditation, plan and execute Ussher's
murder. Such an idea was incompatible with the knowledge that he had
of Thady's disposition, and he concluded that there must have been
some quarrel between the two men, in which Ussher had fallen the
victim. He little dreamt when he started for Mrs. McKeon's, how much
more justly the blood which had been shed was to be attributed to the
sister than to the brother, or he would hardly dared again to solicit
her kind offices for his _protegee_.
When he got to Drumsna, the McKeons were only just rising from
breakfast, but Father John saw, on entering the room, from their
grave and anxious faces, that they had all heard the news. Tony had
been out to his fields before breakfast, and had there been told by
one of the men that Ussher's body had on the previous night been
taken through Drumsna to the police station at Carrick, and that it
was said that Thady Macdermot, the murderer, had already escaped out
of the country.
This tale Tony had communicated in a whisper to his wife, and she had
afterwards told the girls. What was the good of keeping it secret?
before the evening it would be known to the whole country. When
Father John came in, they all crowded round him, to learn what really
might be relied on as the truth of the case; but he could only tell
them that it was too sure that Ussher had died by Thady's hand,--that
that young man was not in custody,--and that he had been informed
that Feemy herself was present when the blow had been struck.
"Feemy and their poor father," added Father John, "are to be examined
to-day before the Coroner; it will be a dreadful thing for her, poor
girl! to be forced to tell all her secrets, to declare all that she
would most wish to conceal before the mob that will be in the room at
Carrick."
"Yes," added Tony, "and to stand there without any one to support
her, and to be asked questions, which if they're answered correctly,
may be will hang her brother."
"I'll never believe," said Father John, "that he killed him in cold
blood. Yourself, Mrs. McKeon hasn't a kinder heart within you than
that young man; he never would have committed a wilful, premeditated
murder; I don't think yet it will come to be so bad as what McKeon
says. But when did Feemy leave this? I thought she was here, and was
to stay here for some time to come."
Mrs. McKeon then explained how Feemy had insisted on returning home
the morning after the ball, with the promise of returning again.
After talking over the various unaccountable circumstances of the
case, without once suspecting that Feemy had consented to and had
actually been in the act of going off with Ussher, Mrs. McKeon
agreed, at the instigation of her husband and the priest, to
accompany Feemy to the inquest, and after it was over to bring her to
her own house, and to allow her to remain there till something should
be definitely arranged as to her future residence.
"For," said Tony, "Ballycloran will be no place for her again, nor
the county either for the matter of that; but now that she's unhappy
she shan't want a roof over her head; we were glad enough to see her
when she held her head high, and I wouldn't advise any one to say
much against her now she's in throuble--unless he wished to quarrel
with me." And Tony McKeon closed his fist as much as to show that if
any one did entertain so preposterous a wish he could be little
better than a born idiot.
Tony then sent a message into Carrick for a postchaise, that Feemy
might not be exposed to the curiosity of every one in the street
by sitting on an outside vehicle; and when she arrived in Drumsna
from Ballycloran, she was taken off the car on which her father
was sitting, and brought into Mrs. McKeon's house. She would not,
however, speak to any one, and could hardly sit on a chair without
being supported. She squeezed, however, her kind friend's hand, when
she promised to go to the inquest with her, and seemed grateful when
she was told that she should not return to Ballycloran, but should
again occupy her old quarters at Drumsna.
At length they got into the hack chaise, and were driven into the
yard of the hotel where the inquest was to be held. This was the same
house in which McKeon and his party had dined on the evening before
the races, and there the cold stiff body of the man was lying on the
same table round which he and so many others were carousing but a few
hours since. There he lay, at least all that mortal remained of him,
who was then so joyous, so reckless, and so triumphant, in the very
room in which he had boasted, in his wilful wickedness, of the sad
tragedy he was intending to inflict on those who had been so friendly
to him at Ballycloran, and of which he was now himself the first
victim.
The table on which he was laid out had been hastily removed for
the dance, and it had now been as hastily replaced for its present
purpose. The laurel wreaths with which the walls had been decorated
were yet remaining, and when the Coroner entered the room his foot
slipped on a faded flower, which some wearied beauty had dropped when
leaving it on the previous morning. Little more than four and twenty
hours had elapsed since the fiddles were playing there, and some of
those who were now summoned upon their oaths to decide in what manner
Ussher had met his death, had on that morning been nearly the last
to leave the room in which they were now to exercise so different a
vocation.
Biddy and Katty were first examined, and it was from the evidence
of the former that Father John first heard that Feemy had agreed to
elope with Ussher; and it appeared from what the girl said that her
mistress was to have left the house some time previous to the time
at which the other girl proved that she had been brought back by her
brother. This added greatly to his sorrow; but at the same time, he
now instantly perceived under what provocation Thady had struck the
fatal blow. Brady proved that his master had confessed to him that
it was he who had killed Ussher, and that he had said that when he
did so his sister was in Ussher's arms. The stick was then brought
forward, which was proved to be the one usually carried by Thady; and
the blood upon the stick, and the nature of the wound upon the dead
man's head, left no doubt that this was the weapon with which he had
been killed.
The father was then brought in, and we have already seen the manner
in which he conducted himself. It was now necessary to examine Feemy,
and at last she came in, almost carried in Mrs. McKeon's arms, with a
thick veil over her face, which, however well it hid her countenance,
by no means rendered her sobs inaudible. Two chairs were placed for
them by the table, and when they were both seated the book was handed
to Feemy; then she had to take her glove from her right hand, and
this was so wetted with her tears, and she herself was so weak, that
it was long before she could get it off; and when she had taken the
oath,--when she had sworn to tell not only the truth, but the whole
truth,--she found it impossible to speak a word, and the Coroner was
obliged to ask her questions, to which Mrs. McKeon was allowed to get
the answers, spoken below her breath, and in whispers.
"Did she know Captain Ussher was dead?"
"She did."
"Did she know that it was her brother who had killed him? Was it her
brother Thady?"
"Yes, it was."
"How did she know it was he who had done it? Did she see him do it?"
"No, she didn't see him."
"How then did she know it?"
"He had told her so afterwards."
"Could she say how he killed him?"
"No, she could not."
"Or why?"
To this question even Mrs. McKeon could get no answer.
"Where was she when Captain Ussher was killed?"
No answer.
"Was she with Captain Ussher?"
"She believed she was."
"Why, or for what purpose, was she with him?"
To this question, although pressed for some time, she would not
answer; and Mrs. McKeon, who was up to this time totally ignorant of
the locality in which Ussher had been killed, and was really unaware
how it had come to pass that Feemy was present at the time, was quite
unable to suggest to her what answer she ought to make; and finding
that it was with difficulty she could keep Feemy from falling from
her chair, she told the Coroner she was really afraid Miss Macdermot
was so ill, that she would be quite incapable of answering any more
questions; and she added, that considering all the circumstances of
the case,--that the young lady had been engaged to the unfortunate
man who was dead, and was the sister of the man who had killed him,
it was not to be wondered at, if she found her dreadful position too
much for her.
The Coroner answered that he was quite prepared to give Miss
Macdermot every indulgence in his power, as he felt as strongly as
any one could do the distressing situation in which the young lady
was placed, but that it was absolutely imperative that the last
question he had asked should be answered. And that he was sure when
he stated that the result of the inquest very probably depended on
what the answer to the question might be,--as from that the jurors
would probably have to decide whether her brother was to be accused
of murder, or merely homicide,--he was quite sure, he said, under
these circumstances, Miss Macdermot would make an effort to answer it
fully and firmly. He was willing, he added, to put the question in a
form which might render it more simple for her to answer, though it
would oblige him to say that which he feared would be still further
distressing to her feelings.
He then told her and Mrs. McKeon, that from the evidence of the
servants it had appeared that she, Feemy, had agreed to elope
with Captain Ussher; and that, as far as could be judged from
circumstantial evidence, she was in fact eloping with him when Thady
had killed him; now, it was necessary for her to state whether she
was there of her own good will, going away with him; or if not, what
she was doing at the moment of the tragical occurrence.
After many fruitless attempts made by Mrs. McKeon to get an answer to
this, Feemy said, through her friend, that she was sitting down.
"Does she mean that she was sitting down when the blow was struck?"
"She doesn't know where she was."
"When was she sitting down?"
"She was sitting down till Captain Ussher lifted her up."
"When Captain Ussher lifted her up, was she going away willingly with
him?"
"Yes, she was."
"Did she struggle with him at all?"
"No."
"Did any of her friends know she was going with him?"
Before, however, the poor girl could be got to answer this question,
she had fainted, and it was found impossible to restore her for a
long time; and when she had recovered, it was only to give way to the
most distressing cries and hysterical shrieks; she threw herself on
the floor of the bedroom to which she had been taken, and Mrs. McKeon
was afraid that she would have broken a blood-vessel in the violence
of her emotions. As it was, she was for a long time spitting blood,
and fell from one fit into another, until the medical man who was now
with her was afraid that she would become entirely delirious.
It had long been found impossible to proceed with her examination any
further. She had, however, unwittingly, and hardly knowing at the
time what she was saying, given evidence against her brother which
the facts of the case did not warrant.
For when Thady had first seen her, she was not going willingly with
Ussher; she had then fainted, and Ussher was dragging her, apparently
with violence, along the road.
When it was found in the inquest room that Feemy Macdermot could not
possibly attend again, the coroner gave the jury the substance of the
evidence on the case. He pointed out to them that though there could
be no doubt that young Macdermot was the man by whom Captain Ussher
had been killed, still if they thought there was sufficient ground
for them to believe that Ussher was ill-treating his sister, and that
the brother had interfered on her behalf, they should not come to the
decision that murder had been committed.
The jury, after consulting for a short time, brought in a verdict
of wilful murder against Thaddeus Macdermot; and, accordingly, a
coroner's warrant was issued for his apprehension and trial, and
was handed over to the police, that they might lose no time in
endeavouring to take him prisoner.