SIR RICHARD RAWCLIFFE'S CONFESSION.
After considering what ought to be done under circumstances so painful
and extraordinary, Atherton left Sergeant Dickson with the body, and
then descending with Markland to the hall, ordered him to assemble the
whole house without delay, and acquaint them with the dreadful
catastrophe that had occurred.
Thereupon, Markland rang the alarm bell, and the summons was immediately
answered by all the male part of the household, and several women, who
hurried to the entrance-hall to see what was the matter.
In reply to their anxious inquiries, the butler told them what had
happened, and the appalling intelligence was received with expressions
of horror by the men, and by shrieks from the women--some of the latter
seeming ready to faint.
Bidding all follow him who chose, Markland then led three or four
stout-hearted men to the room where the dire event had occurred.
They found Sergeant Dickson watching beside the body, and, after
regarding it for a few moments with fearful curiosity, they raised it
from the floor, and placed it upon the bed.
This done, they all quitted the chamber of death, and the door was
locked.
Markland, however, deemed it necessary to leave a man in the ante-room,
and, having taken this precaution, he descended with the others to the
lower part of the house.
The sergeant then proceeded to the library to ascertain whether Captain
Legh had made any change in his plans.
"No," replied Atherton, "I must return to Manchester to-night, in order
to explain matters to the prince. If his royal highness can dispense
with my services, I shall retire from the Manchester Regiment. If not,
I must go on. That is my fixed determination."
"'Tis the resolve of a man of honour," replied the sergeant.
"I have to read through this paper, and besides, I have some directions
to give," said Atherton. "But I shall start in an hour."
"Good," replied Erick. "I shall be quite ready."
And fancying Captain Legh desired to be alone, he left the room.
Shortly afterwards Markland appeared with lights, which he placed on
the writing-table.
"I am very sorry to find you are resolved to go, sir," he remarked.
"If the prince can spare me I shall return at once."
"Our chance of seeing you again is but slight, sir," rejoined the
butler, shaking his head. "The prince is not likely to part with you.
Shall Sir Richard's groom, Holden, attend you? Should you have any
message to send to me, he will bring it back."
"Yes, I will take him with me," replied Atherton. "Perhaps Miss
Rawcliffe may require him."
"You have eaten nothing, sir."
"I have no appetite. But let a slight repast be prepared for me in half
an hour."
The butler bowed and left the room.
As yet Atherton had only read certain portions of his unhappy uncle's
confession; but he now unfolded the manuscript with the intention of
carefully perusing it.
The narration, written in a firm, bold hand, ran as follows.
* * * * *
In the name of the Almighty Power whom I have so deeply offended,
and before whose throne I shall presently appear to answer for my
manifold offences, I hereby solemnly declare that the young man
now known as Atherton Legh is no other than my nephew Conway, only
son of my brother Sir Oswald Rawcliffe, whom I have wickedly kept
out of his inheritance for twenty years, by carrying him off when
an infant, as I shall proceed to relate.
All possible reparation for the great wrong done him shall be made
to my nephew. I hereby restore him all the estates and property of
which he has so long been deprived, and I implore his forgiveness.
Let it not be imagined that the possession of the property and
title has brought me happiness! Since I have committed this
terrible crime, peace has been a stranger to my breast. My
slumbers have been disturbed by fearful dreams, and when sleep has
fled from my pillow my brother's angry shade has appeared before
me, menacing me with eternal bale for the wrong done to his son.
Sometimes another phantom has appeared--the shade of the sweet
lady who died of grief for the loss of her infant.
Though I was thus wretched, and life had become a burden to me, my
heart was hardened, and I still clung tenaciously to the lands and
title I had so wickedly acquired. Though they brought me nothing
but misery I could not give them up. I recoiled with terror from
the scaffold that awaited me if I avowed myself a robber and a
murderer, for my hands were red with the blood of Bertha, the
wretched nurse.
But my conduct was not altogether ill, and I trust that the little
good I have done may tell in my favour. I had consigned my nephew
to the care of strangers, but I watched over him. I supplied all
his wants--educated him as a gentleman--and made him a liberal
allowance.
It was my intention to have greatly increased the allowance, so as
in part to restore my ill-gotten gains. But this was not to be.
Heaven had other designs, and mine were thwarted.
For reasons that seemed good to me, though interested in the
cause, I forbade my nephew to join the rising in favour of the
House of Stuart; but he heeded not my counsel.
Suddenly, when I least expected it, discovery of my crime seemed
imminent. From some information he had privily received, the
prince's suspicions were awakened, and he commanded me to appear
before him, and answer certain questions he meant to put to me in
the presence of my nephew and my daughter.
From such a terrible ordeal as this I naturally shrank. Death
appeared preferable. But before putting an end to an existence
that had long been a burden to me, I resolved to make all the
atonement in my power for my evil deeds. With that intent have I
come here.
In the ebony cabinet standing in the library, which contains all
my private papers and letters, will be found incontestable
evidences that my nephew is entitled to the estates, and that he
is, in fact, the long-lost Conway Rawcliffe.
'Tis meet I should die at Rawcliffe, and in the very room where
the crime was committed.
That I should thus rush unbidden into the presence of my Maker may
seem to be adding to the weight of my offences, and to preclude
all hope of salvation, but I trust in His mercy and forgiveness.
He will judge me rightfully. He knows the torments I endure, and
that they drive me to madness and despair. I must end them.
Whether there will be rest in the grave for my perturbed spirit
remains to be seen. Of the world I have already taken leave.
To the sole being to whom my heart clings with affection--to my
daughter--I must now bid an eternal farewell! I cannot write to
her, and she will understand why I cannot. I implore her prayers.
When I am gone she will have no protector, and I trust that her
cousin, Conway, will watch over her. My private property will be
hers. Though small in comparison with Rawcliffe, 'twill be enough.
I have still much to say, for thick-coming thoughts press upon me;
but I must not give them way. Were I to delay longer, my
resolution might waver. Adieu, Conway! Adieu, Constance! Forgive
me!--pray for me!
RICHARD RAWCLIFFE.
Enclosed within the packet was the key of the cabinet.
There was likewise another manuscript written by the unhappy baronet
and signed by him, giving full particulars of the terrible occurrence
alluded to; but since the reader is already acquainted with the
details it is not necessary to reproduce them.
Atherton was profoundly moved by the perusal of this letter, and
remained for some time buried in reflection.
Rousing himself at length from the reverie into which he had fallen,
he looked round for the ebony cabinet, and easily discovered it.
Unlocking it, he found that it contained a large bundle of letters and
papers labelled in the late baronet's hand, "Documents relating to
Conway Rawcliffe, with proofs of his title to the Rawcliffe estate."
He searched no further. He did not even untie the bundle, feeling
certain it contained all the necessary evidences; but having carefully
secured Sir Richard's last letter and confession, he locked the
cabinet, and put the key in his pocket.
He then rang the bell, and when Markland made his appearance, he said
to him:
"Before my departure from Manchester, Markland, it is necessary that I
should give you some instructions, in case I should not be able to
return, for the prince may be unwilling to release me from my
engagements. I am sure you have faithfully served your late
unfortunate master, and I am equally sure of your attachment to his
daughter, and I have therefore every confidence in you. My great
anxiety is respecting Miss Rawcliffe," he continued, in accents that
bespoke the deepest feeling. "Intelligence of this dreadful event will
be communicated to her to-morrow. How she will bear it I know not."
"If I may venture to give an opinion, sir, and I have known the dear
young lady from childhood, and am therefore well acquainted with her
temperament and disposition--when the first shock is over, she will
bear the bereavement with resignation and firmness. She was familiar
with Sir Richard's wayward moods, and has often feared that something
dreadful would happen to him. No doubt the shock will be a terrible
one to her, and I can only hope she will be equal to it."
"All precautions shall be taken to break the sad tidings to her," said
Atherton. "When she comes here it is my wish that she should be
treated precisely as heretofore--you understand, Markland."
The butler bowed.
"I hope she will bring her cousin--_my_ cousin, Miss Butler, with her.
Mrs. Butler, I fear, may not be equal to the journey, but you will
prepare for her, and for Father Jerome."
"Your orders shall be strictly attended to, sir," said the butler.
"And now with regard to my unfortunate uncle," paused the young
baronet. "In case I am unable to return, I must leave the care of
everything to you. Certain formalities of justice, rendered necessary
by the case, must be observed, and you will take care that nothing is
neglected. On all other points Miss Rawcliffe must be consulted."
"I will not fail to consult her, sir. But I am sure she would desire
that her father's remains should be laid in the vault beneath the
chapel where his ancestors repose, and that the funeral rites should
be performed with the utmost privacy."
This conference ended, Atherton proceeded to the dining-room, and
partook of a slight repast, after which he prepared for his departure.
The horses had already been brought round by Holden, the groom, and
the night being extremely dark, the court-yard was illumined by
torches, their yellow glare revealing the picturesque architecture of
the old mansion.
Before mounting his steed, Atherton gave his hand to Markland, who
pressed it respectfully, earnestly assuring the young gentleman that
all his directions should be followed out.
The old butler then took leave of the sergeant, who had been in
readiness for some minutes.
In consequence of the darkness, it was deemed advisable that Holden
should lead the way. Accordingly, he was the first to cross the
drawbridge, but the others kept close behind him.