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CHAPTER V.
THE first amazement and alarm produced by this discovery deprived
me of my presence of mind. Without stopping to think what I ought
to do first, I ran back to the servants' hall, calling out that
something had happened to my master.
All the household hurried directly into the Red Room, Josephine
among the rest. I was first brought to my senses, as it were, by
observing the strange expression of her countenance when she saw
the bed-gown and the empty room. All the other servants were
bewildered and frightened. She alone, after giving a little
start, recovered herself directly. A look of devilish
satisfaction broke out on her face, and she left the room quickly
and quietly, without exchanging a word with any of us. I saw
this, and it aroused my suspicions. There is no need to mention
what they were, for, as events soon showed, they were entirely
wide of the mark.
Having come to myself a little, I sent them all out of the room
except the coachman. We two then examined the place.
The Red Room was usually occupied by visitors. It was on the
ground floor, and looked out into the garden. We found the
window-shutters, which I had barred overnight, open, but the
window itself was down. The fire had been out long enough for the
grate to be quite cold. Half the bottle of brandy had been drunk.
The carpet-bag was gone. There were no marks of violence or
struggling anywhere about the bed or the room. We examined every
corner carefully, but made no other discoveries than these.
When I returned to the servants' hall, bad news of my mistress
was awaiting me there. The unusual noise and confusion in the
house had reached her ears, and she had been told what had
happened without sufficient caution being exercised in preparing
her to hear it. In her weak, nervous state, the shock of the
intelligence had quite prostrated her. She had fallen into a
swoon, and had been brought back to her senses with the greatest
difficulty. As to giving me or anybody else directions what to do
under the e mbarrassing circumstances which had now occurred, she
was totally incapable of the effort.
I waited till the middle of the day, in the hope that she might
get strong enough to give her orders; but no message came from
her. At last I resolved to send and ask her what she thought it
best to do. Josephine was the proper person to go on this errand;
but when I asked for Josephine, she was nowhere to be found. The
housemaid, who had searched for her ineffectually, brought word
that her bonnet and shawl were not hanging in their usual places.
The parlor-maid, who had been in attendance in my mistress's
room, came down while we were all aghast at this new
disappearance. She could only tell us that Josephine had begged
her to do lady's-maid's duty that morning, as she was not well.
Not well! And the first result of her illness appeared to be that
she had left the house!
I cautioned the servants on no account to mention this
circumstance to my mistress, and then went upstairs myself to
knock at her door. My object was to ask if I might count on her
approval if I wrote in her name to the lawyer in London, and if I
afterward went and gave information of what had occurred to the
nearest justice of the peace. I might have sent to make this
inquiry through one of the female servants; but by this time,
though not naturally suspicious, I had got to distrust everybody
in the house, whether they deserved it or not.
So I asked the question myself, standing outside the door. My
mistress thanked me in a faint voice, and begged me to do what I
had proposed immediately.
I went into my own bedroom and wrote to the lawyer, merely
telling him that Mr. James Smith had appeared unexpectedly at the
Hall, and that events had occurred in consequence which required
his immediate presence. I made the letter up like a parcel, and
sent the coachman with it to catch the mail on its way through to
London.
The next thing was to go to the justice of the peace. The nearest
lived about five miles off, and was well acquainted with my
mistress. He was an old bachelor, and he kept house with his
brother, who was a widower. The two were much respected and
beloved in the county, being kind, unaffected gentlemen, who did
a great deal of good among the poor. The justice was Mr. Robert
Nicholson, and his brother, the widower, was Mr. Philip.
I had got my hat on, and was asking the groom which horse I had
better take, when an open carriage drove up to the house. It
contained Mr. Philip Nicholson and two persons in plain clothes,
not exactly servants and not exactly gentlemen, as far as I could
judge. Mr. Philip looked at me, when I touched my hat to him, in
a very grave, downcast way, and asked for my mistress. I told him
she was ill in bed. He shook his head at hearing that, and said
he wished to speak to me in private. I showed him into the
library. One of the men in plain clothes followed us, and sat in
the hall. The other waited with the carriage.
"I was just going out, sir," I said, as I set a chair for him,
"to speak to Mr. Robert Nicholson about a very extraordinary
circumstance--"
"I know what you refer to," said Mr. Philip, cutting me short
rather abruptly; "and I must beg, for reasons which will
presently appear, that you will make no statement of any sort to
me until you have first heard what I have to say. I am here on a
very serious and a very shocking errand, which deeply concerns
your mistress and you."
His face suggested something worse than his words expressed. My
heart began to beat fast, and I felt that I was turning pale.
"Your master, Mr. James Smith," he went on, "came here
unexpectedly yesterday evening, and slept in this house last
night. Before he retired to rest he and your mistress had high
words together, which ended, I am sorry to hear, in a threat of a
serious nature addressed by Mrs. James Smith to her husband. They
slept in separate rooms. This morning you went into your master's
room and saw no sign of him there. You only found his nightgown
on the bed, spotted with blood."
"Yes, sir," I said, in as steady a voice as I could command.
"Quite true."
"I am not examining you," said Mr. Philip. "I am only making a
certain statement, the truth of which you can admit or deny
before my brother."
"Before your brother, sir!" I repeated. "Am I suspected of
anything wrong?"
"There is a suspicion that Mr. James Smith has been murdered,"
was the answer I received to that question.
My flesh began to creep all over from head to foot.
"I am shocked--I am horrified to say," Mr. Philip went on, "that
the suspicion affects your mistress in the first place, and you
in the second."
I shall not attempt to describe what I felt when he said that. No
words of mine, no words of anybody's, could give an idea of it.
What other men would have done in my situation I don't know. I
stood before Mr. Philip, staring straight at him, without
speaking, without moving, almost without breathing. If he or any
other man had struck me at that moment, I do not believe I should
have felt the blow.
"Both my brother and myself," said Mr. Philip, "have such
unfeigned respect for your mistress, such sympathy for her under
these frightful circumstances, and such an implicit belief in her
capability of proving her innocence, that we are desirous of
sparing her in this dreadful emergency as much as possible. For
those reasons, I have undertaken to come here with the persons
appointed to execute my brother's warrant--"
"Warrant, sir!" I said, getting command of my voice as he
pronounced that word--"a warrant against my mistress!"
"Against her and against you," said Mr. Philip. "The suspicious
circumstances have been sworn to by a competent witness, who has
declared on oath that your mistress is guilty, and that you are
an accomplice."
"What witness, sir?"
"Your mistress's quadroon maid, who came to my brother this
morning, and who has made her deposition in due form."
"And who is as false as hell," I cried out passionately, "in
every word she says against my mistress and against me."
"I hope--no, I will go further, and say I believe she is false,"
said Mr. Philip. "But her perjury must he proved, and the
necessary examination must take place. My carriage is going back
to my brother's, and you will go in it, in charge of one of my
men, who has the warrant to take you in custody. I shall remain
here with the man who is waiting in the hall; and before any
steps are taken to execute the other warrant, I shall send for
the doctor to ascertain when your mistress can be removed."
"Oh, my poor mistress!" I said, "this will be the death of her,
sir."
"I will take care that the shock shall strike her as tenderly as
possible," said Mr. Philip. "I am here for that express purpose.
She has my deepest sympathy and respect, and shall have every
help and alleviation that I can afford her."
The hearing him say that, and the seeing how sincerely he meant
what he said, was the first gleam of comfort in the dreadful
affliction that had befallen us. I felt this; I felt a burning
anger against the wretch who had done her best to ruin my
mistress's fair name and mine, but in every other respect I was
like a man who had been stunned, and whose faculties had not
perfectly recovered from the shock. Mr. Philip was obliged to
remind me that time was of importance, and that I had better give
myself up immediately, on the merciful terms which his kindness
offered to me. I acknowledged that, and wished him good morning.
But a mist seemed to come over my eyes as I turned round to go
away--a mist that prevented me from finding my way to the door.
Mr. Philip opened it for me, and said a friendly word or two
which I could hardly hear. The man waiting outside took me to his
companion in the carriage at the door, and I was driven away, a
prisoner for the first time in my life.
On our way to the justice's, what little thinking faculty I had
left in me was all occupied in the attempt to trace a motive for
the inconceivable treachery and falsehood of which Josephine had
been guilty.
Her words, her looks, and her manner, on that unfortunate day
when my mistress so far forget herself as to strike, her, came
back diml y to my memory, and led to the inference that part of
the motive, at least, of which I was in search, might be referred
to what had happened on that occasion. But was this the only
reason for her devilish vengeance against my mistress? And, even
if it were so, what fancied injuries had I done her? Why should I
be included in the false accusation? In the dazed state of my
faculties at that time, I was quite incapable of seeking the
answer to these questions. My mind was clouded all over, and I
gave up the attempt to clear it in despair.
I was brought before Mr. Robert Nicholson that day, and the fiend
of a quadroon was examined in my presence. The first sight of her
face, with its wicked self-possession, with its smooth leering
triumph, so sickened me that I turned my head away and never
looked at her a second time throughout the proceedings. The
answers she gave amounted to a mere repetition of the deposition
to which she had already sworn. I listened to her with the most
breathless attention, and was thunderstruck at the inconceivable
artfulness with which she had mixed up truth and falsehood in her
charge against my mistress and me.
This was, in substance, what she now stated in my presence:
After describing the manner of Mr. James Smith's arrival at the
Hall, the witness, Josephine Durand, confessed that she had been
led to listen at the music-room door by hearing angry voices
inside, and she then described, truly enough, the latter part of
the altercation between husband and wife. Fearing, after this,
that something serious might happen, she had kept watch in her
room, which was on the same floor as her mistress's. She had
heard her mistress's door open softly between one and two in the
morning--had followed her mistress, who carried a small lamp,
along the passage and down the stairs into the hall--had hidden
herself in the porter's chair--had seen her mistress take a
dagger in a green sheath from a collection of Eastern curiosities
kept in the hall--had followed her again, and seen her softly
enter the Red Room--had heard the heavy breathing of Mr. James
Smith, which gave token that he was asleep--had slipped into an
empty room, next door to the Red Roam, and had waited there about
a quarter of an hour, when her mistress came out again with the
dagger in her hand--had followed her mistress again into the
hall, where she had put the dagger back into its place--had seen
her mistress turn into a side passage that led to my room--had
heard her knock at my door, and heard me answer and open it--had
hidden again in the porter's chair--had, after a while, seen me
and my mistress pass together into the passage that led to the
Red Room--had watched us both into the Red Room--and had then,
through fear of being discovered and murdered herself, if she
risked detection any longer, stolen back to her own room for the
rest of the night.
After deposing on oath to the truth of these atrocious
falsehoods, and declaring, in conclusion, that Mr. James Smith
had been murdered by my mistress, and that I was an accomplice,
the quadroon had further asserted, in order to show a motive for
the crime, that Mr. Meeke was my mistress's lover; that he had
been forbidden the house by her husband, and that he was found in
the house, and alone with her, on the evening of Mr. James
Smith's return. Here again there were some grains of truth
cunningly mixed up with a revolting lie, and they had their
effect in giving to the falsehood a look of probability.
I was cautioned in the usual manner and asked if I had anything
to say.
I replied that I was innocent, but that I would wait for legal
assistance before I defended myself. The justice remanded me and
the examination was over. Three days later my unhappy mistress
was subjected to the same trial. I was not allowed to communicate
with her. All I knew was that the lawyer had arrived from London
to help her. Toward the evening he was admitted to see me. He
shook his head sorrowfully when I asked after my mistress.
"I am afraid," he said, "that she has sunk under the horror of
the situation in which that vile woman has placed her. Weakened
by her previous agitation, she seems to have given way under this
last shock, tenderly and carefully as Mr. Philip Nicholson broke
the bad news to her. All her feelings appeared to be strangely
blunted at the examination to-day. She answered the questions put
to her quite correctly, but at the same time quite mechanically,
with no change in her complexion, or in her tone of voice, or in
her manner, from beginning to end. It is a sad thing, William,
when women cannot get their natural vent of weeping, and your
mistress has not shed a tear since she left Darrock Hall."
"But surely, sir," I said, "if my examination has not proved
Josephine's perjury, my mistress's examination must have exposed
it?"
"Nothing will expose it," answered the lawyer, "but producing Mr.
James Smith, or, at least, legally proving that he is alive.
Morally speaking, I have no doubt that the justice before whom
you have been examined is as firmly convinced as we can be that
the quadroon has perjured herself. Morally speaking, he believes
that those threats which your mistress unfortunately used
referred (as she said they did to-day) to her intention of
leaving the Hall early in the morning, with you for her
attendant, and coming to me, if she had been well enough to
travel, to seek effectual legal protection from her husband for
the future. Mr. Nicholson believes that; and I, who know more of
the circumstances than he does, believe also that Mr. James Smith
stole away from Darrock Hall in the night under fear of being
indicted for bigamy. But if I can't find him--if I can't prove
him to be alive--if I can't account for those spots of blood on
the night-gown, the accidental circumstances of the case remain
unexplained--your mistress's rash language, the bad terms on
which she has lived with her husband, and her unlucky disregard
of appearances in keeping up her intercourse with Mr. Meeke, all
tell dead against us--and the justice has no alternative, in a
legal point of view, but to remand you both, as he has now done,
for the production of further evidence."
"But how, then, in Heaven's name, is our innocence to be proved,
sir?" I asked.
"In the first place," said the lawyer, "by finding Mr. James
Smith; and, in the second place, by persuading him, when he is
found, to come forward and declare himself."
"Do you really believe, sir," said I, "that he would hesitate to
do that, when he knows the horrible charge to which his
disappearance has exposed his wife? He is a heartless villain, I
know; but surely--"
"I don't suppose," said the lawyer, cutting me short, "that he is
quite scoundrel enough to decline coming forward, supposing he
ran no risk by doing so. But remember that he has placed himself
in a position to be tried for bigamy, and that he believes your
mistress will put the law in force against him."
I had forgotten that circumstance. My heart sank within me when
it was recalled to my memory, and I could say nothing more.
"It is a very serious thing," the lawyer went on--"it is a
downright offense against the law of the land to make any private
offer of a compromise to this man. Knowing what we know, our duty
as good citizens is to give such information as may bring him to
trial. I tell you plainly that, if I did not stand toward your
mistress in the position of a relation as well as a legal
adviser, I should think twice about running the risk--the very
serious risk--on which I am now about to venture for her sake. As
it is, I have taken the right measures to assure Mr. James Smith
that he will not be treated according to his deserts. When he
knows what the circumstances are, he will trust us--supposing
always that we can find him. The search about this neighborhood
has been quite useless. I have sent private instructions by
to-day's post to Mr. Dark in London, and with them a
carefully-worded form of advertisement for the public newspapers.
You may rest assured that every human means of tracing him will
be tried forthwith. In the meantime, I have an important question
to put to you about Josep hine. She may know more than we think
she does; she may have surprised the secret of the second
marriage, and may be keeping it in reserve to use against us. If
this should turn out to be the case, I shall want some other
chance against her besides the chance of indicting her for
perjury. As to her motive now for making this horrible
accusation, what can you tell me about that, William?"
"Her motive against me, sir?"
"No, no, not against you. I can see plainly enough that she
accuses you because it is necessary to do so to add to the
probability of her story, which, of course, assumes that you
helped your mistress to dispose of the dead body. You are coolly
sacrificed to some devilish vengeance against her mistress. Let
us get at that first.
Has there ever been a quarrel between them?"
I told him of the quarrel, and of how Josephine had looked and
talked when she showed me her cheek.
"Yes," he said, "that is a strong motive for revenge with a
naturally pitiless, vindictive woman. But is that all? Had your
mistress any hold over her? Is there any self-interest mixed up
along with this motive of vengeance? Think a little, William. Has
anything ever happened in the house to compromise this woman, or
to make her fancy herself compromised?"
The remembrance of my mistress's lost trinkets and handkerchiefs,
which later and greater troubles had put out of my mind, flashed
back into my memory while he spoke. I told him immediately of the
alarm in the house when the loss was discovered.
"Did your mistress suspect Josephine and question her?" he asked,
eagerly.
"No, sir," I replied. "Before she could say a word, Josephine
impudently asked who she suspected, and boldly offered her own
boxes to be searched."
The lawyer's face turned red as scarlet. He jumped out of his
chair, and hit me such a smack on the shoulder that I thought he
had gone mad.
"By Jupiter!" he cried out, "we have got the whip-hand of that
she-devil at last."
I looked at him in astonishment.
"Why, man alive," he said, "don't you see how it is? Josephine's
the thief! I am as sure of it as that you and I are talking
together. This vile accusation against your mistress answers
another purpose besides the vindictive one --it is the very best
screen that the wretch could possibly set up to hide herself from
detection. It has stopped your mistress and you from moving in
the matter; it exhibits her in the false character of an honest
witness against a couple of criminals; it gives her time to
dispose of the goods, or to hide them, or to do anything she
likes with them. Stop! let me be quite sure that I know what the
lost things are. A pair of bracelets, three rings, and a lot of
lace pocket-handkerchiefs--is that what you said?"
"Yes, sir."
"Your mistress will describe them particularly, and I will take
the right steps the first thing to-morrow morning. Good-evening,
William, and keep up your spirits. It shan't be my fault if you
don't soon see the quadroon in the right place for her--at the
prisoner's bar."
With that farewell he went out.
The days passed, and I did not see him again until the period of
my remand had expired. On this occasion, when I once more
appeared before the justice, my mistress appeared with me. The
first sight of her absolutely startled me, she was so sadly
altered. Her face looked so pinched and thin that it was like the
face of an old woman. The dull, vacant resignation of her
expression was something shocking to see. It changed a little
when her eyes first turned heavily toward me, and she whispered,
with a faint smile, "I am sorry for you, William--I am very, very
sorry for you." But as soon as she had said those words the blank
look returned, and she sat with her head drooping forward, quiet,
and inattentive, and hopeless--so changed a being that her oldest
friends would hardly have known her.
Our examination was a mere formality. There was no additional
evidence either for or against us, and we were remanded again for
another week.
I asked the lawyer, privately, if any chance had offered itself
of tracing Mr. James Smith. He looked mysterious, and only said
in answer, "Hope for the best." I inquired next if any progress
had been made toward fixing the guilt of the robbery on
Josephine.
"I never boast," he replied. "But, cunning as she is, I should
not be surprised if Mr. Dark and I, together, turned out to be
more than a match for her."
Mr. Dark! There was something in the mere mention of his name
that gave me confidence in the future. If I could only have got
my poor mistress's sad, dazed face out of my mind, I should not
have had much depression of spirits to complain of during the
interval of time that elapsed between the second examination and
the third.
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