The slumbers which followed the prolonged reveries of Geoffery Arden,
were rendered unrefreshing by feverish dreams, some of a truly horrible
character; in particular the vision that presented itself on his first
closing his eyes; which was, that he had himself for some reason or
other been condemned to be hung; that it was the night before his
execution, and that he was laying trembling in the condemned cell,
dreading the approach of dawn. The agony of his feelings awoke him. What
he had just suffered, and his infinite relief on finding that all was
but a dream, had for some moments a salutary effect, even on his heart,
which, if ever heart of man was justly entitled to the epithet, was
indeed "desperately wicked;" now, however, the scheme with which he had
laid his head on his pillow, seemed almost too diabolical to be
attempted; he almost shrank from the idea of inflicting on any human
creature the intense suffering with the recent escape from which his own
heart still beat audibly.
These were the thoughts of solitude and of darkness. He slept again, and
awoke only to fear, as he beheld the full light of day penetrating every
where, and making the true forms of all things evident, that his scheme
of murderous treachery was too monstrous to be practicable. No one would
listen to such a proposition: and as for proofs, could circumstances be
indeed tortured into any strong enough to meet the powerful current of
opinion, flowing in the opposite direction? Yet, on the other hand, such
things had been heard of, and without one-tenth part the stake as to
property, which in this instance might be alleged as one powerful
incentive, while there was room also to suppose the workings of violent
jealousy, and even of revenge. His own mother, moreover, could be
summoned to prove that he had actually been accepted, and that he
himself ascribed his disappointment afterwards to the rivalship of his
brother.
At this moment a servant answered Geoffery's bell, prepared to assist
him at his morning toilet.
The man's face was full of importance and mystery; Geoffery noted this,
and willing to encourage the fellow, in whatever he might have to tell
respecting the opinions of servants, &c., said,
"Why, Davison, you look absolutely frightened! What is the matter?"
"I don't know that I have got any occasion to look frightened," said the
man, "for whatever way the poor gentleman came by his death, whether by
a fit, as some _sais_, or by poison, as others _thinks_, it was nearly
over with him before ever we came to the house. But there's no saying,
for that matter, who'll be blamed, or who wont; they are all in such a
taking about it below, as never was."
"How do you mean?"
"Why the coachman thinks that as it was he that went to Arden for the
arsenic for laying for the rats, for it was in the stable-lofts they
were most troublesome, that he'll get brought into some mischief,
although he had his master's orders; but who is to prove that, now poor
Sir Willoughby's dead and gone? And for the butler, he's afraid of his
life, but people may think that something must have been wrong with the
glasses or the water, when he carried them in; and so he took Johnson
and myself to the saddle-room, that we should see where the arsenic lay,
and so judge that it was impossible for it to come near any thing that
was for eating or drinking. When we got there, however, the packet with
the poison was nowhere to be found, although it had lain on the very
shelf he showed us, in that selfsame room (the butler _sais_), no longer
ago than yesterday forenoon, when poor Sir Willoughby and Mr. Alfred
looked at it themselves."
"Strange indeed!" said Geoffery, "and has inquiry been made? Does any
one own to having moved the packet? This may throw light on the whole
affair. It is rather too bad that gentlemen are to lose their lives in
this manner by the shameful carelessness of servants. How are they to
prove it carelessness either? How are they to show it was not
intentional? The half of them will be hung, I make no doubt, and richly
they deserve it."
"The servants are all ready to swear, that not one of them touched it,
or so much as went near the place," replied Davison; "and what's more,
the groom who was leading the horses round, after the gentlemen returned
from riding, _sais_, that he saw Mr. Alfred coming out of the
saddle-room with a paper parcel in his hand; so that if one of the
family thought proper to remove the arsenic himself, and an accident
happened in consequence to any article of food, the servants all say
that was no fault of theirs."
"Can the man swear to this?"
"So he _sais_."
"If this could be proved it might certainly clear servants from blame,
but it is, I must say, altogether a very improbable story. If Sir Alfred
had wished to have the arsenic removed to any other place, he would have
given orders to that effect, and not have gone about the thing himself
in the clandestine manner you describe. No, no, this won't do, it is but
a flimsy excuse, and as I told you before, gentlemen are not to lose
their lives by the shameful carelessness of servants; nor are their
nonsensical excuses to be taken, and the thing hushed up. As for poor
Sir Alfred, he is too much overcome by his grief to attend to any thing;
it necessarily devolves upon me therefore to make the proper
inquiries.--Send Johnson here, I must question him. I shall, in fact,
examine them all, both separately and face to face."
Geoffery was determined, by this means and on this pretext, to collect
all the information he could as to what were the surmises of others, and
what the facts of the case, that admitted of proof or of distortion. He
knew enough to be perfectly aware that the servants were not in fault,
but he considered it his most judicious play, to pretend to blame them;
exciting their ignorant and selfish fears, might be useful, and at
length make them willing to hear even their master accused rather than
themselves. Although he had sources of information not open to others,
he could by no means understand the extraordinary circumstance of the
paper which had fallen from Alfred's bosom. The attempt to rinse the
glass, he now indeed thought might be ascribed to the wish Alfred had
since expressed to conceal the fact of the suicide; but as he had not
explained his motive to the doctor at the time, the circumstance looked
so very suspicious, that he hoped it might be turned to account. He
could of course deny what his cousin had said to him in private. Knowing
however, as he did, that the inference to be naturally drawn from all
that had at present transpired was false, he was aware that he must
proceed with caution; something positive might yet come to light, which
would do away with all fallacies, and render it imprudent in him, or at
least invidious to breathe a suspicion against his cousin.
Before he took any step, therefore, he must find out what all the
servants had to say; and as he had already determined to do, sound
Alfred himself,--without any witness present, however; for if, as he now
began to hope, his cousin's exculpation should rest entirely on
explanations to be made by himself, his not offering such till after
formal accusations were brought against him, would look very suspicious.
He would, therefore, make himself the medium of communication between
Alfred and all others; and, if possible, encourage him not to see any
one else. In the end, if necessary, he could and would firmly and boldly
deny every word which had been said to him only, and so give to his
cousin's motives the colouring of excuses, subsequently invented to
cover guilt. This, however, was a desperate game, which he would not
venture to play till he could see that his card would sweep the board.
The circumstance of Alfred's having been seen bringing away the packet
of poison, would certainly be very strong if it should so turn out that
it could be proved; he feared, however, that it must be a mistake: he
had his own reasons for thinking that it would be found to have been Sir
Willoughby whom the groom had seen pass and carelessly mistaken for Sir
Alfred.