"MURDER MOST FOUL."
"My friend's father," he began, "was an East-Indian merchant. He married
a native, by whom he had three children--two sons and a daughter. The
eldest son was several years older than the other two children, and he
received the best education that could be got in India, and was taken
into his father's factory to assist him, when he was very young. Their
mother died soon after the birth of her daughter; and, when they were
old enough, it was thought advisable to send the two younger children to
England, under the care of their aunt (Mr. Morley's only sister), to be
educated; and, as Mr. Morley was anxious to visit England once more, and
thought he could make more of his merchandize, by coming himself and
seeing how the markets stood, than his agents seemed to be making for
him, he determined to bring the children over himself. So he freighted
a vessel with a valuable cargo, and arrived in England safely with his
two children, having left his eldest son behind, to manage the business
in India. His sister resided at Ashley Hall, a country-seat about five
or six miles from Bristol. The children enjoyed the country air
exceedingly, and the scenery--so different from India--and the old
gentleman enjoyed it as much as they did. He visited Bristol almost
every day, and watched the markets, sometimes doing business and
sometimes not. He very often walked there and back, by way of exercise,
when the weather was fine. One day, about the middle of January, the
weather, although cold and sharp, being dry, he determined he would
walk, as he had so often done before, for he thought he should be able
to keep himself warmer in walking than driving. He did a good bit of
business that day, and had a considerable sum of money about him.
"It was a risk to walk home alone, but Mr. Morley had so often done it
before, without meeting with any accident, that he thought he would
start early, and in two hours he should be at the end of his journey. So
he buttoned up his great coat, and took his big stick in his hand, and
started. The stick was a very peculiar one, which he had brought with
him from India. It was very heavy for its size, and had large sharp
knots towards the big end,--not very handsome, but still it was
peculiar, and so it had many admirers. 'A good blow from this would
settle a stouter fellow than I am likely to meet with to-night, I
fancy,' said Mr. Morley, as he looked with pride on the formidable
weapon he held in his hand; and he strode down the street, with the cold
wind blowing in his face.
"Before he got a mile out of the town, it began to snow heavily; but
still he trudged on against the wind, which was blowing strong, and
beating the snow into his face, which made him hold his head down, so
that he did not remark a turn in the road, about three miles
out,--indeed, by this time, the road and hedges were covered with snow,
and anyone who knew the road even better than he did might have taken
the wrong turn. On, on he walked for several miles, when he began to
think he had missed his way,--for he now observed that he passed no
houses on the road, as he was accustomed to do when he walked home
before. At length, after walking some distance further, he saw a light,
and, thinking it might be a roadside-inn, he made towards it. On
approaching cautiously, however, he found it was not an inn, but a
solitary cottage, partly surrounded by a garden--the entrance to which
was through a small gate at the side; and nearly opposite this gate
there was a window. The light that he had seen, came from a window in
front of the house, facing the road. It was getting dark, but the white
snow threw a shadow of light all round, and he opened the little gate,
went round to the front, and looked in at the window, which was but
partially covered by a thin blind, and there he saw a woman sitting by
the fire alone. The room seemed comfortably furnished, and the table was
evidently laid for supper.
"It was now getting late, and Mr. Morley was cold and tired and hungry,
for he had been walking several hours; so he knocked at the door, which
was quickly opened by the woman he had seen sitting by the fire. She was
apparently about forty years of age, but not very prepossessing in
appearance, nor very courteous at first, but any shelter was better than
being out in the snow on such a night as this. He explained to her that
he had missed his way in going to his sister's house from Bristol; and
he begged her to let him partake of her meal, and rest a little, and
warm himself--for which he said he would willingly pay handsomely; and
he moreover said, incautiously, that he had more money about him than he
thought it was prudent for him to travel any further with alone that
night. This communication seemed to warm the woman's heart. She placed a
chair by the fire, and proceeded to get him some refreshment at once.
"'It is a dreadful night!' she said; 'and it has come on so suddenly
too. Who'd have thought it this morning?'
"'No indeed,' said Mr. Morley. 'This seems a lonely place for a
habitation. You have a husband, of course. He is out on business, I
suppose.'
"'No, sir, I have no husband. My father and brother live here with
me;--they are engaged in the seafaring line. My mother has been dead
some years.'
"'You are not far from the sea, then?' enquired Mr. Morley.
"'No,' she replied; 'a very short distance. I expect my brother home
soon, and was preparing supper for him. My father I don't expect home
for the night, so you shall occupy his room, if you please. It is on the
ground-floor, and looks into the garden. His business often keeps him
out late. We are gone to bed frequently when he comes in, and then he
can go into his room on the ground-floor without disturbing us. I
believe that was his fancy for having his bedroom there.'"
"Why, Fowler!" exclaimed the squire, "you are making quite an
interesting story of it. What it will end in, I haven't the slightest
idea; but go on."
"I'm afraid I am tiring you," replied the lieutenant; "but I have heard
the story repeated so often, that it is quite familiar to me."
"Oh! do go on," said Blanche, looking at him earnestly; "it is quite
like a tale one reads in the old romances."
"Old romances!" said her mamma, in alarm; "why where on earth have you
met with any old romances, I should like to know, child?"
"Well, if you would like to hear the end of my tale," said the
lieutenant, "I will proceed; but I haven't much more to tell. Let me
see. Where was I? Oh! the bedroom."
"Mr. Morley, having warmed himself and taken some refreshment, said he
was feeling very tired and sleepy, and should like to lie down for a few
hours, if perfectly convenient. The brother had not come in, so he
followed his hostess into the little bedroom, leaving his hat and stick
in the sitting-room. It was a comfortable little room enough. The bed
was small, and very near the door,--so near, that immediately you opened
it you faced the side of the bed, and you had to close the door again
before you could pass down by the side of the bed into the room. On the
other side of the bed, nearly opposite the door, stood the wash-stand,
and dressing-table, and one chair. The window faced the foot of the bed.
"Mr. Morley looked out at the night. It was very dark, and still snowing
a little. When he began to reflect on the acknowledged irregularity of
the men in the house, he did not feel very comfortable; for their
calling was evidently not a very reputable one. The woman seemed
superior in her manner and address to her present situation; but there
was a cunning, restless expression in her eye, which he did not at all
like. They might be a gang of desperadoes connected with the smugglers
that infested the coast. He did not like his position at all;--he was
unarmed, and in their power, and he had left his stick in the
sitting-room. If he went back for it, it would cause suspicion. He
determined, therefore, to lie down on the bed without taking off his
clothes, and be off in the morning as soon as he could see. There was no
lock to the door, nor bolt to the window, as far as he could find. He
tried the door cautiously, and found it was barred outside, and so was
the window;--so far, then, he was a prisoner. He threw himself on the
bed to rest, but not to sleep; and after some time he heard a man come
in at the front door. Then there was a savoury smell, and a good deal of
talk in whispers,--and then the brandy was asked for, and all was quiet.
"After a time he saw a man approach the window outside. He had the
appearance of being intoxicated. He opened the window after a little
trouble, and prepared to come in.
"'This is the father, no doubt,' thought Mr. Morley, 'come home
unexpectedly, and evidently very much intoxicated.'
"The man seemed too drunk to listen to reason, even if Mr. Morley had
got up and spoken to him; and a quarrel with him, in that state, would
be very unpleasant, and bring the other members of the household also
upon him. Besides, no doubt these men carried arms with them, wherever
they went; and if this man found a stranger in his bedroom, he would not
hesitate to shoot him, especially in his present state.
"What should he do? There was not a moment to be lost. The old man had
by this time tumbled into the room through the window. He would be on
the bed in a minute, for he was getting up from the floor. Mr. Morley
therefore slid down the side opposite the door, and got under the bed,
intending, as soon as the man was asleep, to get away from that house at
all risks.
"The old man threw himself on the bed, and was soon fast asleep.
"The door was now gently opened, and he heard a few heavy blows struck
with a heavy bludgeon on the poor old man's head, as he lay sound asleep
on the bed. There was a deep moan, and then the door was closed again.
"'Murder!' he said, as he crept from under the bed. He felt the body in
his fright; it was too dark to see it. There was no motion. Blood was
flowing from the wounds,--he could feel it, warm and clammy, although he
could not see it. He knew not what to do. The blows were no doubt
intended for himself, and if he raised an alarm he would still be
victimized. He was in an agony of fright and terror. His only thought
was to save his own life; for if the murderer discovered that he had not
killed his intended victim, he would be back again, no doubt, to finish
his work. He snatched up the hat that the old man had dropped on the
floor, thinking in his frenzy that it was his own, and got out of the
window, which had not been fastened again, and fled through the snow, he
knew not where."
"Oh! Mr. Fowler," exclaimed Blanche, shuddering; "this is too horrible.
Oh! don't go on! I can't bear it;"--and she placed her hands before her
eyes, that had before been so intently gazing on the speaker.
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the squire; "we've heard the beginning; now let's
hear the end. Go on, Fowler. Those who don't wish to hear any more can
leave the room."
No one left the room; so Mr. Fowler continued:--
"The brother and sister were horror-struck, on entering the room the
next morning, to find that _their father_ had been murdered instead of
the stranger, and that the stranger had escaped, and was probably then
giving information to the authorities. Their first thought was
self-preservation. Circumstances favoured the guilty pair. The stranger
had evidently touched the murdered man, and had blood about his
hands--for there were stains on the window-frame--and he had worn away
the murdered man's hat, and left his own behind; and it was with _his
stick_ that the murder had been committed. Here was circumstantial
evidence enough; so the guilty pair lost no time in rousing the nearest
neighbours and constables; and information was given to the magistrates
by the brother and sister, accusing the stranger of the murder, which
appeared on the face of it very plausible; for the accused man's stick
and hat were found in the bedroom, and the name 'Morley' was written
inside the hat. The stick was covered with blood, and the sharp knots
corresponded with the marks in the murdered man's head. The stick was
easily identified. The murdered man's hat was missing too. But what
motive could such a man as Mr. Morley have had for committing such a
crime?" The woman said he might have been tipsy, and lost his way in the
snow, and finding the window so near the gate, and so easy to enter, he
had perhaps gone in, and a struggle might have taken place between him
and her father, who slept in that room. There was money in that room
too, she said; but it was not believed that Mr. Morley would murder
anyone for the sake of money. No one wished to believe him guilty; but
what could they do in the face of this circumstantial evidence? There
were his hat and stick, which he admitted at once were his--his name was
in the hat--and the stick was covered with blood. He was easily traced
in the snow, and when overtaken he was walking like a maniac. His hands
were bloody and so were his clothes; and he had the murdered man's hat
on his head.
"The sister told the tale before the magistrates very plausibly. It
might have been done in self-defence, she said. He might have got in at
the window, perhaps, for shelter; but why not have come round to the
door, and why did he not alarm the house, instead of going off in that
unaccountable way.
"He told his own tale, and concluded by saying that he had a
considerable sum of money about him, which he had lost or was robbed of.
No money was found, however.
"His tale did not appear plausible. The woman founded her belief that he
was tipsy, she said, on the fact of his having come so much out of his
way, if he was really only going from Bristol to Ashley Hall. He was a
comparative stranger in England, and very few knew him except in the way
of business.
"The circumstantial evidence was so strong that the magistrates could do
no other than commit him to the county gaol to await his trial for
murder at the next assizes.
"The assizes came, but there was no evidence against Mr. Morley, and he
was acquitted.
"The brother and sister had found the bag of money, no doubt, which he
had dropped in his agitation, and had absconded no one knew where. They
were afraid of the close cross-examination to which they would be
exposed, and under which their evidence must have broken down.
"Mr. Morley returned to India immediately, leaving his two children in
their aunt's care. It was a severe shock, from which he never
recovered. He felt that although he was innocent, yet the stigma of his
having been committed to prison on a charge of murder would still hang
over his family, until it could be properly cleared up by the conviction
or confession of the real murderer. He died soon after his return to
India; and on his death-bed he enjoined his children to make every
search in their power after those wicked people, who had so cruelly
murdered their own father and thrown the guilt upon him."
"Can you wonder, now, ladies, that my friend should feel low-spirited
sometimes?"
"It is indeed a dreadful tale," said Miss Pendray. "I wonder what became
of the guilty parties?"
"It is that which is preying on Morley's spirits," replied Mr. Fowler;
"he has searched and enquired everywhere--at home and abroad--but as yet
to no purpose. They have, no doubt, taken feigned names; but they will
be found out one day, I have not the slightest doubt."
"Now let us change the subject, and speak of the living," said the
squire. "What has become of young Morley, I wonder?"
"I shall have a search for him to-morrow morning," said the lieutenant.
"I fancy he is gone to St. Just, for he is anxious about his brother,
who was expected from India about this time, having amassed a large
fortune, besides what his father left, which he was about to divide
between the three children, according to his father's will. The wreck of
the Indiaman, the other day, has upset him rather; for he has an idea
that his brother might have been one of the passengers."
"Poor young man!" said Mrs. Pendray; "how many troubles he has had to
bear, for one so young!"