very unkind--often even cruel; before the end of this week I will show
you the necessity of my conduct; how impossible it was that I should
have seemed otherwise. I am conscious that many acts of mine must have
inevitably given rise to painful suspicions--suspicions, which indeed,
upon one occasion you very properly communicated to me. I have
gotten two letters from a quarter which commands respect, containing
information as to the course by which I may be enabled to prove the
negative of all the crimes which even the most credulous suspicion
could lay to my charge. I expected a third by this morning's post,
containing documents which will set the matter for ever at rest, but
owing, no doubt, to some neglect, or, perhaps, to some difficulty in
collecting the papers, some inevitable delay, it has not come to hand
this morning, according to my expectation. I was finishing one to the
very same quarter when you came in, and if a sound rousing be worth
anything, I think I shall have a special messenger before two days
have passed. I have been thinking over the matter within myself,
whether I had better imperfectly clear up your doubts by submitting to
your inspection the two letters which I have already received, or
wait till I can triumphantly vindicate myself by the production of
the documents which I have already mentioned, and I have, I think, not
unnaturally decided upon the latter course; however, there is a person
in the next room, whose testimony is not without its value--excuse me
for one moment."
So saying, he arose and went to the door of a closet which opened from
the study, this he unlocked, and half opening the door, he said, "It
is only I," and then slipped into the room, and carefully closed and
locked the door behind him. I immediately heard his voice in animated
conversation; my curiosity upon the subject of the letter was
naturally great, so smothering any little scruples which I might have
felt, I resolved to look at the address of the letter which lay as my
husband had left it, with its face upon the table. I accordingly drew
it over to me, and turned up the direction. For two or three moments I
could scarce believe my eyes, but there could be no mistake--in
large characters were traced the words, "To the Archangel Gabriel in
heaven." I had scarcely returned the letter to its original position,
and in some degree recovered the shock which this unequivocal proof
of insanity produced, when the closet door was unlocked, and Lord
Glenfallen re-entered the study, carefully closing and locking the
door again upon the outside.
"Whom have you there?" inquired I, making a strong effort to appear
calm.
"Perhaps," said he musingly, "you might have some objection to seeing
her, at least for a time."
"Who is it?" repeated I.
"Why," said he, "I see no use in hiding it--the blind Dutchwoman; I
have been with her the whole morning. She is very anxious to get
out of that closet, but you know she is odd, she is scarcely to be
trusted."
A heavy gust of wind shook the door at this moment with a sound as if
something more substantial were pushing against it.
"Ha, ha, ha!--do you hear her," said he, with an obstreperous burst
of laughter. The wind died away in a long howl, and Lord Glenfallen,
suddenly checking his merriment, shrugged his shoulders, and
muttered--
"Poor devil, she has been hardly used."
"We had better not tease her at present with questions," said I, in as
unconcerned a tone as I could assume, although I felt every moment as
if I should faint.
"Humph! may be so," said he, "well, come back in an hour or two, or
when you please, and you will find us here."
He again unlocked the door, and entered with the same precautions
which he had adopted before, locking the door upon the inside, and
as I hurried from the room, I heard his voice again exerted as if in
eager parley. I can hardly describe my emotions; my hopes had been
raised to the highest, and now in an instant, all was gone--the
dreadful consummation was accomplished--the fearful retribution had
fallen upon the guilty man--the mind was destroyed--the power to
repent was gone. The agony of the hours which followed what I would
still call my _awful_ interview with Lord Glenfallen, I cannot describe;
my solitude was, however, broken in upon by Martha, who came to inform
me of the arrival of a gentleman, who expected me in the parlour. I
accordingly descended, and to my great joy, found my father seated by
the fire. This expedition, upon his part, was easily accounted for:
my communications had touched the honour of the family. I speedily
informed him of the dreadful malady which had fallen upon the wretched
man. My father suggested the necessity of placing some person to watch
him, to prevent his injuring himself or others. I rang the bell, and
desired that one Edward Cooke, an attached servant of the family,
should be sent to me. I told him distinctly and briefly, the nature
of the service required of him, and, attended by him, my father and I
proceeded at once to the study; the door of the inner room was still
closed, and everything in the outer chamber remained in the same order
in which I had left it. We then advanced to the closet door, at which
we knocked, but without receiving any answer. We next tried to open
the door, but in vain--it was locked upon the inside; we knocked more
loudly, but in vain. Seriously alarmed, I desired the servant to force
the door, which was, after several violent efforts, accomplished, and
we entered the closet. Lord Glenfallen was lying on his face upon a
sofa.
"Hush," said I, "he is asleep"; we paused for a moment.
"He is too still for that," said my father; we all of us felt a strong
reluctance to approach the figure.
"Edward," said I, "try whether your master sleeps."
The servant approached the sofa where Lord Glenfallen lay; he leant
his ear towards the head of the recumbent figure, to ascertain whether
the sound of breathing was audible; he turned towards us, and said--
"My lady, you had better not wait here, I am sure he is dead!"
"Let me see the face," said I, terribly agitated, "you _may_ be
mistaken."
The man then, in obedience to my command, turned the body round, and,
gracious God! what a sight met my view--he was, indeed, perfectly
dead. The whole breast of the shirt, with its lace frill, was drenched
with gore, as was the couch underneath the spot where he lay. The head
hung back, as it seemed almost severed from the body by a frightful
gash, which yawned across the throat. The instrument which had
inflicted it, was found under his body. All, then, was over; I was
never to learn the history in whose termination I had been so deeply
and so tragically involved.
The severe discipline which my mind had undergone was not bestowed in
vain. I directed my thoughts and my hopes to that place where there is
no more sin, nor danger, nor sorrow.
Thus ends a brief tale, whose prominent incidents many will recognize
as having marked the history of a distinguished family, and though
it refers to a somewhat distant date, we shall be found not to have
taken, upon that account, any liberties with the facts, but in our
statement of all the incidents, to have rigorously and faithfully
adhered to the truth.
[Footnote A: I have carefully altered the names as they appear in the
original MSS., for the reader will see that some of the circumstances
recorded are not of a kind to reflect honour upon those involved
in them; and, as many are still living, in every way honoured and
honourable, who stand in close relation to the principal actors in
this drama, the reader will see the necessity of the course which we
have adopted.]
[Footnote B: The residuary legatee of the late Francis Purcell,
who has the honour of selecting such of his lamented old friend's
manuscripts as may appear fit for publication, in order that the lore
which they contain may reach the world before scepticism and utility
have robbed our species of the precious gift of credulity, and
scornfully kicked before them, or trampled into annihilation, those
harmless fragments of picturesque superstition, which it is our object
to preserve, has been subjected to the charge of dealing too largely
in the marvellous; and it has been half insinuated that such is his
love for _diablerie_, that he is content to wander a mile out of his
way, in order to meet a fiend or a goblin, and thus to sacrifice all
regard for truth and accuracy to the idle hope of affrighting the
imagination, and thus pandering to the bad taste of his reader. He
begs leave, then, to take this opportunity of asserting his perfect
innocence of all the crimes laid to his charge, and to assure his
reader that he never _pandered to his bad taste_, nor went one inch
out of his way to introduce witch, fairy, devil, ghost, or any other
of the grim fraternity of the redoubted Raw-head and bloody-bones. His
province, touching these tales, has been attended with no difficulty
and little responsibility; indeed, he is accountable for nothing more
than an alteration in the names of persons mentioned therein, when
such a step seemed necessary, and for an occasional note, whenever he
conceived it possible, innocently, to edge in a word. These tales have
been _written down_, as the heading of each announces, by the Rev.
Francis Purcell, P.P. of Drumcoolagh; and in all the instances,
which are many, in which the present writer has had an opportunity
of comparing the manuscript of his departed friend with the actual
traditions which are current amongst the families whose fortunes
they pretend to illustrate, he has uniformly found that whatever
of supernatural occurred in the story, so far from having been
exaggerated by him, had been rather softened down, and, wherever it
could be attempted, accounted for.]
THE MURDERED COUSIN
"And they lay wait for their own blood: they lurk privily for
their own lives.
"So are the ways of every one that is greedy of gain; which taketh
away the life of the owner thereof."
This story of the Irish peerage is written, as nearly as possible,
in the very words in which it was related by its "heroine," the late
Countess D----, and is therefore told in the first person.
My mother died when I was an infant, and of her I have no
recollection, even the faintest. By her death my education was left
solely to the direction of my surviving parent. He entered upon his
task with a stern appreciation of the responsibility thus cast
upon him. My religious instruction was prosecuted with an almost
exaggerated anxiety; and I had, of course, the best masters to perfect
me in all those accomplishments which my station and wealth might seem
to require. My father was what is called an oddity, and his treatment
of me, though uniformly kind, was governed less by affection and
tenderness, than by a high and unbending sense of duty. Indeed I
seldom saw or spoke to him except at meal-times, and then, though
gentle, he was usually reserved and gloomy. His leisure hours, which
were many, were passed either in his study or in solitary walks;
in short, he seemed to take no further interest in my happiness or
improvement, than a conscientious regard to the discharge of his own
duty would seem to impose.
Shortly before my birth an event occurred which had contributed much
to induce and to confirm my father's unsocial habits; it was the fact
that a suspicion of _murder_ had fallen upon his younger brother, though
not sufficiently definite to lead to any public proceedings, yet
strong enough to ruin him in public opinion. This disgraceful and
dreadful doubt cast upon the family name, my father felt deeply and
bitterly, and not the less so that he himself was thoroughly convinced
of his brother's innocence. The sincerity and strength of this
conviction he shortly afterwards proved in a manner which produced the
catastrophe of my story.
Before, however, I enter upon my immediate adventures, I ought to
relate the circumstances which had awakened that suspicion to which
I have referred, inasmuch as they are in themselves somewhat
curious, and in their effects most intimately connected with my own
after-history.
My uncle, Sir Arthur Tyrrell, was a gay and extravagant man, and,
among other vices, was ruinously addicted to gaming. This unfortunate
propensity, even after his fortune had suffered so severely as to
render retrenchment imperative, nevertheless continued to engross him,
nearly to the exclusion of every other pursuit. He was, however, a
proud, or rather a vain man, and could not bear to make the diminution
of his income a matter of triumph to those with whom he had hitherto
competed; and the consequence was, that he frequented no longer the
expensive haunts of his dissipation, and retired from the gay world,
leaving his coterie to discover his reasons as best they might. He
did not, however, forego his favourite vice, for though he could
not worship his great divinity in those costly temples where he was
formerly wont to take his place, yet he found it very possible to
bring about him a sufficient number of the votaries of chance to
answer all his ends. The consequence was, that Carrickleigh, which
was the name of my uncle's residence, was never without one or more of
such visiters as I have described. It happened that upon one occasion
he was visited by one Hugh Tisdall, a gentleman of loose, and, indeed,
low habits, but of considerable wealth, and who had, in early youth,
travelled with my uncle upon the Continent. The period of this visit
was winter, and, consequently, the house was nearly deserted excepting
by its ordinary inmates; it was, therefore, highly acceptable,
particularly as my uncle was aware that his visiter's tastes accorded
exactly with his own.
Both parties seemed determined to avail themselves of their mutual
suitability during the brief stay which Mr. Tisdall had promised; the
consequence was, that they shut themselves up in Sir Arthur's private
room for nearly all the day and the greater part of the night, during
the space of almost a week, at the end of which the servant having one
morning, as usual, knocked at Mr. Tisdall's bed-room door repeatedly,
received no answer, and, upon attempting to enter, found that it was
locked. This appeared suspicious, and the inmates of the house having
been alarmed, the door was forced open, and, on proceeding to the bed,
they found the body of its occupant perfectly lifeless, and hanging
halfway out, the head downwards, and near the floor. One deep wound
had been inflicted upon the temple, apparently with some blunt
instrument, which had penetrated the brain, and another blow, less
effective--probably the first aimed--had grazed his head, removing
some of the scalp. The door had been double locked upon the _inside_,
in evidence of which the key still lay where it had been placed in the
lock. The window, though not secured on the interior, was closed; a
circumstance not a little puzzling, as it afforded the only other
mode of escape from the room. It looked out, too, upon a kind of
court-yard, round which the old buildings stood, formerly accessible
by a narrow doorway and passage lying in the oldest side of the
quadrangle, but which had since been built up, so as to preclude all
ingress or egress; the room was also upon the second story, and the
height of the window considerable; in addition to all which the stone
window-sill was much too narrow to allow of any one's standing upon it
when the window was closed. Near the bed were found a pair of razors
belonging to the murdered man, one of them upon the ground, and both
of them open. The weapon which inflicted the mortal wound was not to
be found in the room, nor were any footsteps or other traces of the
murderer discoverable. At the suggestion of Sir Arthur himself, the
coroner was instantly summoned to attend, and an inquest was held.
Nothing, however, in any degree conclusive was elicited. The walls,
ceiling, and floor of the room were carefully examined, in order to
ascertain whether they contained a trap-door or other concealed mode
of entrance, but no such thing appeared. Such was the minuteness of
investigation employed, that, although the grate had contained a
large fire during the night, they proceeded to examine even the very
chimney, in order to discover whether escape by it were possible. But
this attempt, too, was fruitless, for the chimney, built in the old
fashion, rose in a perfectly perpendicular line from the hearth, to
a height of nearly fourteen feet above the roof, affording in its
interior scarcely the possibility of ascent, the flue being smoothly
plastered, and sloping towards the top like an inverted funnel;
promising, too, even if the summit were attained, owing to its great
height, but a precarious descent upon the sharp and steep-ridged roof;
the ashes, too, which lay in the grate, and the soot, as far as it
could be seen, were undisturbed, a circumstance almost conclusive upon
the point.
Sir Arthur was of course examined. His evidence was given with
clearness and unreserve, which seemed calculated to silence all
suspicion. He stated that, up to the day and night immediately
preceding the catastrophe, he had lost to a heavy amount, but that,
at their last sitting, he had not only won back his original loss,
but upwards of £4,000 in addition; in evidence of which he produced
an acknowledgment of debt to that amount in the handwriting of the
deceased, bearing date the night of the catastrophe. He had mentioned
the circumstance to Lady Tyrrell, and in presence of some of his
domestics; which statement was supported by _their_ respective
evidence. One of the jury shrewdly observed, that the circumstance of
Mr. Tisdall's having sustained so heavy a loss might have suggested to
some ill-minded persons, accidentally hearing it, the plan of robbing
him, after having murdered him in such a manner as might make it
appear that he had committed suicide; a supposition which was strongly
supported by the razors having been found thus displaced and removed
from their case. Two persons had probably been engaged in the attempt,
one watching by the sleeping man, and ready to strike him in case of
his awakening suddenly, while the other was procuring the razors and
employed in inflicting the fatal gash, so as to make it appear to have
been the act of the murdered man himself. It was said that while the
juror was making this suggestion Sir Arthur changed colour. There
was nothing, however, like legal evidence to implicate him, and the
consequence was that the verdict was found against a person or persons
unknown, and for some time the matter was suffered to rest, until,
after about five months, my father received a letter from a person
signing himself Andrew Collis, and representing himself to be the
cousin of the deceased. This letter stated that his brother, Sir
Arthur, was likely to incur not merely suspicion but personal risk,
unless he could account for certain circumstances connected with
the recent murder, and contained a copy of a letter written by the
deceased, and dated the very day upon the night of which the murder
had been perpetrated. Tisdall's letter contained, among a great deal
of other matter, the passages which follow:--
"I have had sharp work with Sir Arthur: he tried some of his stale
tricks, but soon found that _I_ was Yorkshire, too; it would not
do--you understand me. We went to the work like good ones, head,
heart, and soul; and in fact, since I came here, I have lost no time.
I am rather fagged, but I am sure to be well paid for my hardship; I
never want sleep so long as I can have the music of a dice-box, and
wherewithal to pay the piper. As I told you, he tried some of his
queer turns, but I foiled him like a man, and, in return, gave him
more than he could relish of the genuine _dead knowledge_. In short,
I have plucked the old baronet as never baronet was plucked before; I
have scarce left him the stump of a quill. I have got promissory notes
in his hand to the amount of ----; if you like round numbers, say
five-and-twenty thousand pounds, safely deposited in my portable
strong box, alias, double-clasped pocket-book. I leave this ruinous
old rat-hole early on to-morrow, for two reasons: first, I do not
want to play with Sir Arthur deeper than I think his security would
warrant; and, secondly, because I am safer a hundred miles away from
Sir Arthur than in the house with him. Look you, my worthy, I tell
you this between ourselves--I may be wrong--but, by ----, I am sure
as that I am now living, that Sir A---- attempted to poison me last
night. So much for old friendship on both sides. When I won the last
stake, a heavy one enough, my friend leant his forehead upon his
hands, and you'll laugh when I tell you that his head literally smoked
like a hot dumpling. I do not know whether his agitation was produced
by the plan which he had against me, or by his having lost so heavily;
though it must be allowed that he had reason to be a little funked,
whichever way his thoughts went; but he pulled the bell, and ordered
two bottles of Champagne. While the fellow was bringing them, he wrote
a promissory note to the full amount, which he signed, and, as the
man came in with the bottles and glasses, he desired him to be off. He
filled a glass for me, and, while he thought my eyes were off, for I
was putting up his note at the time, he dropped something slyly into
it, no doubt to sweeten it; but I saw it all, and, when he handed
it to me, I said, with an emphasis which he might easily understand,
'There is some sediment in it, I'll not drink it.' 'Is there?' said
he, and at the same time snatched it from my hand and threw it into
the fire. What do you think of that? Have I not a tender bird in
hand? Win or lose, I will not play beyond five thousand to-night, and
to-morrow sees me safe out of the reach of Sir Arthur's Champagne."
Of the authenticity of this document, I never heard my father express
a doubt; and I am satisfied that, owing to his strong conviction
in favour of his brother, he would not have admitted it without
sufficient inquiry, inasmuch as it tended to confirm the suspicions
which already existed to his prejudice. Now, the only point in this
letter which made strongly against my uncle, was the mention of the
"double-clasped pocket-book," as the receptacle of the papers likely
to involve him, for this pocket-book was not forthcoming, nor anywhere
to be found, nor had any papers referring to his gaming transactions
been discovered upon the dead man.
But whatever might have been the original intention of this man,
Collis, neither my uncle nor my father ever heard more of him; he
published the letter, however, in Faulkner's newspaper, which was
shortly afterwards made the vehicle of a much more mysterious attack.
The passage in that journal to which I allude, appeared about four
years afterwards, and while the fatal occurrence was still fresh in
public recollection. It commenced by a rambling preface, stating that
"a _certain person_ whom _certain_ persons thought to be dead, was not
so, but living, and in full possession of his memory, and moreover,
ready and able to make _great_ delinquents tremble": it then went on
to describe the murder, without, however, mentioning names; and in
doing so, it entered into minute and circumstantial particulars of
which none but an _eye-witness_ could have been possessed, and by
implications almost too unequivocal to be regarded in the light of
insinuation, to involve the "_titled gambler_" in the guilt of the
transaction.
My father at once urged Sir Arthur to proceed against the paper in
an action of libel, but he would not hear of it, nor consent to my
father's taking any legal steps whatever in the matter. My father,
however, wrote in a threatening tone to Faulkner, demanding a
surrender of the author of the obnoxious article; the answer to this
application is still in my possession, and is penned in an apologetic
tone: it states that the manuscript had been handed in, paid for,
and inserted as an advertisement, without sufficient inquiry, or any
knowledge as to whom it referred. No step, however, was taken to
clear my uncle's character in the judgment of the public; and, as he
immediately sold a small property, the application of the proceeds of
which were known to none, he was said to have disposed of it to enable
himself to buy off the threatened information; however the truth might
have been, it is certain that no charges respecting the mysterious
murder were afterwards publicly made against my uncle, and, as far as
external disturbances were concerned, he enjoyed henceforward perfect
security and quiet.
A deep and lasting impression, however, had been made upon the public
mind, and Sir Arthur Tyrrell was no longer visited or noticed by the
gentry of the county, whose attentions he had hitherto received. He
accordingly affected to despise those courtesies which he no longer
enjoyed, and shunned even that society which he might have commanded.
This is all that I need recapitulate of my uncle's history, and I now
recur to my own.