The evidence being all in, and the arguments made, a recess was taken.
We were not the only ones who paid our respects immediately to Giles
Vernon. Many persons went forward and shook his hand, while I think
Sir Thomas did not receive a cordial greeting from a single man or
woman in the hall, although he was known to every one present.
We got a hurried dinner at the tavern, and returned at once to the
hall. It was about half-past four in the winter afternoon, and the day
being dark and lowering, candles were required. The lord justice’s
instructions to the jury were then read, and my heart sank, as, in a
dreadful monotone, he expounded the law to them. Alas! As long as the
statute against the abduction of an heiress remained, Giles Vernon was
guilty of a capital crime; and not one word uttered by any one of us
who testified in his behalf did aught but prove the more strongly that
he had carried Lady Arabella off against her will.
The jury retired, and, the day having been fatiguing, the lords
justices determined to wait in their retiring-room for an hour, where
they could be called, if the jury promptly reached a verdict. This
troubled me--this expectation of a quick decision.
The judges having retired and suspended the sitting of the court, we
at once went over and sat with Giles, who maintained perfectly his
manly composure. He laughed with Sir Peter over some of the events
of the fight between the _Ajax_ and her two enemies, complimented
Lady Hawkshaw upon her triumph over the laws of the land relating to
evidence, and said many kind things to Daphne.
While we were in the midst of a cheerful conversation, and not
observant of what was going on in the other part of the hall, we
suddenly heard the crier proclaiming the entrance of their lordships,
and at the same moment Sir Thomas Vernon entered by another door.
Hanging on his arm was Lady Arabella Stormont. And then the jury filed
in with solemn faces, and what followed all seemed to me like some
horrid dream.
Although several persons were moving about, there seemed to me a
dreadful silence; and although the candles burned, and a great
hobgoblin of a moon peered in at the windows, there seemed an awful
darkness. And after a time, in which I was oppressed by this ghostly
silence and darkness, I saw the senior lord justice put on a black cap,
and sentence Giles Vernon to be hanged by the neck until he was dead,
that day fortnight.
My eyes roved aimlessly around, and fell at that moment on Lady
Arabella Stormont. A faint smile flickered on her lovely mouth.
X
In that hour of horror, I became weaker and more helpless than the
weakest and most helpless woman. Sir Peter and Lady Hawkshaw were
too stunned to think. I remember, now, the look of despair on Sir
Peter’s countenance, where I had never before seen anything but sturdy
courage,--and it was an added terror. And the one who retained her
senses, who suggested a forlorn hope, was Daphne,--the youngest, the
least experienced of us all.
“To London!” she said. “To the king, for pardon! I myself will go upon
my knees to him. He shall--he _shall_ pardon Giles!”
We were all huddled together, then, in our parlor at the inn, having
just returned from the assize hall.
“Richard and I will go,” said Sir Peter.
“And Daphne and I will stay and comfort Giles,” spoke Lady Hawkshaw.
A week to London, and a week to return, was easy traveling--but how
long would it take us to reach the king? And what ministers would be
in town? And what would be the earliest moment we could leave London?
All these things were in our minds to torment us. Nevertheless, within
half an hour, we were on our way.
While we were demanding the best horses, and having them put to, an
insolent groom came in the stable-yard, and asked for horses for Sir
Thomas Vernon and Lady Arabella Stormont and Lady Arabella’s companion,
Mrs. Whitall, and two servants, for London. The head hostler replied
roughly that they had no time to attend him then, as they were starting
Sir Peter Hawkshaw and Mr. Glyn off for London, too, to beg Mr. Giles
Vernon’s life. The man, at this, grew saucy, and offered a handsome
bonus for the horses which were then being put to for us. I caught him
by the collar, and threw him out of the stable-yard, where the hostlers
drubbed him soundly, thank God!
One hurried kiss to Daphne, a brief farewell between Sir Peter and
Lady Hawkshaw, and we were off for London. Our race into Scotland was
nothing to it.
The roads were much cut up, and although we traveled day and night, we
were more than four days on the way. We reached London early in the
day; and, without stopping for food, or to change our linen, we went
to the Admiralty. There we got the information that the First Lord was
visiting in the country, in Kent. Within the hour, I was on my way to
Kent. When I reached the place, the First Lord had left, not more than
two hours before, for London. I had passed him on the road, without
knowing him. I returned to London. Sir Peter had seen several members
of the government, meanwhile, and had been privately informed that
the king was suffering mentally; and although hopes were entertained
that the spell would pass away, without the necessity of informing the
country or Parliament, still, access to him was refused to all by his
physicians, except the members of his family and immediate household,
and they were charged not to mention business to him; it would be
impossible to approach him.
When Sir Peter told me this, I became so weak I was forced to sit down.
After a few minutes of agony, a desperate resolve came to me. I rose,
and said,--
“I have a scheme--desperate, but not impossible. Go with me to the
Prince of Wales. He is at Carlton House, but goes back and forth to
Windsor.”
Sir Peter jumped at this poor chance, and we agreed to go immediately.
We had left York on a Friday, and had reached London on the Monday. Two
days had been lost in the journey to Kent; and it was now late in the
evening of Wednesday. We had, luckily, brought our uniforms along; and,
dressing ourselves in them,--Sir Peter with all his orders sewn on his
coat,--we called a hackney-coach, and drove to Carlton House.
When we got there, it was about ten o’clock in the evening. The windows
were brilliantly lighted up, and it was about the hour that the Prince
of Wales was known to be in his best humor--but the hour when he most
hated to be disturbed.
We descended, and the sentries passed us through, on account of our
uniforms and Sir Peter’s decorations on his breast. We reached the
door, and knocked. The porter opened the door gingerly, when Sir Peter,
giving it a kick, walked in, followed by me. The man attempted to
arrest our progress, but Sir Peter said to him fiercely,--
“Do you think, you damned lackey, that you can be insolent to an
admiral in his Majesty’s service?” The man apologized humbly and
ushered us into a large reception-room on the first floor, saying he
would call the gentleman of the chambers.
We seated ourselves. Even in that time of agony, I noticed the beauty
of the room--indeed, my senses seemed preternaturally acute, and every
incident of that dreadful time is deeply fixed in my mind. The ceiling
was of gilt, while around the walls were paintings of Flora. A gilt
chandelier diffused light through the apartment, and at one side was a
pair of large folding doors.
After a long wait, a gentleman, Mr. Digby, appeared. He received us
politely, but said it was impossible to disturb the Prince then, as he
was just sitting down to piquet. Sir Peter remained silent; he was used
to giving orders, and the words, “It is impossible to see His Royal
Highness,” were peculiarly disagreeable to him.
I then made my plea. I told Mr. Digby that the life of a gallant
officer and gentleman was in jeopardy, and that we begged to see his
Royal Highness, in the hope that the king might be approached.
“That, too, is impossible,” coldly replied Mr. Digby. “The king is far
from well.”
Just then, some one on the other side of the folding doors opened one
of them the least bit in the world, and then closed it--but not before
we had seen streams of light pouring from it, a long table brilliant
with plate and ornaments, and a company of about twenty gentlemen
sitting around it, and at one end sat a personage whom we at once
recognized as the Prince of Wales.
Without a word, Sir Peter arose, and, darting toward the door,--for he
was ever an agile man,--threw it open, and walked into the presence of
his Royal Highness.
“Sir,” said he, marching up to the Prince, “I am Admiral Sir Peter
Hawkshaw, and I have boarded you, so to speak, sir, in order to save
the life of one of the gallantest officers in the service of his
Majesty.”
I had always heard that his Royal Highness was a gentleman, and I saw
then such an exhibition of readiness and good taste as I never saw
before, and never expect to see again. Every one at the table, except
the Prince, seemed astounded at the sudden entrance and startling
address of a short active little man in an admiral’s uniform. But the
Prince offered Sir Peter his hand in the coolest manner in the world,
saying,--
“Most happy to meet you, Sir Peter. I recollect well that you carried
the _Indomptable_ by boarding very successfully. But how did you get
past the watch-dogs at the door, my dear sir?”
“By carrying sail hard, your Royal Highness,” responded Sir Peter, “and
seeing this door open, faith, said I, to myself, having risked my skin
these forty years for the king and his successors, sure, I can risk
it once more by walking in on my Prince, and here I am, sir, ready to
state my case. That bloody popinjay, Digby” (Digby was right behind
him), “wanted me to let you alone because you were about to go to
piquet, but I think no prince of England would sacrifice a man’s life
to a game of piquet.”
“Certainly not I, Sir Peter,” answered his Royal Highness, rising, “and
now I have an hour entirely at your service.”
“Sir,” said Sir Peter, “I ask the honor of shaking hands with you, not
as a royal prince, but as an honest man and good fellow.”
I think the Prince was ever susceptible to honest praise, for he was no
fool, and he was undoubtedly pleased when Sir Peter wrung his hand. He
then led the way into another room, and the door was closed.
The rest of the party behaved very civilly to me, and I accepted
thankfully an invitation to have something to eat and drink. They were
merciful to me, seeing my distress of mind, and did not plague me with
questions, but resumed their conversation with one another.
Presently the Prince and Sir Peter appeared, and his Royal Highness
said, with that charm of manner which seduced some men and many
women,--
“Hark’ee, Sir Peter; I do not promise that the affair will be complete
before Sunday night; I go to Windsor early in the morning, and two
days is a brief time in which to arrange so important a matter. But if
you will be at Windsor on Sunday morning, I pledge you my word as a
gentleman the paper shall be ready, signed, sealed, and delivered.”
At that Sir Peter fairly broke down, and could only say, “God bless
you, sir, God bless you!” and the Prince, turning the old man’s emotion
off gently, smiled and said,--
“’Tis for the preservation of the gallantry of our sex, Sir Peter, that
this young officer must not hang.”
He warmly invited us to remain and finish up the wine, and then one
of the gentlemen at the table, whether of design or not, mentioned
the extraordinary reports which had just reached London concerning
the trial at York, and I, encouraged thereto by a subtle look and a
question of his Royal Highness, told the whole story, assisted by Sir
Peter. It was listened to with the deepest interest.
Lady Arabella Stormont was known to every person there, and the Prince
remarked that he had danced with her at the last birthnight ball. Her
infatuation for Overton was well known and freely commented on, and
the strange measures that women will sometimes venture upon in the
interest, as they think, of the man they love, was exemplified in her
testifying against Giles Vernon. Sir Thomas Vernon’s hatred of his heir
was also well known,--and as the web was unfolded to the Prince he
listened with an air of the profoundest thought, and his comment was
significant,--
“The king can pardon.”
He had pity on us and did not press us to remain to cards, so we
left Carlton House about an hour after entering it, and with hearts
immeasurably lighter. Our first thought was to hasten back to our
lodgings to send off our good news to Lady Hawkshaw and Daphne by the
northern mail.
Sir Peter told me then that the Prince had directed him to go to
Windsor in the morning and remain, and that he himself would bring
him back on the Sunday morning, if the counter signatures to his
Majesty’s could not be had before. The Prince was quite familiar with
the procedure, and engaged to get the pardon from the king without
difficulty.
Early next morning Sir Peter left me. It was agreed that I should
proceed on the Sunday morning to the Bear and Churn, a tavern and
posting station near London, on the northern road, to arrange in
advance for the best cattle, in order that not a moment might be lost
in returning to York. So, after two miserable days alone in London,
while Sir Peter was at Windsor, I was glad on Sunday morning to be on
the northern road, preparing for our rapid return to York. The Bear and
Churn was directly on the highway, and was well out of London, being
surrounded by green fields and orchards.
It was a beautiful morning, more like April than February. The
greenness of the earth, the blueness of the heavens, the quiet of the
country, after the rattle and roar and dun skies of London, were balm
to my soul.
I reached the inn by ten o’clock; and, having arranged for their best
horses, and sent word two stations ahead, I sat down to pass the day
as best I might. I wrote a long letter to Daphne, and then, it being
about twelve o’clock, I went out for a walk.
There was a pretty pathway, through a little grove, toward a rolling
field, next the highway. I took this path, and presently came face to
face, at a turn in the path, with Overton. He was singularly dressed
for a man of his quality and profession.
He wore black clothes, with plain silver buckles at the knees, and
black silk stockings and shoes. His hair, unpowdered, was tied with
a black ribbon; but he wore no crape or vestige of mourning. I had
ever thought him the handsomest man in England; but in this garb, so
different from the brilliant uniform or other exquisite dress in which
I had heretofore seen him, he looked like an Apollo. He greeted me
gravely, but not impolitely; and we walked along together. He had heard
of my marriage, and felicitated me on it.
My heart was so full of Giles Vernon that I burst out with the story.
It seemed quite new to him; and he listened to it with breathless
attention, occasionally ejaculating his horror at the conduct of Sir
Thomas Vernon and of Lady Arabella Stormont. It gave me a savage
pleasure to tell him every dreadful particular concerning Arabella;
and by the look of consciousness which came into his expressive face,
and by the way in which he avoided my eye, I saw that he knew he was a
factor in the case against his will. At last, quite transported by my
rage against these two, I cried out,--
“And it is for the purpose of securing the estate to you that Arabella
Stormont thus swore away the life of Giles Vernon; but God will
confound her and Sir Thomas Vernon yet!”
“Truly,” said he, in a thrilling voice, “God will confound all the
wicked. He will bring this horrid scheme to naught in every way; for
know you, if Lady Arabella Stormont were to throw herself on her knees
before me--”
He stopped, and colored violently; he had not meant to admit what the
whole world knew,--that Arabella Stormont had adored him for seven
years past. He hurriedly changed the subject, saying,--
“Perhaps you do not know that I am no longer in the army.”