Sharing Her Crime: A Novel

by May Agnes Fleming

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  THE DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

  "Her wretched brain gave way, And she became a wreck, at random driven, Without one glimpse of reason or of Heaven."

  It was a bleak, stormy December evening, a week before Christmas. Abright fire was burning in the well-known parlor of Sunset Hall.

  In his easy-chair, with his gouty legs, swathed in flannels, reposing ontwo others, lay our old friend the squire, literally "laid up by thelegs." In the opposite corner was Lizzie, dozing, as usual, on her sofa;while good Mrs. Gower sat with her fat hands folded in her lap, reposingafter the cares of the day. Dr. Wiseman had not yet sufficientlyrecovered from his wounds and bruises to go abroad, and had just retiredto his room, while his affectionate spouse was enjoying herself at agrand ball in the village.

  The worthy trio had sat in solemn silence for upwards of an hour, whenthe door was flung open, and Jupiter rushed in to announce "dat a boycommanded to see ole marster 'mediately."

  "To see me?" said the squire, in amazement. "What does he want? I won'tsee anybody to-night."

  "He's got a letter, and says he must d'liver it to-night--it's veryimportant," said Jupiter.

  "Humph! well, admit him then. I never can get a minute's peace. 'No restfor the wicked,' as Solomon says. Well, here he comes."

  As he spoke, a youth, apparently about sixteen, entered the apartment,bearing every evidence of having journeyed fast.

  "You are Squire Erliston, I believe," said the lad, bowing respectfully.

  "Well, you may believe it," said the squire, testily; "it's a name I wasnever ashamed of. What do you want of me at this hour of the night,young man?"

  "I have been sent with this letter," said the boy, presenting one; "it'sa matter of life and death."

  "Matter of life and death! Lord bless me!" exclaimed the astonishedsquire, "what can it mean? Hand me my spectacles, Mrs. Gower, and putthem on my nose, till I overhaul this document. Maybe it containsstate-treason, a gunpowder plot or something. 'The pen is mightier thanthe sword,' as Solomon says; though I'll be shot if I believe it.Solomon didn't know much about swords, and acted queer sometimes--didn'tbehave well to his wife, they say. Humph! well, here goes."

  So saying, the squire opened the letter and began to read. And as heread, his eyes began to protrude, till they threatened to shoot from hishead altogether. The letter ran as follows:

  "MAGNUS ERLISTON: Come to me immediately--am dying. I have something to tell you of the utmost importance, and I cannot die with it on my conscience. Above all things, do not, for your life, breathe a word of this to Dr. Wiseman. Come instantly, or you may repent it.

  MADGE ORANMORE."

  "Now, what in the name of Beelzebub does the woman mean?" exclaimed thesquire, as he finished reading this. "How does she expect a man to turnout on a December night, with the gout in his legs? I say, youngster, doyou know who sent you with this precious letter?"

  "Yes, sir; my mistress, Mrs. Oranmore."

  "And what's the matter with her, may I ask?"

  "She has been ailing for some time; and a week ago, her illness took adangerous turn. The doctors say she has but few days to live, and sheseems to be anxious about some secret that preys on her mind. I have notrested day or night since I started for this place. I fear she will notlive until I get back, unless you make haste."

  "I know not what to do," said the squire, evidently appalled. "I'd liketo see the old lady before she leaves this 'vale of tears,' as Solomonsays, but how the mischief I'm to go, I can't tell. If she could onlyput off dying for a month or two, now, I'd go with pleasure, but Isuppose she can't conveniently. 'Time and tide wait for no man,' asSolomon says. I mustn't tell old Wiseman, either, it seems--hum-m-m!'Pon my life, I don't know what to say about it."

  All this was muttered in a sort of soliloquy; and as he ceased, themerry jingle of bells approaching the house saluted his ears. The nextmoment, Gipsy, wrapped up in shawls, and hoods, and furs, fresh andbright as a daisy, danced into the room, exclaiming:

  "Here I am, good folks! The ball was a horrid stupid affair, without abit of fun, so I thought I'd come home." Here, catching sight of thestranger, Gipsy favored him with a stare of surprise, and was about toleave the room, when the squire called:

  "Come back here, monkey; I'm in a confounded scrape, and I want you tohelp me out of it."

  "All right; just hint what it is, will you? and I'll have you out of itin a twinkling."

  "Read that," said the squire, placing the mysterious letter in her hand.

  Gipsy read it, and then exclaimed:

  "Well, there's some mystery here--that's certain. But you can't go, canyou, Guardy?"

  "To be sure I can't. You might as well expect Mrs. Gower, there, todance the double shuffle, as expect me to go on such a journey."

  "Well, Spider's not to know of it, and he couldn't go if he did, withhis dilapidated continuations; Aunty Liz can't travel and lie asleep ona sofa at the same time; and Aunty Gower, poor woman! can't travel upstairs, under half an hour's panting and groaning; so none of them cango, _that's_ demonstrated--as old Mr. Blackboard used to say. Eh!Guardy?"

  "Yes, yes. But what's to be done?"

  "Why, it's very clear what's to be done. _I'll_ go!"

  "_You_," said the squire, with a stare. "What good can you do?"

  "Come, now! I like that! I'll leave it to everybody, if I'm not worththe whole of you put together. Ain't I, now?"

  "Mrs. Oranmore won't tell _you_ her secret."

  "Well, if she don't, she'll lose the wisest, nicest _sensiblest_confidante ever anybody had, though I say it. Any way, I'll try; and ifshe won't tell, why, she'll have to leave it alone--that's all. When doyou start?" she asked, turning to the youth.

  "Now, if you're ready," replied the lad.

  "Yes, I'm ready. How did you come? by the stage?"

  "No, in a sleigh--it's at the door."

  "Well, then, I won't detain you. Good-bye for a week, Guardy; good-bye,Aunty Gower. Off we go!"

  "Hadn't you better stay till morning," said Mrs. Gower, anxiously. "Itis too cold and stormy to travel by night."

  "And in the meantime this old lady may give up the ghost. No; there's notime to lose; and besides, I rather like the idea of a journey, to varythe monotony of St. Mark's. Good-bye all--I leave you my blessing," saidGipsy, with a parting flourish, as she left the room and took her placeby the side of the boy in the sleigh. Nothing remarkable occurred on thejourney. Gipsy, comfortably nestled under the buffalo robes, scarcelyfelt the cold. The next morning they halted at a wayside inn to takebreakfast, and then dashed off again.

  Owing to the state of the roads it was late in the afternoon when theyreached the city; and almost dark when Gipsy, preceded by her companion,entered the gloomy home of Mrs. Oranmore.

  "My stars! what a dismal old tomb. It really smells of ghosts and rats,and I should not wonder if it was tenanted by both," was Gipsy'sinternal comment as she passed up the long, dark staircase, and longer,darker hall, and entered the sick-room of Mrs. Oranmore--the longest anddarkest of all. Stretched on a hearse-like bed--stiff, stark, and rigid,as though she were already dead--lay Madge Oranmore--her face lookinglike some grim, stern mask carved in iron. An old woman, whom the boyaddressed as "mother," sat by her side.

  The invalid started quickly at the sound of their footsteps; and seeingthe boy, exclaimed, in a faint, yet eager and imperious tone:

  "Has he come?"

  "No; he is ill, and could not come," said Gipsy, stepping forward. "Heis unable to walk, so I have come in his stead."

  "Who are you?" demanded Mrs. Oranmore, sharply.

  "Well, really, I'd be obliged to anybody who would tell me--at present,it's more than I know. I used to think I was Gipsy Gower--SquireErliston's ward; but, of late, I've found out I don't belong to anybodyin particular. I was picked up, one night, as if I had been a piece ofdrift-wood; and I expect, like Venus, I
rose from the sea."

  "Girl, have you come here to mock me?" exclaimed Dame Oranmore,fiercely.

  "The saints forbid! I'm telling you the truth, the whole truth, andnothing but the truth. I was picked up one Christmas eve, nineteen yearsago, on the beach, about a quarter of a mile from here; and--goodHeaven! what's the matter with you?" exclaimed Gipsy, springing back.

  With the shriek of a dying panther, Mrs. Oranmore sprung up in her bed,with her eyes starting from their sockets, as she fairly screamed:

  "What! Heaven of heavens! did he not drown you?"

  "Why, _no_; I rather think not--at least, if I ever was drowned, I haveno recollection of it. But, my goodness! don't glare at me so--you'reabsolutely hideous enough to make every hair on a body's head standperpendicular, with those eyes of yours."

  "How were you saved? Answer me that! How were you saved?" againscreamed the excited woman.

  "Well, I don't recollect much about it myself; but Mrs. Gower told me,the other day, that she found me rolled up in a shawl, on the beach,like an Esquimaux papoose asleep in a snow-bank. I haven't any notionwho the 'he' is you speak of; but if 'he' left me there to turn into anicicle, I only wish I could see him, and tell him a piece of mymind--that's all."

  "And this was Christmas eve, nineteen years ago?" exclaimed MadgeOranmore, breathlessly.

  "Yes."

  "Great Heaven! how just is thy retribution! And at last, in my dyinghour, I behold before me the child of Esther Erliston and AlfredOranmore!" exclaimed the dying woman, falling back on her pillow, andclasping her hands.

  "_What!_" exclaimed Gipsy, springing forward, and seizing her by thearm. "Whose child, did you say I was?"

  "The only daughter of Esther Erliston and Alfred Oranmore; and heiress,in your mother's right, of Mount Sunset Hall," replied Mrs. Oranmore.

  "And grandchild of Squire Erliston?"

  "Yes."

  Gipsy staggered back, and covered her face with her hands. Her emotionwas but momentary, however; and again approaching the bed, she said, ina tone that was perfectly calm, though her wild, excited eyes spoke adifferent tale:

  "Tell me all about this. How came I to be left to perish on the shore?"

  "Leave the room, both of you," said the sick woman, to her attendants.They obeyed. "Now, sit down beside me," she continued, turning toGipsy; "and tell me, are you married?"

  "Yes, they say so--to old Dr. Nicholas Wiseman."

  "Great heaven! what did you say?" exclaimed Mrs. Oranmore, in a voice ofhorror.

  "Yes. It's surprising, ain't it, that I married that old man. But that'sgot nothing to do with your story. Go on," urged Gipsy.

  "Child! child!" said the dying woman faintly, "_you have wedded themurderer of your mother_."

  With a low, sharp cry Gipsy sprang to her feet--her countenance blanchedto the hue of death.

  "Did he know your history?" asked Mrs. Oranmore, breaking the long pausethat followed.

  "Yes; he heard it a few weeks before we were married," said Gipsy, in avoice that was hoarse and unnatural.

  "Then he married you that he might possess Mount Sunset. Oh, thevillainy of that wretch! But let him beware! for the day of retributionis at hand."

  "Tell me all, from the beginning," said Gipsy, seating herself, andspeaking in a tone as stern, and with a face as firm and rigid, as thatof the grim invalid herself; but those eyes--those eyes--how theyblazed!

  There is little need to recapitulate the tale told to Gipsy--she relatedonly what the reader already knows; the death of Esther by _her_instigation, but by _his_ hand; and the infant left to perish in thewaves.

  "I suppose he left you on the shore, thinking the waves would wash youaway," concluded Mrs. Oranmore, "when you were providentially saved bythe same Almighty power that guarded Moses in his cradle of bulrushes. Isupposed you had perished, and so did he; but the agonies of remorse Ihave suffered for what I have done, I can never reveal. Night and day,sleeping or waking, the last dying shrieks of Esther Oranmore have beenringing in my ears. My son married Lizzie Erliston; and his violentdeath was but the beginning of my living punishment. For _his_ son'ssake, I have kept my dreadful secret during life; but now, at the hourof death, a power over which I have no control compels me to reveal all.I am beyond the power of the law--I go to answer for my crimes at thebar of God; therefore, I fear not in making these disclosures. My hourhas come."

  "But he shall not escape!" said Gipsy, rising from the chair, on whichshe sat as if petrified, while listening to the story of her birth. "No!by the heaven above us both, his life shall pay for this! Woman," shecontinued, turning fiercely upon Mrs. Oranmore, "you _shall not_ dieuntil you have done justice to the child of her you have murdered! Iwill send for a magistrate; and you must make a deposition of all youhave told me to him. Death shall not enter here yet, to cheat thegallows of its due!"

  She sprang to the bell, and rang a peal that brought all the servants inthe house flocking wildly into the room.

  "Go to the nearest magistrate," she said, turning to the boy who hadaccompanied her from St. Mark's--"fly! vanish! Tell him it is a matterof life and death. Go! and be back here in ten minutes, or you shall rueit!"

  The boy fled, frightened out of his wits by her fierce words and looks.Shutting the door in the faces of the others, Gipsy seated herself; andsetting her teeth hard together, and clenching her hands, she fixed hereyes on the floor, and sat as immovable as if turning to stone. Mrs.Oranmore lay in silence--either not willing or not able to speak.

  Ere fifteen minutes had thus passed, the boy returned, accompanied by amagistrate--a short, blustering, important personage. He bowed toGipsy--who arose upon his entrance--and began drawing off his gloves,making some remark upon the inclemency of the weather, which sheabruptly cut short, by saying:

  "This woman is dying, and wishes to make a deposition. Here arewriting-materials; sit down and commence--you have no time to spare."

  Hurried away by her impetuosity, the little man found himself, before hewas aware of it, sitting by the bedside, pen in hand, writing andlistening, with many an ejaculation of wonder, horror, and amazement.

  At length the deposition was duly drawn up and signed, and he arose,exclaiming:

  "But, good heaven! madam, do you not know, if you survive, you will bearrested too, and----"

  "Hush!" said Gipsy, sternly; "she is dying."

  "I tell you I did not murder her," she exclaimed, almost springing up inbed; "it was he who gave her the poison! I never did it. Listen! do younot hear her shrieks? or is it not the cries of the fiends I hearalready? _He_ was afraid. Ha! ha! ha!" she said, with a horrid laugh, "Imocked him until he ventured to do it. He drowned her child, too; hesaid he did--he threw it into the sea; and dead people tell no tales.Who said it was alive? I will never believe it! It is dead! It is dead!"

  She sank back exhausted. The magistrate gazed, white with horror; butGipsy was calm, stern, and still.

  "Look, look! they come for me--their arms are outstretched--theyapproach--they strangle me. Off, demon--off, I say!" A wild, piercingshriek rang through the house, then she fell back, her jaw dropped, hereyes grew glazed, her face rigid, and Madge Oranmore was dead.

  There was a moment's appalled silence. Then the magistrate said:

  "Let us leave this dreadful place; the very air seems tainted withblood."

  Without a word, she turned and followed him from the room, and thehouse. Rejecting all his invitations to let him find lodgings for her inthe city during the night, she accompanied him to his office, received awarrant for the arrest of Dr. Wiseman; and with two constables, set offimmediately for Sunset Hall.