"Sir ---- will be with you in ten minutes, Sir," said the landlord of
the great inn, the Green Dragon, at S----, addressing the liberated
prisoner. "He has been sent for by the judges. Dinner was ordered at
six; but a message came to put it off for half-an-hour."
Chandos bowed his head, and the landlord withdrew, leaving him alone
in the sitting-room of the great barrister, who, as soon as the trial
was over, had sent him a note, begging him to dine with him. He took
up a book. It was a volume of celebrated trials. A page was turned
down at that of Mr. Cowper, afterwards Lord Cowper, for murder; and
although we have seen the very sparing use made of it by the counsel,
every page was marked with thick marginal notes in pencil, evidently
freshly written. Chandos had not much time allowed him to read; for a
minute or two after he had opened the work he heard the voice of his
little solicitor, inquiring with quick reiteration, "Where is he?
where is Mr. Winslow? What number did you say?" and in another moment
he was in the room.
"My dear Sir," said the solicitor, shaking him warmly by the hand, "I
congratulate you a thousand times upon the result of the trial. It was
a most splendid defence--magnificent--unequalled,--our learned friend
out-did himself. Did you mark how he jumped over all the difficulties?
how lightly he trod upon the dangerous ground? Really it was a treat
to hear him--the whole bar rings with it. It is really worth
undergoing a trial for such a defence."
"It is at least some compensation for the pain of one, to find that I
have such a friend," replied Chandos. "I am waiting for him now with a
heart full of gratitude."
"He may be a little while first," said the solicitor, with a very
cunning look, "he's about that little awkward affair; but it can make
no difference now--verdict given. In the meantime, I have just come to
say a word or two upon business, my dear Sir. You were considerate
enough to give me a power of attorney, and also to execute a deed in
case of the worst, which, when you have a moment's leisure, must all
be rearranged, as the best, and not the worst has happened. But in the
meantime I have taken the most prompt measures to secure the
furniture, books, statues, pictures, and other chattels, left you
under your late worthy father's will. Now perhaps, as the fees and
other expenses are heavy--perhaps you would--as I understand you are
going to London directly--give me some little security in the shape of
a lien upon said property for the amount of costs. I have got a small
document here merely a few words, which will answer all the purposes,
if you will look it over."
"Certainly," answered Chandos Winslow, taking the paper out of his
hand. "But you will understand, my good Sir, that I intend to pay
these costs from other resources; and therefore you must assure me
that you will not use this paper, which, I see, gives you power to
sell, unless I fail in discharging your account within a reasonable
time."
"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," cried the lawyer, "it is merely as a
security--nothing more, I can assure you--all shall be taken care of,
and held sacred as the great seal."
"An inventory of all these effects," continued Chandos, "has been
already made by a friend of mine; and as it seems fair enough that you
should have some means of paying yourself, I will sign the paper upon
the understanding I have mentioned."
"Ah--oh--yes; here are pen and ink," said the solicitor: and the paper
was signed.
"I thank you most sincerely, my dear Sir," said Chandos Winslow, "for
the interest you have taken, and the skill you have displayed in this
sad affair. But let me inquire what you meant just now? You spoke as
if my friend, Sir ----, was absent on business of mine, and as if I
knew what that business is. Will you have the goodness to explain?"
"Oh, it is about that fellow who is so unfortunately like you," said
the lawyer, "the man whom Mr. Fleming and his servant must have
mistaken for you. He came to the door of the court just at the end,
and wanted to force his way in--did you not hear all the hubbub? But
Dickins, the tipstaff, is a capital fellow; and as soon as he had got
authority, he took him into custody, and walked him off. If he had got
in, he would have spoiled the whole defence, and played the devil."
Chandos Winslow sunk down into his chair in horror and mortification.
"And is it possible," he exclaimed, "that the life of an innocent man
can depend upon a mere mistake of one person for another, and that in
an English court of justice too?"
"Quite possible, my dear Sir," replied the little lawyer, "when the
party accused will not explain suspicious circumstances. I am
perfectly confident of your innocence--always have been--all those who
are well acquainted with you are the same; and it seems that our
leader knows it from the facts that you have stated to him. Indeed, it
was that carried him through; for if he had not been perfectly sure, I
do not think even he could have made such a defence. But I can tell
you, Mr. Winslow, that if that worthy had got into court when he
tried, you'd have had a verdict of 'guilty' against you; unless,
indeed, Sir ---- had some back card to play: which I think he
had--always did think he had--and that kept my courage up. Perhaps the
real story would have popped out, if the alibi had failed. However,
there is no use thinking of these things now. We've got a verdict:
all's safe; and not all the judges in England can overset it."
"But there is something more to an honest man than merely getting a
verdict," said Chandos, gravely. "When it is known how the verdict has
been obtained, what will men think of me? How can I be satisfied with
such an acquittal, obtained by a gross and extraordinary error."
"Oh! in courts of justice, my dear Sir, it is very customary to combat
error by error. You were likely to be hanged by one fallacious train
of evidence: we have saved you by another. Error for error, that's
all--rather odd, but very satisfactory."
"By no means satisfactory to me," replied Chandos Winslow.
The little lawyer grinned as if a merry reply was rising to his lips;
for to win the cause was all he cared for; and the means seemed to him
of very little consequence. But his answer was cut short by the
entrance of the great barrister, who shook the late prisoner warmly by
the hand, without, however, venturing to congratulate him upon the
result of the trial. The little solicitor took his leave; and as soon
as he was gone Sir ---- turned kindly to his friend, and, taking him
by the hand, he said, "I understand all that you feel, my dear
Winslow; but put your mind at ease. No one will doubt your innocence,
although we were obliged to take advantage of a good man's mistake to
gain a verdict from the jury."
"It is bitterly mortifying to me," answered Chandos Winslow; "to feel
that I have been acquitted solely by an error."
"What could be done?" answered the barrister. "You prohibited me from
using the only legitimate means of defence; and, although the
demolition of a great part of the evidence against you by my young
friend B----'s cross-examination, taken with the fact of another
person having been coming from the grounds at the very time of the
murder, might have raised a doubt in the minds of the jury, and you
might have obtained a verdict in your favour after long hesitation;
yet the suspicion which would then have attached to you, would have
been very strong, and very general. As it is, no doubt will rest with
any one, but the two or three who may have seen your friend Lockwood,
and remarked the extraordinary likeness between you."
"And yet that, my dear friend," replied Chandos, "will be enough to
embitter the whole of the rest of my life."
"Do not suffer it to do so," answered his friend; "for the judge who
tried the case is quite convinced of your innocence: and I must now
tell you, though it may spoil your dinner, that suspicion has lighted
on the right person."
"How so?" answered Chandos, starting up. "I trust you have not
mentioned any of the facts."
"They are all still under the seal of confession," replied the
barrister, with a smile; "but the circumstances are these. A person by
the name of Lockwood, who, it seems, is your half-brother, was taken
into custody for creating a disturbance at the door of the court. He
mentioned some circumstances to the constables, which were reported to
the judge, who saw him in his room after the rising of the court. The
great likeness instantly struck his lordship. He made inquiries which
brought out the whole story of Lockwood's visit to Mr. Fleming. I was
immediately sent for, and had to submit to a veiled and courteous
reproach for the course I had thought fit to pursue. For a moment
Lucifer had nearly prevailed to make me treat his lordship somewhat
cavalierly; for the trial was over, and he had nothing to say to it;
but thinking better of the matter, I showed him that it was impossible
for me to refuse evidence in your favour voluntarily tendered; and, at
the same time, I gave him my word of honour, that I would not have
pursued the course I did pursue, unless I had the most positive
certainty of your innocence, although circumstances which I was not
permitted to mention, prevented me from proving the real facts before
the jury. His lordship is very keen and quick in his combinations: he
had Lockwood in again while I was there, and asked him two or three
questions, which elicited the following facts: that your brother and
Mr. Roberts were by no means upon good terms, and that several sharp
discussions had taken place between them;--that Mr. Roberts had
discovered, among some papers at Winslow Abbey, a memorandum in your
father's handwriting, to the effect that a will of a much more recent
date than the one proved had been given into your brother's hands some
time before Sir Harry's death; that Roberts knew the particulars of
that will, which were very favourable to yourself; and that he had
gone over from Winslow Abbey to Northferry House, in order to
communicate the facts to you. This, of course, was sufficient to show
that you could have no earthly motive for taking the poor man's life;
but when Lockwood went on to state, that Sir William at the very time
of the murder was at Northferry House, his lordship immediately
connected that fact with the hasty return of some one from the grounds
through the green-house, and some strange circumstances which have got
abroad regarding your brother's marriage with Miss Tracy--with Miss
Emily Tracy, I mean," he added, seeing Chandos Winslow's face change
as he spoke.
"My brother's marriage with Miss Tracy!" exclaimed the latter; "I
never heard of it."
"Oh, yes," continued the barrister, "they were married--or half
married; for I believe the lady fainted in the midst of the ceremony;
and a letter having been suddenly given to your brother, he left his
bride in the church and went abroad. All these circumstances made out
a case of suspicion in the judge's mind against Sir William, which he
strove cunningly enough to confirm by putting some dexterous questions
to me. I was as silent as the dead; and after some further
conversation he dismissed your friend Lockwood with a reprimand.
Nevertheless, I feel sure his lordship will hold some communication
with the magistrates on the subject; but do not believe they will be
able to prove anything against your brother without your evidence."
"Which they will never have," replied Chandos Winslow.
"But which they ought to have," replied the barrister, shaking his
head; "and now my good friend, I must run away, to cleanse my face and
hands from the filth of courts. I have invited two or three of the bar
to meet you. After dinner, at half-past nine, and at a quarter-past
ten, I have two consultations. At eleven I am off for London; and if
you will take a place in my carriage, I will give you a little advice
by the way; for, from Lockwood's information, I think you would have a
good case for stopping the sale of Winslow Abbey."
"I must go over to Northferry first," replied Chandos; "but I will see
you when I come to town. I am afraid, however, it is too late to stop
the sale."
"Oh dear, no," replied his friend; "the only thing that is too late is
my toilet; for I hear the voice of our learned antagonist, inquiring
for my rooms;" and, running through the neighbouring door, he made his
escape just as Sergeant ---- was announced.
It was with no very pleasant feelings, it must be confessed, that
Chandos Winslow found himself tête-à-tête with a man who had moved
heaven and earth to hang him, not more than four or five hours before.
But whatever notion he had previously formed of the worthy sergeant's
demeanour in private life, from the part he had borne in the trial, it
was very speedily dissipated after he entered unwigged and ungowned.
The sergeant shook him heartily by the hand, congratulated him with a
very joyous laugh, upon the result of the trial, and talked of the
whole affair in which a fellow-creature's life had been at stake, as
if it had been a mere game at cards, where Sir ---- had held most
trumps, and won the rubber. Never was there a more jovial companion;
and when they sat down to dinner, after several other barristers had
arrived, the sergeant laughed and talked and cracked his jokes, and
drank his champagne, till one of the uninitiated might have thought a
consultation with him, after the meal, an expedient somewhat
dangerous.
The conversation during dinner principally turned upon snipe-shooting.
There was very little law; and the "feast of reason and the flow of
soul" did not afford the banquet the lawyers seemed most to delight
in. Habit is very strong in its power over the body; but, I think,
even stronger with the mind. The most vehement rivalries, the most
mournful ceremonies, the most tragic scenes, aye, even the most fatal
events lose their great interest when they become habitual. The
statesman, the undertaker, the physician, the soldier can bear witness
to it, as they feast after the fierce debate, the solemn funeral, the
painful death-bed, or the battle-field. Nothing on earth ever makes
twice the same impression. How those lawyers laughed and talked,
though two trials had taken place since that of Chandos Winslow had
terminated, and a woman had been condemned to death, a man had been
sent to expiate one half of a criminal life by labouring during the
rest in chains and exile!
Chandos felt benumbed by the heavy weight of the past, and not cheered
by the light emptiness of the present; so that he was glad when dinner
was over, and coffee drunk. The men of law betook themselves to
earnest consultations, reinvigorated by the temporary repose; for in
reality and truth, during that seeming revel, the giant minds had but
been sleeping. It was rest that they took: and happy are they who are
enabled to cast off the burden of heavy thought, the moment that it is
no longer necessary to bear it.
Chandos took leave of his friend for the time, and ordered a chaise
for Northferry; but while it was in preparation he issued forth to
inquire in the town for Lockwood. His search was vain, however. He
found out the place where his half-brother had dined, after being
discharged from custody by the judge's order; and he learned at the
prison that he had been there to inquire after him; but nothing more
could he discover, and the demeanour of the people of whom he inquired
was not pleasant. They neither said nor did indeed anything that was
uncivil; but there was an instant look of intelligence wherever he
presented himself, which said, as plainly as a look can speak, "There
is the man who was tried for murder!" It was all very painful; and he
returned to the inn, feeling himself a marked man for the rest of
life.
It was a very painful feeling: it must ever be so; to know that his
name would never be mentioned without suspicion--that wherever he
appeared the tale would be told--the past spoken of. He fancied he saw
the shrugged shoulder, the significant smile, the doubtful look--that
he heard the poisonous insinuation, the affected tone of candour, and
the half-veiled accusation. On his name there was a stain, in his
reputation a vulnerable point: every enemy could strike him
there--every false friend, every jealous rival could wound him, either
with the bold broad charge, or the keen and bitter sneer. He had been
tried for murder! It was a terrible fate; but it was irrevocable. The
brand, he thought, was upon him which no Lethe can wash out.