SAM BRATTLE RETURNS HOME.
The Tuesday's magistrates' meeting had come off at Heytesbury, and
Sam Brattle had been discharged. Mr. Jones had on this occasion
indignantly demanded that his client should be set free without bail;
but to this the magistrates would not assent. The attorney attempted
to demonstrate to them that they could not require bail for the
reappearance of an accused person, when that accused person was
discharged simply because there was no evidence against him. But to
this exposition of the law Sir Thomas and his brother magistrates
would not listen. "If the other persons should at last be taken, and
Brattle should not then be forthcoming, justice would suffer," said
Sir Thomas. County magistrates, as a rule, are more conspicuous for
common sense and good instincts than for sound law; and Mr. Jones
may, perhaps, have been right in his view of the case. Nevertheless
bail was demanded, and was not forthcoming without considerable
trouble. Mr. Jay, the ironmonger at Warminster, declined. When spoken
to on the subject by Mr. Fenwick, he declared that the feeling among
the gentry was so strong against his brother-in-law, that he could
not bring himself to put himself forward. He couldn't do it for the
sake of his family. When Fenwick promised to make good the money
risk, Jay declared that the difficulty did not lie there. "There's
the Marquis, and Sir Thomas, and Squire Greenthorne, and our parson,
all say, sir, as how he shouldn't be bailed at all. And then, sir,
if one has a misfortune belonging to one, one doesn't want to flaunt
it in everybody's face, sir." And there was trouble, too, with
George Brattle from Fordingbridge. George Brattle was a prudent,
hard-headed, hard-working man, not troubled with much sentiment, and
caring very little what any one could say of him as long as his rent
was paid; but he had taken it into his head that Sam was guilty,
that he was at any rate a thoroughly bad fellow who should be turned
out of the Brattle nest, and that no kindness was due to him. With
the farmer, however, Mr. Fenwick did prevail, and then the parson
became the other bondsman himself. He had been strongly advised,--by
Gilmore, by Gilmore's uncle, the prebendary at Salisbury, and by
others,--not to put himself forward in this position. The favour
which he had shown to the young man had not borne good results
either for the young man or for himself; and it would be unwise,--so
said his friends,--to subject his own name to more remark than
was necessary. He had so far assented as to promise not to come
forward himself, if other bailsmen could be procured. But, when the
difficulty came, he offered himself, and was, of necessity, accepted.
When Sam was released, he was like a caged animal who, when liberty
is first offered to him, does not know how to use it. He looked
about him in the hall of the Court House, and did not at first seem
disposed to leave it. The constable had asked him whether he had
means of getting home, to which he replied, that "it wasn't no more
than a walk." Dinner was offered to him by the constable, but this he
refused, and then he stood glaring about him. After a while Gilmore
and Fenwick came up to him, and the Squire was the first to speak.
"Brattle," he said, "I hope you will now go home, and remain there
working with your father for the present."
"I don't know nothing about that," said the lad, not deigning to look
at the Squire.
"Sam, pray go home at once," said the parson. "We have done what we
could for you, and you should not oppose us."
"Mr. Fenwick, if you tells me to go to--to--to,"--he was going to
mention some very bad place, but was restrained by the parson's
presence,--"if you tells me to go anywheres, I'll go."
"That's right. Then I tell you to go to the mill."
"I don't know as father'll let me in," said he, almost breaking into
sobs as he spoke.
"That he will, heartily. Do you tell him that you had a word or two
with me here, and that I'll come up and call on him to-morrow." Then
he put his hand into his pocket, and whispering something, offered
the lad money. But Sam turned away, and shook his head, and walked
off. "I don't believe that that fellow had any more to do with it
than you or I," said Fenwick.
"I don't know what to believe," said Gilmore. "Have you heard that
the Marquis is in the town? Greenthorne just told me so."
"Then I had better get out of it, for Heytesbury isn't big enough
for the two of us. Come, you've done here, and we might as well jog
home."
Gilmore dined at the Vicarage that evening, and of course the day's
work was discussed. The quarrel, too, which had taken place at the
farmhouse had only yet been in part described to Mrs. Fenwick. "Do
you know I feel half triumphant and half frightened," Mrs. Fenwick
said to the Squire. "I know that the Marquis is an old fool,
imperious, conceited, and altogether unendurable when he attempts
to interfere. And yet I have a kind of feeling that because he is a
Marquis, and because he owns two thousand and so many acres in the
parish, and because he lives at Turnover Park, one ought to hold him
in awe."
"Frank didn't hold him in awe yesterday," said the Squire.
"He holds nothing in awe," said the wife.
"You wrong me there, Janet. I hold you in great awe, and every lady
in Wiltshire more or less;--and I think I may say every woman. And
I would hold him in a sort of awe, too, if he didn't drive me beyond
myself by his mixture of folly and pride."
"He can do us a great deal of mischief, you know," said Mrs. Fenwick.
"What he can do, he will do," said the parson. "He even gave me a bad
name, no doubt; but I fancy he was generous enough to me in that way
before yesterday. He will now declare that I am the Evil One himself,
and people won't believe that. A continued persistent enmity,
always at work, but kept within moderate bounds, is more dangerous
now-a-days, than a hot fever of revengeful wrath. The Marquis can't
send out his men-at-arms and have me knocked on the head, or cast
into a dungeon. He can only throw mud at me, and the more he throws
at once, the less will reach me."
As to Sam, they were agreed that, whether he were innocent or guilty,
the old miller should be induced to regard him as innocent, as far as
their joint exertion in that direction might avail.
"He is innocent before the law till he has been proved to be guilty,"
said the Squire.
"Then of course there can be nothing wrong in telling his father that
he is innocent," said the lady.
The Squire did not quite admit this, and the parson smiled as he
heard the argument; but they both acknowledged that it would be right
to let it be considered throughout the parish that Sam was to be
regarded as blameless for that night's transaction. Nevertheless, Mr.
Gilmore's mind on the subject was not changed.
"Have you heard from Loring?" the Squire asked Mrs. Fenwick as he got
up to leave the Vicarage.
"Oh, yes,--constantly. She is quite well, Mr. Gilmore."
"I sometimes think that I'll go off and have a look at her."
"I'm sure both she and her aunt would be glad to see you."
"But would it be wise?"
"If you ask me, I am bound to say that I think it would not be wise.
If I were you, I would leave her for awhile. Mary is as good as gold,
but she is a woman; and, like other women, the more she is sought,
the more difficult she will be."
"It always seems to me," said Mr. Gilmore, "that to be successful in
love, a man should not be in love at all; or, at any rate, he should
hide it." Then he went off home alone, feeling on his heart that
pernicious load of a burden which comes from the unrestrained longing
for some good thing which cannot be attained. It seemed to him now
that nothing in life would be worth a thought if Mary Lowther should
continue to say him nay; and it seemed to him, too, that unless the
yea were said very quickly, all his aptitudes for enjoyment would be
worn out of him.
On the next morning, immediately after breakfast, Mr. and Mrs.
Fenwick walked down to the mill together. They went through the
village, and thence by a pathway down to a little foot-bridge, and so
along the river side. It was a beautiful October morning, the 7th of
October, and Fenwick talked of the pheasants. Gilmore, though he was
a sportsman, and shot rabbits and partridges about his own property,
and went occasionally to shooting-parties at a distance, preserved
no game. There had been some old unpleasantness about the Marquis's
pheasants, and he had given it up. There could be no doubt that his
property in the parish being chiefly low lying lands and water meads
unfit for coverts, was not well disposed for preserving pheasants,
and that in shooting he would more likely shoot Lord Trowbridge's
birds than his own. But it was equally certain that Lord Trowbridge's
pheasants made no scruple of feeding on his land. Nevertheless, he
had thought it right to give up all idea of keeping up a head of game
for his own use in Bullhampton.
"Upon my word, if I were you, Gilmore," said the parson, as a bird
rose from the ground close at their feet, "I should cease to be nice
about the shooting after what happened yesterday."
"You don't mean that you would retaliate, Frank?"
"I think I should."
"Is that good parson's law?"
"It's very good squire's law. And as for that doctrine of
non-retaliation, a man should be very sure of his own motives before
he submits to it. If a man be quite certain that he is really
actuated by a Christian's desire to forgive, it may be all very well;
but if there be any admixture of base alloy in his gold, if he allows
himself to think that he may avoid the evils of pugnacity, and have
things go smooth for him here, and become a good Christian by the
same process, why then I think he is likely to fall to the ground
between two stools." Had Lord Trowbridge heard him, his lordship
would now have been quite sure that Mr. Fenwick was an infidel.
They had both doubted whether Sam would be found at the mill; but
there he was, hard at work among the skeleton timbers, when his
friends reached the place.
"I am glad to see you at home again, Sam," said Mrs. Fenwick, with
something, however, of an inner feeling that perhaps she might be
saluting a murderer.
Sam touched his cap, but did not utter a word, or look away from his
work. They passed on amidst the heaps in front of the mill, and came
to the porch before the cottage. Here, as had been his wont in all
these idle days, the miller was sitting with a pipe in his mouth.
When he saw the lady he got up and ducked his head, and then sat down
again. "If your wife is here, I'll just step in, Mr. Brattle," said
Mrs. Fenwick.
"She be there, ma'am," said the miller, pointing towards the kitchen
window with his head. So Mrs. Fenwick lifted the latch and entered.
The parson sat himself down by the miller's side.
"I am heartily glad, Mr. Brattle, that Sam is back with you here once
again."
"He be there, at work among the rest o' 'em," said the miller.
"I saw him as I came along. I hope he will remain here now."
"I can't say, Muster Fenwick."
"But he intends to do so?"
"I can't say, Muster Fenwick."
"Would it not be well that you should ask him?"
"Not as I knows on, Muster Fenwick."
It was manifest enough that the old man had not spoken to his son
on the subject of the murder, and that there was no confidence,--at
least, no confidence that had been expressed,--between the father and
the son. No one had as yet heard the miller utter any opinion as to
Sam's innocence or his guilt. This of itself seemed to the clergyman
to be a very terrible condition for two persons who were so closely
united, and who were to live together, work together, eat together,
and have mutual interests.
"I hope, Mr. Brattle," he said, "that you give Sam the full benefit
of his discharge."
"He'll get his vittles and his bed, and a trifle of wages if he works
for 'em."
"I didn't mean that. I'm quite sure you wouldn't see him want a
comfortable home, as long as you have one to give him."
"There ain't much comfort about it now."
"I was speaking of your own opinion of the deed that was done. My own
opinion is that Sam had nothing to do with it."
"I'm sure I can't say, Muster Fenwick."
"But it would be a comfort to you to think that he is innocent."
"I ain't no comfort in talking about it,--not at all,--and I'd
rayther not, if it's all one to you, Muster Fenwick."
"I will not ask another question, but I'll repeat my own opinion, Mr.
Brattle. I don't believe that he had anything more to do with the
robbery or the murder, than I had."
"I hope not, Muster Fenwick. Murder is a terrible crime. And now, if
you'll tell me how much it was you paid the lawyer at Heytesbury--"
"I cannot say as yet. It will be some trifle. You need not trouble
yourself about that."
"But I mean to pay 'un, Muster Fenwick. I can pay my way as yet,
though it's hard enough at times." The parson was obliged to promise
that Mr. Jones's bill of charges should be sent to him, and then he
called his wife, and they left the mill. Sam was still up among the
timbers, and had not once come down while the visitors were in the
cottage. Mrs. Fenwick had been more successful with the women than
the parson had been with the father. She had taken upon herself to
say that she thoroughly believed Sam to be innocent, and they had
thanked her with many protestations of gratitude.
They did not go back by the way they had come, but went up to the
road, which they crossed, and thence to some outlying cottages which
were not very far from Hampton Privets House. From these cottages
there was a path across the fields back to Bullhampton, which led by
the side of a small wood belonging to the Marquis. There was a good
deal of woodland just here, and this special copse, called Hampton
bushes, was known to be one of the best pheasant coverts in that part
of the country. Whom should they meet, standing on the path, armed
with his gun, and with his keeper behind him armed with another, than
the Marquis of Trowbridge himself. They had heard a shot or two, but
they had thought nothing of it, or they would have gone back to the
road. "Don't speak," said the parson, as he walked on quickly with
his wife on his arm. The Marquis stood and scowled; but he had the
breeding of a gentleman, and when Mrs. Fenwick was close to him, he
raised his hat. The parson also raised his, the lady bowed, and then
they passed on without a word. "I had no excuse for doing so, or I
would certainly have told him that Sam Brattle was comfortably at
home with his father," said the parson.
"How you do like a fight, Frank!"
"If it's stand up, and all fair, I don't dislike it."