THE CONVICT.
Forgeries of all sorts are so much the taste of genteel rogues of the
present age, that the reader will readily dispense with a detailed
account of the trial and conviction of Howel Jenkins. Any one of the
various cases that fill those columns of the _Times_, devoted to such
criminalities, will give a very good general idea of his. All that his
mother's remnant of his father's hoarded wealth could do, was done, to
prove him guiltless, but in vain. Counsel pleaded, some of his turf
friends, themselves of doubtful reputation, spoke to his character, and
he sat through his trial as imperturbably as if he had been at a
dinner-party. The prosecutors, Sir Samuel Spendall and Sir Horatio
Simpson, met with deserved reproofs for allowing themselves to be
swindled, almost before their faces, out of money and property to an
enormous amount.
Long before his father's death, Howel had begun a system of betting-book
cheating, and forgery on a small scale, which had ceased for a short
time when he came into his enormous wealth, but recommenced as that
wealth dwindled. Numerous instances came out from various sources whilst
he was in America,--all his former associates being ready to leave his
setting sun, for the rising one of his accusers.
Sir S. Spendall and Sir H. Simpson were sole prosecutors, and between
forgeries on banks, and in betting-books, and the unjust acquisition of
Spendall Lodge, Howel was found guilty of forgeries to the amount of
some fifty or sixty thousand pounds, and sentenced to transportation for
fourteen years. So much general villainy transpired amongst the set in
which these crimes were committed, and the prosecutors themselves were
so weak and dissipated, that the sentence was supposed to be less severe
than it might have been under other circumstances.
The nefarious conduct of Mr Deep as Howel's attorney, and the enormous
interest he was found to have received, caused him to be struck off the
rolls, and very little evidence was wanting to prove him an accomplice
in Howel's villainy. However, it was not forthcoming, and so Howel
suffered alone.
It was generally rumoured that Howel had forged his mother's name, at
various times, to a very large amount; but, as she vigorously denied the
fact, and acknowledged every signature as her own, the case was, of
course, not brought forward.
In spite of her manifold exertions in his favour, in spite of all
Rowland's efforts, Howel positively refused to see either of them before
the trial took place. He declared to his mother, through his attorney,
that if he saw her, she would take away some of that nerve and courage
so necessary to establish his innocence; and to Rowland, he politely
hinted that he did not wish to see him at all.
As the trial was almost immediate upon the imprisonment, they did not
press the point. Rowland and Mr and Mrs Jones, pitying Mrs Jenkins in
her evident misery, would have had her remain amongst them, but she
insisted on taking a lodging near the gaol, that she might, at least, be
in her son's neighbourhood, and hear from his attorney and others of his
health daily.
He was always reported to be well, and in good spirits, and indeed was
so, to all appearance. He ate, drank, and slept much as if he had never
committed crimes that at one period would have brought him to the
gallows; and to the last moment of his leaving the prison for his trial,
jauntily talked of what he should do when he was out of 'that confounded
hole.'
It was with great difficulty that Rowland persuaded Mrs Jenkins to
remain in her lodging during the time of the trial, which he attended
himself, more on her account than his own; for he was so fully convinced
of Howel's guilt, that he knew he should only witness his degradation.
In the court he fell in with Captain Dancy, who told him that he had
wished to say a good word for Howel on his wife's account, for whom he
entertained a great respect; but that Howel had positively refused any
aid whatever from him. He thought this strange, as he owed him a large
sum of money, and he had not brought forward his claim. Rowland thought
it strange too, not knowing then, that Howel had one soft part in his
hard nature, and that was love for Netta.
Howel bore the summing up of the judge and his severe reprimand with
indifference. He seemed slightly moved when the sentence was pronounced;
but recovering perfect calmness, he said aloud, so that the whole court
could hear,--'If I am guilty, my prosecutors are guilty, and all the
speculators in the world are guilty.'
When Rowland went to Mrs Jenkins' lodging after all was over, he found
Mrs Jones with her, her husband having been with him during the trial.
Mrs Jones had been endeavouring to prepare the poor mother for the
probable sentence, but nothing could persuade her that 'her Howels, so
clever, so genteel, who dined with the Queen and Prince Albert, and was
handsomer than the Prince, for she had seen him,' could be transported
for forgery.
When Rowland told her the truth, as gently as he could, the effect it
had upon her was quite different from what he had expected. She burst
into a passion, not of grief, but of rage. She had been drinking brandy
before Mrs Jones went to her, and had been greatly excited the whole
morning, as she had also been on the previous day, the trial having
lasted two days. At the climax, the true nature of the woman showed
itself, and the friends who surrounded her thought she was insane.
Judge, jury, witnesses, prosecutors, and finally every member of the
Prothero family came in for a share of abuse of the coarsest kind.
Rowland felt thankful that the greatest part of it was uttered in Welsh,
and that, therefore, Mrs Jones could not understand it, although the
strong guttural, made stronger by uncontrolled passion, was enough, in
itself, to frighten any one. Happily, she was surrounded by Christians
who pitied her, and did not leave her in her sin and sorrow to the
strange people who came, uncalled, to see what was the matter, and who
would fain have remained; but Rowland told them, decidedly, to go away.
Mr and Mrs Jones, also, withdrew at Rowland's request when the outburst
had somewhat subsided, and left him to reason with the wretched,
maddened woman alone.
He let the fury wear itself out, and then stood by to hear his
unfortunate sister and his father abused as the primary causes of
Howel's downfall.
'If he didn't be marrying beneath him, he 'ould be holding up his head,
and looking for a lady, who do be keeping him in his place. And Netta
Prothero so 'stravagant! ach a fi! and Prothero, Glanyfavon, who was
turning against him, and kicking me out of his house. Shame for you all,
Rowland Prothero! your own cousin and brother-in-law! and no one to be
saying a word to help him. Oh, anwyl! my boy! my Howels! What 'ould his
poor father be saying if he was knowing all! and how his money was going
and all mine too! I shall be going to the Eunion, and then you'll be
feeling satisfied, Rowland Prothero! and your mother, and that Gladys,
and all so grand! 'll be looking down upon me. And my Howels over the
sea! 'sported for fourteen years, and I 'ont be living to see him come
back again. Anwyl! anywyl!'
Here tears came, and Mrs Jenkins sank upon a chair, and covered her face
with her hands.
Rowland let them flow for a time, and then putting his hand kindly on
her shoulder said,--
'Aunt 'Lizbeth! you must try to keep up for Howel's sake. He will like
you to visit him now, perhaps,'
The kind tones touched a gentler chord in the poor woman's heart, and
she looked up at Rowland, like one awaking from a dream.
'Seure! Mr Rowland Prothero! I'm thinking you're too fine for us now. A
clergy and a rector! oh seure! you'll not be going to see my poor
Howels!'
'Yes, I will, if you will try to be calm. I will see him first, and
prepare him for your coming; I will not even ask his permission but go
to him. I can gain admittance at once, I know, both as a clergyman and
relation.'
'Now! go you directly! tell you my Howels--'
'I don't think I can go to-night. It is too late--but to-morrow I will
go, on condition that you compose yourself, and return with me to my
lodgings.'
'I 'ont be going to your lodgings, I 'ouldn't be leaving my Howels for
the world.'
'You cannot see him to-night, you must not stay with the people of this
house after what you said to-day, or they will take advantage of your
being alone, to make you say more. I cannot remain here to-night, and I
am the only friend you have in town to whom you could go.'
'Treue, for you, Rowland Prothero. There's my Lady Simpson was asking me
to stay with her, when my Howels and I was having money enough to buy
her presents, and her son and doater did go to Abertewey when they did
like--and now, not wan of all the fine folks do come and say, "How was
you, Mrs Jenkins?"'
Rowland ventured to repeat a few verses from Scripture, and to beg her
to turn her mind to better thoughts. Then he induced her to put on her
bonnet and cloak and go home with him, promising to bring her back the
following day, and retaining the lodging for another week.
They passed a miserable evening. It was in vain that Rowland strove to
comfort or advise his guest. She did nothing but abuse justice, and
lament her son's past grandeur.
The following day, Rowland fulfilled his promise. He left her at her
lodging and went to the gaol.
He had previously obtained full permission of the authorities, through
the chaplain, who was well-known to him, to visit Howel when he liked,
and to give him the letters left for him by his deceased wife. The
chaplain had told him that the prisoner was quite indifferent to all
that he said to him on religious subjects, and listened to them, if,
indeed, he listened at all, with a scoffing, incredulous, hardness of
manner, that was more painful than mere carelessness.
When Rowland entered the cell, Howel was sitting with his back to the
door, and did not turn or take any notice of the incomers. He had a
piece of paper before him, and a pencil in his hand, over which he
seemed rather to be dreaming than writing. The gaoler closed the door,
having orders to remain without, and left the cousins alone.
Rowland stood some time irresolute in the gloomy cell, but finding that
Howel did not move, he went round in front of him, and said,--
'Howel!'
The word was quite sufficient. He started up, and whilst the blood
rushed to his face, said coolly,--
'To what am I indebted for the honour of a visit from Mr Prothero? I
think I sent you a message to the effect that I am not now in a position
to receive company. My chambers are anything but suited to convivial
society, and I prefer solitude just at present. I have already had the
benefit of clergy, and do not need any of your sermons, excellent as I
am told they are. Indeed, divinity was always out of my line.'
'I come to fulfil the dying request of your wife and my sister, which
that letter will explain,' said Rowland, calmly and gravely, placing an
open letter on the table.
Howel's countenance changed at once--the flush of passion passed away,
and left a painful pallor, whilst the sarcastic mouth became compressed
into a marble rigidity. He sat down again, and pushing aside the paper
that had previously been before him, drew the letter towards him. He put
his elbows on the table, and shrouded his face so that Rowland could
not see him, and bending over the letter, gazed on the writing without
attempting to read, as one might gaze on a spirit without daring to
speak to it. The letter was, indeed, a voice from the dead, and dated
the very day before that on which Netta died. Its contents were as
follows:--
'MY DEAR BROTHER,--I intend leaving Glanyravon, and all my dear
relations, to go in search of Howel, who, you know, is my husband;
and therefore to be loved and obeyed before any one else. If I die
before I find him, as perhaps I may--my heart being so bad--I wish
you to see him when he comes back, and to give him the accompanying
sealed packet yourself. Nobody knows how I have loved him all my
life, and perhaps if I had been better tempered and less jealous,
he might have stayed at home, and not been obliged to go away for
debt. But when I have found him, I will be very loving and patient,
and then we shall be happy together again. If I don't find him,
however--if I die first--will you, dear brother, talk to him as you
have talked and written to me, and then I may meet him again in a
happier world, where I am praying and striving to go, through the
atonement of Him who died for sinners--even for me and Howel, who
are both great sinners--yet not too great to be saved. Thank you,
my dear, dear brother, for showing me the way to heaven, and for
all your goodness to me and Minette--(my poor Minette, I must leave
her, but you will all take care of her better than I have done).
Thank you, I am very sorry that I was such a wilful, perverse
sister, when you tried to do me good.
'God bless you for ever and ever--you and all--Your loving but
afflicted sister, NETTA JENKINS.'
Rowland sat down at one end of the cell, on the iron bedstead and that
he might not seem to be watching Howel, took a small Testament from his
pocket and began to read. This, too, he had brought for Howel. It was
the one Netta had used, as long as she lived, and in it she had written,
'To be given to my dear husband, if I die.--Netta.' She had marked many
passages, and appended her initials to each of the marks.
Rowland could not read long. It was impossible not to see the trembling
of that iron man who sat before him; the heaving breast and the
convulsed hands. And yet Howel did not read the letter. He saw the
familiar handwriting once more of the only thing he had ever
loved--loved and murdered--and he sat transfixed before it.
At last Rowland rose, and going to him, put his hand on his shoulder.
He started as if Netta's spirit had appeared, and looked up wildly.
Seeing Rowland, he struggled for self-possession and again shrouding his
face, began to read.
Rowland kept his hand on his shoulder, gently pressing it, as if to
assure him of sympathy. He felt him trembling beneath his touch.
As he stood thus his eye fell on the paper that Howel had had before him
when he entered the cell. He could not help seeing the words, 'From my
cell in Newgate--my judge and jury.' Underneath this heading appeared to
be the commencement of a poem, and beneath that were caricatures of a
man in a large wig, and of others, with every variety of nose and chin.
This had been Howel's occupation within four-and-twenty hours of his
conviction!
Three times Howel turned the sheet of paper that he was reading, as if
he had not understood the words that were written on it, and then he
uttered a groan, so deep and loud, that Rowland could restrain himself
no longer, but said,--
'Howel, for her sake, listen to me, her brother. Look on me as your
friend, your brother.'
Howel looked up, and for one moment there was remorse and agony in his
face; the next, no stone was harder and colder.
'Brother!' he said, with a voice of icy sarcasm, 'you have shown
yourself my brother of late! I saw you in the court, cold and
calculating; not a word for this, your _brother_! Bah!'
'What would you have had me say?' asked Rowland, recovering his
composure, and glancing from Howel to Netta's letter.
'I understand you; you mean that I murdered her. I did, virtually. Then
why be hypocrite enough to call me brother?'
'She forgave you, and called you husband.'
'Because she--she loved me.'
There was another involuntary groan, and a brief silence.
'Where are her papers? Give them me, and go,' said Howel imperatively.
Rowland put a neatly-sealed packet on the table, on which was written,
'For my husband, Howel Jenkins;--to the care of my brother, Rowland
Prothero. Janetta Jenkins.'
'This, too, she left for you,' said Rowland, putting the small
Testament, originally her mother's, on the table. Again the stony lips
trembled, the eyes softened. 'Howel, Howel, for her sake!' once more
ventured Rowland.
There they lay--the letter, the packet, the Testament. All that was left
to him of the once bright, loving, and lovely creature, who had been
devoted to him all her life.
He turned the leaves of the Testament mechanically; touched the
packet--shuddered; then leaning his head upon his folded arms on the
table, burst into an uncontrollable agony of grief.
'She is--she was--where?' he said, after a short interval, rising from
his seat, and beginning to pace the cell.
'Her soul is in heaven, I hope and believe; her body rests in Llanfach
churchyard, under the large hawthorn bush near the vicarage gate.'
Often and often had Howel gathered Netta bunches of May from that very
tree that now sheltered her remains.
'Tell me--tell me all,' he said, 'from the time I left her, till--how
you found her--everything.'
'You must sit down, Howel, and hear me patiently if you can.'
Howel sat down on the bedstead, and again covering his face with both
hands, listened; whilst Rowland took the seat he had left, and fulfilled
his bidding.
He told him everything that had happened to Netta, from the period of
her being left in the lodgings in his parish, until her death at the
farm. He felt that the one hope of softening Howel, or doing him any
good, was through his love for his wife; he therefore narrated simply
what she had suffered and said; he told how that she had been hourly
expecting him back, until his one short note; how she had listened for
his footsteps, and refused to leave the place where he had left her,
until he came. All that her friends had done for her, was introduced
incidentally; Howel understood that she had been taken to her relations
again, as the prodigal son to his father, but he was not told so.
Rowland did not spare him, however, as regarded Netta. He knew him to be
utterly callous as to the follies and crimes of his life; he must,
therefore, be made conscious of their weight, through their effects upon
others; he knew that they had been the cause of Netta's death, and this
would show him the enormity of sin if nothing else would.
As he detailed the wanderings of poor Netta's mind, and then her anxious
inquiries of him of the way of salvation for Howel, as well as herself,
he was visibly affected. Not even his determination that Rowland should
not see his emotion could conceal it; but he did not speak a word. He
listened to the end, and then, without uncovering his face, he said in a
voice tremulous from emotion,--
'Thank you; now go; and come back to-morrow; I would be alone with her.'
'And to-morrow I must bring your mother,' said Rowland
'No, no, let me see you alone,' was the hasty reply.
'God bless you, Howel, and grant you His help,' said Rowland, passing
before the stooping figure.
There was no reply, so, with a heavy sigh and an inward prayer, Rowland
left the cell.