having sustained so heavy a loss might have suggested to some
ill-minded persons, accidentally hearing it, the plan of robbing him,
after having murdered him, in such a manner as might make it appear that
he had committed suicide; a supposition which was strongly supported by
the razors having been found thus displaced, and removed from their
case. Two persons had probably been engaged in the attempt, one watching
by the sleeping man, and ready to strike him in case of his awakening
suddenly, while the other was procuring the razors and employed in
inflicting the fatal gash, so as to make it appear to have been the act
of the murdered man himself. It was said that while the juror was making
this suggestion Sir Arthur changed colour.
Nothing, however, like legal evidence appeared against him, and the
consequence was that the verdict was found against a person or persons
unknown; and for some time the matter was suffered to rest, until, after
about five months, my father received a letter from a person signing
himself Andrew Collis, and representing himself to be the cousin of the
deceased. This letter stated that Sir Arthur was likely to incur not
merely suspicion, but personal risk, unless he could account for certain
circumstances connected with the recent murder, and contained a copy of
a letter written by the deceased, and bearing date--the day of the
week, and of the month--upon the night the deed of blood had been
perpetrated. Tisdall's note ran as follows:--
"DEAR COLLIS,--I have had sharp work with Sir Arthur; he tried some of
his stale tricks, but soon found that _I_ was Yorkshire too; it would
not do--you understand me. We went to the work like good ones, head,
heart and soul; and, in fact, since I came here, I have lost no time.
I am rather fagged, but I am sure to be well paid for my hardship; I
never want sleep so long as I can have the music of a dice-box, and
wherewithal to pay the piper. As I told you, he tried some of his queer
turns, but I foiled him like a man, and, in return, gave him more than
he could relish of the genuine _dead knowledge_.
"In short, I have plucked the old baronet as never baronet was plucked
before; I have scarce left him the stump of a quill; I have got
promissory notes in his hand to the amount of--if you like round
numbers, say, thirty thousand pounds, safely deposited in my portable
strong-box, _alias_ double-clasped pocket-book. I leave this ruinous old
rat-hole early on to-morrow, for two reasons--first, I do not want to
play with Sir Arthur deeper than I think his security, that is, his
money, or his money's worth, would warrant; and, secondly, because I am
safer a hundred miles from Sir Arthur than in the house with him. Look
you, my worthy, I tell you this between ourselves--I may be wrong, but,
by G----, I am as sure as that I am now living, that Sir A---- attempted
to poison me last night. So much for old friendship on both sides!
"When I won the last stake, a heavy one enough, my friend leant his
forehead upon his hands, and you'll laugh when I tell you that his
head literally smoked like a hot dumpling. I do not know whether his
agitation was produced by the plan which he had against me, or by his
having lost so heavily--though it must be allowed that he had reason to
be a little funked, whichever way his thoughts went; but he pulled
the bell, and ordered two bottles of champagne. While the fellow was
bringing them he drew out a promissory note to the full amount, which he
signed, and, as the man came in with the bottles and glasses, he desired
him to be off; he filled out a glass for me, and, while he thought my
eyes were off, for I was putting up his note at the time, he dropped
something slyly into it, no doubt to sweeten it; but I saw it all, and
when he handed it to me, I said, with an emphasis which he might or
might not understand:
"'There is some sediment in this; I'll not drink it.'
"'Is there?' said he, and at the same time snatched it from my hand and
threw it into the fire. What do you think of that? have I not a tender
chicken to manage? Win or lose, I will not play beyond five thousand
to-night, and to-morrow sees me safe out of the reach of Sir Arthur's
champagne. So, all things considered, I think you must allow that you
are not the last who have found a knowing boy in
"Yours to command,
"HUGH TISDALL."
Of the authenticity of this document I never heard my father express a
doubt; and I am satisfied that, owing to his strong conviction in favour
of his brother, he would not have admitted it without sufficient
inquiry, inasmuch as it tended to confirm the suspicions which already
existed to his prejudice.
Now, the only point in this letter which made strongly against my
uncle was the mention of the "double-clasped pocket-book" as the
receptacle of the papers likely to involve him, for this pocket-book
was not forthcoming, nor anywhere to be found, nor had any papers
referring to his gaming transactions been found upon the dead man.
However, whatever might have been the original intention of this
Collis, neither my uncle nor my father ever heard more of him; but he
published the letter in Faulkner's Newspaper, which was shortly
afterwards made the vehicle of a much more mysterious attack. The
passage in that periodical to which I allude appeared about four years
afterwards, and while the fatal occurrence was still fresh in public
recollection. It commenced by a rambling preface, stating that "a
_certain person_ whom _certain_ persons thought to be dead, was not
so, but living, and in full possession of his memory, and moreover
ready and able to make _great_ delinquents tremble." It then went on
to describe the murder, without, however, mentioning names; and in
doing so, it entered into minute and circumstantial particulars of
which none but an _eye-witness_ could have been possessed, and by
implications almost too unequivocal to be regarded in the light of
insinuation, to involve the "_titled gambler_" in the guilt of the
transaction.
My father at once urged Sir Arthur to proceed against the paper in an
action of libel; but he would not hear of it, nor consent to my father's
taking any legal steps whatever in the matter. My father, however, wrote
in a threatening tone to Faulkner, demanding a surrender of the author
of the obnoxious article. The answer to this application is still in
my possession, and is penned in an apologetic tone: it states that
the manuscript had been handed in, paid for, and inserted as an
advertisement, without sufficient inquiry, or any knowledge as to whom
it referred.
No step, however, was taken to clear my uncle's character in the
judgment of the public; and as he immediately sold a small property,
the application of the proceeds of which was known to none, he was said
to have disposed of it to enable himself to buy off the threatened
information. However the truth might have been, it is certain that no
charges respecting the mysterious murder were afterwards publicly made
against my uncle, and, as far as external disturbances were concerned,
he enjoyed henceforward perfect security and quiet.
A deep and lasting impression, however, had been made upon the public
mind, and Sir Arthur T----n was no longer visited or noticed by the
gentry and aristocracy of the county, whose attention and courtesies
he had hitherto received. He accordingly affected to despise these
enjoyments which he could not procure, and shunned even that society
which he might have commanded.
This is all that I need recapitulate of my uncle's history, and I now
recur to my own. Although my father had never, within my recollection,
visited, or been visited by, my uncle, each being of sedentary,
procrastinating, and secluded habits, and their respective residences
being very far apart--the one lying in the county of Galway, the other
in that of Cork--he was strongly attached to his brother, and evinced
his affection by an active correspondence, and by deeply and proudly
resenting that neglect which had marked Sir Arthur as unfit to mix in
society.
When I was about eighteen years of age, my father, whose health had been
gradually declining, died, leaving me in heart wretched and desolate,
and, owing to his previous seclusion, with few acquaintances, and almost
no friends.
The provisions of his will were curious, and when I had sufficiently
come to myself to listen to or comprehend them, surprised me not a
little: all his vast property was left to me, and to the heirs of my
body, for ever; and, in default of such heirs, it was to go after my
death to my uncle, Sir Arthur, without any entail.
At the same time, the will appointed him my guardian, desiring that I
might be received within his house, and reside with his family, and
under his care, during the term of my minority; and in consideration of
the increased expense consequent upon such an arrangement, a handsome
annuity was allotted to him during the term of my proposed residence.
The object of this last provision I at once understood: my father
desired, by making it the direct, apparent interest of Sir Arthur that
I should die without issue, while at the same time placing me wholly
in his power, to prove to the world how great and unshaken was his
confidence in his brother's innocence and honour, and also to afford
him an opportunity of showing that this mark of confidence was not
unworthily bestowed.
It was a strange, perhaps an idle scheme; but as I had been always
brought up in the habit of considering my uncle as a deeply-injured man,
and had been taught, almost as a part of my religion, to regard him as
the very soul of honour, I felt no further uneasiness respecting the
arrangement than that likely to result to a timid girl of secluded
habits from the immediate prospect of taking up her abode for the first
time in her life among total strangers. Previous to leaving my home,
which I felt I should do with a heavy heart, I received a most tender
and affectionate letter from my uncle, calculated, if anything could do
so, to remove the bitterness of parting from scenes familiar and dear
from my earliest childhood, and in some degree to reconcile me to the
change.
It was during a fine autumn that I approached the old domain of
Carrickleigh. I shall not soon forget the impression of sadness and of
gloom which all that I saw produced upon my mind; the sunbeams were
falling with a rich and melancholy tint upon the fine old trees, which
stood in lordly groups, casting their long, sweeping shadows over rock
and sward. There was an air of desolation and decay about the spot,
which amounted almost to desolation; the symptoms of this increased in
number as we approached the building itself, near which the ground
had been originally more artificially and carefully cultivated than
elsewhere, and the neglect consequently more immediately and strikingly
betrayed itself.
As we proceeded, the road wound near the beds of what had been formerly
two fish-ponds--now nothing more than stagnant swamps, overgrown with
rank weeds, and here and there encroached upon by the straggling
underwood. The avenue itself was much broken, and in many places the
stones were almost concealed by grass and nettles; the loose stone
walls which had here and there intersected the broad park were, in
many places, broken down, so as no longer to answer their original
purpose as fences; piers were now and then to be seen, but the gates
were gone. And, to add to the general air of dilapidation, some huge
trunks were lying scattered through the venerable old trees, either
the work of the winter storms, or perhaps the victims of some extensive
but desultory scheme of denudation, which the projector had not capital
or perseverance to carry into full effect.
After the carriage had travelled a mile of this avenue, we reached the
summit of rather an abrupt eminence, one of the many which added to the
picturesqueness, if not to the convenience of this rude passage. From
the top of this ridge the grey walls of Carrickleigh were visible,
rising at a small distance in front, and darkened by the hoary
wood which crowded around them. It was a quadrangular building of
considerable extent, and the front which lay towards us, and in which
the great entrance was placed, bore unequivocal marks of antiquity; the
time-worn, solemn aspect of the old building, the ruinous and deserted
appearance of the whole place, and the associations which connected
it with a dark page in the history of my family, combined to depress
spirits already predisposed for the reception of sombre and dejecting
impressions.
When the carriage drew up in the grass-grown courtyard before the hall
door, two lazy-looking men, whose appearance well accorded with that of
the place which they tenanted, alarmed by the obstreperous barking of a
great chained dog, ran out from some half-ruinous out-houses, and took
charge of the horses; the hall door stood open, and I entered a gloomy
and imperfectly lighted apartment, and found no one within. However, I
had not long to wait in this awkward predicament, for before my luggage
had been deposited in the house--indeed, before I had well removed my
cloak and other wraps, so as to enable me to look around--a young girl
ran lightly into the hall, and kissing me heartily, and somewhat
boisterously, exclaimed:
"My dear cousin, my dear Margaret, I am so delighted, so out of breath.
We did not expect you till ten o'clock; my father is somewhere about the
place; he must be close at hand. James, Corney--run out and tell your
master--my brother is seldom at home, at least at any reasonable
hour--you must be so tired, so fatigued, let me show you to your room.
See that Lady Margaret's luggage is all brought up, you must lie down
and rest yourself. Deborah, bring some coffee-- Up these stairs! We are
so delighted to see you, you cannot think how lonely I have been. How
steep these stairs are, are they not? I am so glad you are come; I could
hardly bring myself to believe that you were really coming; how good of
you, dear Lady Margaret."
There was real good nature and delight in my cousin's greeting, and a
kind of constitutional confidence of manner which placed me at once at
ease, and made me feel immediately upon terms of intimacy with her. The
room into which she ushered me, although partaking in the general air of
decay which pervaded the mansion and all about it, had nevertheless been
fitted up with evident attention to comfort, and even with some dingy
attempt at luxury; but what pleased me most was that it opened, by a
second door, upon a lobby which communicated with my fair cousin's
apartment; a circumstance which divested the room, in my eyes, of the
air of solitude and sadness which would otherwise have characterized
it, to a degree almost painful to one so dejected in spirits as I was.
After such arrangements as I found necessary were completed, we both
went down to the parlour, a large wainscoted room, hung round with grim
old portraits, and, as I was not sorry to see, containing in its ample
grate a large and cheerful fire. Here my cousin had leisure to talk more
at ease; and from her I learned something of the manners and the habits
of the two remaining members of her family, whom I had not yet seen.
On my arrival I had known nothing of the family among whom I was come
to reside, except that it consisted of three individuals, my uncle,
and his son and daughter, Lady T----n having been long dead. In
addition to this very scanty stock of information, I shortly learned
from my communicative companion that my uncle was, as I had suspected,
completely reserved in his habits, and besides that, having been
so far back as she could well recollect, always rather strict (as
reformed rakes frequently become), he had latterly been growing more
gloomily and sternly religious than heretofore.
Her account of her brother was far less favourable, though she did not
say anything directly to his disadvantage. From all that I could gather
from her, I was led to suppose that he was a specimen of the idle,
coarse-mannered, profligate, low-minded "squire-archy"--a result which
might naturally have flowed from the circumstance of his being, as it
were, outlawed from society, and driven for companionship to grades
below his own; enjoying, too, the dangerous prerogative of spending much
money.
However, you may easily suppose that I found nothing in my cousin's
communication fully to bear me out in so very decided a conclusion.
I awaited the arrival of my uncle, which was every moment to be
expected, with feelings half of alarm, half of curiosity--a sensation
which I have often since experienced, though to a less degree, when upon
the point of standing for the first time in the presence of one of whom
I have long been in the habit of hearing or thinking with interest.
It was, therefore, with some little perturbation that I heard, first a
light bustle at the outer door, then a slow step traverse the hall, and
finally witnessed the door open, and my uncle enter the room. He was a
striking-looking man; from peculiarities both of person and of garb, the
whole effect of his appearance amounted to extreme singularity. He was
tall, and when young his figure must have been strikingly elegant; as it
was, however, its effect was marred by a very decided stoop. His dress
was of a sober colour, and in fashion anterior to anything which I could
remember. It was, however, handsome, and by no means carelessly put on.
But what completed the singularity of his appearance was his uncut
white hair, which hung in long, but not at all neglected curls, even
so far as his shoulders, and which combined with his regularly classic
features and fine dark eyes, to bestow upon him an air of venerable
dignity and pride which I have never seen equalled elsewhere. I rose as
he entered, and met him about the middle of the room; he kissed my cheek
and both my hands, saying:
"You are most welcome, dear child, as welcome as the command of this
poor place and all that it contains can make you. I am most rejoiced to
see you--truly rejoiced. I trust that you are not much fatigued--pray
be seated again." He led me to my chair, and continued: "I am glad to
perceive you have made acquaintance with Emily already; I see, in your
being thus brought together, the foundation of a lasting friendship. You
are both innocent, and both young. God bless you--God bless you, and
make you all that I could wish!"
[Illustration: I ROSE AS HE ENTERED.]
He raised his eyes, and remained for a few moments silent, as if in
secret prayer. I felt that it was impossible that this man, with
feelings so quick, so warm, so tender, could be the wretch that public
opinion had represented him to be. I was more than ever convinced of his
innocence.
His manner was, or appeared to me, most fascinating; there was a mingled
kindness and courtesy in it which seemed to speak benevolence itself. It
was a manner which I felt cold art could never have taught; it owed most
of its charm to its appearing to emanate directly from the heart; it
must be a genuine index of the owner's mind. So I thought.
My uncle having given me fully to understand that I was most welcome,
and might command whatever was his own, pressed me to take some
refreshment; and on my refusing, he observed that previously to bidding
me good-night, he had one duty further to perform, one in whose
observance he was convinced I would cheerfully acquiesce.
He then proceeded to read a chapter from the Bible; after which he took
his leave with the same affectionate kindness with which he had greeted
me, having repeated his desire that I should consider everything in his
house as altogether at my disposal. It is needless to say that I was
much pleased with my uncle--it was impossible to avoid being so; and I
could not help saying to myself, if such a man as this is not safe from
the assaults of slander, who is? I felt much happier than I had done
since my father's death, and enjoyed that night the first refreshing
sleep which had visited me since that event.
My curiosity respecting my male cousin did not long remain
unsatisfied--he appeared the next day at dinner. His manners, though not
so coarse as I had expected, were exceedingly disagreeable; there was an
assurance and a forwardness for which I was not prepared; there was less
of the vulgarity of manner, and almost more of that of the mind, than I
had anticipated. I felt quite uncomfortable in his presence; there was
just that confidence in his look and tone which would read encouragement
even in mere toleration; and I felt more disgusted and annoyed at the
coarse and extravagant compliments which he was pleased from time to
time to pay me, than perhaps the extent of the atrocity might fully
have warranted. It was, however, one consolation that he did not often
appear, being much engrossed by pursuits about which I neither knew nor
cared anything; but when he did appear, his attentions, either with
a view to his amusement or to some more serious advantage, were so
obviously and perseveringly directed to me, that young and inexperienced
as I was, even _I_ could not be ignorant of his preference. I felt more
provoked by this odious persecution than I can express, and discouraged
him with so much vigour, that I employed even rudeness to convince him
his assiduities were unwelcome; but all in vain.
This had gone on for nearly a twelvemonth, to my infinite annoyance,
when one day as I was sitting at some needlework with my companion
Emily, as was my habit, in the parlour, the door opened, and my cousin
Edward entered the room. There was something, I thought, odd in his
manner; a kind of struggle between shame and impudence--a kind of flurry
and ambiguity which made him appear, if possible, more than ordinarily
disagreeable.
"Your servant, ladies," he said, seating himself at the same time;
"sorry to spoil your _tête-à-tête_, but never mind! I'll only take
Emily's place for a minute or two; and then we part for a while,
fair cousin. Emily, my father wants you in the corner turret. No
shilly-shally; he's in a hurry." She hesitated. "Be off--tramp, march!"
he exclaimed, in a tone which the poor girl dared not disobey.
She left the room, and Edward followed her to the door. He stood there
for a minute or two, as if reflecting what he should say, perhaps
satisfying himself that no one was within hearing in the hall.
At length he turned about, having closed the door, as if carelessly,
with his foot; and advancing slowly, as if in deep thought, he took his
seat at the side of the table opposite to mine.
There was a brief interval of silence, after which he said:
"I imagine that you have a shrewd suspicion of the object of my early
visit; but I suppose I must go into particulars. Must I?"
"I have no conception," I replied, "what your object may be."
"Well, well," said he, becoming more at his ease as he proceeded,
"it may be told in a few words. You know that it is totally
impossible--quite out of the question--that an off-hand young fellow
like me, and a good-looking girl like yourself, could meet continually,
as you and I have done, without an attachment--a liking growing up on
one side or other; in short, I think I have let you know as plain as if
I spoke it, that I have been in love with you almost from the first time
I saw you."
He paused; but I was too much horrified to speak. He interpreted my
silence favourably.
"I can tell you," he continued, "I'm reckoned rather hard to please, and
very hard to _hit_. I can't say when I was taken with a girl before; so
you see fortune reserved me----"
Here the odious wretch wound his arm round my waist. The action at
once restored me to utterance, and with the most indignant vehemence I
released myself from his hold, and at the same time said:
"I have not been insensible, sir, of your most disagreeable
attentions--they have long been a source of much annoyance to me; and
you must be aware that I have marked my disapprobation--my disgust--as
unequivocally as I possibly could, without actual indelicacy."
I paused, almost out of breath from the rapidity with which I had
spoken; and, without giving him time to renew the conversation, I
hastily quitted the room, leaving him in a paroxysm of rage and
mortification.