The very name of Jeffries spread terror and despair through the
various prisons in the west of England in which the unfortunate
participators in Monmouth's rebellion were confined. He was known to
be the unscrupulous tool of arbitrary power. He was known to love
blood, and to revel in misery. He was probably the only judge who ever
disgraced the English bench by openly rejoicing in the power to
torture or to slay. He was the terror of the bar, the brow-beater of
witnesses, the bully of a jury. With a sufficient knowledge of the law
to twist it to his own purposes, and make it serve the ends that were
dictated to him; with a sufficient contempt for it to set it at naught
when it interfered with his designs; with a sagacity and clearness of
judgment that were applied only to derive from any case all the
arguments it could afford in favor of a prejudiced judgment; with an
impudent daring befitting only the brothel or the gambling-house, he
feared no consequences so long as his savage instincts could be
gratified, he shrunk from no opprobrium so long as it was a means to
wealth and power.
The news soon spread far and wide that Jeffries was coming down to
judge the prisoners in the West. It was soon followed by intelligence
of his having opened the commission at Winchester, of his having tried
the Lady Alice Lisle for harboring two unfortunate rebels, of his
having violated the first principles of justice and the strict letter
of the law, of his having brow-beat, insulted, and abused the
witnesses, and wrung by threats and violence a verdict of guilty from
a reluctant jury. Then came the sentence that she should be burned
alive in the public market-place, and then the mockery of mercy in the
commutation of the sentence to another kind of death. Dismay spread
through all hearts; for no man found himself safe, however conscious
he might be of innocence. The safeguards of law and justice were gone.
Party prejudices, private malice, cupidity, revenge, caprice, could at
any time strike its victim from the judgment seat; and men learned to
fear enemies whom they had contemned and scorned before.
If such was the feeling produced throughout the public, what must have
been the sensations with which prisoners already accused heard the
fatal tidings that Jeffries was coming on into the West? The savage
jailers of the prison in which Ralph Woodhall was confined--men of the
basest minds and lowest habits--took care that he should have the
whole intelligence piece by piece. As far as personal comfort was
concerned, they had consented, for high considerations, to improve his
condition: he had a comfortable room in the governor's house; his food
was no longer bread and water; he had pen and ink allowed him; and a
good and honest lawyer was admitted to him; but the jailers, who loved
misery next to money, took part payment for the conveniences they were
bribed to allow, in torturing the prisoner with continual thoughts of
his coming fate.
To say that Ralph gave himself up to despair would give no proper idea
of the condition of his mind. He gave himself up for lost, indeed, and
prepared to meet the worst with firmness, and in this respect,
perhaps, a knowledge of the character of his judge was serviceable to
him. There was very little uncertainty to be struggled with, the most
unnerving of all agonies. He had not to think of chances, and
calculate probabilities, and vacillate between hope and fear. He had
only to prepare. Had any just judge been the person to try him, he
would have entertained no doubt, no apprehension; for his full
consciousness of innocence made him imagine that his innocence must be
clearly established. But with a Jeffries on the bench, with his known
corruptibility, with all the strong influence and great wealth of Lord
Woodhall arrayed against the prisoner, there was little--there was no
chance of an acquittal, and he felt that there was nothing remaining
but by an honest and firm defense to keep his name pure for after
time, and to make ready to die with manly fortitude.
That was a bitter task enough. He was in the bloom of youth, full of
the fresh vigor of early manhood, with every capability of enjoyment
unimpaired, with the bright, cheerful world unclouded by
disappointments, unsullied by vice. All that he had seen of life, up
to a few months before, had been calm, cheerful happiness; and he had
now to part with all. Hope, too, had opened her garden gates before
him, and but a short time previously he had been breathing her odors
and reveling among her flowers. All this was to be parted with--the
bright expectations of love, the long vista of happy hours ever open
to the eye of youth, the high aspirations, the brilliantly-painted
pictures of fancy, were all to be given up together, and buried with
him in the dark, cold grave. The strong energies; the warm, chivalrous
courage; the firm, enduring resolution; the activity of thought, the
might of a strong mind, which he had expected, exercised with honor
and with faith, would lead him to distinction, were all to come to an
end upon a public scaffold; and a death of dishonor was to close a
brief, bright life of honest effort and unstained integrity.
For all this he had to prepare; but he did so, and did it well.
He wrote to his father, to Margaret, to Lady Danvers, and to Lord
Woodhall, and on each letter he put the words, "To be delivered after
my death." To all he gave the most solemn assurances, as a dying man,
that he had no share whatsoever in the death of his cousin Henry,
adding that he trusted to make the facts so clearly appear at his
trial, that when prejudice and passion should have subsided, there
would not be one man who would deny his innocence. At the same time,
he declared the conviction that he should be condemned, alluding only
generally to the circumstances which rendered that conviction
reconcilable with the full consciousness of innocence.
His lawyer was active and eager; there was something in the young
man's demeanor, in his calmness, in his firmness, in a certain
cheerful tone with which he spoke of his coming fate, that touched the
good man much, and he took more than a mere mercenary or a mere
professional interest in the case. Ralph let him do what he would; but
he showed considerable indifference to all the legal and technical
points connected with his situation. He answered all the questions
that were put to him frankly and sincerely, and gave a full and clear
account of all the events affecting the case, as far as he knew them,
mentioning the names of every one who had taken more or less part in
the transactions which I have recorded.
The man of law rubbed his hands, and declared that if the evidence of
the persons mentioned could be procured, there was no doubt about
obtaining a verdict. There was one point, he said, that required some
consideration. The trial ought to take place in the county where the
alleged offense had been committed. "Doubtless," he added, "the crown
is prepared to change the venue, and that is done so easily nowadays
that any motive will suffice where the crown is concerned. I should
not wonder to find in this instance the pretext is, the difficulty and
inconvenience of moving you to Norfolk without the slightest
consideration of the difficulty and expense to you of moving your
witnesses hither. Perhaps, indeed, the trial may not come on, and you
may still be sent to Norwich; but even in that case my labors will not
have been in vain, for your defense will be fully prepared."
Ralph smiled faintly. "You have furnished me with the first ground of
hope," he said, "and I am almost sorry for it. In Norfolk I should be
certainly acquitted. Here I should be as certainly condemned; but I
will not give way to any expectations. Those who have determined to
condemn me have taken their precautions, depend upon it, and be you
sure the venue will be changed."
"Well, well, it gives us a chance," said the lawyer; "great men
sometimes make great mistakes, and an oversight may have been
committed in this instance."
At this time he had stayed with Ralph, as was sometimes his custom,
for several hours, and day had declined into night when he took his
departure.
The old town of Dorchester was, I believe, not very much less in size
at that time than at present. It was always a very prosperous and
quiet town, not very much celebrated for any manufacture but that of
ale. The streets were then very narrow and tortuous, and the houses
opposite to the prison itself were only separated from the outer wall
surrounding the old building by a road not four yards broad. They were
low, mean houses, inhabited by the poorer classes, which have long
since been swept away. Under the eaves of one of these houses, when
the attorney came forth from the prison gates, he perceived a man
standing with his figure clearly displayed by a light in one of the
windows, for there were no lamps in the town at that period. It was a
rainy night, however, and as the roof projected far, it afforded a
shelter. The moment the attorney moved on, however, the man followed
him, and at the end of the street overtook and tapped him on the
shoulder.
"I want to speak with you," he said, in a civil tone. "Is your name
Danes? Are you a lawyer?"
"Right in both," replied the attorney. "What do you want with me?"
"I want nothing," replied the man, "but a lady does. She wants to see
you directly--a great lady, too, whom you must have heard of, if not
seen."
"Who is she?" asked the attorney.
"Come with me, and you will see," replied the man; and Mr. Danes
followed him with the full determination of taking to his heels if his
guide conducted him to any place of suspicious appearance.
Far from so doing, however, the man led him to one of the most
frequented parts of the town, and to the house of one of the most
respectable inhabitants--a gentleman well affected also to the
reigning family, and in some favor with the powers that were:
"Why, this is Mr. Winkworth's house," said the attorney.
"Very true," replied the man, laconically, and opened the door, for
doors in Dorchester at that time usually remained unlocked till the
family retired to rest. "Come up," said the man; and, passing several
doors in the great hall, through which the sounds of conversation
found their way, he led his companion up a broad, venerable stair-case
of carved oak, and opened a door, saying, "Master Danes, my lady."
The attorney entered the room, and though it contained only two
persons, he felt dazzled, as it were, not so much by the bright light
which succeeded suddenly to darkness, as by the blaze of beauty before
him. He paused a moment in his advance, thinking he had never before
beheld two such beautiful creatures as those which were seated near
the table with hand clasped in hand. One was dressed in deep mourning;
and on the table near her lay one of those black half masks very
commonly worn by ladies of that day, and known in France by the name
of loup. The other was richly dressed in the style of the court; but
even the costume of the day, which by that time was becoming stiff and
rigid, could not conceal the beauty of her form. About the one there
was a certain wild freshness and youthful grace that was very
captivating; while the other, though evidently but a very little
older, had a sort of quiet dignity and self-possession in her carriage
which spoke the long-accustomed guest of courts.
The lawyer had not much time to observe, however, before the voice of
the elder lady said, "Come in, Mr. Danes, and take a seat, if you
please."
He thought he never heard such music in his life as the tones which
proceeded from those sweet lips, and, advancing to the table, he
remained standing, with his wet hat in his hand.
"You have seen me before, Mr. Danes," said the lady who had spoken,
"but perhaps you do not recollect me."
"I can not say I do, my lady," replied the lawyer, "and yet I do not
think I could forget you, if ever it had been my good fortune to see
you."
"I was a little girl," she answered, with a faint smile; "you may
perhaps, recollect Hortensia Danvers."
"Oh, God bless me, my lady!" said the lawyer, with a look of delight,
"I remember you quite well, and your noble father, and your excellent
lady mother. I owed my first success in life to them. What can I do to
serve you? Nothing can give me greater pleasure, if it be in my
power."
Hortensia made him take a seat, and then informed him that, having
heard he had been engaged to prepare the defense of Mr. Ralph
Woodhall, she had sent for him to inquire his opinion of the case, and
to offer whatever assistance might be wanted, and she could give.
"The case would be very clear, my lady," replied the lawyer, "if we
could count upon a fair jury and an unprejudiced judge--I must speak
plainly, for the matter requires it--we know that his lordship, who is
coming down here, is subject to all sorts of influences, and, to tell
you the truth, I discover, what I have kept from the young gentleman
himself, that no means, however unscrupulous or iniquitous, are
neglected by the relations of the dead man to get a verdict against
the living one."
"Hush!" said Hortensia, with a glance toward her fair companion,
"hush, Mr. Danes! Do not impute such great blame to persons only moved
by deep love for one whom they have lost."
"Let him speak, dear Hortensia," said Margaret, "let him speak
plainly. It is necessary for you and for me to hear the truth, however
bitter it may be."
"Indeed, my lady," said the lawyer, "in a matter of this kind, where
life and death are concerned, one can not stop to pick words. If Mr.
Woodhall should be tried here, a verdict is very likely to go against
him, for the most violent influence is being used to prejudice the
minds of juries, and the same influence will undoubtedly be exerted
upon the judge."
"But can he not be tried somewhere else?" asked Hortensia.
"He ought to be tried in Norfolk," replied Mr. Danes; "but the crown
can change the venue, and there is but the remotest possible chance of
their neglecting to do so till too late for these assizes. They won't
stand upon any forms of law, depend upon it, and perhaps may break
through all recognized principles of justice; but nevertheless we may
thwart them if they do make any mistakes, though there are few men at
the bar who dare to face Jeffries."
"The boldest, the most skillful, the most learned, must be retained,
at whatever cost," said Hortensia, eagerly. "I make myself responsible
for the amount, Mr. Danes, whatever it may be. Hesitate at no expense
whatever; use all the means that may suggest themselves; for, in
proportion to the vigor of the efforts made to oppress, so must be the
vigor of our efforts to defend."
As she spoke, she laid her hand upon Margaret's, and pressed it
gently; and, if there was ever abnegation of self in a woman's heart,
it was in Hortensia's at that moment.
"This is very necessary kindness, my lady," said the attorney, "for
witnesses have to be brought from a great distance, and the little
means we have will be consumed in that part of the affair. The fees of
eminent lawyers are very great; and my only hope was that old Mr.
Woodhall might arrive and bring a further supply; but he has not
come."
"Let not that stand in the way for a moment," replied Hortensia; "I am
responsible to you for any amount employed in this case."
"If so," said the lawyer, gazing at her with an inquiring look, "we
might try what can be done with his lordship himself. I think it would
answer if the sum were large enough."
The blood rushed into Hortensia's face, and there was an evident
struggle.
"I can not say that," said she, "I can not tell you to do any thing
that is wrong; but this I will say, Mr. Danes, do all that is
necessary to insure that real justice is arrived at, and I will shrink
from no engagement that you may make for me. Now, can you explain to
me some circumstances that I do not understand. It appears even to my
eyes, unlearned in the law as I am, that it may be necessary and right
to summon myself and all the servants who were with me at the Duke of
Norfolk's when the supposed quarrel took place, to give our evidence
at the trial. But I find that several other persons attached to my
household, who were not near the spot, but resided at Danvers's New
Church at the time, have likewise received notice to appear--what can
be the cause of this, Mr. Danes?"
"Rather strange, certainly, my lady," said the lawyer. "But was not
the young gentleman at your house for some time after the event?"
"He was," replied Lady Danvers; "but I see not how that can affect the
question whether he did or did not kill his cousin in a duel, and
whether the circumstances attending that duel were fair."
"They may think they can prove admissions of some kind," said the
lawyer; "but still, I will acknowledge it strikes me as strange; and
where it is evident that there is an intention to persecute rather
than prosecute, one does become suspicious of every move in the game.
I will tell you what I will do, my lady. I know something of most of
the men engaged in the courts here. Some of them have already given
information as to the unfair means which are being employed to obtain
a condemnation. I will go and see if I can discover any motive for the
proceeding you mention. Can you give me the names of your people who
have been subp[oe]naed?"
Lady Danvers wrote down five or six names on a piece of paper, and at
the head of them appeared that of the steward, Mr. Drayton. Furnished
with these, the attorney went upon his way; and, in the mean time,
Margaret and Hortensia remained for some time alone, conversing sadly
on the topic which occupied the thoughts of both. Other subjects
connected with Margaret's own fate and circumstances mingled from time
to time with their discourse; and when, at length, she rose to go,
Hortensia repeated twice the injunction to be firm.
"While there is life there is hope, dear Margaret," she said; "and,
though your fate may never be united to that of the man you love, you
owe it to him, methinks, never to wed one whom you so justly abhor.
What I have told you this night of the character of that man is more
than mere hearsay, and I should as soon expect oil and water to mingle
as you to give your hand to him. I must not go with you back, for
doubtless your father has returned by this time, and I should be no
very welcome guest, I suspect; but two of my men shall accompany you,
although, in this good town of Dorchester, one might walk alone, I
believe, without much risk."
"I hope my father has not returned," said Margaret, timidly. "I fear
he might be angry at my absence. He has become exceedingly irascible
since I refused to listen to Robert Woodhall's suit;" and the tears
rose in her eyes while she added, "He never showed me such unkindness
before. Where shall I find my maid?"
"We will call her in," replied Lady Danvers; and, after having
summoned the good woman from another room, she kissed Margaret
tenderly, saying, "Hope still, dear girl, hope still."
"Ay, hope still!" repeated Lady Dangers to herself when Margaret had
left her. "_You_ may hope, poor Margaret. One of the strange turns of
Fate may open before you long vistas of happiness. For me, the view is
closed all round. Well, I can be an anchorite even here."
A few minutes after Mr. Danes returned, but it was only to bring the
intelligence that he could obtain no information. He seemed even more
doubtful and suspicious regarding the circumstances to which Lady
Danvers had called his attention than before. "Either the people
themselves, who are immediately employed, do not know the motives," he
said, "or they will not tell them; and, in either case, the matter
does not look well. There must be motives of secrecy somewhere; and in
such a case as this, where simple justice is concerned, that is in
itself suspicious. However, my lady, all that we can do is to prepare
the defense as carefully as possible. I must send off fresh messengers
eastward this very night to hurry our witnesses; for I hear that his
lordship is making speedy work of it on the way, and it would not
surprise me if he were to refuse even a postponement of the trial,
although our defense was necessarily incomplete." He then went on to
ask Lady Danvers some questions as to what she could testify
concerning the events of that night on which Henry Woodhall's death
had taken place, and then left her with a mind but the more depressed
from inquiries, the object of which she did not altogether see. She
expressed her perfect readiness and willingness, however, to be called
as a witness for the defense; and Mr. Danes went away, convinced that
she would give her evidence well and firmly.