BONE'M AND HIS MASTER.
After leaving the mill Mr. Fenwick went up to the Squire, and, in
contradiction, as it were, of all the hard things that he had said
to Sam Brattle, spoke to the miller's landlord in the lad's favour.
He was hard at work now, at any rate; and seemed inclined to stick
to his work. And there had been an independence about him which the
parson had half liked, even while he had been offended at it. Gilmore
differed altogether from his friend. "What was he doing in your
garden? What was he doing hidden in Trumbull's hedge? When I see
fellows hiding in ditches at night, I don't suppose that they're
after much good." Mr. Fenwick made some lame apology, even for these
offences. Sam had, perhaps, not really known the extent of the
iniquity of the men with whom he had associated, and had come up the
garden probably with a view to the fruit. The matter was discussed at
great length, and the Squire at last promised that he would give Sam
another chance in regard to his own estimation of the young man's
character.
On that same evening,--or, rather, after the evening was over, for it
was nearly twelve o'clock at night,--Fenwick walked round the garden
and the orchard with his wife. There was no moon now, and the night
was very dark. They stopped for a minute at the wicket leading into
the churchyard, and it was evident to them that Bone'm, from the
farmyard at the other side of the church, had heard them, for he
commenced a low growl, with which the parson was by this time well
acquainted.
"Good dog, good dog," said the parson, in a low voice. "I wish we had
his brother, I know."
"He would only be tearing the maids and biting the children," said
Mrs. Fenwick. "I hate having a savage beast about."
"But it would be so nice to catch a burglar and crunch him. I feel
almost bloodthirsty since I hit that fellow with the life-preserver,
and find that I didn't kill him."
"I know, Frank, you're thinking about these thieves more than you
like to tell me."
"I was thinking just then, that if they were to come and take all the
silver it wouldn't do much harm. We should have to buy German plate,
and nobody would know the difference."
"Suppose they murdered us all?"
"They never do that now. The profession is different from what it
used to be. They only go where they know they can find a certain
amount of spoil, and where they can get it without much danger. I
don't think housebreakers ever cut throats in these days. They're too
fond of their own." Then they both agreed that if these rumours of
housebreakings were continued, they would send away the plate some
day to be locked up in safe keeping at Salisbury. After that they
went to bed.
On the next morning, the Sunday morning, at a few minutes before
seven, the parson was awakened by his groom at his bedroom door.
"What is it, Roger?" he asked.
"For the love of God, sir, get up! They've been and murdered Mr.
Trumbull."
Mrs. Fenwick, who heard the tidings, screamed; and Mr. Fenwick was
out of bed and into his trousers in half a minute. In another half
minute Mrs. Fenwick, clothed in her dressing-gown, was up-stairs
among her children. No doubt she thought that as soon as the poor
farmer had been despatched, the murderers would naturally pass on
into her nursery. Mr. Fenwick did not believe the tidings. If a man
be hurt in the hunting-field, it is always said that he's killed.
If the kitchen flue be on fire, it is always said that the house is
burned down. Something, however, had probably happened at Farmer
Trumbull's; and down went the parson across the garden and orchard,
and through the churchyard, as quick as his legs would carry him.
In the farmyard he found quite a crowd of men, including the two
constables and three or four of the leading tradesmen in the village.
The first thing that he saw was the dead body of Bone'm, the dog. He
was stiff and stark, and had been poisoned.
"How's Mr. Trumbull?" he asked, of the nearest by-stander.
"Laws, parson, ain't ye heard?" said the man. "They've knocked his
skull open with a hammer, and he's as dead--as dead."
Hearing this, the parson turned round, and made his way into the
house. There was not a doubt about it. The farmer had been murdered
during the night, and his money carried off. Upstairs Mr. Fenwick
made his way to the farmer's bedroom, and there lay the body. Mr.
Crittenden, the village doctor, was there; and a crowd of men, and
an old woman or two. Among the women was Trumbull's sister, the wife
of a neighbouring farmer, who, with her husband, a tenant of Mr.
Gilmore's, had come over just before the arrival of Mr. Fenwick.
The body had been found on the stairs, and it was quite clear that
the farmer had fought desperately with the man or men before he had
received the blow which despatched him.
"I told 'um how it be,--I did, I did, when he would 'a all that money
by 'um." This was the explanation given by Mr. Trumbull's sister,
Mrs. Boddle.
It seemed that Trumbull had had in his possession over a hundred
and fifty pounds, of which the greater part was in gold, and that
he kept this in a money-box in his bedroom. One of the two women
who lived in his service,--he himself had been a widower without
children,--declared that she had always known that at night he took
the box out of his cupboard into bed with him. She had seen it there
more than once when she had taken him up drinks when he was unwell.
When first interrogated, she declared that she did not remember, at
that moment, that she had ever told anybody; she thought she had
never told anybody; at last, she would swear that she had never
spoken a word about it to a single soul. She was supposed to be a
good girl, had come of decent people, and was well known by Mr.
Fenwick, of whose congregation she was one. Her name was Agnes Pope.
The other servant was an elderly woman, who had been in the house all
her life, but was unfortunately deaf. She had known very well about
the money, and had always been afraid about it; had very often spoken
to her master about it, but never a word to Agnes. She had been woken
in the night,--that was, as it turned out, about 2 A.M.,--by the
girl who slept with her, and who declared that she had heard a great
noise, as of somebody tumbling,--a very great noise indeed, as though
there were ever so many people tumbling. For a long time, for perhaps
an hour, they had lain still, being afraid to move. Then the elder
woman had lighted a candle, and gone down from the garret in which
they slept. The first thing she saw was the body of her master, in
his shirt, upon the stairs. She had then called up the only other
human being who slept on the premises, a shepherd, who had lived for
thirty years with Trumbull. This man had thrown open the house, and
had gone for assistance, and had found the body of the dead dog in
the yard.
Before nine o'clock the facts, as they have been told, were known
everywhere, and the Squire was down on the spot. The man,--or, as it
was presumed, men,--had entered by the unaccustomed front door, which
was so contrived as to afford the easiest possible mode of getting
into the house; whereas, the back door, which was used by everybody,
had been bolted and barred with all care. The men must probably have
entered by the churchyard and the back gate of the farmyard, as that
had been found to be unlatched, whereas the gate leading out on to
the road had been found closed. The farmer himself had always been
very careful to close both these gates when he let out Bone'm before
going to bed. Poor Bone'm had been enticed to his death by a piece of
poisoned meat, thrown to him probably some considerable time before
the attack was made.
Who were the murderers? That of course was the first question. It
need hardly be said with how sad a heart Mr. Fenwick discussed this
matter with the Squire. Of course inquiry must be made of the manner
in which Sam Brattle had passed the night. Heavens! how would it be
with that poor family if he had been concerned in such an affair as
this! And then there came across the parson's mind a remembrance that
Agnes Pope and Sam Brattle had been seen by him together, on more
Sundays than one. In his anxiety, and with much imprudence, he went
to the girl and questioned her again.
"For your own sake, Agnes, tell me, are you sure you never mentioned
about the money-box to--Sam Brattle?"
The girl blushed and hesitated, and then said that she was quite sure
she never had. She didn't think she had ever said ten words to Sam
since she knew about the box.
"But five words would be sufficient, Agnes."
"Then them five words was never spoke, sir," said the girl. But still
she blushed, and the parson thought that her manner was not in her
favour.
It was necessary that the parson should attend to his church; but the
Squire, who was a magistrate, went down with the two constables to
the mill. There they found Sam and his father, with Mrs. Brattle and
Fanny. No one went to the church from the mill on that day. The news
had reached them of the murder, and they all felt,--though no one
of them had so said to any other,--that something might in some way
connect them with the deed that had been done. Sam had hardly spoken
since he had heard of Mr. Trumbull's death; though when he saw that
his father was perfectly silent, as one struck with some sudden
dread, he bade the old man hold up his head and fear nothing. Old
Brattle, when so addressed, seated himself in his arm-chair, and
there remained without a word till the magistrate with the constables
were among them.
There were not many at church, and Mr. Fenwick made the service very
short. He could not preach the sermon which he had prepared, but said
a few words on the terrible catastrophe which had occurred so near
to them. This man who was now lying within only a few yards of them,
with his brains knocked out, had been alive among them, strong and
in good health, yesterday evening! And there had come into their
peaceful village miscreants who had been led on from self-indulgence
to idleness, and from idleness to theft, and from theft to murder! We
all know the kind of words which the parson spoke, and the thrill of
attention with which they would be heard. Here was a man who had been
close to them, and therefore the murder came home to them all, and
filled them with an excitement which, alas! was not probably without
some feeling of pleasure. But the sermon, if sermon it could be
called, was very short; and when it was over, the parson also hurried
down to the mill.
It had already been discovered that Sam Brattle had certainly been
out during the night. He had himself denied this at first, saying,
that though he had been the last to go to bed, he had gone to bed
about eleven, and had not left the mill-house till late in the
morning;--but his sister had heard him rise, and had seen his body
through the gloom as he passed beneath the window of the room in
which she slept. She had not heard him return, but, when she arose at
six, had found out that he was then in the house. He manifested no
anger against her when she gave this testimony, but acknowledged that
he had been out, that he had wandered up to the road, and explained
his former denial frankly,--or with well-assumed frankness,--by
saying that he would, if possible, for his father's and mother's
sake, have concealed the fact that he had been away,--knowing that
his absence would give rise to suspicions which would well-nigh break
their hearts. He had not, however,--so he said,--been any nearer
to Bullhampton than the point of the road opposite to the lodge of
Hampton Privets, from whence the lane turned down to the mill. What
had he been doing down there? He had done nothing, but sat and smoked
on a stile by the road side. Had he seen any strangers? Here he
paused, but at last declared that he had seen none, but had heard
the sound of wheels and of a pony's feet upon the road. The vehicle,
whatever it was, must have passed on towards Bullhampton just before
he reached the road. Had he followed the vehicle? No;--he had thought
of doing so, but had not. Could he guess who was in the vehicle? By
this time many surmises had been made aloud as to Jack the Grinder
and his companion, and it had become generally known that the
parson had encountered two such men in his own garden some nights
previously. Sam, when he was pressed, said that the idea had come
into his mind that the vehicle was the Grinder's cart. He had no
knowledge, he said, that the man was coming to Bullhampton on that
night;--but the man had said in his hearing, that he would like to
strip the parson's peaches. He was asked also about Farmer Trumbull's
money. He declared that he had never heard that the farmer kept money
in the house. He did know that the farmer was accounted to be a very
saving man,--but that was all that he knew. He was as much surprised,
he said, as any of them at what had occurred. Had the men turned the
other way and robbed the parson he would have been less surprised. He
acknowledged that he had called the parson a turn-coat and a meddling
tell-tale, in the presence of these men.
All this ended of course in Sam's arrest. He had himself seen from
the first that it would be so, and had bade his mother take comfort
and hold up her head. "It won't be for long, mother. I ain't got any
of the money, and they can't bring it nigh me." He was taken away
to be locked up at Heytesbury that night, in order that he might be
brought before the bench of magistrates which would sit at that place
on Tuesday. Squire Gilmore for the present committed him.
The parson remained for some time with the old man and his wife after
Sam was gone, but he soon found that he could be of no service by
doing so. The miller himself would not speak, and Mrs. Brattle was
utterly prostrated by her husband's misery.
"I do not know what to say about it," said Mr. Fenwick to his wife
that night. "The suspicion is very strong; but I cannot say that
I have an opinion one way or the other." There was no sermon in
Bullhampton Church on that Sunday afternoon.