“Thefts, like ivy on a ruin, make the rifts they seem to shade.”—
C. G. DUFFY.
“August 3d, 7 A. M.
“My Dear Colonel Keith,—Papa is come, and I have got up so early in the
morning that I have nothing to do but to write to you before we go in to
Avoncester. Papa and Mr. Beechum came by the six o’clock train, and Lady
Temple sent me in the waggonette to meet them. Aunt Ailie would not
go, because she was afraid Aunt Ermine would get anxious whilst she was
waiting. I saw papa directly, and yet I did not think it could be papa,
because you were not there, and he looked quite past me, and I do not
think he would have found me or the carriage at all if Mr. Beechum had
not known me. And then, I am afraid I was very naughty, but I could not
help crying just a little when I found you had not come; but perhaps
Lady Keith may be better, and you may come before I go into court
to-day, and then I shall tear up this letter. I am afraid papa thought I
was unkind to cry when he was just come home, for he did not talk to me
near so much as Mr. Beechum did, and his eyes kept looking out as if he
did not see anything near, only quite far away. And I suppose Russian
coats must be made of some sort of sheep that eats tobacco.”
“August 3d, 10 A. M.
“Dearest Colin,—I have just lighted on poor little Rosie’s
before-breakfast composition, and I can’t refrain from sending you her
first impressions, poor child, though no doubt they will alter, as she
sees more of her father. All are gone to Avoncester now, though with
some doubts whether this be indeed the critical day; I hope it may be,
the sooner this is over the better, but I am full of hope. I cannot
believe but that the Providence that has done so much to discover
Edward’s innocence to the world, will finish the work! I have little
expectation though of your coming down in time to see it, the copy
of the telegraphic message, which you sent by Harry, looks as bad as
possible, and even allowing something for inexperience and fright,
things must be in a state in which you could hardly leave your brother,
so unwell as he seems.
“2 p.m. I was interrupted by Lady Temple, who was soon followed by Mrs.
Curtis, burning to know whether I had any more intelligence than had
floated to them. Pray, if you can say anything to exonerate poor Rachel
from mismanagement, say it strongly; her best friends are so engaged
in wishing themselves there, and pitying poor Bessie for being in her
charge, that I long to confute them, for I fully believe in her
sense and spirit in any real emergency that she had not ridden out to
encounter.
“And I have written so far without a word on the great subject of all,
the joy untold for which our hearts had ached so long, and which we
owe entirely to you, for Edward owns that nothing but your personal
representations would have brought him, and, as I suppose you already
know—he so much hated the whole subject of Maddox’s treachery that
he had flung aside, unread, all that he saw related to it. Dear Colin,
whatever else you have done, you have filled a famished heart. Could you
but have seen Ailie’s face all last evening as she sat by his side,
you would have felt your reward—it was as if the worn, anxious, almost
stern mask had been taken away, and our Ailie’s face was beaming out
as of old when she was the family pet, before Julia took her away to be
finished. She sees no change; she is in an ecstasy of glamour that makes
her constantly repeat her rejoicings that Edward is so much himself, so
unchanged, till I almost feel unsisterly for seeing in him the traces
that these sad years have left, and that poor little Rose herself has
detected. No, he is not so much changed as exaggerated. The living
to himself, and with so cruel a past, has greatly increased the old
dreaminess that we always tried to combat, and he seems less able than
before to turn his mind into any channel but the one immediately before
him. He is most loving when roused, but infinitely more inclined to fall
off into a muse. I am afraid you must have had a troublesome charge in
him, judging by the uproar Harry makes about the difficulty of getting
him safe from Paddington. It is good to see him and Harry together—the
old schoolboy ways are so renewed, all bitterness so entirely forgotten,
only Harry rages a little that he is not more wrapped up in Rose. To say
the truth, so do I; but if it were not for Harry’s feeling the same, I
should believe that you had taught me to be exacting about my rosebud.
Partly, it is that he is disappointed that she is not like her mother;
he had made up his mind to another Lucy, and her Williams face took him
by surprise, and, partly, he is not a man to adapt himself to a child.
She must be trained to help unobtrusively in his occupations; the
unknowing little plaything her mother was, she never can be. I am afraid
he will never adapt himself to English life again—his soul seems to be
in his mines, and if as you say he is happy and valued there—though it
is folly to look forward to the wrench again, instead of rejoicing in
the present, gladness; but often as I had fashioned that arrival in my
fancy, it was never that Harry’s voice, not yours, should say the ‘Here
he is.’
“They all went this morning in the waggonette, and the two boys with
Miss Curtis in the carriage. Lady Temple is very kind in coming in and
out to enliven me. I am afraid I must close and send this before their
return. What a day it is! And how are you passing it? I fear, even at
the best, in much anxiety. Lady Temple asks to put in a line.—Yours
ever, E. W.”
“August 3d, 5 P. M.
“My Dear Colonel,—This is just to tell you that dear Ermine is very
well, and bearing the excitement and suspense wonderfully. We were all
dreadfully shocked to hear about poor dear Bessie; it is so sad her
having no mother nor any one but Rachel to take care of her, though
Rachel would do her best, I know. If she would like to have me, or if
you think I could do any good, pray telegraph for me the instant you get
this letter. I would have come this morning, only I thought, perhaps,
she had her aunt. That stupid telegram never said whether her baby was
alive, or what it was, I do hope it is all right. I should like to send
nurse up at once—I always thought she saved little Cyril when he was so
ill. Pray send for nurse or me, or anything I can send: anyway, I know
nobody can be such a comfort as you; but the only thing there is to wish
about you is, that you could be in two places at once.
“The two boys are gone in to the trial, they were very eager about it;
and dear Grace promises to take care of Conrade’s throat. Poor boys!
they had got up a triumphal arch for your return, but I am afraid I am
telling secrets. Dear Ermine is so good and resolutely composed—quite
an example.—Yours affectionately,
“F. G. Temple.”
“Avoncester,
August 3d, 2 P. M.
“My Dear Colonel Keith,—I am just come out of court, and I am to wait
at the inn, for Aunt Ailie does not like for me to hear the trial, but
she says I may write to you to pass away the time. I am sorry I left my
letter out to go this morning, for Aunt Ailie says it is very undutiful
to say anything about the sheep’s wool in Russia smelling of tobacco.
Conrade says it is all smoking, and that every one does it who has seen
the world. Papa never stops smoking but when he is with Aunt Ermine,
he sat on the box and did it all the way to Avoncester, and Mr. Beechum
said it was to compose his mind. After we got to Avoncester we had a
long, long time to wait, and first one was called, and then another, and
then they wanted me. I was not nearly so frightened as I was that time
when you sent for me, though there were so many more people; but it was
daylight, and the judge looked so kind, and the lawyer spoke so gently
to me, and Mr. Maddox did not look horrid like that first time. I think
he must be sorry now he has seen how much he has hurt papa. The lawyer
asked me all about the noises, and the lions, and the letters of light,
just as Mr. Grey did; and they showed me papa’s old seal ring, and asked
if I knew it, and a seal that was made with the new one that he got when
the other was lost! and I knew them because I used to make impressions
on my arms with them when I was a little girl. There was another lawyer
that asked how old I was, and why I had not told before; and I thought
he was going to laugh at me for a silly little girl, but the judge
would not let him, and said I was a clear-headed little maiden; and Mr.
Beechum came with Aunt Ailie, and took me out of court, and told me to
choose anything in the whole world he should give me, so I chose the
little writing case I am writing with now, and ‘The Heroes’ besides, so
I shall be able to read till the others come back, and we go home.—Your
affectionate little friend,
“Rose Ermine Williams.”
“The Homestead,
August 3d, 9 P. M.
“My Dear Alexander,—You made me promise to send you the full account of
this day’s proceedings, or I do not think I should attempt it, when you
may be so sadly engaged. Indeed, I should hardly have gone to Avoncester
had the sad intelligence reached me before I had set out, when I thought
my sudden return would be a greater alarm to my mother, and I knew that
dear Fanny would do all she could for her. Still she has had a very
nervous day, thinking constantly of your dear sister, and of Rachel’s
alarm and inexperience; but her unlimited confidence in your care
of Rachel is some comfort, and I am hoping that the alarm may have
subsided, and you may be all rejoicing. I have always thought that, with
dear Rachel, some new event or sensation would most efface the terrible
memories of last spring. My mother is now taking her evening nap, and
I am using the time for telling you of the day’s doings. I took with me
Fanny’s two eldest, who were very good and manageable, and we met Mr.
Grey, who put us in very good places, and told us the case was just
coming on. You will see the report in detail in the paper, so I will
only try to give you what you would not find there. I should tell you
that Maddox has entirely dropped his alias. Mr. Grey is convinced that
was only a bold stroke to gain time and prevent the committal, so as
to be able to escape, and that he ‘reckoned upon bullying a dense old
country magistrate;’ but that he knew it was quite untenable before a
body of unexceptionable witnesses. Altogether the man looked greatly
altered and crest-fallen, and there was a meanness and vulgarity in his
appearance that made me wonder at our ever having credited his account
of himself. He had an abject look, very unlike his confident manner
at the sessions, nor did he attempt his own defence. Mr. Grey kept on
saying he must know that he had not a leg to stand upon.
“The counsel for the prosecution told the whole story, and it was
very touching. I had never known the whole before; the sisters are so
resolute and uncomplaining: but how they must have suffered when every
one thought them ruined by their brother’s fraud! I grieve to think how
we neglected them, and only noticed them when it suited our convenience.
Then he called Mr. Beechum, and you will understand better than I can
all about the concern in which they were embarked, and Maddox coming to
him for an advance of £300, giving him a note from Mr. Williams, asking
for it to carry out an invention. The order for the sum was put into
Maddox’s hands, and the banker proved the paying it to him by an order
on a German bank.
“Then came Mr. Williams. I had seen him for a moment in setting out, and
was struck with his strange, lost, dreamy look. There is something very
haggard and mournful in his countenance; and, though he has naturally
the same fine features as his eldest sister, his cheeks are hollow, his
eyes almost glassy, and his beard, which is longer than the Colonel’s,
very grey. He gave me the notion of the wreck of a man, stunned and
crushed, and never thoroughly alive again; but when he stood in the
witness-box, face to face with the traitor, he was very different; he
lifted up his head, his eyes brightened, his voice became clear, and his
language terse and concentrated, so that I could believe in his having
been the very able man he was described to be. I am sure Maddox must
have quailed under his glance, there was something so loftily innocent
in it, yet so wistful, as much as to say, ‘how could you abuse my
perfect confidence?’ Mr. Williams denied having received the money,
written the letter, or even thought of making the request. They showed
him the impression of two seals. He said one was made with a seal-ring
given him by Colonel Keith, and lost some time before he went abroad;
the other, with one with which he had replaced it, and which he
produced,—he had always worn it on his finger. They matched exactly
with the impressions; and there was a little difference in the hair of
the head upon the seal that was evident to every one. It amused the
boys extremely to see some of the old jurymen peering at them with their
glasses. He was asked where he was on the 7th of September (the date of
the letter), and he referred to some notes of his own, which enabled him
to state that on the 6th he had come back to Prague from a village with
a horrible Bohemian name—all cs and zs—which I will not attempt to
write, though much depended on the number of the said letters.
“The rest of the examination must have been very distressing, for
Maddox’s counsel pushed him hard about his reasons for not returning to
defend himself, and he was obliged to tell how ill his wife was, and how
terrified; and they endeavoured to make that into an admission that he
thought himself liable. They tried him with bits of the handwriting, and
he could not always tell which were his own;—but I think every one must
have been struck with his honourable scrupulosity in explaining every
doubt he had.
“Other people were called in about the writing, but Alison Williams was
the clearest of all. She was never puzzled by any scrap they showed her,
and, moreover, she told of Maddox having sent for her brother’s address,
and her having copied it from a letter of Mrs. Williams’s, which she
produced, with the wrong spelling, just as it was in the forgery. The
next day had come a letter from the brother, which she showed, saying
that they were going to leave the place sooner than they had intended,
and spelling it right. She gave the same account of the seals, and
nothing ever seemed to disconcert her. My boys were so much excited
about their ‘own Miss Williams,’ that I was quite afraid they would
explode into a cheer.
“That poor woman whom we used to call Mrs. Rawlins told her sad story
next. She is much worn and subdued, and Mr. Grey was struck with
the change from the fierce excitement she showed when she was first
confronted with Maddox, after her own trial; but she held fast to the
same evidence, giving it not resentfully, but sadly and firmly, as if
she felt it to be her duty. She, as you know, explained how Maddox
had obtained access to Mr. Williams’s private papers, and how she had,
afterwards, found in his possession the seal ring, and the scraps of
paper in his patron’s writing. A policeman produced them, and the seal
perfectly filled the wax upon the forged letter. The bits of paper
showed that Maddox had been practising imitating Mr. Williams’s
writing. It all seemed most distinct, but still there was some sharp
cross-examination of her on her own part in the matter, and Mr. Grey
said it was well that little Rose could so exactly confirm the facts she
mentioned.
“Poor, dear little Rose looked very sweet and innocent, and not so much
frightened as at her first examination. She told her story of the savage
way in which she had been frightened into silence. Half the people in
the court were crying, and I am sure it was a mercy that she was not
driven out of her senses, or even murdered that night. It seems that she
was sent to bed early, but the wretches knowing that she always woke and
talked while her mother was going to bed, the phosphoric letters were
prepared to frighten her, and detain her in her room, and then Maddox
growled at her when she tried to pass the door. She was asked how she
knew the growl to be Maddox’s, and she answered that she heard him
cough. Rachel will, I am sure, remember the sound of that little dry
cough. Nothing could make it clearer than that the woman had spoken the
truth. The child identified the two seals with great readiness, and then
was sent back to the inn that she might not be perplexed with hearing
the defence. This, of course, was very trying to us all, since the best
the counsel could do for his client was to try to pick holes in
the evidence, and make the most of the general acquiescence in Mr.
Williams’s guilt for all these years. He brought forward letters that
showed that Mr. Williams had been very sanguine about the project, and
had written about the possibility that an advance might be needed. Some
of the letters, which both Mr. Williams and his sister owned to be in
his own writing, spoke in most flourishing terms of his plans; and it
was proved by documents and witnesses that the affairs were in such a
state that bankruptcy was inevitable, so that there was every motive for
securing a sum to live upon. It was very miserable all the time this was
going on, the whole interpretation, of Mr. Williams’s conduct seemed
to be so cruelly twisted aside, and it was what every one had all
along believed, his absence was made so much of, and all these little
circumstances that had seemed so important were held so cheap—one knew
it was only the counsel’s representation, and yet Alison grew whiter
and whiter under it. I wish you could have heard the reply: drawing the
picture of the student’s absorption and generous confidence, and his
agent’s treachery, creeping into his household, and brutally playing on
the terrors of his child.
“Well, I cannot tell you all, but the judge summed up strongly for a
conviction, though he said a good deal about culpable negligence almost
inviting fraud, and I fear it must have been very distressing to the
Williamses, but the end was that Maddox was found guilty, and sentenced
to fourteen years’ penal servitude, though I am afraid they will not
follow Conrade’s suggestion, and chain up a lion by his bed every night
of his life.
“We were very happy when we met at the inn, and all shook hands.
Dr. Long was, I think, the least at ease. He had come in case this
indictment had in any way failed, to bring his own matter forward, so
that Maddox should not get off. I do not like him very much, he seemed
unable to be really hearty, and I think he must have once been harsh and
now ashamed of it. Then he was displeased at Colonel Keith’s absence,
and could hardly conceal how much he was put out by the cause, as if he
thought the Colonel had imposed himself on the family as next heir. I
hardly know how to send all this in the present state of things, but I
believe you will wish to have it, and will judge how much Rachel will
bear to hear. Good night.—Your affectionate Sister,
“Grace Curtis.”
“Gowanbrae,
Avonmouth,
August 3d, 11 P. M.
“Dear Keith,—Before this day has ended you must have a few lines from
the man whom your exertions have relieved from a stigma, the full misery
of which I only know by the comfort of its removal. I told you there
was much that could never be restored. I feel this all the more in the
presence of all that now remains to me, but I did not know how much
could still be given back. The oppression of the load of suspicion under
which I laboured now seems to me to have been intolerable since I have
been freed from it. I cannot describe how changed a man I have felt,
since Beechum shook hands with me. The full blackness of Maddox’s
treachery I had not known, far less his cruelty to my child. Had I been
aware of all I could not have refrained from trying to bring him to
justice; but there is no need to enter into the past. It is enough that
I owe to you a freed spirit, and new life, and that my gratitude is not
lessened by the knowledge that something besides friendship urged you.
Ermine is indeed as attractive as ever, and has improved in health far
more than I durst expect. I suppose it is your all-powerful influence.
You are first with all here, as you well deserve, even my child, who
is as lovely and intelligent as you told me, has every thought pervaded
with ‘the Colonel.’ She is a sweet creature; but there was one who will
never be retraced, and forgive me, Keith, without her, even triumph must
be bitterness.—Still ever most gratefully yours,
“Edward Williams.”
“August 3d, 11 P. M.
“Dearest Colin,—The one sound in my ears, the one song in my heart is,
‘Let them give thanks.’ It is as if we had passed from a dungeon into
sunshine. I suppose it would be too much if you were here to share it.
They sent Rose in first to tell me, but I knew in the sound of their
wheels that all was well. What an evening we have had, but I must not
write more. Ailie is watching me like a dragon, and will not rest till I
am in bed; but I can’t tell how to lose one minute of gladness in sleep.
Oh, Colin, Colin, truest of all true knights, what an achievement yours
has been!”
“August 4th.
“That was a crazy bit that I wrote last night, but I will not make away
with it. I don’t care how crazy you think me. It would have been a pity
not to have slept to wake to the knowledge that all was not a dream, but
then came the contrast with the sorrow you are watching. And I have just
had your letter. What a sudden close to that joyous life! She was one
of the most winning beings, as you truly say, that ever flashed across
one’s course, and if she had faults, they were those of her day and her
training. I suppose, by what you say, that she was too girlish to be all
the companion your brother required, and that this may account for his
being more shocked than sorrow-stricken, and his child, since he can
dwell on the thought, is such a new beginning of hope, that I wonder
less than you do at his bearing up so well. Besides, pain dulls the
feelings, and is a great occupation. I wish you could have seen that
dear Bessie, but I gather that the end came on much more rapidly than
had been expected. It seemed as if she were one of those to whom even
suffering was strangely lightened and shortened, as if she had met only
the flowers of life, and even the thorns and stings were almost lost in
their bright blossoms. And she could hardly have lived on without much
either of temptation or sorrow. I am glad of your testimony to Rachel’s
effectiveness, I wrote it out and sent it up to the Homestead. There
was a note this morning requesting Edward to come in to see Maddox, and
Ailie is gone with him, thinking she may get leave to see poor Maria.
Think of writing ‘Edward and Ailie again! Dr. Long and Harry are gone
with them. The broken thread is better pieced by Harry than by the
Doctor; but he wants Ailie and me to go and stay at Belfast. Now I must
hear Rose read, in order to bring both her and myself to our reasonable
senses.”
“5 P. M.
“They have been returned about an hour, and I must try to give you
Edward’s account of his interview. Maddox has quite dropped his mask,
and seems to have been really touched by being brought into contact with
Edward again, and, now it is all up with him, seemed to take a kind of
pleasure in explaining the whole web, almost, Edward said, with vanity
at his own ingenuity. His earlier history was as he used to represent it
to Edward. He was a respectable ironmonger’s son, with a taste for art;
he was not allowed to indulge it, and then came rebellion, and breaking
away from home. He studied at the Academy for a few years, but wanted
application, and fancied he had begun too late, tried many things and
spent a shifty life, but never was consciously dishonest till after he
had fallen in with Edward; and the large sums left uninquired for in his
hands became a temptation to one already inclined to gambling. His own
difficulties drove him on, and before he ventured on the grand stroke,
he had been in a course of using the sums in his hands for his own
purposes. The finding poor Maria open to the admiration he gave her
beauty, put it into his head to make a tool of her; and this was not the
first time he had used Edward’s seal, or imitated his writing. No wonder
there was such a confusion in the accounts as told so much against
Edward. He told the particulars, Edward says, with the strangest mixture
of remorse and exultation. At last came the journey to Bohemia, and his
frauds became the more easy, until he saw there must be a bankruptcy,
and made the last bold stroke, investing the money abroad in his own
name, so that he would have been ready to escape if Edward had come
home again. He never expected but that Edward would have returned, and
finding the affairs hopeless, did this deed in order to have a resource.
As to regret, he seemed to feel some when he said the effects had gone
farther than he anticipated; but ‘I could not let him get into that
subject,’ Edward said, and he soon came back to his amused complacency
in his complete hoodwinking of all concerned at home, almost thanking
Edward for the facilities his absence had given him. After this, he went
abroad, taking Maria lest she should betray him on being cast off; and
they lived in such style at German gambling places that destitution
brought them back again to England, where he could better play the
lecturer, and the artist in search of subscriptions. Edward could not
help smiling over some of his good stories, rather as ‘the lord’ may
have ‘commended the wisdom of his unjust steward.’ Well, here he came,
and, as he said, he really could hardly have helped himself; he had
only to stand still and let poor Rachel deceive herself, and the whole
concern was in a manner thrust upon him. He was always expecting to be
able to get the main sum into his hands, as he obtained more confidence
from Rachel, and the woodcuts were an over-bold stroke for the purpose;
he had not intended her to keep or show them, but her ready credulity
tempted him too far; and I cannot help laughing now at poor Edward’s
reproofs to us for having been all so easily cheated, now that he
has been admitted behind the scenes. Maddox never suspected our
neighbourhood, he had imagined us to be still in London, and though he
heard Alison’s name, he did not connect it with us. After all, what you
thought would have been fatal to your hopes of tracing him, was really
what gave him into our hands—Lady Temple’s sudden descent upon their F.
U. E. E. If he had not been so hurried and distressed as to be forced to
leave Maria and the poor child to her fate, Maria would have held by
him to the last and without her testimony where should we have been?
But with a summons out against him, and hearing that Maria had been
recognised, he could only fly to the place at Bristol that he thought
unknown to Maria. Even when seized by the police, he did not know it
was she who directed them, and had not expected her evidence till he
actually saw and heard her on the night of the sessions. It was all
Colonel Keith’s doing, he said, every other adversary he would have
despised, but your array of forces met him at every corner where he
hoped to escape, and the dear little Rosie gave him check-mate, like
a gallant little knight’s pawn as she is. ‘Who could have guessed that
child would have such a confounded memory?’ he said, for Edward had
listened with a sort of interest that had made him quite forget that he
was Rose’s father, and that this wicked cunning Colonel was working
in his cause. So off he goes to penal servitude, and Edward is so much
impressed and touched with his sharpness as to predict that he will be
the model prisoner before long, if he do not make his escape. As to
poor Maria, that was a much more sad meeting, though perhaps less really
melancholy, for there can be no doubt that she repents entirely, she
speaks of every one as being very good to her, and indeed the old
influences only needed revival, they had never quite died out. Even that
poor child’s name was given for love of Ailie, and the perception of
having been used to bring about her master’s ruin had always preyed
upon her, and further embittered her temper. The barbarity seemed like a
dream in connexion with her, but, as she told Ailie, when she once began
something came over her, and she could not help striking harder. It
reminded me of horrible stories of the Hathertons’ usage of animals.
Enough of this. I believe the Sisterhood will find a safe shelter for
her when her imprisonment is over, and that temptation will not again
be put in her way. We should never have trusted her in poor dear Lucy’s
household. Rose calls for the letters. Good bye, dearest Colin and
conqueror. I know all this will cheer you, for it is your own doing. I
can’t stop saying so, it is such a pleasant sound—Your own,
“E. W.”