THE REVELATION AT THE INQUEST.
To say that Deerham was rudely disturbed from its equanimity; that petty
animosities, whether concerning Mr. Roy and the Dawsons or other
contending spirits, were lost sight of, hushed to rest in the absorbing
calamity which had overtaken Rachel; to say that occupations were
partially suspended, that there ensued a glorious interim of idleness,
for the female portion of it--of conferences in gutters and collectings
in houses; to say that Rachel was sincerely mourned, old Frost
sympathised with, and the supposed assailant vigorously sought after,
would be sufficient to indicate that public curiosity was excited to a
high pitch; but all this was as nothing compared to the excitement that
was to ensue upon the evidence given at the coroner's inquest.
In the absence of any certain data to go upon, Deerham had been content
to take uncertain data, and to come to its own conclusions. Deerham
assumed that Rachel, from some reasons which they could not fathom, had
taken the lonely road home that night, had met with somebody or other
with whom had ensued a quarrel and scuffle, and that, accidentally or by
intent, she had been pushed into the pond, the coward decamping.
"Villainy enough! even if 'twas but an accident!" cried wrathful
Deerham.
Villainy enough, beyond all doubt, had this been the extent. But,
Deerham had to learn that the villainy had had a beginning previous to
that.
The inquest had been summoned in due course. It sat two days after the
accident. No evidence, tending to further elucidate the matter, was
given, than had been elicited that first night before Mr. Verner; except
the medical evidence. Dr. West and a surgeon from a neighbouring town,
who had jointly made the post-mortem examination, testified that there
was a cause for Rachel Frost's unevenness of spirits, spoken to by her
father and by Mrs. Verner. She might possibly, they now thought, have
thrown herself into the pool; induced to it by self-condemnation.
It electrified Deerham. It electrified Mr. Verner. It worse than
electrified Matthew Frost and Robin. In the first impulse of the news,
Mr. Verner declared that it _could not be_. But the medical men, with
their impassive faces, calmly said that _it was_.
But, so far as the inquiry went, the medical testimony did not carry the
matter any further. For, if the evidence tended to induce a suspicion
that Rachel might have found life a burden, and so wished to end it, it
only rendered stronger the suspicion against another. This supplied the
very motive for that other's conduct which had been wanting, supposing
he had indeed got rid of her by violence. It gave the clue to much which
had before been dark. People could understand now why Rachel should
hasten to keep a stealthy appointment; why quarrelling should be heard;
in short, why poor Rachel should have been found in the pond. The jury
returned an open verdict--"Found drowned; but how she got into the
water, there is no precise evidence to show."
Robin Frost struggled out of the room as the crowd was dispersing. His
eye was blazing, his cheek burning. Could Robin have laid his hand at
that moment upon the right man, there would speedily have ensued another
coroner's inquest. The earth was not wide enough for the two to live on
it. Fortunately, Robin could not fix on any one, and say, Thou art the
man! The knowledge was hidden from him. And yet, the very man may have
been at the inquest, side by side with himself. Nay, he probably _was_.
Robin Frost cleared himself from the crowd. He gave vent to a groan of
despair; he lifted his strong arms in impotency. Then he turned and
sought Mr. Verner.
Mr. Verner was ill; could not be seen. Lionel came forward.
"Robin, I am truly sorry--truly grieved. We all are. But I know you will
not care to-day to hear me say it."
"Sir, I wanted to see Mr. Verner," replied Robin. "I want to know if
that inquest can be squashed." Don't laugh at him now, poor fellow. He
meant quashed.
"The inquest quashed!" repeated Lionel. "Of course it cannot be. I don't
know what you mean, Robin. It has been held, and it cannot be unheld."
"I should ha' said the verdict," explained Robin. "I'm beside myself
to-day, Mr. Lionel. Can't Mr. Verner get it squashed? He knows the
crowner."
"Neither Mr. Verner nor anybody else could do it, Robin. Why should you
wish it done?"
"Because it as good as sets forth a lie," vehemently answered Robin
Frost. "She never put herself into the water. Bad as things had turned
out with her, poor dear, she never did that. Mr. Lionel, I ask you, sir,
was she likely to do it?"
"I should have deemed it very unlikely," replied Lionel. "Until to-day,"
he added to his own thoughts.
"No, she never did! Was it the work of one to go and buy herself aprons,
and tape, and cotton for sewing, who was on her way to fling herself
into a pond, I'd ask the crowner?" he continued, his voice rising almost
to a shriek in his emotion. "Them aprons be a proof that _she_ didn't
take her own life. Why didn't they bring it in Wilful Murder, and have
the place scoured out to find him?"
"The verdict will make no difference to the finding him, Robin,"
returned Lionel Verner.
"I dun know that, sir. When a charge of wilful murder's out in a place,
again' some one of the folks in it, the rest be all on the edge to find
him; but 'Found drownded' is another thing. Have you any suspicion
again' anybody, sir?"
He put the question sharply and abruptly, and Lionel Verner looked full
in his face as he answered, "No, Robin."
"Well, good-afternoon, sir."
He turned away without another word. Lionel gazed after him with true
sympathy. "He will never recover this blow," was Lionel Verner's mental
comment.
But for this unfortunate occurrence, John Massingbird would have already
departed from Verner's Pride. The great bane of the two Massingbirds
was, that they had been brought up to be idle men. A sum of money had
become theirs when Frederick came of age--which sum you will call large
or small, as it may please you. It would be as a drop of water to the
millionaire; it would be as a countless fortune to one in the depths of
poverty: we estimate things by comparison. The sum was five thousand
pounds each--Mrs. Massingbird, by her second marriage with Mr. Verner,
having forfeited all right in it. With this sum the young Massingbirds
appeared to think that they could live as gentlemen, and need not seek
to add to it.
Thrown into the luxurious home of Verner's Pride--again we must speak by
comparison: Verner's Pride was luxurious compared to the moderate home
they had been reared in--John and Frederick Massingbird suffered that
worst complaint of all complaints, indolence, to overtake them and
become their master. John, careless, free, unsteady in many ways, set on
to spend his portion as fast as he could; Frederick, more cold, more
cautious, did not squander as his brother did, but he had managed to get
rid of a considerable amount of his own share in unfortunate
speculations. While losses do not affect our personal convenience they
are scarcely felt. And so it was with the Massingbirds. Mr. Verner was
an easy man in regard to money matters; he was also a man who was
particularly sensitive to the feelings of other people, and he had never
breathed a word to his wife about the inexpediency of her keeping her
sons at home in idleness. He feared his motives might be
misconstrued--that it might be thought he grudged the expense. He had
spoken once or twice of the desirability of his step-sons pursuing some
calling in life, and intimated that he should be ready to further their
views by pecuniary help; but the advice was not taken. He offered to
purchase a commission for one or both of them; he hinted that the bar
afforded a stepping-stone to fame. No; John and Frederick Massingbird
were conveniently deaf; they had grown addicted to field-sports, to a
life of leisure, and they did not feel inclined to quit it for one of
obligation or of labour. So they had stayed on at Verner's Pride in the
enjoyment of their comfortable quarters, of the well-spread table, of
their horses, their dogs. All these sources of expense were provided
without any cost or concern of theirs, their own private expenditure
alone coming out of their private purses. How it was with their clothes,
they and Mrs. Verner best knew; Mr. Verner did not. Whether these were
furnished at their own cost, or whether their mother allowed them to
draw for such on her, or, indeed, whether they were scoring up long
bills on account, Mr. Verner made it no concern of his to inquire.
John--who was naturally of a roving nature, and who, but for the
desirable home he was allowed to call his, would probably have been all
over the world before he was his present age, working in his shirt
sleeves for bread one day, exalted to some transient luck the next--had
latterly taken a fancy in his head to emigrate to Australia. Certain
friends of his had gone out there a year or two previously, and were
sending home flaming accounts of their success at the gold-fields. It
excited in John Massingbird a strong wish to join them. Possibly other
circumstances urged him to the step; for it was certain that his
finances were not in so desirable a state as they might be. With John
Massingbird to wish a thing was to do it; and almost before the plan was
spoken of, even in his own family, he was ready to start. Frederick was
in his confidence, Lionel partly so, and a hint to his mother was
sufficient to induce her to preserve reticence on the subject. John
Massingbird had his reasons for this. It was announced in the household
that Mr. Massingbird was departing on a visit to town, the only one who
was told the truth being Rachel Frost. Rachel was looked upon almost as
one of themselves. Frederick Massingbird had also confided it to
Sibylla West--but Frederick and Sibylla were on more confidential terms
than was suspected by the world. John had made a confident on his own
part, and that was of Luke Roy. Luke, despised by Rachel, whom he truly
loved, clearly seeing there was no hope whatever that she would ever
favour him, was eager to get away from Deerham--anywhere, so that he
might forget her. John Massingbird knew this; he liked Luke, and he
thought Luke might prove useful to him in the land to which he was
emigrating, so he proposed to him to join in the scheme. Luke warmly
embraced it. Old Roy, whom they were obliged to take into confidence,
was won over to it. He furnished Luke with the needful funds, believing
he should be repaid four-fold; for John Massingbird had contrived to
imbue him with the firm conviction that gold was to be picked up for the
stooping.
Only three days before the tragic event occurred to Rachel, Luke had
been despatched to London by John Massingbird to put things in a train
of preparation for the voyage. Luke said nothing abroad of his going,
and the village only knew he was away by missing him.
"What's gone of Luke?" many asked of his father.
"Oh, he's off to London on some spree; he can tell ye about it when he
gets back," was Roy's answer.
When he got back! John's departure was intended for the day following
that one when you saw him packing his clothes, but the untimely end of
Rachel had induced him to postpone it. Or, rather, the command of Mr.
Verner--a command which John could not conveniently disobey had he
wished. He had won over Mr. Verner to promise him a substantial sum, to
"set him up," as he phrased it, in Australia; and that sum was not yet
handed to him.