ESTHER DE MEDINA.
Let us now return to the interior of the police-office.
The clerk was drawing up the bail-bond; the two securities were
conversing in whispers with Tom Rain, whom they had affected to greet,
when he descended from the dock, as an old acquaintance; and Mr. Dykes
was leaning gloomily against the partition which separated the
magistrate's desk from the body of the court,—when the entrance of two
persons produced a new sensation amongst the crowd.
One was an officer of the court: the other was a lady, closely veiled,
and enveloped in a cloak of rich material.
Her form was tall; and, even though her entire frame was now convulsed
with intense anguish as she passed amidst the gaping throng to the chair
which Lady Hatfield had occupied two or three minutes previously, yet
that excess of grief and terror did not bow her down, nor impair the
graceful dignity of her gait.
The officer motioned her to seat herself, an intimation which she
evidently accepted with gratitude.
"What is it, Bingham?" inquired the magistrate of the officer.
"Please, your worship," was the reply, "it's a serious charge; and the
prosecutor will be here in a moment."
"Very well," said the magistrate: "I will take it directly."
"Who is she?" whispered Dykes, accosting his brother officer.
"Her name is Esther de Medina, she tells me," returned Bingham.
The question and answer were overheard by Tom Rainford, who was standing
close by the officers; and the announcement of the lady's name produced
a strange and almost electrical effect upon him.
The devil-me-care recklessness of his manner suddenly disappeared; and a
sentiment of profound commiseration and deep interest, in respect to
Esther de Medina, seemed to occupy his mind.
He was about to question Mr. Bingham relative to the charge which he had
against her, when the clerk called upon him and his securities to sign
the bond. This ceremony was speedily performed; and Rain's money was
returned to him by Mr. Dykes, who, however, looked at him in a manner
which seemed to say—"I know I am not mistaken in you, although you have
contrived to get off: but I'll have you another time."
Tom cared nothing for the sinister looks of the Bow Street officer;
neither did he pay much attention to the gold which he now poured back
into his pocket; for all his thoughts appeared to be absorbed in the
presence of the veiled lady.
"Come along with us," whispered Bertinshaw, "and we'll celebrate your
escape over a bottle of wine at my place."
"No—not now," replied Tom, hastily: "I mean to stay and hear this case:
it interests me."
"Will you join us presently?" asked his new friend, who had just now
pretended to be a very old one.
"Yes, yes," answered Tom: "in an hour or so."
Bertinshaw and Watkins then took their departure.
"Now, Bingham," cried the clerk; "what is it?"
At that moment a gentleman of handsome appearance and middle age entered
the court.
"Here's the prosecutor who will explain the matter," said the officer.
The prisoner, suddenly remembering the respect due to the bench, raised
her veil; and, at the same time, she glanced in an eager, inquiring
manner towards the individual who now appeared against her.
But we must pause to describe her.
She was not more than eighteen years of age, and surpassingly lovely.
Her complexion was a clear transparent olive, beneath which the delicate
tinge of carnation was not entirely chased away from her cheeks by the
terror and grief that now oppressed her. Her face was of the aquiline
cast—her forehead broad, high, and intelligent; her nose curved, but not
too prominent in shape; her mouth small, with thin vermilion lips,
revealing teeth of pearly whiteness; her chin sweetly rounded; and her
eyes large, black, and brilliant. And never did more splendid orbs of
light mirror the whole power of the soul, or flash brighter glances from
beneath richly-fringed lids. Then her brows were so delicately
pencilled, and so finely arched, that they gave an air of dignity to
that lovely—that fascinating countenance. Her hair, too, was of the
deepest black—a black so intense, that the raven's wing might not have
compared with it. Silken and glossy, the luxuriant mass was parted above
the forehead, and, flowing in two shining bands—one on each side of the
face, for which they appeared to form an ebony frame,—was gathered
behind the ears.
In stature she was tall, sylph-like, and graceful. Her shoulders had
that fine slope which the Italian masters so much admired, and with
which they were delighted to endow the heroines of their pictures. Her
waist was admirably proportioned, and not rendered too thin by the
unnatural art of tight-lacing. Her hand was of exceeding beauty; her
feet and ankles were in perfect keeping with the exquisite symmetry of
her form; and her gestures were full of dignity and grace.
She was a Jewess; and, if the most glorious beauty were honoured with a
diadem, then should Esther de Medina have become Queen of the Scattered
Race.
The moment she raised her veil, all who could catch a glimpse of her
countenance were struck with astonishment at the dazzling loveliness
thus revealed; and even the magistrate felt anxious to learn what
misadventure could have placed so peerless a being within the grasp of
justice. Her crime could scarcely be robbery; for she was well-dressed,
and had the appearance of belonging to even a wealthy family. Besides,
her face—her eyes seemed to denote a conscious purity of soul, in spite
of the painful emotions which her present situation had excited within
her bosom.
But the person who was most interested—most astonished by the sudden
revelation of that exquisite countenance, was Tom Rain. It was not with
lustful desire that he surveyed her; it was not with any unholy passion:
on the contrary, it was with a sentiment of deep devotion and profound
sympathy. He also manifested extreme curiosity to learn upon what
possible charge Esther de Medina could have been brought thither.
On her part, she was evidently altogether unacquainted with the person
of Tom Rain; for as she cast a rapid and timid glance around, her eyes
lingered not upon him.
The middle-aged, handsome-looking man who had just entered the office,
was now desired to state the grounds upon which Esther de Medina was in
custody.
This witness deposed that his name was Edward Gordon, and that he was a
diamond-merchant, residing in Arundel Street, Strand. On the 31st of
October, at about five o'clock in the evening, a female called upon him
and requested him to purchase of her a diamond ring, which she produced.
He examined it by the light of the lamp burning in the apartment where
he received her; and, finding that it was really a jewel of some value,
he offered her a price which he considered fair. That sum was thirty
guineas. She endeavoured to obtain more; but he did not consider himself
justified in acceding to her wish. Finally, she accepted his proposal,
received the amount, left the ring, and departed. He went out
immediately after, carefully locking the door of the room. Having an
engagement to dine with a friend, he returned home late, and did not
enter that particular room until the following morning; when he
discovered that a set of diamonds, which he remembered to have been
lying in an open case upon the table at the time the female called on
the preceding evening, was missing. He searched vainly in all parts of
the room; and at length came to the fixed conclusion that the female in
question had stolen the diamonds. He gave immediate information to
Bingham, the officer, together with an accurate description of the
suspected person; for she was upwards of twenty minutes with him on the
evening of the 31st, and he had therefore seen enough of her to know her
again.
"Moreover," added the prosecutor "two clear days only have elapsed since
the interview which took place between us; and I appeal to your worship
whether the countenance of the prisoner, when once seen, can be readily
forgotten; for painful as it is to accuse so young and interesting a
person of such a crime, my duty to society compels me to take this step;
and I have no hesitation in declaring that the prisoner is the female
who sold me the ring."
A profound sigh escaped from the bosom of Esther; but she uttered not a
word.
Bingham, the officer, then proved that he called about half an hour
previously upon Mr. Gordon to inform him that he had vainly endeavoured
to discover a clue to the supposed thief. Mr. Gordon was on the point of
going out upon particular business, and the officer, in order not to
detain him, walked a part of the way in his company, so that they might
converse upon the subject of the robbery as they went along. They were
passing through Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, when they met the prisoner at the
bar. Mr. Gordon instantly recognised her, and the officer took her into
custody. She manifested much indignation, and said that there must be
some mistake; but when the nature of the charge was stated to her, she
turned deadly pale, and burst into tears.
Rainford had listened to these statements with the deepest—the most
intense interest; and his countenance underwent various changes,
especially while Mr. Gordon was giving his evidence. At one moment Tom
exhibited surprise—then indignation,—and, lastly, the most unfeigned
sorrow.
But suddenly an idea seemed to strike him: for a minute did he reflect
profoundly; and then joy animated his features.
Hastily quitting the court, he hurried to the coffee-house opposite,
called for writing materials, and penned the following letter:—
"_Nov. 3, 1826._
"MY LORD,—Esther de Medina is at Bow Street, accused of a crime
which is alleged to have been committed at about five o'clock in the
evening of the 31st of October. It is for you to prove her
innocence. Delay not, then, an instant.
"AN UNKNOWN FRIEND TO ESTHER."
Throwing a shilling upon the table, Tom Rain hurried away, took a
hackney-coach at the nearest station, and desired to be driven to the
mansion of Lord Ellingham, Pall-mall, West.
A half-guinea which he slipped into the coachman's hand as he entered
the vehicle, produced the desired effect; for the horses were urged into
a pace the rapidity of which seemed to astonish themselves as a proof of
what they could do if they chose; and, in a very short time, Rainford
leapt out at the door of his lordship's abode.
The nobleman was fortunately at home; and Tom Rain delivered the letter
to the servant who answered his summons.
Then, having desired the coachman to wait, as he might have "a fare"
back to Bow Street, Rainford hurried away at his utmost speed, retracing
his steps to the police-office.
In the meantime, the clerk had taken down the depositions of Mr. Edward
Gordon and Bingham; while the most extraordinary sensation prevailed in
the court. The youth—the loveliness—the modest, yet dignified appearance
of Esther de Medina enlisted all sympathies in her favour; and many a
rude heart then present felt a pang at the idea of believing her to be
guilty.
She had stood up when the prosecutor was called against her; but when he
reached that point in his evidence which mentioned the loss of his
diamonds, she clasped her hand convulsively together, and, trembling
with agitation, sank into the chair from which she had risen.
When the depositions were taken down, the magistrate said, "Prisoner,
you have heard the very serious charge made against you: have you any
thing to say in your defence?"
Then she spoke for the first time since she had entered the court; and
though her words were delivered with impassioned emphasis, the melodious
tones of her voice sounded like a silver bell upon the ears of all
present.
"Sir, I am innocent—I am innocent!" she exclaimed. "Oh! God knows that I
am innocent!"
The glance she darted from beneath her darkly fringed lids spoke even
more eloquently than her words; and every feature of her fine
countenance seemed to bear testimony to the truth of her declaration.
"Would you not do well to send for your friends?" asked the magistrate,
in a kind tone.
These words seemed to touch her most acutely: they summed up as it were
all the painful features of her most distressing position.
"Oh! my father—my dear, dear father!" she exclaimed, her countenance
expressing so much bitter—bitter anguish, that there was scarcely an
unmoistened eye in the court.
"Your worship, I do not wish to prosecute this case—I am sorry I have
gone so far," said the diamond-merchant, wiping away the tears from his
cheeks—for he was really a good-natured man.
"It is not in my power to stay the proceedings," replied Sir Walter
Ferguson. "The evidence is unfortunately strong against the prisoner.
She would do well to send for her friends. Let the case stand over for
half an hour."
Esther was accordingly conducted into the magistrate's private room,
where she was visited by the female-searcher, who endeavoured to
persuade her, with as much gentleness as she could command, to mention
the residence of her parents.
"Alas! my mother has long been dead," was the mournful reply; "and my
poor father—oh! it would break his heart were he to know——"
She checked herself, and fell into a profound reverie—despair expressed
in her countenance. During the remainder of the half hour which
intervened ere she was led back to the office, she replied only in vague
and unsatisfactory, but not self-inculpating, monosyllables to the
questions addressed to her.
At length the female-searcher gave her an indirect intimation, that her
punishment on trial would be more lenient if she admitted her guilt and
expressed her contrition.
"What!" she exclaimed, with a recovering sob; "do you really deem me
culpable of this most heinous charge? My God! have the Christians no
mercy—no compassion? Oh! I should not speak thus to you! But I know that
our race is looked upon with suspicion: we are prejudged, because we are
Jews! And yet," she added, in a different and prouder tone, "there are
as noble sentiments—as generous feelings—as estimable qualities amongst
the members of the scattered tribe, as in the hearts of those Christians
who have persecuted our nation for centuries and centuries!"
The woman, to whom these words were addressed, was astonished at the
enthusiastic manner in which the beautiful Jewess spoke; for there was
something at that moment sublimely interesting—eloquently commanding
about Esther de Medina, as the rich colour glowed more deeply upon her
cheeks, the blue veins dilated on her proud forehead, and the whole
power of her soul seemed thrown into her magnificent eyes.
It was at this moment that the usher of the court entered to conduct the
Jewess back into the office.
Once more she stood in the presence of the magistrate,—now no longer
subdued and crushed with terror; but nerved, as it were by conscious
innocence, to meet the accusation brought against her.
Tom Rain had returned to the court; and, by mingling with the crowd of
spectators, anxiously watched the countenance of Esther de Medina.
"Prisoner," said the magistrate, "have you anything now to offer in your
defence? Or have you sent to communicate with your friends relative to
the position in which you are placed?"
"Sir," answered Esther, her soft and musical tones falling like a
delicious harmony upon the ears, "I have but one word to utter in my
defence; and if I did not speak it when I first stood before you, it was
simply because this terrible accusation, bursting so abruptly upon the
head of an innocent person, stupefied me—deprived me of the power of
collecting my ideas. Neither was it until within a moment of my return
into the court that the fact which I am about to state flashed to my
memory. Sir—I was not in London from two o'clock in the afternoon until
half-past ten o'clock at night, on the 31st of October."
A gentle—a very gentle smile played upon her vermilion lips as she
uttered these words.
"And it was during the interval which you name that the prosecutor was
visited by the female whom he believes to have robbed him of his
diamonds?" observed the magistrate.
"I deny having visited the prosecutor at all," answered Esther, in a
firm but respectful tone. "I never sold him a ring—I never sold an
article of jewellery to a living being. Placed by the honest industry of
my father above want," she continued proudly, "I labour not under the
necessity of parting with my jewellery to obtain money."
At this moment, a fine, tall, handsome young man, of about six and
twenty years of age, entered the court. He was dressed in an elegant but
unassuming manner: his bearing was lofty, without being proud; and his
fine blue eyes indicated a frank and generous disposition.
Slightly inclining in acknowledgment of the respect with which the crowd
made way for him to pass, he advanced towards the magistrate, who
instantly recognised him as an acquaintance.
At the same moment, Esther started with surprise, and murmured the name
of Lord Ellingham.
To the astonishment of all present—Tom Rain, perhaps, excepted,—the
nobleman shook Esther kindly by the hand, saying, "In the name of
heaven, Miss de Medina, what unfortunate—or rather ridiculous mistake
has brought you hither?"
Sir Walter Ferguson immediately directed the clerk to read over the
depositions.
"What!" ejaculated Lord Ellingham, who had scarcely been able to
restrain his indignation during the recital of the previous proceedings:
"the daughter of a respectable and wealthy gentleman to be placed in
such a position as this! But in a moment I will make her innocence
apparent. At the very time when this robbery was alleged to have taken
place—at the hour when the female, for whom this young lady has
evidently been mistaken, called upon the prosecutor—Miss de Medina was
not within six miles of Arundel Street."
These words produced in the court a sensation which was the more lively
because they seemed to corroborate the prisoner's own defence—a defence
which Lord Ellingham had not heard.
Mr. Gordon, the prosecutor, looked astounded—and yet not altogether
grieved at the prospect of the prisoner's discharge.
"Mr. de Medina," continued Lord Ellingham, "has only recently arrived in
London, having retired from an extensive commercial business which he
long carried on at Liverpool. He has become my tenant for a house and
small estate situated at a distance of about seven miles from the
metropolis; and on the 31st of October I accompanied him and his
daughter—the lady now present—on a visit to the property thus leased. We
left London in my own carriage at about two o'clock on the day named;
and it was between ten and eleven at night when we returned. During that
interval of several hours Miss de Medina never quitted her father and
myself."
A murmur of satisfaction arose on the part of the spectators; but it was
almost immediately interrupted by the entrance of an elderly and
venerable-looking man, whose countenance—of that cast which ever
characterises the sons of the scattered tribe—had once been strikingly
handsome. Though not deficient in an expression of generosity, it
nevertheless exhibited great firmness of disposition; and his keen black
eyes denoted a resolute, unbending, and determined soul. He was upwards
of fifty-five years of age, and was plainly, though neatly, dressed.
Advancing into the body of the court, he cast a rapid glance around.
"My father!" exclaimed Esther; and springing forward, she threw herself
into her parent's arms.
He held her tenderly for a few moments: then, gently disengaging himself
from her embrace, he murmured in her ear, "Oh! Esther—Esther, I can
understand it all! You have brought this upon yourself!"
But these words were heard only by Lord Ellingham, who had advanced to
shake hands with the Jew.
That reproach appeared for the moment to be singular and altogether
misplaced, as it was impossible that Esther could have perpetrated the
crime imputed to her: but the nobleman had not leisure to reflect upon
it, for Mr. de Medina now perceived him and accepted the outstretched
hand.
"I was accidentally passing by the court," said the Jew; "and hearing my
own name mentioned by some loungers outside, paused to listen. Their
conversation induced me to make inquiries; and I learnt all the
particulars of this charge."
"And some unknown friend of Miss de Medina sent me a hasty note
conveying the unpleasant intelligence," answered Lord Ellingham. "But I
believe that I have fully convinced his worship of your daughter's
innocence."
These last words were uttered in a louder tone than the former part of
the observation, and were evidently addressed to the magistrate.
"For my part," said Mr. Gordon, "I am perfectly satisfied that there is
a grievous misunderstanding in this matter. Miss de Medina is evidently
unconnected with it; and yet," he added, as his eyes dwelt upon her
countenance, "never was resemblance so striking! However—I am well
pleased to think that Miss de Medina is _not_ the person by whom I was
plundered; and I most sincerely implore her pardon for the
inconvenience—nay, the ignominy to which she has been subjected."
Esther turned an appealing glance towards her father, as if to remind
him of some duty which he ought to perform, or to convey some silent
prayer which he could well understand: but he affected not to notice
that rapid but profoundly significant glance.
The magistrate then declared that the young lady was discharged, without
the slightest stain upon her character.
Hastily drawing down her thick black veil, Esther de Medina bowed
deferentially to the bench; and passed out of the office, leaning on her
father's arm, and accompanied by the Earl of Ellingham.
Tom Rain followed her with his eyes until the door closed behind her.
For a few moments he remained wrapped up in a deep reverie: then,
heaving a profound sigh, he also took his departure.