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The Trial

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Trial




'Get up to London, and see if my quarter's salary would take me out
in the steerage to some diggings or other. What would your brother
say to me if I turned up at the Grange--New Zealand?'

'Say! Mention Ethel, and see what he would not say.'

And the two boys proceeded to arrange the details of the evasion in
such vivid colouring, that they had nearly forgotten all present
troubles, above all when Leonard proceeded to declare that New
Zealand was too tame and too settled for him, he should certainly
find something to do in the Feejee Isles, where the high spirit of
the natives, their painted visages, and marvellous head-dresses, as
depicted in Captain Erskine's voyage, had greatly fired his fancy,
and they even settled how the gold fields should rebuild the Market
Cross.

'And when I'm gone, Aubrey, mind you see to Mab,' he said, laughing.

'Oh! I thought Mab was to act Whittington's cat.'

'I'm afraid they would eat her up; besides, there's the voyage. No,
you must keep her till I come home, even if she is to end like Argus.
Would you die of joy at seeing me, eh, little black neb?'




CHAPTER XII



Let us meet,
And question this most bloody piece of work,
To know it farther. Macbeth


'If you please, sir, Master Hardy from the Vintry Mill wants to see
you, said a voice at Dr. May's door early in the morning; and the
Doctor completed his dressing in haste, muttering to himself
exclamations of concern that the old man's malady should have
returned.

On entering the study, Hardy's appearance, whiter than even the
proverbial hue of his trade, his agitation of feature, confused eye,
and trembling lip, inspired fears that the case was more alarming
than had been apprehended; but to cheer him, the Doctor began,
'Frightened about yourself, Master Hardy, eh! You've come out
without breakfast, and that's enough to put any man out of heart.'

'No, sir,' said the old man, 'it is nothing about myself; I wish it
were no worse; but I've not got the heart to go to tell the poor
young gentleman, and I thought--'

'What--what has happened to the boy?' exclaimed Dr. May, sharply,
standing as if ready to receive the rifle shot which he already
believed had destroyed Leonard.

'That's what we can't say, sir,' returned Hardy; 'but he is gone, no
one knows where. And, sir, my poor master was found at five o'clock
this morning, in his chair in his sitting-room, stone dead from a
blow on the head.'

'Mind what you are saying!' shouted the Doctor passionately. 'You
old scoundrel, you don't mean to tell me that you are accusing the
lad!'

'I accuse nobody, sir,' said the old man, standing his ground, and
speaking steadily, but respectfully, 'I wouldn't say nothing to bring
any one into trouble if I could help it, and I came to ask you what
was to be done.'

'Yes, yes; I beg your pardon, Hardy, but it sounded enough to overset
one. Your poor master murdered, you say!'

Hardy nodded assent.

'And young Ward missing? Why, the burglars must have hurt the poor
fellow in defending his uncle. Have you searched the place?'

'I never thought of that, sir,' said Hardy, his countenance much
relieved; 'it would be more like such a young gentleman as Mr. Ward.'

'Then we'll get over to the mill as fast as we can, and see what can
be done,' said Dr. May, snatching up his hat and gloves. 'You come
and walk with me to Bankside, and tell me by the way about this
terrible business. Good heavens! they'll have thrown the boy into
the river!'

And calling out that his carriage should follow to Bankside, the
Doctor dashed up-stairs, and knocked at Ethel's door. 'My dear,' he
said, 'there has been a robbery or something at the Vintry Mill. I
must go and see Henry Ward about it. Poor old Axworthy is murdered,
and I'm terribly afraid Leonard has met with some foul play. You or
Mary had better go and see about Ave presently, but don't believe a
word of anything till you see me again.'

And shutting the door, while Ethel felt as if the room were reeling
round with her, Dr. May was in a few seconds more hastening along by
Hardy's side, extracting from him the little he had to tell. The old
man had been unlocking the door of the mill at five o'clock, when he
was summoned by loud shrieks from the window of Mr. Axworthy's
sitting-room, and found that the little maid had been appalled by the
sight of her master sunk forward from his gouty chair upon the table,
his hair covered with blood. Hardy had been the first to touch him,
and to perceive that he had long been dead. The housekeeper, the
only other servant who slept in the house, had rushed in half-
dressed; but neither nephew appeared. Young Axworthy had gone the
previous day to the county races, leaving the time of his return
doubtful, and Leonard Ward did not answer when called. It was then
found that his room was empty, his bed untouched, and the passage
window outside his door left open. The terrified servants held
confused consultation, and while the groom had hurried off to give
the alarm at Whitford, and ride on in search of Sam Axworthy, Hardy
had taken another horse and started to inform Henry Ward, but his
heart failing him, he had come to beg the Doctor to break the
intelligence to the family.

Dr. May had few doubts that the robbers must have entered by the
passage window, and meeting resistance from Leonard, must have
dragged him out, and perhaps thrown him from it, then having gone on
to their murderous work in the old man's sitting-room. In that great
rambling house, where the maids slept afar off, and the rats held
nightly gambols, strange noises were not likely to be observed; and
the thought of Leonard lying stunned and insensible on the grass,
made the Doctor's pace almost a run, as if he were hastening to the
rescue.

When Mr. Ward sent down word that he was not up, Dr. May replied that
he must see him in bed, and followed upon the very heels of the
messenger, encountering no amiable face, for Henry had armed himself
for defence against any possible reproaches for his treatment of any
patient. Even when Dr. May began, 'Henry, my poor fellow, I have
frightful news for you,' his month was opening to reply, 'I knew we
should lose that case,' let the patient be who he might, when the few
simple words put to flight all petulant jealousy, and restored Henry
Ward to what he had been when in his hour of sickness and affliction
he had leant in full confidence on Dr. May's unfailing kindness.

He was dressed by the time the brougham was at the door, and would
have hurried off without telling his sister of the alarm; but Dr.
May, knowing that the town must soon be ringing with the news, was
sending him to Averil's room, when both rejoiced to see Mary enter
the house. Charging her to keep Averil quiet, and believe nothing
but what came from themselves, they thrust on her the terrible
commission and hastened away, dwelling on the hope that every moment
might be important.

Old Hardy had already mounted his cart-horse, and for him farm roads
so shortened the distance, that he received them at the entrance of
the courtyard, which was crowded with excited gazers and important
policemen.

'Found him?' was the instantaneous question of both; but Hardy shook
his head so sadly, that the Doctor hastily exclaimed, 'What then?'

'Sir,' said Hardy very low, and with a deprecating look, 'he did go
up by the mail train to London last night--got in at Blewer station
at 12.15. They have telegraphed up, sir.'

'I'll lay my life it is all a mistake,' said Dr. May, grasping
Henry's arm as if to give him support, and looking him in the face as
though resolved that neither should be cast down.

'That's not all, sir,' added Hardy, still addressing himself to the
elder gentleman. 'There's his rifle, sir.'

'Why, he was not shot!' sharply cried Dr. May. 'You told me so
yourself.'

'No, sir; but--You'll see for yourself presently! There's the blood
and gray hairs on the stock, sir.'

'Never fear, Henry; we shall see,' said Dr. May, pressing on, and
adding as soon as they were out of hearing, 'Nothing those folks,
even the best of them, like so well as laying on horrors thick
enough.'

A policeman stood at the house door to keep off idlers; but Dr. May's
character and profession, as well as his municipal rank, caused way
to be instantly made for them. They found a superintendent within,
and he at once began, 'Most unfortunate business, Mr. Mayor--very
mysterious;' then, as a sign from the Doctor made him aware of Henry
Ward's near concern, he added, 'Shall I inform young Mr. Axworthy
that you are here?'

'Is he come?'

'Yes, sir. He had only slept at the Three Goblets, not half a mile
across the fields, you know, Mr. Mayor--came home too late to disturb
the house here, slept there, and was on the spot at the first
intelligence--before I was myself,' added the superintendent a little
jealously.

'Where is he?'

'In his room, sir. He was extremely overcome, and retired to his
room as soon as the necessary steps had been taken. Would you wish
to see the room, sir? We are keeping it locked till the inquest
takes place; but--'

Henry asked, 'When?' his first word since his arrival, and almost
inarticulate.

He was answered that it would probably be at two that afternoon; the
Whitford coroner had intimated that he was ready, and the down train
would be in by one. A telegram had just arrived, reporting that the
electric message had anticipated the mail train, and that young Mr.
Ward would be brought down in time.

'Never mind, never heed, Henry,' persisted Dr. May, pressing the
young man's arm as they proceeded to the door of the sitting-room;
'he must be intensely shocked, but he will explain the whole. Nay,
I've no doubt we shall clear him. His rifle, indeed! I could swear
to his rifle anywhere.'

The superintendent had by this time opened the door of the sitting-
room, communicating on one side with the office, on the other with
the old man's bed-room.

Except that the body had been carried to the bed in the inner
chamber, all remained as it had been found. There were no signs of
robbery--not even of a struggle. The cushions of the easy-chair
still bore the impress of the sitter's weight; the footstool was
hardly pushed aside; the massive library table was undisturbed; the
silver spoons and sugar-tongs beside the tumbler and plate on the
supper tray; the yellow light of the lamp still burnt; not a paper
was ruffled, not a drawer pulled out. Only a rifle stood leaning
against the window shutter, and towards it both friend and brother
went at once, hoping and trusting that it would be a stranger to
their eyes.

Alas! alas! only too familiar were the rich brown mottlings of the
stock, the steel mountings, the eagle crest, and twisted H. E.
cipher! and in sickness of heart the Doctor could not hide from
himself the dark clot of gore and the few white hairs adhering to the
wood, and answering to the stain that dyed the leather of the desk.

Henry could not repress an agonized groan, and averted his face; but
his companion undaunted met the superintendent's eye and query, 'You
know it, sir!'

'I do. It was my son-in-law's present to him. I wonder where he
kept it, for the ruffians to get hold of it.'

The superintendent remained civil and impassive, and no one spoke to
break the deathly hush of the silent room, filled with the appliances
of ordinary business life, but tainted with the awful unexplained
mark that there had been the foot of the shedder of blood in silence
and at unawares.

The man in authority at length continued his piteous exhibition. Dr.
Rankin of Whitford had arrived on the first alarm; but would not the
gentlemen see the body? And he led them on, Dr. May's eyes on the
alert to seize on anything exculpatory, but detecting nothing, seeing
only the unwieldy helpless form and aged feeble countenance of the
deceased, and receiving fresh impressions of the brutality and
cowardice of the hand that could have struck the blow. He looked,
examined, defined the injury, and explained that it must have caused
instant death, thus hoping to divert attention from his pale horror-
stricken companion, whose too apparent despondency almost provoked
him.

At the Doctor's request they were taken up the staircase into the
corridor, and shown the window, which had been found nearly closed
but not fastened, as though it had been partially shut down from the
outside. The cedar bough almost brushed the glass, and the slope of
turf came so high up the wall, that an active youth could easily
swing himself down to it; and the superintendent significantly
remarked that the punt was on the farther side of the stream, whereas
the evening before it had been on the nearer. Dr. May leant out over
the window-sill, still in the lingering hope of seeing--he knew not
what, but he only became oppressed by the bright still summer beauty
of the trees and grass and sparkling water, insensible of the horror
that brooded over all. He drew back his head; and as the door hard
by was opened, Leonard's little dog sprang from her basket kennel,
wagging her tail in hopes of her master, but in her disappointment
greeting one whom dogs always hailed as a friend,

'Poor little doggie! good little Mab! If only you could tell us!'
and the creature fondly responded to his gentle hand, though keeping
aloof from Henry, in mindfulness of past passages between them, while
Henry could evidently not bear to look at her.

They gazed round the room, but it conveyed no elucidation of the
mystery. There were Leonard's books in their range on the drawers,
his fossils in his cupboard, his mother's photograph on his mantel-
piece, his sister's drawings on the wall. His gray uniform lay on
the bed as if recently taken off, his ordinary office coat was folded
on a chair, and he seemed to have dressed and gone in his best
clothes. While anxiously seeking some note of explanation, they
heard a step, and Sam Axworthy entered, speaking fast and low in
apology for not having sooner appeared, but he had been thoroughly
upset; as indeed he looked, his whole appearance betraying the
disorder of the evening's dissipation, followed by the morning's
shock.

Most unfortunate, he said, that he had not returned earlier. His
friend Black--Tom Black, of Edsall Green--had driven him home in his
dog-cart, set him down at the turn to cross the fields--moon as light
as day--no notion, of the lateness till he got in sight of the great
clock, and saw it was half-past twelve; so knowing the early habits
of the place, he had thought it best to turn back, and get a bed at
the Three Goblets. If he had only come home, he might have prevented
mischief! There ensued a few commonplace words on the old man's
infirm state, yet his independent habits, and reluctance to let any
servant assist him, or even sleep near him. Sam spoke as if in a
dream, and was evidently so unwell, that Dr. May thought it
charitable to follow the dictates of his own disgust at breaking
bread in that house of horrors, and refuse offers of breakfast. He
said he must go home, but would return for the inquest, and asked
whether Henry would remain to meet his brother.

'No, no, thank you,' said Henry huskily, as with the driest of
throats, and a perceptible shudder, he turned to go away; the Doctor
pausing to caress little Mab, and say, 'I had better take home this
poor little thing. She may come to harm here, and may be a comfort
to the sister.'

No objection came from Sam, but Mab herself ran back to her house,
and even snarled at the attempt to detach her from it. 'You are a
faithful little beast,' he said, 'and your master will soon be here
to set all straight, so I will leave you for the present;' and
therewith he signed farewell, and breathed more freely as he gained
the outer air.

'I'll tell you what, Henry,' he said, as they drove out of the
courtyard, 'we'll bring out Bramshaw to watch the case. He will see
through this horrible mystery, and throw the suspicion in the right
quarter, whatever that may be, depend upon it.'

Henry had thrown himself back in the carriage with averted face, and
only answered by a groan.

'Come, don't be so downcast,' said Dr. May; 'it is a frightful
affair, no doubt, and Leonard has chosen a most unlucky moment for
this escapade; but he will have a thorough warning against frolics.'

'Frolics indeed!' said Henry, bitterly.

'Well, I'll be bound that's all he has attempted, and it has got him
into a horrid scrape; and ten to one but the police have got the real
ruffians in their hands by this time.'

'I have no hope,' said Henry.

'More shame for you not to feel a certain confidence that He who sees
all will show the right.'

'If!' said Henry, breaking off with a sound and look of such intense
misery as almost to stagger the Doctor himself, by reminding him of
Leonard's violent temper, and the cause Henry had to remember his
promptness of hand; but that Ethel's pupil, Aubrey's friend, the boy
of ingenuous face, could under any provocation strike helpless old
age, or, having struck, could abscond without calling aid, actuated
by terror, not by pity or repentance, was more than Dr. May could
believe, and after brief musing, he broke out in indignant
refutation.

'I should have thought so. I wish I still could believe so' sighed
Henry; 'but--' and there they lapsed into silence, till, as they came
near the town, Dr. May offered to set him down at Bankside.

'No! no, thank you,' he cried in entreaty. 'I cannot see her--Ave.'

'Then come home with me. You shall see no one, and you will look up
when you are not faint and fasting. You young men don't stand up
against these things like us old stagers.'

As the carriage stopped, several anxious faces were seen on the
watch, but the Doctor signed them back till he had deposited Henry in
his study, and then came among them.

Gertrude was the first to speak. 'O, papa, papa, what is it! Mrs.
Pugh has been here to ask, and Ethel won't let me hear, though Tom
and Aubrey know.'

'I took refuge in your order to believe nothing till you came,' said
Ethel, with hands tightly clasped together.

'It is true, then?' asked Tom.

'True that it looks as bad as bad can be,' said the Doctor, sighing
heavily, and proceeding to state the aspect of the case.

'It is a trick--a plot,' cried Aubrey passionately; 'I know it is!
He always said he would run away if they tried to teach him
dishonesty; and now they have done this and driven him away, and laid
the blame on him. Ethel, why don't you say you are sure of it?'

'Leonard would be changed indeed if this were so,' said Ethel,
trembling as she stood, and hardly able to speak articulately.

Aubrey broke out with a furious 'If,' very different from Henry
Ward's.

'It would not be the Leonard we knew at Coombe,' said Ethel. 'He
might be blind with rage, but he would never be cowardly. No.
Unless he own it, nothing shall ever make me believe it.'

'Own it! For shame, Ethel,' cried Aubrey. And even the Doctor
exclaimed, 'You are as bad as poor Henry himself, who has not got
soul enough to be capable of trusting his brother.'

'I do trust,' said Ethel, looking up. 'I shall trust his own word,'
and she sat down without speaking, and knitted fast, but her needles
clattered.

'And how about that poor girl at Bankside?' said the Doctor.

'I went down there,' said Tom, 'just to caution the servants against
bringing in stories. She found out I was there, and I had to go in
and make the best of it.'

'And what sort of a best?' said the Doctor.

'Why, she knew he used to get out in the morning to bathe, and was
persuaded he had been drowned; so I told her I knew he was alive and
well, and she would hear all about it when you came back. I brought
the youngest child away with me, and Gertrude has got her up-stairs;
the other would not come. Poor thing! Mary says she is very good
and patient; and I must say she was wonderfully reasonable when I
talked to her.'

'Thank you, Tom,' said his father with warmth, 'it was very kind of
you. I wonder if Ave knew anything of this runaway business; it
might be the saving of him!'

'I did,' said Aubrey eagerly; 'at least, I know he said he would not
stay if they wanted to put him up to their dishonest tricks; and he
talked of that very window!'

'Yes, you imprudent fellow; and you were telling Mrs. Pugh so, if I
hadn't stopped you,' said Tom. 'You'll be taken up for an accomplice
next, if you don't hold your tongue.'

'What did he say?' asked the Doctor, impatiently; and then declared
that he must instantly go to Bankside, as soon as both he and Henry
had taken some food; 'for,' he added, 'we are both too much shaken to
deal rationally with her.'

Ethel started up in shame and dismay at having neglected to order
anything. The Doctor was served in the study alone with Henry, and
after the briefest meal, was on his way to Bankside.

He found Averil with the crimson cheek and beseeching eye that he
knew so well, as she laid her trembling hand on his, and mutely
looked up like a dumb creature awaiting a blow.

'Yes, my dear,' he said, tenderly, 'your brother needs prayer such as
when we watched him last year, he is in peril of grave suspicion.'
And as she stood waiting and watching for further explanation, he
continued, 'My dear, he told you everything. You do not know of any
notion of his of going away, or going out without leave?'

'Why is Leonard to be always suspected of such things?' cried Averil.
'He never did them!'

'Do you know?' persisted Dr. May.

'But you are mayor!' cried Averil, indignantly, withdrawing her hand.
'You want me to accuse him!'

'My dear, if I were ten times mayor, it would make no difference. My
jurisdiction does not even cross the river here; and if it did, this
is a graver case than I deal with. I am come, as his friend, to beg
you to help me to account for his unhappy absence in any harmless
way. Were it ever so foolish or wrong, it would be the best news
that ever I heard.'

'But--but I can't,' said Averil. 'I never knew he was going out!
I know he used to get out at the passage window to bathe and fish
before the house was astir--and--you know he is safe, Dr. May?'

Dr. May would almost sooner have known that he was at the bottom of
the deepest pool in the river, than where he was. 'He is safe, my
poor child. He is well, and I trust he will be able to prove his
innocence; but he must so account for his absence as to clear
himself. Averil, there is a charge against him--of being concerned
in your uncle's death.'

Averil's eyes dilated, and she breathed short and fast, standing like
a statue. Little Minna, whom the Doctor had scarcely perceived,
standing in a dark corner, sprang forward, exclaiming, 'O, Ave, don't
be afraid! Nobody can hurt him for what he did not do!'

The words roused Averil, and starting forward, she cried, 'Dr. May,
Dr. May, you will save him! He is fatherless and motherless, and his
brother has always been harsh to him; but you will not forsake him;
you said you would be a father to us! Oh, save Leonard!'

'My dear, as I would try to save my own son, I will do my utmost for
him; but little or nothing depends on me or on any man. By truth and
justice he must stand or fall; and you must depend on the Father of
the fatherless, who seeth the truth! as this dear child tells you,'
with his hand on Minna's head, 'he cannot be really injured while he
is innocent.'

Awed into calm, Averil let him seat her beside him, and put her in
possession of the main facts of the case, Minna standing by him, her
hand in his, evidently understanding and feeling all that passed.

Neither could throw light on anything. Leonard had been less
communicative to them than to Aubrey, and had kept his resolution of
uncomplainingly drinking the brewst he had brewed for himself. All
Averil could tell was, that her uncle had once spoken to Henry in
commendation of his steadiness and trustworthiness, though at the
same time abusing him for airs and puppyism.

'Henry would tell you. Where is Henry?' she added.

'In my study. He could not bear to bring you these tidings. You
must be ready to comfort him, Ave.'

'Don't let him come,' she cried. 'He never was kind to Leonard. He
drove him there. I shall always feel that it was his doing.'

'Averil,' said Dr. May gravely, 'do you forget how much that
increases his suffering? Nothing but mutual charity can help you
through this fiery trial. Do not let anger and recrimination take
from you the last shreds of comfort, and poison your prayers.
Promise me to be kind to Henry, for indeed he needs it.'

'O, Dr. May,' said Minna, looking up with her eyes full of tears,
'indeed I will. I was cross to Henry because he was cross to
Leonard, but I won't be so any more.'

Ave drooped her head, as if it were almost impossible to her to
speak.

Dr. May patted Minna's dark head caressingly, and said to the elder
sister, 'I will not urge you more. Perhaps you may have Leonard
back, and then joy will open your hearts; or if not, my poor Ave, the
sight of Henry will do more than my words.'

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