With bitter disappointment at his heart, with the dark shadow which
had hung so long over his existence, turning all the rosy hopes of
life to the leaden gray of the grave, now returned after a brief
period of brighter expectations; with the cup of joy snatched from his
hand at the very moment he was raising it to his lips, Beauchamp
leaned back in his carriage, and gave himself up for a few minutes to
deep and sorrowful meditation. He remembered well when first the
feeling of love was springing up in his heart towards Isabella
Slingsby; that upon mature consideration of his fate he had determined
to crush it in the bud, to batter down the fountain of sweet waters,
which he feared some malific power would turn to poison, and never
attempt to link the fate of that dear girl to his sorrowful one, even
by the gentle tie of mutual affection; and now he almost regretted
that he had not kept his resolution. It is true, circumstances had
changed; it is true, there were good hopes that the evil star of his
destiny seemed likely to sink, and a brighter one rise; but yet a mind
long accustomed to disappointment and sorrow, can with difficulty be
brought to listen to the voice of hope without having the warning
tongue of fear at the same time. All seemed to promise well; for the
removal of that heavy weight which had oppressed his heart, kept down
his energies, crushed love and joy, and left him nought in life but
solitude and disappointment, and despair. But still his experience of
the past taught him to expect so little from the future, that he dared
not indulge in one vision of relief, and although he had used the
words of hope to Isabella, he could not apply the balm to his own
wound.
Ned Hayward sat beside him quietly, and let him think for about ten
minutes; and he did so for two reasons. In the first place, he knew
that it was very vain to offer consolation so soon after a bitter
mortification had been received; and, in the next place, he did not
wish to rouse his companion from the reverie till they had passed
Tarningham Park; for he judged that the sight of scenes, associated in
memory with happy hopes now removed afar, would only add poignancy to
disappointment. However, when the park was passed (and the four horses
went at a very rapid rate), he commenced the conversation in a way the
most likely to lead Beauchamp's mind from the more painful points of
his situation, to fix them upon those more favourable.
"Of course, Lenham," he said, with an abruptness that made his
companion start, "before you act even in the slightest particular, you
will consult some counsel learned in the law. This seems a case in
which, with management, you have the complete command over your own
fate; but proper where a few false steps might be very detrimental, so
far, at least, as delay in the determination of the affair for some
months."
"I know not, my dear Hayward," answered Lord Lenham, "how this may
turn out; but circumstances have rendered me, once the most hopeful
and light-hearted of human beings, the most desponding. I have a sort
of impression upon me, that the result will not be so favourable as
you anticipate. I have to oppose long practised cunning and the most
unscrupulous use of every means, however base and wrong. I must
remember, too, that this business has been long plotting, and, depend
upon it, that nothing which a perverted human mind could do to
obliterate every trace of this former marriage, has been left undone.
Depend upon it the conspiracy has been going on for some time, and
that the concealment of this woman's existence has been intentional
and systematic. In fact nothing could be more artful, nothing more
base, but nothing more evidently pre-arranged than all the steps which
they have taken within the last two or three months. Even on the very
sale of her goods, which took place in Paris about a month ago, it was
announced by public advertisement that they had been the property of
the late Charlotte Hay, Lady Lenham. I am afraid neither I nor any
lawyer, however shrewd, will be found equal to encounter this woman,
whose cunning and determination I never knew matched."
"She seems a precious virago indeed," said Ned Hayward; "but never you
fear, my dear lord. I don't setup to be a Solomon, but there's a maxim
which I established when I was very young, and which I have seen break
down very much less frequently than most of his proverbs that will go
in your favour, if we but manage properly. It is this: 'Rogues always
forget something.' Depend upon it it will hold good in this instance.
Indeed we see that it has; for these good folks forget completely the
marriage certificate in the hands of Goody Lamb. Doubtless that
certificate will be easily verified, so as to put its authenticity
beyond all doubt; then nothing will remain but to prove the existence
of your predecessor in the fair lady's affections at a period
subsequent to her pretended marriage with yourself."
"That may be difficult to do," said Beauchamp.
"Not in the least," cried Ned Hayward. "He has written to the good old
widow within two years, it seems. Of course they will try to shake her
testimony, and, though I don't think that can be done, we must be
prepared with other witnesses. Now you and I don't in the least doubt
the old woman's story, and if that story is true, her husband's
cousin, this fair lady's husband, was living, and the clergyman of a
place called Blackford, not two years ago. Every body in his parish
will know whether this is true or not, and a Scotch minister's life is
not usually so full of vicissitudes as to admit the possibility of a
difficulty in identifying that Archibald Graham, of Blackford, was the
husband of Charlotte Hay."
"You should have been a lawyer, Hayward," said Beauchamp, with a faint
smile, "at all events, you prove a very excellent counsellor for my
hopes against my fears."
"A lawyer! Heaven forefend!" exclaimed Ned Hayward, laughing; "a
soldier is a much better thing, Lenham; aye, and I believe when he
knows his profession, more fit to cope with a lawyer than almost any
one else. It is always his business to mark well every point of his
position, to guard well every weak part; and then, having taken all
his precautions, he advances straightforward at the enemy's works,
looking sharp about him that he be not taken in flank, and he is
almost sure to carry the field if his cause be good, his heart strong,
and his army true."
Such conversation was not without its effect upon Beauchamp's mind.
Hope is the next thing to happiness, and hope returned, becoming every
moment more and more vigorous from the cheerful and sanguine character
of his companion. At length Ned Hayward looked out at the window,
exclaiming,
"Here we are coming to Winterton, I suppose, where we change horses.
Devil take those post-boys, if they go at that rate through the crowd
they will be over some fellow or another."
"Crowd," said Beauchamp, and he too put his head to the window.
The little solitary inn at Winterton-cum-Snowblast was on the side of
the road next to Ned Hayward, but when Lord Lenham, leaning forward,
looked out, he saw some forty or fifty people, principally country
folks, ostlers, and post-boys collected round the door of the house.
There was a sprinkling of women amongst the various groups, into which
they had fallen, and in the midst appeared a common post-chaise with
the horses out, while a man on horseback was seen riding away at a
jolting canter.
"There's something the matter here," said Beauchamp, "I will tell one
of the servants to ask."
As he spoke the chaise dashed on towards the inn-door, and Ned
Hayward's prediction of the consequences likely to ensue had nearly
been verified, for so eagerly were many persons in the crowd engaged
in conversation, that they did not change their position until the
last moment, and then a general scattering took place, which in its
haste and confusion had well-nigh brought more than one man or woman
under the feet of the leaders.
"Horses on," cried the wheel post-boy, as he drove up, speaking to the
ostler of the inn, whose natural predilection for post-horses called
his attention to the carriage sooner than that of any other person in
the crowd.
"We ha'n't got two pair in," he said, in reply, "without that pair
which is just off the shay; we been obliged to send off one this
minute to the magistrates about all this here business."
"What is the matter, my man?" said Ned Hayward, out of the
carriage-window, "what business is it you are talking of?"
"I had better call master, Sir," said the ostler, pulling the brim of
his old hat with a somewhat renitent look, as if he did not like to
answer the question; "he'll be here in a minute."
"This seems something strange," said Beauchamp, "we had better get out
and see. Open the door, Harrison."
The servant, who was standing with his hand upon the silver knob of
the carriage-door, instantly did as he was ordered, and threw down the
steps with a degree of vehemence customary to lackeys and serviceable
to coach makers. Ned Hayward being next to the door got out first, and
as he put his right foot to the ground, the landlord of the inn came
up, bowing low to the first occupant of a carriage which had two
servants behind and a coronet on the panel. The bow would have been
much more moderate to a simple yellow post-chaise.
"What is the matter here, landlord? Has any accident happened?"
"Why, yes, my lord," replied the landlord, supposing our friend to be
the proprietor of the vehicle, "a terrible accident, too--that is to
say not exactly, either--for it is clear enough the thing was done on
purpose by some one, who, it is not for me to say till the magistrates
come."
"But what is it? what is it?" said Beauchamp, who followed; "you seem
to be very mysterious."
"Why, you see, my lord," replied the landlord, who thought he could
not be far wrong in honouring both gentlemen with the same title,
"it's an awkward business, and one does not like to say much, but the
gentleman's got his throat cut that's certain, and whether he did it
himself or whether the lady did it for him seems a question. All I can
say is, I saw him sound asleep on the sofa five minutes before she
came back. He had a glass of brandy-and-water and two fried eggs just
after she went away with attorney Wharton, and seemed quite in his
right mind then, only a little tired with sitting up so late last
night and getting up so early this morning--but you don't seem well,
Sir," he continued, seeing Beauchamp turn a look to the countenance of
Ned Hayward, with a cheek that had become as pale as death--"had not
you better come in and take something?"
"Presently, presently," said Beauchamp, "go on--what were you saying?"
"Nothing, Sir, but that the lady seems dreadfully wild, and I can't
help thinking she's out of her mind--I always did for that matter."
"Is the gentleman dead?" asked Beauchamp, in a low tone.
"No, Sir, not quite dead," said the landlord, "and the surgeon is a
sewing up of his throat, but it is no good I'm sure, for the room is
all in a slop of blood."
"Do you know his name?" said Beauchamp.
"Why, Captain Moreton, I believe, Sir," said the landlord; "I've heard
so, I don't know it for certain."
"I will go in and see him," said the young nobleman, and he added,
seeing a look of hesitation on the landlord's countenance, "I am his
first cousin, Sir, my name is Lord Lenham."
The announcement removed all doubt upon the good man's mind, and
Beauchamp and Ned Hayward walked forward into the inn guided by the
landlord. He conducted them at once upstairs to the rooms which had
been occupied by Captain Moreton and Charlotte Hay. At one of the
doors on the landing-place they saw a man standing with his arms
folded on his chest, but the landlord led them past to the room in
front of the house, first entering quietly himself. It was a ghastly
and horrible scene which presented itself when Beauchamp and Ned
Hayward could see into the room. The floor, the carpet, the sofa, were
literally drenched with gore, and even the white window-curtains were
spotted with dark-red drops. On the sofa, with an old white-headed man
and a younger one leaning over him, was the tall, powerful frame of
Captain Moreton. His face was as pale as death, his eyes sunk in his
head, with a livid-blue colour spreading all round them. His temples
seemed as if they had been driven in; the features were pinched and
sharp; the eyelids closed; and the only sign of life apparent was a
slight spasmodic movement of the muscles of the face, when the hand of
the surgeon gave him pain in the operation he was busily performing.
Two or three other persons were in the room, amongst whom was the
landlord's wife, but they all kept at a distance, and the man himself
advanced to the surgeon's side, and whispered a word in his ear.
"Presently, presently," said the old gentleman, "it will be done in a
minute," but Captain Moreton opened his eyes and turned them round in
the direction of the door. It is probable that he did not see his
cousin for they closed again immediately, but nevertheless his lips
moved as if he fain would have said something. Beauchamp did not
advance till the old surgeon raised his head, and the young man who
was assisting him took his hands from the patient's arms. Then,
however, Lord Lenham moved forward, and in a low tone asked the
medical man the extent of the injury. At the same moment Ned Hayward,
judging that his presence there was useless if not inconvenient,
advanced to a door at the further side of the room, saying to a person
whom he instantly judged to be the mistress of the house,
"I think we had all better go in here for a minute or two."
"The lady is in there, Sir," said the landlady, "we have put somebody
in to watch her, for Heaven knows what she may do next."
Nevertheless, Ned Hayward, who thought that perhaps some information
valuable to his friend might be obtained, opened the door to go in;
but the sight he beheld made him suddenly pause, though it had none of
those very striking and horrible objects which were presented by the
chamber he was just quitting. Yet there was something still, quiet,
and awful about its dark features, which perhaps affected the mind
still more. The room was a bedroom with one window and a door, which
Captain Hayward easily distinguished as that at which he had seen a
man standing on the outside. On the end of the bed sat Charlotte Hay,
dressed exactly as he had seen her in the church, and nearer to him
appeared a strong dull-looking young man seated in a chair with a
constable's staff in his hand. The unhappy woman's position was calm
and easy, and she sat perfectly motionless, with her high colour
unchanged, her hands resting clasped together on her knee, her head
slightly bent forward, and her eye with the peculiar dull glassy film
over it, which we have already mentioned more than once, fixed
earnestly upon the floor. She seemed in deep thought but yet not the
thought of intelligence, but rather the dreamy, idle, vacant pondering
of mental imbecility. There was an indefinable something that to the
eye at once distinguished her state from that of deep reflection, and
a curl of the lip, not quite a smile, yet resembling one, seemed to
mark out the idiot. The shutters of one of the two windows were
closed, so that the room was in a sort of half-light, yet on the spot
to which the gaze of Charlotte Hay seemed attached the sunshine was
streaming gaily, and the contrast between her fate, her prospects, her
history, and the warm, pure light of Heaven, was more painful than the
harmonising gloom of the dungeon could have been.
When the door was opened by Ned Hayward, though it creaked as
inn-doors will do, upon its hinges, she took not the slightest notice;
indeed, she seemed unconscious of every thing, but the constable who
had been placed to watch her rose and advanced towards the door to say
that nobody could have admission there.
"When the justices come, Sir," he said, addressing the young officer
in a low tone, "they can do as they like, but nobody shall speak with
her till then."
As he uttered these words he heard a slight sound and turned his head,
but he turned it too late. Charlotte Hay had instantly taken advantage
of his eyes being withdrawn. She was already near the window, which
was partly open, and as he darted across to lay hold of her she threw
it up and with one leap sprang out. Ned Hayward instantly closed the
door that no sound might reach the other room, and ran forward to the
young man's side, who stood with his head leaning out and his eyes
gazing down below. The house was built on a slight slope, so that the
back was a story higher than the front, yet the height from the window
to the stable-yard could not be more than twenty feet. But the court
was paved with large irregular stones, and there lay the form of
Charlotte Hay still, motionless, and silent. No groan reached the ears
of those who looked down from above--not even a quiver of the limbs
was to be seen. Some of the men in the yard were running up in haste,
and the young officer and the constable hurried down. It mattered
little, however, whether they went fast or slow, for when they reached
the yard they found three men lifting a corpse. Ned Hayward gazed upon
that countenance where fierce and untameable passions had nearly
obliterated mere beauty of feature, but no trace of passion was there
now. All was mournfully calm, and though the eyelids moved once up and
down, there was nought in the eyes when they were for an instant
displayed but the glassy stare of death. The bonnet, which was still
upon her head, was dented in at the top, and a small red stain in the
white silk showed where the blood was issuing slowly forth from some
hidden wound received in the fall.
They carried her slowly into the house, and placed her on a sofa in
what was called the parlour, while Ned Hayward ran up stairs to call
down the surgeon. When he opened the door, the elderly man whom we
have mentioned was washing his hands at the table, and Beauchamp was
seated by the sofa on which his cousin lay, bending down his ear to
catch the faint words of the wounded man, who seemed speaking to him
eagerly.
The surgeon raised his eyes as the door opened, and perceiving the
sign which Ned Hayward made him to come out, dried his hands in haste
and went to the door.
"You must come down directly," said the young officer, "the unhappy
woman has thrown herself out of the window, and though I believe all
human aid is vain, yet it is necessary that some surgeon should see
her at once."
The old man nodded his head with a grave look, returned for his
instruments which were on the table, and then followed down to the
parlour. He paused a moment by the side of the sofa, and gazed upon
the face of Charlotte Hay with a thoughtful air, then placed his hand
upon the wrist for a few seconds, withdrew it, and said aloud,
"I can be of no use here--life is extinct. I will examine the head,
however," and taking off the bonnet and cap he pointed with his finger
to a spot on the back of the skull, where the dark brown hair was
matted and dabbled, saying, "Look there! I cannot make a new brain!"
Ned Hayward turned away with a slight shudder, for though he had faced
death many a time himself, and had seen men fall dead or wounded by
his side, he had never beheld a woman subject to the fate which man is
accustomed to brave.
"This is a terrible business altogether, Sir," said the surgeon,
following the young officer to the window, "do you know any thing of
it?"
"Nothing," replied Captain Hayward, "except that I believe the unhappy
woman was mad, for her conduct through life was that of a person
hardly sane. Do you think Captain Moreton likely to live?"
"Three or four hours, perhaps," replied the surgeon, "certainly not
more. She did her work very resolutely and with a strong hand. The
hemorrhage cannot be entirely stopped; he has already lost an awful
quantity of blood, and he will sink gradually."
"Then yon think that there is no doubt of her hand having done the
deed?" asked Ned Hayward.
But the surgeon would not exactly commit himself as far as that.
"He did not do it himself," was the reply, "that is quite impossible.
The wound is from left to right, and drawn so far round that he could
not have inflicted it with his own hand. He must have been lying on
the sofa, too, when it was done--probably asleep, for the stroke of
the razor was carried beyond the neck of the victim, and cut the
horse-hair cover through and through. The gentleman upstairs with him
is his cousin, I believe?"
"I believe so," answered Ned Hayward, "but I am not acquainted with
your patient, and therefore cannot say exactly."
The next moment steps were heard coming down, and Beauchamp and the
landlord entered the parlour.
"Will you have the goodness to go up to Captain Moreton, Sir," said
the young nobleman, addressing the surgeon, before he saw what the
room contained, "the bleeding from the throat has recommenced and
nearly suffocates him. Hayward, I must stay till this is over," he
continued, as the old gentleman hurried away, but then his eyes fell
upon the sofa, and he caught Ned Hayward's arm and grasped it tight
without uttering a word. For a moment or two he stood motionless as if
turned into stone by the sight before him, and then walking slowly up
to the side of the corpse, he gazed long and earnestly upon the face.
His feelings must have been strange during that long, silent pause.
There before him lay the being who had been the bane of his peace
during all the early brighter years of life; the woman who, without
ever having obtained the slightest hold of those affections by which
the heart when they are misplaced is usually most terribly tortured,
had by one infamous and daring act acquired the power of embittering
every moment of his existence. The long, dreadful consequences of one
youthful error were at end, the dark cloud was wafted away, the heavy
chain broken. He was free! but by what horrible events was his
liberation accomplished! What a price of blood and guilt had they who
had enthralled him paid for their temporary triumph ending in complete
defeat! He could not but feel that by the death of that woman sunshine
was restored to his path, and yet pain and horror at the means of his
restoration to light and happiness quelled every sensation of
rejoicing. Mingled as almost all human feelings are, perhaps never did
man's heart experience such mixed emotions.
After what seemed a long time to give to any contemplation, he turned
towards Captain Hayward, inquiring in a low tone,
"How did this happen, Hayward, and when?"
"A few minutes ago," replied his friend; "the constable who was
watching her came to the door to speak with me, and taking advantage
of his back being turned she threw herself out of the window. Perhaps,
Lenham," he continued, with that good feeling which always in matters
of deep interest sprang up through the lighter things of Ned Hayward's
character--"perhaps it is better that this is as it is. The act was
undoubtedly committed in a state of mind which rendered her
irresponsible for her own conduct. Had she survived, her fate might
have been more terrible, considering another deed in regard to which
it might have been difficult to prove her insanity."
"God's will be done," said Beauchamp, "that unhappy man is in no fit
state to die, and yet I fear death is rapidly approaching. All his
hatred of myself seems to have given place to the implacable desire of
vengeance against this poor tool of his own schemes. He says that
there is no doubt that she committed the act; that he was sleeping on
the sofa, having sat up late last night and risen early this morning,
and suddenly found a hand pressed upon his eyes and a sharp instrument
drawn furiously across his throat. He started up crying for help, and
beheld the wretched woman with the razor in her hand, laughing, and
asking if he would ever betray her secret again. It is, in truth, a
terrible affair; but I fear his deposition must be taken, and if he is
to be believed she must have been perfectly sane."
"I wonder if she was ever perfectly sane?" said Ned Hayward, "from all
I have heard I should doubt it--but here comes one of the magistrates,
I suppose, or the coroner."
It proved to be the former, and the worthy justice first entered the
parlour and examined the corpse of Charlotte Hay as it still remained
stretched upon the sofa. Country justices will have their jests upon
almost all subjects, and though he did it quietly, the gentleman in
question could not refrain from saying, after looking at the body for
a moment,
"Well, we are not likely to obtain any information from this lady, so
we had better see the other person, who is capable of being more
communicative. Which is the way, landlord? Have this room cleared and
the door locked till the coroner can come, he will take the evidence
in this case. I must get, if possible, the deposition of the gentleman
whom you say is dying."
Thus saying, with the landlord leading the way and Beauchamp, Ned
Hayward, and one or two others following, he walked slowly upstairs
and entered the room where Captain Moreton lay. The surgeon was
bending over him and holding his head up on his left-arm. But the
moment the old man heard the bustle of many feet, he waved his
right-hand as if to forbid any one to approach. Every body paused for
an instant, and in the midst of the silence that ensued an awful and
very peculiar sound was heard, something like that made by a horse
taking a draught of water, but not so long and regular. It ceased,
began again, ceased; and the surgeon laid Captain Moreton's hand down
upon the sofa-cushion and looked round.
The magistrate instantly advanced, saying,
"I must take the gentleman's deposition, Mr. Abbot."
"You come a little too late, Sir," said the surgeon, "he will make no
more depositions now."
It was, indeed, as he said. Captain Moreton had just expired, and all
that remained for the magistrate, who was soon joined by one of his
worshipful brethren, was to gain all the information that could be
obtained from the persons in the house regarding the deaths of
Charlotte Hay and her paramour. Beauchamp and Ned Hayward answered the
questions which were addressed to them, but entered into no
unnecessary details. The rest of those who were called upon to give
evidence or volunteered it, were much more garrulous, and as the two
gentlemen remained to hear the whole depositions they were detained
for some hours at Winterton.
When all was at length over, and Lord Lenham and Ned Hayward stood
before the inn-door, they gazed at each other for a moment or two
without speaking. At length Beauchamp's servant came up from the side
of the carriage, which was ordered some time before, was already
before the house, and inquired, in a commonplace tone,
"Where shall I tell them to drive, my lord?"
There was a momentary look of hesitation in the young nobleman's face,
but the next instant he answered in a decided tone,
"To Tarningham Park," and turning to his friend as soon as they were
once more in the vehicle, he said with a sigh,
"I will at least carry her the tidings, Hayward, and then--"
He paused, and Ned Hayward asked, in his usual cheerful tone,
"And what then, Lenham?"
"Once more on the way to London," said Beauchamp, adding gravely but
firmly, "there must not be a doubt in her mind as to the validity of
her marriage. I know how one drop of such bitterness can poison the
whole cup of joy; but tell me, Hayward," he continued, in a more
cheerful tone, "when is your own marriage to take place? You have told
me nothing of it yet, but you must not suppose that my eyes have been
shut either yesterday or this morning."
"I did not mention it because I imagined that you had enough to think
of, Lenham," answered Ned Hayward, "not from either want of frankness
or want of regard, believe me. But to answer your question--the day is
not yet fixed. Mrs. Clifford has consented much more readily than I
expected, Sir John when he heard of it was over-joyous, and Mary's two
guardians, knowing that their power is soon coming to an end, have
determined to use it leniently. Heaven only knows when we first became
acquainted, about three months ago by the side of Mrs. Clifford's
carriage, I little thought therein was my future bride. Had I known
that I stood in peril of love, and that with an heiress, too, I
believe I should have turned my horse's head and galloped all
the way back to London. Nay more, there has not been a day
during the last month, till about a fortnight ago, that finding
myself in imminent danger, I have not been ready to depart, but
circumstances--circumstances, my dear Lenham, those chains of adamant
kept me here, till one day, without at all intending it. I told the
dear girl I loved her, and she bade me stay, so I had nothing to do
but to obey, und now I think in three weeks more, thoughtless Ned
Hayward will be the husband of the sweetest and loveliest girl in the
world."
"With one exception," said Beauchamp, smiling; "and one of the best
husbands in the world will he make her. But one thing more let me say,
Hayward; as little as you thought of finding marriage on your onward
path when first we met, so little did I think of finding friendship,
as little did I hope for or even wish it; and yet there is nought on
earth I value more than yours except the love of her I love best.
Should the sage lawyers have a doubt as to the validity of my marriage
with Isabella, should they even think it better that the ceremony be
repeated, with the fair lady's leave we will choose the same day, and
stand at the altar like brothers as we have been to one another for
some time past."