"What is that woman Whitney going to do with her boy?" the squire
asked the schoolmaster, when he happened to meet him in the village
about a month after she had left. "Have you heard?"
"Nothing is settled yet, sir. My wife had a letter from her, two or
three days ago, saying that she had been disappointed in getting
Penfold the mill wright to take him. He wanted fifty pounds
premium, and she could only afford to pay twenty, so she is looking
out for something else. You have heard nothing more that would
throw any light on that affair, squire?"
"No, and don't suppose I ever shall. Have you any opinion about
it?"
"My opinion is that of Reuben, himself," the schoolmaster said. "He
believes that someone did it who had a grudge against him, on
purpose, to throw suspicion on him."
"Who should have a grudge against him?" the squire asked.
"Well, squire, there was one boy in the village who had, rightly or
wrongly, a grudge against Reuben. That is Tom Thorne. Reuben has
not a shadow of evidence that it was this boy, but the lad has
certainly been his enemy ever since that affair of breaking the
windows of the school, just before I came here. Thorne, you know,
did it, but allowed Reuben to be punished for the offence; and the
truth would never have been known had it not been, as I heard, that
your daughter happened to see the stone thrown. Since that time
there has been bad blood between the boys. I do not for a moment
say that Thorne poisoned your dog. Still, the boys are near enough
of a size for one to be mistaken for the other in the dark; and
Thorne knew that Reuben had been bitten by the dog, for Reuben
spoke to another boy about it, that afternoon, while Thorne was
standing by. Of course, this is but the vaguest suspicion. Still,
if you ask my opinion, I should say that I consider, from what I
have heard of the character of Tom Thorne, that he would be much
more likely to poison the dog, in order to get Reuben into
disgrace, than Reuben would be to do so out of revenge because the
dog had bitten him."
The squire took off his hat, and passed his hands through his hair,
in perplexity.
"I don't know what to think, Shrewsbury," he said. "It may be as
you say. I look upon Thorne as the worst character in the village,
and likely enough his son may take after him. That ale house of his
is the resort of all the idle fellows about. I have strong reason
to believe he is in alliance with the poachers. The first time I
get a chance, out he goes. I have only been waiting, for some time,
for an opportunity. I can't very well turn him out of his house
without some excuse.
"What did you say was the name of the mill wright at Lewes Mrs.
Whitney was wanting to get her son with?"
The schoolmaster repeated the name, which the squire jotted down in
a notebook.
"Look here, Shrewsbury," he said, "don't you mention to Mrs.
Whitney that you spoke to me about this matter. Do you understand?"
"I understand, sir," the schoolmaster said.
And he was not surprised when, a few days afterwards, his wife
received a letter from Mrs. Whitney, saying that Mr. Penfold had
come in to say that he had changed his mind, and that he would take
Reuben as his apprentice for twenty pounds; adding, to her
surprise, that he should give him half a crown a week for the first
year, and gradually raise his pay, as he considered that boys ought
to be able to earn a little money for themselves.
Reuben, therefore, was going to work on the following week. The
half a crown a week which he was to earn was an important matter
for his mother. For although she had found a cottage and opened a
little shop, as before, her receipts were extremely small, and she
had already begun to fear that she should be obliged to make
another move, Lewes being too well supplied with shops for a small
concern like hers to flourish. The half crown a week, however,
would pay her rent; and she expected that she should make, at any
rate, enough to provide food for herself and Reuben.
Mrs. Whitney had hoped that, although Lewes was but four miles from
the village, the story about the dog would not travel so far; for
it was not often that anyone from the village went over to the
town. In this, however, she was mistaken for, a week after Reuben
had gone to work, the foreman went to his master and said:
"I don't know whether you are aware, Mr. Penfold, about that new
boy; but I hear that he had to leave Tipping, where he was employed
by Squire Ellison, for poisoning the squire's dog."
"How did you hear it?" Mr. Penfold asked.
"William Jenkins heard it from a man named Thorne, who belongs to
the village, and whom he met at a public house, yesterday."
"William Jenkins had best not spend so much time in public houses,"
Mr. Penfold said shortly. "I heard the story before I saw the boy
and, from what I hear, I believe he was wrongfully accused. Just
tell Jenkins that; and say that if I hear of him, or any of the
hands, throwing the thing up in the boy's face, I will dismiss them
instantly."
And so Reuben did not know, till long after, that the story of the
killing of the dog was known to anyone at Lewes.
For three years he worked in Mr. Penfold's yard, giving much
satisfaction to his employer by his steadiness and handiness. He
continued his studies of an evening, under the advice of his former
master; who came over with his wife, three or four times each year,
to spend a day with Mrs. Whitney. Reuben was now receiving ten
shillings a week and, although the receipts of the shop failed, he
and his mother were able to live in considerable comfort.
One day, about three years after coming to Lewes, he was returning
to work after dinner when, as he passed a carriage standing in
front of one of the shops, he heard his name pronounced, and the
colour flushed to his cheek as, looking up, he saw Kate Ellison.
Timidly he touched his cap, and would have hurried on, but the girl
called to him.
"Stop a minute, Reuben. I want to speak to you. I am glad I have
met you. I have looked for you, every time I have come to Lewes. I
wanted to tell you that I am sure you did not kill Wolf. I know you
wouldn't have done it. Besides, you know, you told me that you
never told stories; so when I heard that you said you didn't, I was
quite sure about it."
"Thank you, miss," Reuben said gratefully. "I did not kill the dog.
I should never have thought of such a thing, though every one
seemed against me."
"Not every one, Reuben. I didn't think so; and papa has told me,
since, that he did not think so, and that he was afraid that he had
made a mistake."
"I am glad to hear that, miss," Reuben said. "The squire had been
very kind to me, and it has always grieved me, very much, that he
should think me capable of such a thing. I felt angry at the time,
but I have not felt angry since I have thought it over quietly; for
the case seems so strong against me that I don't see how the squire
could have thought otherwise.
"Thank you, miss. I sha'n't forget your kindness," and Reuben went
on with a light heart, just as Mrs. Ellison and her elder daughter
came out from the shop.
"Who were you speaking to, Kate?" she asked, as she took her seat
in the carriage.
"I was talking to Reuben Whitney, mamma. He was passing, so I
called him to tell him that I did not believe he had killed Wolf."
"Then it was very improper behaviour on your part, Kate," her
mother said angrily, for she had never quite recovered from the
shock Mrs. Whitney had given to her dignity. "You know my opinion
on the subject. I have told you before that it is one I do not care
to have discussed, and that I consider it very improper for a girl,
of your age, to hold opinions different to those of your elders. I
have no doubt, whatever, that boy poisoned the dog. I must beg of
you that you will never speak to him again."
Kate leaned back in the carriage with a little sigh. She could not
understand why her mother, who was so kind to all the village
people, should be so implacable on this subject. But Kate, who was
now between fourteen and fifteen, knew that when her mother had
taken up certain opinions they were not to be shaken; and that her
father himself always avoided argument, on points on which he
differed from her. Talking alone with his daughter the squire had,
in answer to her sturdy assertion of Reuben's innocence, owned to
her that he himself had his doubts on the subject, and that he was
sorry he had dismissed the boy from his service; but she had never
heard him do more than utter a protest, against Reuben's guilt
being held as being absolutely proved, when her mother spoke of his
delinquency.
But Kate was not one to desert a protege and, having been the means
of Reuben's introduction to her father's, she had always regarded
herself as his natural protector; and Mrs. Ellison would not have
been pleased, had she known that her daughter had seldom met the
schoolmaster without inquiring if he had heard how Reuben was
getting on. She had even asked Mr. Shrewsbury to assure him of her
belief in his innocence, which had been done; but she had resolved
that, should she ever meet him, she would herself tell him so, even
at the risk of her mother's displeasure.
Another year passed. Reuben was now seventeen, and was a tall,
powerfully-built young fellow. During these four years he had never
been over to Tipping, in the daytime; but had occasionally walked
over, after dark, to visit the Shrewsburys, always going on special
invitation, when he knew that no one else would be there. The
Thornes no longer occupied the little public house. Tom Thorne had,
a year before, been captured with two other poachers in the
squire's woods, and had had six months' hard labour; and his father
had at once been ejected from his house, and had disappeared from
that part of the country. Reuben was glad that they had left; for
he had long before heard that Thorne had spread the story, in
Lewes, of the poisoning of the dog. He felt, however, with their
departure all chance of his ever being righted in that matter was
at an end.
One evening in winter, when Reuben had done his work, he said to
his mother:
"I shall go over and see Mr. Shrewsbury tonight. I have not been
over for some time and, as it is not his night for a class, I am
pretty sure not to find anyone there. I told him, when I was there
last, that I would take over a few tools and fix up those shelves
for him.
"I don't suppose he will stay very much longer at Tipping. His
health is completely restored now, and even his wife admits that he
could work at his own business again. He has already been doing a
little, for some of the houses he worked for in town, so as to get
his connection back again. I expect, every time I see him, to hear
that he has made up his mind to go. He would have done it, two
years back; but his wife and the two little ones are so well that
he did not like the thought of taking them up to London, till he
was sure that his health was strong enough to stand steady work. I
shall miss them very much. He has been a good friend, indeed, to
me."
"He has indeed," Mrs. Whitney said. "I think anyhow, Reuben, you
would have got on at your trade; but you would never have been what
you are now, if it hadn't been for him. Your poor father would be
proud of you, if he could see you; and I am sure that, when you
take off that workman's suit and put on your Sunday clothes, you
look as well as if the mill had never gone wrong, and you had been
brought up as he intended you to be. Mrs. Tyler was saying only the
other day that you looked quite the gentleman, and lots of people
have said the same."
"Nonsense, mother," Reuben answered, "there is nothing of the
gentleman about me. Of course, people say things that they think
will please you, knowing that you regard me as a sort of wonder. I
hope I shall make my way some day, and the fact that I have had a
better education than most young fellows, in my position of life,
of course may make some little difference; and will, I hope, help
me to mount the ladder, when once I put my foot upon it."
But although, no doubt, Mrs. Whitney was a partial judge, her
opinion as to her son was not an incorrect one; for with his
intelligent face, and quiet self-assured bearing, he looked very
much more like a gentleman than many young fellows in a far better
position in life.
The stars were shining brightly when he started, at seven o'clock
in the evening; and he walked with a brisk step, until he arrived
within half a mile of the village. As he passed by the end of a
lane which ran into the road, he heard a horse impatiently pawing
the ground; the sound being followed by a savage oath, to the
animal, to stand quiet. Reuben walked on a few steps, and then
paused. The lane, as he knew, only led to some fields a short
distance away. What could a horse be doing there? And who could be
the man who spoke to it? There had, lately, been several burglaries
on lonely houses, in that part of the country; and the general
belief was that these had been perpetrated by men from London.
"I daresay it's nothing," Reuben said to himself. "Still, it is
certainly curious and, at any rate, there can be no harm in having
a look."
Walking upon the grass at the side of the road, he retraced his
steps to the end of the lane, and then stood and listened. He heard
a murmur of voices, and determined to follow the matter up. He
walked quietly down the lane. After going about a hundred yards, he
saw something dark in the road and, approaching it very cautiously,
found that it was a horse harnessed to a gig. As he was standing
wondering what to do next he started, for the silence was broken by
some voices near him.
"It was a stupid thing to get here so early, and to have to wait
about for four hours in this ditch."
"It was the best plan though," another voice replied. "The trap
might have been noticed, if we had been driving about the roads
after dark; while in the daylight no one would give it a second
thought."
"That's right enough," the first speaker said, "but it's precious
cold here. Hand me that flask again. I am blest if the wind does
not come through the hedge like a knife."
The voices came from the other side of the hedge, on the opposite
side of the lane. Reuben crossed noiselessly. There was a gate just
where the cart had stopped, and the men had evidently got over it,
to obtain the shelter of the hedge from the wind. Reuben felt the
gate, which was old and rickety; then cautiously he placed his feet
on the lower bar, and leaned forward so as to look round the hedge.
"What time are the others to be here, Tom?"
"They said they would be here at nine o'clock. We passed them about
six miles on the road, so they ought to be here to time."
"I suppose there's no doubt about this here being a good business?"
"I will answer for that," the other said. "I don't suppose as
there's much money in the house, but there's no end of silver
plate, and their watches, and plenty of sparklers. I have heard say
as there's no one in the county as has more jewels than the
squire's wife."
"You know the house well, don't you?"
"I never was inside," the other said, "but I have heard enough,
from them that has, to know where the rooms lie. The plate chest is
in the butler's pantry and, as we are going to get in by the
kitchen window, we are safe to be able to clear that out without
being heard. I shall go on, directly the others come, and chuck
this meat to the dogs--that will silence them. I know the way
there, for I tried that on once before."
Reuben had thought that the voice was familiar to him, and the
words gave him the clue--the speaker was Tom Thorne--and he, and
those with him, were going to commit a burglary at the squire's. He
was hesitating whether to make off at once, to warn the squire of
what was intended; or to listen and learn a little more of their
plan, when suddenly a light shone behind him, and a voice exclaimed
with an oath:
"Who have we here?"
He leapt down, and was in the act of turning round to defend
himself, when a heavy blow with a cudgel struck him on the head,
and felled him insensible to the ground. While he had been
listening to the conversation, two men had come quietly up the
lane, walking on the grass as he had done; and their footsteps had
been unheard by him, for the horse continued, at times, impatiently
to paw the ground. The sound of their comrades' voices had told
them where they were sitting and, turning on a bull's-eye lantern
to show them the gate, they had seen Reuben leaning over it, in the
act of listening.
When Reuben recovered consciousness, he found that he was lying in
the ditch, his hands tightly bound to his sides, and a handkerchief
stuffed into his mouth. The four men were gathered close by,
talking in low tones.
"I ain't going to give up the job, now we come so far to do it,"
one said, with an oath. "Besides, it's not only the swag, but the
grudge I owe the squire. If I am ready to go on, I suppose you
needn't be afraid; besides, he don't know us."
"Best cut his throat and a done with it," a voice, which Reuben
recognized as that of his old enemy, said. "I owe him one, and it
will be safest to stop his mouth."
"No, no," a third voice protested; "I ain't going to have nothing
to do with cutting throats. I don't mind running the risk of Botany
Bay, but I ain't going to run the chance of being scragged. But
let's move a bit away from here, while we settle it. You hit him
pretty hard, but he will be coming round presently. I thought at
first that you had killed him, but he's bleeding too free for
that."
The men moved some little distance away, and for some time Reuben
could hear a murmured talk, but could make out nothing of what had
been said. It was, he judged, a quarter of an hour before the
conversation ceased. They did not return to him but remained at
some distance off, and Reuben thought that he heard the footsteps
of one of them going down the lane. He could feel, by a warm
sensation across his cheek, that the blood was flowing freely from
the wound he had received on his temple. A dull torpid feeling came
over him, and after a time he again lost consciousness.
How long he remained in this state he did not know, but he was at
last aroused by being lifted and thrown into the bottom of the
cart. Four men then climbed up into it and the horse was started.
They drove at a quick pace, and Reuben wondered why they were
taking him away with them. His head ached terribly, and he suffered
much from the tightness of the cords which bound his arms. The men
seemed in high good humour, and talked and laughed in low tones;
but the noise of the vehicle prevented Reuben hearing what was
said.
It was, as far as he could judge, full two hours before the vehicle
stopped. He was roughly taken out of the cart, his arms were
unbound; and the men, leaping up, drove away at full speed. The
spot where he had been left was very dark, for trees overshadowed
it on both sides. Where he was he had no idea, but he judged that
he must be fully twenty miles from the village.
His first impulse was to take the handkerchief from his mouth, and
he then walked slowly along the road, in the direction from which
he had come. It was, he felt sure, no use shouting; for they would
have been certain to have selected some lonely spot to set him
down, and there would be no chance of awakening the inhabitants of
any distant cottage. He walked slowly, for he was faint with loss
of blood.
After proceeding about a quarter of a mile, he emerged from the
wood and came upon a spot where the road forked. Having no clue
whatever as to the direction in which Lewes lay, he sat down upon a
heap of stones and waited patiently for morning. He had no doubt
that the burglary had been a successful one, and he bitterly
regretted his neglect to keep a watch down the lane, to see that he
was not surprised by the men he had heard were coming. At any rate,
he hoped that he should be able to give such information as would
set the constables upon the track.
It seemed to him that some three hours passed before a faint light
began to dawn in the sky. By this he knew that it must be about
half-past six, and calculated, therefore, he must have set out in
the trap about half-past one. He now started to walk along the
road, hoping that he should soon meet some labourer going to work.
Stopping by a small stream which ran across the road, he washed his
head and face; as he had lain on the ground after being struck, the
blood had not flowed on to his clothes.
After the wash he proceeded with a brisker step. Half an hour later
he met a ploughman, riding one of his team to the fields.
"Is this the road to Lewes?" Reuben asked.
"Lewes? Noa, this baint the road to Lewes. I don't know nothing
about the road to Lewes. This bee the road to Hastings, if you goes
further. So they tell me; I ain't never been there."
"Is there a village anywhere about here?" Reuben asked.
"Ay, half a mile or so on."
Reuben walked on till he got to the village; and then, going to a
public house, obtained some refreshment and learned, from the
landlord, the direction he should take to get to the main road
leading to Lewes; which was, as he expected, some twenty miles
away. He found that the cart had not followed the main road towards
London, but had driven by crossroads for a considerable distance,
before turning north.
It was late in the afternoon before Reuben arrived at Lewes, for he
had been obliged to rest often by the way, and had made but slow
progress. When within a few doors of his mother's house, one of the
constables of the town came up to him and touched him on the
shoulder.
"I arrest you in the king's name!"
"Arrest me! What for?" Reuben exclaimed.
"For breaking into the house of Squire Ellison, of Tipping, that's
what it's for."
Reuben laughed.
"You have got the wrong man this time. I have no more to do with
the burglary than a child."
"It's no laughing matter," the constable said. "If you are innocent
you have got to prove it; that ain't no business of mine. All I
have got to do is to arrest you."
So saying, and before Reuben knew what he was about, he slipped a
pair of handcuffs over his wrists. Reuben flushed up. Hitherto he
had scarcely taken the matter seriously, but to be marched
handcuffed through the streets of Lewes was an indignity which
enraged him.
"Take these off," he said angrily. "I will go quietly with you."
"You may or you may not," the man said doggedly. "You are younger
than I am, and maybe can run faster. I ain't agoing to chance it."
Reuben saw that it was of no use to argue and, silent and pale, he
walked along by the side of the constable, who retained a tight
hold of his collar. A little crowd gathered speedily round, for
such a sight was unusual in Lewes; and Reuben felt thankful when
they reached the cells, and he was sheltered from the gaze of the
public. A minute later the head constable came in.
"Now, my lad, don't say anything to criminate yourself," he began;
"the less you talk, the better for you. I am sorry to see you here,
for I knew your father, and I have a good character of you from
your employer; so I give you my advice--keep your mouth shut."
"But I am not going to keep my mouth shut," Reuben said
indignantly. "Here am I, arrested in the public streets, marched
handcuffed through the town upon a most monstrous charge, which has
been brought against me without a shadow of evidence."
"Don't be talking, don't be talking," the constable said testily;
"you will hear the evidence in time enough."
"But I will talk. I want to tell you what's happened, and you will
see that I am innocent, at once."
"Very well, if you will you will; but mind, don't blame me
afterwards."
Reuben told the story of his adventures from the time of leaving.
"There," he said when he finished, "isn't that enough to show that
I am innocent?"
"No," the chief constable said gravely, "it's not enough to prove
anything, one way or the other. I am bound to say the story looks a
likely one; and if it weren't for two or three matters which I
heard of, from the constable who came over from Tipping, I should
have no doubt about it. However, all that is for the magistrate to
decide. There will be a meeting tomorrow."
"But can't I be taken before a magistrate at once? There's Captain
Fidler, within a mile."
"What would be the good?" the chief constable said. "You don't
suppose anyone would let you out, only on the strength of the story
you have told me. He could only remand you, and you could gain
nothing by it."
"Can I see my mother?" Reuben asked next.
"Yes," the constable said, "I will send her down a message, at
once."
Mrs. Whitney soon came up. A neighbour had brought her in the news
when Reuben had been arrested, and she was on the point of starting
to inquire about it when the message arrived. She was more
indignant than grieved, when she heard the charge which had been
brought against Reuben.
"The idea of such a thing!" she exclaimed. "These constables don't
seem to have natural sense. The idea of charging anyone who is
known as a respectable young man with such a thing as that, and
shutting him up without a question. Why, there can't be any
evidence against you."
"There's no saying, mother," Reuben replied. "You mustn't be too
sure of that. Don't you remember that affair of the dog? Well, the
same hand is at work now. Before, I only suspected who had done it;
but I am sure now. However, whatever evidence they may have got, we
know it isn't true. I have four years' good character here to speak
for me. Still, it is hard that I should get into positions of this
sort, without any fault of mine."
"It's better that it is without any fault of yours, Reuben."
"That is right enough, mother, so we will both keep up our
spirits."