SO IS MR. SHARP.
On the very next day it was known throughout the parish and the
neighbourhood that the ancient Squire had broken down at last, under
the weight of anxieties. Nobody blamed him much for this, except his
own sister and Mr. Smith. Mrs. Fermitage said that he ought to have
shown more faith and resignation; and John Smith declared that all his
plans were thrown out by this stupidity. What proper inquiry could be
held, when the universal desire was to spare the feelings and respect
the affliction of a poor old man?
Mr. Smith was right. An inquest truly must be held upon the body which
had been found by the soldiers. But the Coroner, being a good old
friend and admirer of the Oglanders, contrived that the matter should
be a mere form, and the verdict an open nullity. Mr. Luke Sharp
appeared, and in a dignified reserve was ready to represent the
family. He said a few words, in the very best taste, and scarcely
dared to hint at things which must be painful to everybody left alive
to think of them. How the crush of tons of rock upon an unprotected
female form had made it impossible to say--and how all the hair (which
more than any other human gift survived the sad, sad change), having
been cut off, was there no longer--and how there was really nothing
except a pair of not over new silk stockings, belonging to a lady of
lofty position in the county, and the widow of an eminent gentleman,
but not required, he might hope, to present herself so painfully. Mr.
Sharp could say no more; and the jury felt that he now must come, or,
failing him, his son, Kit Sharp, into the £150,000 of "Port-wine
Fermitage."
Therefore they returned the verdict carried in his pocket by them,
"Death by misadventure of a young lady, name unknown." Their object
was to satisfy the Squire and their consciences; and they found it
wise, as it generally is, not to be too particular. And the Coroner
was the last man to make any fuss about anything.
"Are you satisfied now, Mr. Overshute?" asked Lawyer Sharp, as Russel
met him in the passage of the Quarry Arms, where the inquest had been
taken. "The jury have done their best, at once to meet the facts of
the case, and respect the feelings of the family."
"Satisfied! How can I be? Such a hocus-pocus I never knew. It is not
for me to interfere, while things are in this wretched state.
Everybody knows what an inquest is. No doubt you have done your duty,
and acted according to your instructions. Come in here, where we can
speak privately."
Mr. Sharp did not look quite as if he desired a private interview.
However, he followed the young man with the best grace he could
muster.
"I am going to speak quite calmly, and have no whip now for you to
snap," said Russel, sitting down, as soon as he had set a chair for
Mr. Sharp; "but may I ask you why you have done your utmost to prevent
what seemed, to an ordinary mind, the first and most essential thing?"
"The identification? Yes, of course. Will you come and satisfy
yourself? The key of the room is in my pocket."
"I cannot do it. I cannot do it," answered the young man, shuddering.
"My last recollection must not be----"
"Young sir, I respect your feelings. And need I ask you, after that,
whether I have done amiss in sparing the feelings of the family? And
there is something more important than even that at stake just now.
You know the poor Squire's sad condition. The poor old gentleman is
pretty well broken down at last, I fear. What else could we expect of
him? And the doctor his sister had brought from London says that his
life hangs positively upon a thread of hope. Therefore we are telling
him sad stories, or rather, I ought to say, happy stories; and though
he is too sharp to swallow them all, they do him good, sir--they do
him good."
"I can quite understand it. But how does that bear--I mean you could
have misled him surely about the result of this inquest?"
"By no means. He would have insisted on seeing a copy of _The Herald_.
In fact, if the jury could not have been managed, I had arranged with
the editor to print a special copy giving the verdict as we wanted it.
A pious fraud, of course; and so it is better to dispense with it.
This verdict will set him up again upon his poor old legs, I hope. He
seemed to dread the final blow so, and the bandying to and fro of his
unfortunate daughter's name. I scarcely see why it should be so; but
so it is, Mr. Overshute."
"Of course it is. How can you doubt it? How can it be otherwise? You
can have no good blood in you--I beg your pardon, I speak rashly; but
I did not mean to speak rudely. All I mean to say is that you need no
more explain yourself. I seem to be always doubting you; and it always
shows what a fool I am."
"Now, don't say that," Mr. Luke Sharp answered, with a fine and genial
smile. "You are acknowledged to be the most rising member of the
County Bench. But still, sir, still there is such a thing as going too
far with acuteness, sir. You may not perceive it yet; but when you
come to my age, you will own it."
"Truly. But who can be too suspicious, when such things are done as
these? I tell you, Sharp, that I would give my head off my shoulders,
this very instant, to know who has done this damned villainy!--this
infernal--unnatural wrong, to my darling--to my darling!"
"Mr. Overshute, how can we tell that any wrong has been done to her?"
"No wrong to take her life! No wrong to cut off all her lovely hair,
and to send it to her father! No wrong to leave us as we are, with
nothing now to care for! You spoke like a sensible man just now--oh,
don't think that I am excitable."
"Well, how can I think otherwise? But do me the justice to remember
that I do not for one moment assert what everybody takes for granted.
It seems too probable, and it cannot for the present at least be
disproved, that here we have the sad finale of the poor young lady.
But it must be borne in mind that, on the other hand, the body----"
"The thing could be settled in two minutes--Sharp, I have no patience
with you!"
"So it appears; and, making due allowance, I am not vexed with you.
You mean, of course, the interior garments, the nether clothing, and
so on. There is not a clue afforded there. We have found no name on
anything. The features and form, as I need not tell you----"
"I cannot bear to hear of that. Has any old servant of the family; has
the family doctor----"
"All those measures were taken, of course. We had the two oldest
servants. But the one was flurried out of her wits, and the other
three-quarters frozen. And you know what a fellow old Splinters is,
the crustiest of the crusty. He took it in bitter dudgeon that Sir
Anthony had been sent for to see the poor old Squire. And all he would
say was, 'Yes, yes, yes; you had better send for Sir Anthony. Perhaps
he could bring--oh, of course he could bring--my poor little pet to
life again!' Then we tried her aunt, Mrs. Fermitage, one of the last
who had seen her living. But bless you, my dear sir, a team of horses
would not have lugged her into the room. She cried, and shrieked, and
fainted away."
"'Barbarous creatures!' she said, 'you will have to hold another
inquest, if you are so unmanly. I could not even see my dear husband,'
and then she fell into hysterics, and we had to send two miles for
brandy. Now, sir, have we anything more to do? Shall we send a litter
or a coffin for the Squire himself?"
"You are inclined to be sarcastic. But you have taken a great deal
upon yourself. You seem to have ordered everything. Mr. Luke Sharp
everywhere!"
"Will you tell me who else there was to do it? It has not been a very
pleasant task, and certainly not a profitable one. I shall reap the
usual reward--to be called a busybody by every one. But that is a
trifle. Now, if there is anything you can suggest, Mr. Overshute, it
shall be done at once. Take time to think. I feel a little tired and
in need of rest. There has been so much to think of. You should have
come to help us sooner. But, no doubt, you felt a sort of delicacy
about it. The worthy jurymen's feet at last have ceased to rattle in
the passage. My horse will not be here just yet. You will not think me
rude, if I snatch a little rest, while you consider. For three nights
I have had no sleep. Have I your good permission, sir? Here is the key
of that room, meanwhile."
Russel Overshute was surprised to see Mr. Sharp draw forth a large
silk handkerchief, with spots of white upon a yellow ground, and
spread it carefully over the crown of his long, deep head, and around
his temples down to the fine grey eyebrows. Then lifting gaitered
heels upon the flat wide bar of the iron fender--the weather being as
cold as ever--in less than a minute Mr. Luke Sharp was asleep beyond
all contradiction. He slept the sleep of the just, with that gentle
whisper of a snore which Aristotle hints at to prove that virtue
being, as she must be, in the mean, doth in the neutral third of life
maintain a middle course between loud snore and silent slumber.
If Mr. Sharp had striven hard to produce a powerful effect, young
Overshute might have suspected him; but this calm, good sleep and pure
sense of rest laid him open for all the world to take a larger view of
him. No bad man could sleep like that. No narrow-minded man could be
so wide to nature's noblest power. Only a fine and genial soul could
sweetly thus resign itself. The soft content of well-earned repose
spoke volumes in calm silence. Here was a good man (if ever there was
one), at peace with his conscience, the world, and heaven!
Overshute was enabled thus to look at things more loftily;--to judge a
man as he should be judged, when he challenges no verdict;--to see
that there are large points of view, which we lose by worldly wisdom,
and by little peeps through selfish holes, too one-eyed and
ungenerous. Overshute could not bear the idea of any illiberality. He
hated suspicion in anybody, unless it were just; as his own should be.
In this condition of mind he pondered, while the honest lawyer slept.
And he could not think of anything neglected, or mismanaged much, in
the present helpless state of things.