George Sand, Gustave Flaubert - "The George Sand Gustave Flaubert Letters"

Millard Fillmore - "State of the Union Addresses of Millard Fillmore"

John H. Bechtel - "Slips of Speech"

Mary Cole - "Trials and Triumphs of Faith"

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The Trial

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Trial




'I think not. Their rooms are too far off for overhearing, and my
uncle saw as little of them as possible. Mrs. Giles was Sam's nurse,
and cares for him more than any other creature; she would not say a
word against him even if she knew anything; and my uncle would never
have complained. He was fond of Sam to the last, proud of his
steeple-chases and his cleverness, and desperately afraid of him; in
a sort of bondage, entirely past daring to speak.'

'I know,' said Dr. May, remembering how his own Tom had been fettered
and tongue-tied by that same tyrant in boyhood. 'But he spoke to
you?'

'No,' said Leonard. 'After that scene much was implied between us,
but nothing mentioned. I cannot even tell whether he trusted me, or
only made me serve as a protector. I believe that row was about this
money, which he had got together in secret, and that Sam suspected,
and wanted to extort; but it was exactly as I said at the inquest, he
gave no reason for sending me up to town with it. He knew that I
knew why, and so said no more than that it was to be private. It was
pitiful to see that man, so fierce and bold as they say he once was,
trembling as if doing something by stealth, and the great hard knotty
hands so crumpled and shaky, that he had to leave all to me. And
that they should fancy I could go and hurt him!' said Leonard,
stretching his broad chest and shoulders in conscious strength.

'Yes, considering who it was, I do not wonder that you feel the
passion-theory as insulting as the accusation.'

'I ought not,' said Leonard, reddening. 'Every one knows what my
temper can do. I do not think that a poor old feeble man like that
could have provoked me to be so cowardly, but I see it is no wonder
they think so. Only they might suppose I would not have been a
robber, and go on lying now, when they take good care to tell me that
it is ruinous!'

'It is an intolerable shame that they can look you in the face and
imagine it for a moment,' said the Doctor, with all his native
warmth.

'After all,' said Leonard, recalled by his sympathy, 'it is my own
fault from beginning to end that I am in this case. I see now that
it was only God's mercy that prevented my brother's blood being on
me, and it was my unrepenting obstinacy that brought me to the mill;
so there will be no real injustice in my dying, and I expect nothing
else.'

'Hush, Leonard, depend upon it, while there is Justice in Heaven, the
true criminal cannot go free,' cried the Doctor, much agitated.

Leonard shook his head.

'Boyish hastiness is not murder,' added the Doctor.

'So I thought. But it might have been, and I never repented. I
brought all this on myself; and while I cannot feel guiltless in
God's sight, I cannot expect it to turn out well.'

'Turn out well,' repeated the Doctor. 'We want Ethel to tell us that
this very repentance and owning of the sin, is turning out well--
better than going on in it.'

'I can see that,' said Leonard. 'I do hope that if--if I can take
this patiently, it may show I am sorry for the real thing--and I may
be forgiven. Oh! I am glad prisoners are not cut off from church.'

Dr. May pressed his hand in much emotion: and there was a silence
before another question--whether there were nothing that could be of
service.

'One chance there is, that Sam might relent enough to put that
receipt where it could be found without implicating him. He must
know what it would do for me.'

'You are convinced that he has it?'

'There must be papers in the book valuable to him; perhaps some that
he had rather were not seen. Most likely he secured it in the
morning. You remember he was there before the police.'

'Ay! ay! ay! the scoundrel! But, Leonard, what possessed you not to
speak out at the inquest, when we might have searched every soul on
the premises?'

'I did not see it then. I was stunned by the horror of the thing--
the room where I had been so lately, and that blood on my own rifle
too. It was all I could do at one time not to faint, and I had no
notion they would not take my explanation; then, when I found it
rejected, and everything closing in on me, I was in a complete maze.
It was not till yesterday, when I was alone again, after having gone
over my defence with Mr. Bramshaw, and shown what I could prove, that
I saw exactly how it must have been, as clear as a somnambulist. I
sometimes could fancy I had seen Sam listening at the window, and
have to struggle not to think I knew him under the stable wall.'

'And you are not such a--such a--so absurd as to sacrifice yourself
to any scruple, and let the earth be cumbered with a rascal who, if
he be withholding the receipt, is committing a second murder! It is
not generosity, it is suicide.'

'It is not generosity,' said the boy, 'for if there were any hope,
that would not stop me; but no one heard nor saw but myself, and I
neither recognized him--no, I did not--nor heard anything definite
from my uncle. Even if I had, no one--no one but you, believes a
word I speak; nay, even my own case shows what probabilities are
worth, and that I may be doing him the same wrong that I am
suffering. I should only bring on myself the shame and disgrace of
accusing another.'

The steady low voice and unboyish language showed him to be speaking
from reflection, not impulse. The only tremulous moment was when he
spoke of the one friend who trusted him, and whom his words were
filling with a tumult of hope and alarm, admiration, indignation, and
perplexity.

'Well, well,' the Doctor said, almost stammering, 'I am glad you have
been open with me. It may be a clue. Can there be any excuse for
overhauling his papers? Or can't we pick a hole in that alibi of
his? Now I recollect, he had it very pat, and unnecessarily
prominent. I'll find some way of going to work without compromising
you. Yes, you may trust me! I'll watch, but say not a word without
your leave.'

'Thank you,' said Leonard. 'I am glad it is you--you who would never
think a vague hope of saving me better than disgrace and dishonour.'

'We will save you,' said the Doctor, becoming eager to escape to that
favourite counsellor, the lining of his brougham, which had inspired
him with the right theory of many a perplexing symptom, and he
trusted would show him how to defend without betraying Leonard. 'I
must go and see about it. Is there anything I can do for you--books,
or anything?'

No, thank you--except--I suppose there would be no objection to my
having a few finer steel pens. 'And to explain his wants, he took up
his Prayer-Book, which his sister had decorated with several small
devotional prints. Copying these minutely line by line in pen and
ink, was the solace of his prison hours; and though the work was
hardly after drawing-masters' rules, the hand was not untaught, and
there was talent and soul enough in the work to strike the Doctor.

'It suits me best,' said Leonard. 'I should go distracted with
nothing to do; and I can't read much--at least, not common books.
And my sisters may like to have them. Will you let me do one for
you?'

The speaking expression of those hazel eyes almost overcame the
Doctor, and his answer was by bending head and grasping hand.
Leonard turned to the Collects, and mutely opened at the print of the
Son of Consolation, which he had already outlined, looked up at his
friend, and turned away, only saying, 'Two or three of the sort with
elastic nibs; they have them at the post-office.'

'Yes, I'll take care,' said Dr. May, afraid to trust his self-command
any longer. 'Good-bye, Leonard. Tom says I adopt every one who gets
through a bad enough fever, so what will you be to me after this
second attack?'

The result of the Doctor's consultation with his brougham was his
stopping it at Mr. Bramshaw's door, to ascertain whether the search
for the receipt had extended to young Axworthy's papers; but he found
that they had been thoroughly examined, every facility having been
given by their owner, who was his uncle's executor, and residuary
legatee, by a will dated five years back, leaving a thousand pounds
to the late Mrs. Ward, and a few other legacies, but the mass of the
property to the nephew.

Sam's 'facilities' not satisfying the Doctor, it was further
explained that every endeavour was being made to discover what other
documents were likely to have been kept in the missing memorandum-
book, so as to lead to the detection of any person who might present
any such at a bank; and it was made evident that everything was being
done, short of the impracticability of searching an unaccused man,
but he could not but perceive that Mr. Bramshaw's 'ifs' indicated
great doubt of the existence of receipt and of pocket-book. Throwing
out a hint that the time of Sam's return should be investigated, he
learnt that this had been Edward Anderson's first measure, and that
it was clear, from the independent testimony of the ostler at
Whitford, the friend who had driven Sam, and the landlord of the
Three Goblets, that there was not more than time for the return
exactly as described at the inquest; and though the horse was swift
and powerful, and might probably have been driven at drunken speed,
this was too entirely conjectural for anything to be founded on it.
Nor had the cheque by Bilson on the Whitford Bank come in.

'Something must assuredly happen to exonerate the guiltless, it would
be profane to doubt,' said Dr. May continually to himself and to the
Wards; but Leonard's secret was a painful burthen that he could
scarcely have borne without sharing it with that daughter who was his
other self, and well proved to be a safe repository.

'That's my Leonard,' said Ethel. 'I know him much better now than
any time since the elf-bolt affair! They have not managed to ruin
him among them.'

'What do you call this?' said Dr. May, understanding her, indeed, but
willing to hear her thought expressed.

'Thankworthy,' she answered, with a twitching of the corners of her
mouth.

'You will suffer for this exaltation,' he said, sadly; 'you know you
have a tender heart, for all your flights.'

'And you know you have a soul as well as a heart,' said Ethel, as
well as the swelling in her throat would allow.

'To be sure, this world would be a poor place to live in, if
admiration did not make pity bearable,' said the Doctor; 'but--but
don't ask me, Ethel: you have not had that fine fellow in his manly
patience before your eyes. Talk of your knowing him! You knew a
boy! I tell you, this has made him a man, and one of a thousand--so
high-minded and so simple, so clearheaded and well-balanced, so
entirely resigned and free from bitterness! What could he not be?
It would be grievous to see him cut off by a direct dispensation--
sickness, accident, battle; but for him to come to such an end, for
the sake of a double murderer--Ethel--it would almost stagger one's
faith!'

'Almost!' repeated Ethel, with the smile of a conqueror.

'I know, I know,' said the Doctor. 'If it be so, it will be right;
one will try to believe it good for him. Nay, there's proof enough
in what it has done for him already. If you could only see him!'

'I mean to see him, if it should go against him,' said Ethel, 'if you
will let me. I would go to him as I would if he were in a decline,
and with more reverence.'

'Don't talk of it,' cried her father. 'For truth's sake, for
justice's sake, for the country's sake, I can not, will not, believe
it will go wrong. There is a Providence, after all, Ethel!'

And the Doctor went away, afraid alike of hope and despondency, and
Ethel thought of the bright young face, of De Wilton, of Job, and of
the martyrs; and when she was not encouraging Aubrey, or soothing
Averil, her heart would sink, and the tears that would not come would
have been very comfortable.

It was well for all that the assizes were so near that the suspense
was not long protracted; for it told upon all concerned. Leonard,
when the Doctor saw him again, was of the same way of thinking, but
his manner was more agitated; he could not sleep, or if he slept, the
anticipations chased away in the day-time revenged themselves in his
dreams; and he was very unhappy, also, about his sister, whose
illness continued day after day. She was not acutely ill, but in a
constant state of low fever, every faculty in the most painful state
of tension, convinced that she was quite able to get up and go to
Leonard, and that her detention was mere cruelty; and then, on trying
to rise, refused by fainting. Her searching questions and ardent
eyes made it impossible to keep any feature in the case from her
knowledge. Sleep was impossible to her; and once when Henry tried
the effect of an anodyne, it produced a semi-delirium, which made him
heartily repent of his independent measure. At all times she was
talking--nothing but the being left with a very stolid maid-servant
ever closed her lips, and she so greatly resented being thus treated,
that the measure was seldom possible. Henry seldom left her. He was
convinced that Leonard's sentence would be hers likewise, and he
watched over her with the utmost tenderness and patience with her
fretfulness and waywardness, never quitting her except on their
brother's behalf, when Ethel or Mary would take his place. Little
Minna was always to be found on her small chair by the bed-side, or
moving about like a mouse, sometimes whispering her one note, 'They
can't hurt him, if he has not done it,' and still quietly working at
the pair of slippers that had been begun for his birthday present.
Mary used to bring Ella, and take them out walking in the least-
frequented path; but though the little sisters kissed eagerly, and
went fondly hand in hand, they never were sorry to part: Ella's
spirits oppressed Minna, and Minna's depression vexed the more
volatile sister; moreover, Minna always dreaded Mary's desire to
carry her away--as, poor child, she looked paler, and her eyes
heavier and darker, every day.

No one else, except, of course, Dr. May, was admitted. Henry would
not let his sister see Mr. Scudamour or Mr. Wilmot, lest she should
be excited; and Averil's 'No one' was vehement as a defence against
Mrs. Pugh or Mrs. Ledwich, whom she suspected of wanting to see her,
though she never heard of more than their daily inquiries.

Mrs. Pugh was, in spite of her exclusion, the great authority with
the neighbourhood for all the tidings of 'the poor Wards,' of whom
she talked with the warmest commiseration, relating every touching
detail of their previous and present history, and continually
enduring the great shock of meeting people in shops or in the
streets, whom she knew to be reporters or photographers. In fact,
the catastrophe had taken a strong hold on the public mind; and
'Murder of an Uncle by his Nephew,' 'The Blewer Tragedy,' figured
everywhere in the largest type; newsboys on the railway shouted, 'To-
day's paper-account of inquest;' and the illustrated press sent down
artists, whose three-legged cameras stared in all directions, from
the Vintry Mill to Bankside, and who aimed at the school, the
Minster, the volunteers, and Dr. Hoxton himself. Tom advised Ethel
to guard Mab carefully from appearing stuffed in the chamber of
horrors at Madame Tussaud's; and the furniture at the mill would have
commanded any price. Nay, Mrs. Pugh was almost certain she had seen
one of the 'horrid men' bargaining with the local photographer for
her own portrait, in her weeds, and was resolved the interesting
injury should never be forgiven!

She really had the 'trying scenes' of two interviews with both Mr.
Bramshaw and the attorney from Whitford who was getting up the
prosecution, each having been told that she was in possession of
important intelligence. Mr. Bramshaw was not sanguine as to what he
might obtain from her, but flattered her with the attempt, and ended
by assuring her, like his opponent, that there was no need to expose
her to the unpleasantness of appearing in court.

Aubrey was not to have the same relief, but was, like his father,
subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution. He had followed his
father's advice, and took care not to disclose his evidence to the
enemy, as he regarded the Whitford lawyer. He was very miserable,
and it was as much for his sake as that of the immediate family, that
Ethel rejoiced that the suspense was to be short. Counsel of high
reputation had been retained; but as the day came nearer, without
bringing any of the disclosures on which the Doctor had so securely
reckoned, more and more stress was laid on the dislike to convict on
circumstantial evidence, and on the saying that the English law had
rather acquit ten criminals than condemn one innocent man.




CHAPTER XIV



Ah! I mind me now of thronging faces,
Mocking eyed, and eager, as for sport;
Hundreds looking up, and in high places
Men arrayed for judgment and a court.

And I heard, or seemed to hear, one seeking
Answer back from one he doomed to die,
Pitifully, sadly, sternly speaking
Unto one--and oh! that one, twas I.--Rev. G. E. Monsell


The 'Blewer Murder' was the case of the Assize week; and the court
was so crowded that, but for the favour of the sheriff, Mr. and Mrs.
Rivers, with Tom and Gertrude, could hardly have obtained seats. No
others of the family could endure to behold the scene, except from
necessity; and indeed Ethel and Mary had taken charge of the sisters
at home, for Henry could not remain at a distance from his brother,
though unable to bear the sight of the proceedings; he remained in a
house at hand.

Nearly the whole population of Stoneborough, Whitford, and Blewer was
striving to press into court, but before the day's work began, Edward
Anderson had piloted Mrs. Pugh to a commodious place, under the
escort of his brother Harvey, who was collecting materials for an
article on criminal jurisprudence.

Some of those who, like the widow and little Gertrude, had been wild
to be present, felt their hearts fail them when the last previous
case had been disposed of; and there was a brief pause of grave and
solemn suspense and silent breathless expectation within the court,
unbroken, except by increased sounds of crowding in all the avenues
without.

Every one, except the mere loungers, who craved nothing but
excitement, looked awed and anxious; and the impression was deepened
by the perception that the same feeling, though restrained, affected
the judge himself, and was visible in the anxious attention with
which he looked at the papers before him, and the stern sadness that
had come over the features naturally full of kindness and
benevolence.

The prisoner appeared in the dock. He had become paler, and perhaps
thinner, for his square determined jaw, and the resolute mould of his
lips, were more than usually remarkable, and were noted in the
physiognomical brain of Harvey Anderson; as well as the keen light of
his full dark hazel eye, the breadth of his brow, with his shining
light brown hair brushed back from it; the strong build of his frame,
and the determined force, apparent even in the perfect quiescence of
his attitude.

Leonard Axworthy Ward was arraigned for the wilful murder of Francis
Axworthy, and asked whether he pleaded Guilty or Not Guilty.

His voice was earnest, distinct, and firm, and his eyes were raised
upwards, as though he were making the plea of 'Not Guilty' not to man
alone, but to the Judge of all the earth.

The officer of the court informed him of his right to challenge any
of the jury, as they were called over by name; and as each came to be
sworn, he looked full and steadily at each face, more than one of
which was known to him by sight, as if he were committing his cause
into their hands. He declined to challenge; and then crossing his
arms on his breast, cast down his eyes, and thus retained them
through the greater part of the trial.

The jurymen were then sworn in, and charged with the issue; and the
counsel for the prosecution opened the case, speaking more as if in
pity than indignation, as he sketched the history, which it was his
painful duty to establish. He described how Mr. Axworthy, having
spent the more active years of his life in foreign trade, had finally
returned to pass his old age among his relatives; and had taken to
assist him in his business a great-nephew, and latterly another youth
in the same degree of relation, the son of his late niece--the
prisoner, who on leaving school had been taken into his uncle's
office, lodged in the house, and became one of the family. It would,
however, be shown by witnesses that the situation had been extremely
irksome to the young man; and that he had not been in it many months
before he had expressed his intention of absconding, provided he
could obtain the means of making his way in one of the colonies.
Then followed a summary of the deductions resulting from the evidence
about to be adduced, and which carried upon its face the inference
that the absence of the cousin, the remoteness of the room, the sight
of a large sum of money, and the helplessness of the old man, had
proved temptations too strong for a fiery and impatient youth, long
fretted by the restraints of his situation, and had conducted him to
violence, robbery, and flight. It was a case that could not be
regarded without great regret and compassion; but the gentlemen of
the jury must bear in mind in their investigation, that pity must not
be permitted to distort the facts, which he feared were only too
obvious.

The speech was infinitely more telling from its fair and
commiserating tone towards the prisoner; and the impression that it
carried, not that he was to be persecuted by having the crime
fastened on him, but that truth must be sought out at all hazards.

'Even he is sorry for Leonard! I don't hate him as I thought I
should,' whispered Gertrude May, to her elder sister. The first
witness was, as before, the young maid-servant, Anne Ellis, who
described her first discovery of the body; and on farther
interrogation, the situation of the room, distant from those of the
servants, and out of hearing--also her master's ordinary condition of
feebleness. She had observed nothing in the room, or on the table,
but knew the window was open, since she had run to it, and screamed
for help, upon which Master Hardy had come to her aid.

Leonard's counsel then elicited from her how low the window was, and
how easily it could be entered from without.

James Hardy corroborated all this, giving a more minute account of
the state of the room; and telling of his going to call the young
gentlemen, and finding the open passage window and empty bed-room.
The passage window would naturally be closed at night; and there was
no reason to suppose that Mr. Ward would be absent. The bag shown to
him was one that had originally been made for the keeping of cash,
but latterly had been used for samples of grain, and he had last seen
it in the office.

The counsel for the prisoner inquired what had been on the table at
Hardy's first entrance; but to this the witness could not swear,
except that the lamp was burning, and that there were no signs of
disorder, nor was the dress of the deceased disarranged. He had seen
his master put receipts, and make memorandums, in a large, black,
silver-clasped pocket-book, but had never handled it, and could not
swear to it; he had seen nothing like it since his master's death.
He was further asked how long the prisoner had been at the mill, his
duties there, and the amount of trust reposed in him; to which last
the answer was, that about a month since, Mr. Axworthy had exclaimed
that if ever he wanted a thing to be done, he must set Ward about it.
Saving this speech, made in irritation at some omission on Sam's
part, nothing was adduced to show that Leonard was likely to have
been employed without his cousin's knowledge; though Hardy
volunteered the addition that Mr. Ward was always respectful and
attentive, and that his uncle had lately thought much more of him
than at first.

Rebekah Giles gave her account of the scene in the sitting-room. She
had been in the service of the deceased for the last four years, and
before in that of his sister-in-law, Mr. Samuel's mother. She had
herself closed the passage window at seven o'clock in the evening, as
usual. She had several times previously found it partly open in the
morning, after having thus shut it over-night; but never before, Mr.
Ward's bed unslept in. Her last interview with Mr. Axworthy was then
narrated, with his words--an imprecation against rifle practice, as
an excuse for idle young rascals to be always out of the way. Then
followed her communication to the prisoner at half-past nine, when
she saw him go into the parlour, in his volunteer uniform, rifle in
hand, heard him turn the lock of the sitting-room door, and then
herself retired to bed.

Cross-examination did not do much with her, only showing that, when
she brought in the supper, one window had been open, and the blinds,
common calico ones, drawn down, thus rendering it possible for a
person to lurk unseen in the court, and enter by the window. Her
master had assigned no reason for sending for Mr. Ward. She did not
know whether Mr. Axworthy had any memorandum-book; she had seen none
on the table, nor found any when she undressed the body, though his
purse, watch, and seals were on his person.

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