XXIII. THE SUB-POENA.
"And must it then depend on this poor eye And this unsteady hand, whether the bark, That bears my all of treasured hope and love, Shall find a passage through these frowning rocks To some fair port where peace and safety smile,-- Or whether it shall blindly dash against them, And miserably sink? Heaven be my help; And clear my eye and nerve my trembling hand!" --"THE CONSTANT WOMAN."
Her heart beating, her head full of ideas, which required time andsolitude to be reduced into order, Mary hurried home. She was likeone who finds a jewel of which he cannot all at once ascertain thevalue, but who hides his treasure until some quiet hour when he mayponder over the capabilities its possession unfolds. She was likeone who discovers the silken clue which guides to some bower ofbliss, and secure of the power within his grasp, has to wait for atime before he may thread the labyrinth.
But no jewel, no bower of bliss was ever so precious to miser orlover as was the belief which now pervaded Mary's mind that Jem'sinnocence might be proved, without involving any suspicion of thatother--that dear one, so dear, although so criminal--on whose partin this cruel business she dared not dwell even in thought. For ifshe did there arose the awful question,--if all went against Jem theinnocent, if judge and jury gave the verdict forth which had thelooming gallows in the rear, what ought she to do, possessed of herterrible knowledge? Surely not to inculpate her father--and yet--and yet--she almost prayed for the blessed unconsciousness of deathor madness, rather than that awful question should have to beanswered by her.
But now a way seemed opening, opening yet more clear. She wasthankful she had thought of the alibi, and yet more thankful to haveso easily obtained the clue to Jem's whereabouts that miserablenight. The bright light that her new hope threw over all seemedalso to make her thankful for the early time appointed for thetrial. It would be easy to catch Will Wilson on his return from theIsle of Man, which he had planned should be on the Monday; and onthe Tuesday all would be made clear--all that she dared to wish tobe made clear.
She had still to collect her thoughts and freshen her memory enoughto arrange how to meet with Will--for to the chances of a letter shewould not trust; to find out his lodgings when in Liverpool; to tryand remember the name of the ship in which he was to sail: and themore she considered these points, the more difficulty she foundthere would be in ascertaining these minor but important facts. Foryou are aware that Alice, whose memory was clear and strong on allpoints in which her heart was interested, was lying in a mannersenseless: that Jane Wilson was (to use her own word, soexpressive to a Lancashire ear) "dazed"; that is to say, bewildered,lost in the confusion of terrifying and distressing thoughts;incapable of concentrating her mind; and at the best of times Will'sproceedings were a matter of little importance to her (or so shepretended), she was so jealous of aught which distracted attentionfrom her pearl of price, her only son Jem. So Mary felt hopeless ofobtaining any intelligence of the sailor's arrangements from her.
Then, should she apply to Jem himself? No! she knew him too well.She felt how thoroughly he must ere now have had it in his power toexculpate himself at another's expense. And his tacit refusal so todo, had assured her of what she had never doubted, that the murdererwas safe from any impeachment of his. But then neither would heconsent, she feared, to any steps which might tend to prove himselfinnocent. At any rate, she could not consult him. He was removedto Kirkdale, and time pressed. Already it was Saturday at noon.And even if she could have gone to him, I believe she would not.She longed to do all herself; to be his liberator, his deliverer; towin him life, though she might never regain his lost love by her ownexertions! And oh! how could she see him to discuss a subject inwhich both knew who was the bloodstained man; and yet whose namemight not be breathed by either, so dearly with all his faults, hissins, was he loved by both.
All at once, when she had ceased to try and remember, the name ofWill's ship flashed across her mind. The John Cropper.
He had named it, she had been sure, all along. He had named it inhis conversation with her that last, that fatal Thursday evening.She repeated it over and over again, through a nervous dread ofagain forgetting it. The John Cropper.
And then, as if she were rousing herself out of some strange stupor,she bethought her of Margaret. Who so likely as Margaret totreasure every little particular respecting Will, now Alice was deadto all the stirring purposes of life?
She had gone thus far in her process of thought, when a neighbourstepped in; she with whom they had usually deposited the house-key,when both Mary and her father were absent from home, and whoconsequently took upon herself to answer all inquiries, and receiveall messages which any friends might make, or leave, on finding thehouse shut up.
"Here's somewhat for you, Mary! A policeman left it."
A bit of parchment.
Many people have a dread of those mysterious pieces of parchment. Iam one. Mary was another. Her heart misgave her as she took it,and looked at the unusual appearance of the writing, which, thoughlegible enough, conveyed no idea to her, or rather her mind shutitself up against receiving any idea, which after all was rather aproof she had some suspicion of the meaning that awaited her.
"What is it?" asked she, in a voice from which all the pith andmarrow seemed extracted.
"Nay! how should I know? Policeman said he'd call again towardsevening, and see if you'd getten it. He were loth to leave it,though I telled him who I was, and all about my keeping th' key, andtaking messages."
"What is it about?" asked Mary again, in the same hoarse, feeblevoice, and turning it over in her fingers, as if she dreaded toinform herself of its meaning.
"Well! yo can read word of writing and I cannot, so it's queer Ishould have to tell you. But my master says it's a summons for yoto bear witness again Jem Wilson, at th' trial at Liverpool Assize."
"God pity me!" said Mary faintly, as white as a sheet.
"Nay, wench, never take on so. What yo can say will go little wayeither to help or to hinder, for folk say he's certain to be hung;and sure enough, it was t'other one as was your sweetheart."
Mary was beyond any pang this speech would have given at anothertime. Her thoughts were all busy picturing to herself the terribleoccasion of their next meeting--not as lovers meet should they meet!
"Well!" said the neighbour, seeing no use in remaining with one whonoticed her words or her presence so little, "thou'lt tell policemanthou'st getten his precious bit of paper. He seemed to think Ishould be keeping it for mysel; he's the first as has evermisdoubted me about giving messages, or notes. Good-day."
She left the house, but Mary did not know it. She sat still withthe parchment in her hand.
All at once she started up. She would take it to Job Legh and askhim to tell her the true meaning, for it could not be THAT.
So she went, and choked out her words of inquiry.
"It's a sub-poena," he replied, turning the parchment over with theair of a connoisseur; for Job loved hard words, and lawyer-likeforms, and even esteemed himself slightly qualified for a lawyer,from the smattering of knowledge he had picked up from an odd volumeof Blackstone that he had once purchased at a bookstall.
"A sub-poena--what is that?" gasped Mary, still in suspense.
Job was struck with her voice, her changed miserable voice, andpeered at her countenance from over his spectacles.
"A sub-poena is neither more nor less than this, my dear. It's asummonsing you to attend, and answer such questions as may be askedof you regarding the trial of James Wilson, for the murder of HenryCarson that's the long and short of it, only more elegantly put,for the benefit of them who knows how to value the gift of language.I've been a witness beforetime myself; there's nothing much to beafeard on if they are impudent, why, just you be impudent, and give'em tit for tat."
"Nothing much to be afeard on!" echoed Mary, but in such a differenttone.
"Ay, poor wench, I
see how it is. It'll go hard with thee a bit, Idare say; but keep up thy heart. Yo cannot have much to tell 'em,that can go either one way or th' other. Nay! maybe thou may do hima bit o' good, for when they set eyes on thee, they'll see fastenough how he came to be so led away by jealousy; for thou'rt apretty creature, Mary, and one look at thy face will let 'em intoth' secret of a young man's madness, and make 'em more ready to passit over."
"O Job, and won't you ever believe me when I tell you he's innocent?Indeed, and indeed I can prove it; he was with Will all that night;he was, indeed, Job!"
"My wench! whose word hast thou for that?" said Job pityingly.
"Why! his mother told me, and I'll get Will to bear witness to it.But, oh! Job" (bursting into tears), "it is hard if you won'tbelieve me. How shall I clear him to strangers, when those who knowhim, and ought to love him, are so set against his being innocent?"
"God knows, I'm not against his being innocent," said Job solemnly."I'd give half my remaining days on earth--I'd give them all, Mary(and but for the love I bear to my poor blind girl, they'd be nogreat gift), if I could save him. You've thought me hard, Mary, butI'm not hard at bottom, and I'll help you if I can; that I will,right or wrong," he added; but in a low voice, and coughed theuncertain words away the moment afterwards.
"O Job! if you will help me," exclaimed Mary, brightening up (thoughit was but a wintry gleam after all), "tell me what to say, whenthey question me; I shall be so gloppened,* I shan't know what toanswer."
*Gloppened; terrified.
"Thou canst do nought better than tell the truth. Truth's best atall times, they say; and for sure it is when folk have to do withlawyers; for they're 'cute and cunning enough to get it out sooneror later, and it makes folk look like Tom Noddies, when truthfollows falsehood, against their will."
"But I don't know the truth; I mean--I can't say rightly what Imean; but I'm sure, if I were pent up, and stared at by hundreds offolk, and asked ever so simple a question, I should be for answeringit wrong; if they asked me if I had seen you on a Saturday, or aTuesday, or any day, I should have clean forgotten all about it, andsay the very thing I should not."
"Well, well, don't go for to get such notions into your head;they're what they call 'narvous,' and talking on 'em does no good.Here's Margaret! bless the wench! Look, Mary, how well she guideshersel."
Job fell to watching his grand-daughter, as with balancing, measuredsteps, timed almost as if to music, she made her way across thestreet.
Mary shrank as if from a cold blast--shrank from Margaret! Theblind girl, with her reserve, her silence, seemed to be a severejudge; she, listening, would be such a check to the trustingearnestness of confidence, which was beginning to unlock thesympathy of Job. Mary knew herself to blame; felt her errors inevery fibre of her heart; but yet she would rather have had themspoken about, even in terms of severest censure, than have beentreated in the icy manner in which Margaret had received her thatmorning.
"Here's Mary," said Job, almost as if he wished to propitiate hisgrand-daughter, "come to take a bit of dinner with us, for I'llwarrant she's never thought of cooking any for herself to-day; andshe looks as wan and pale as a ghost."
It was calling out the feeling of hospitality, so strong and warm inmost of those who have little to offer, but whose heart goes eagerlyand kindly with that little. Margaret came towards Mary with awelcoming gesture, and a kinder manner by far than she had used inthe morning.
"Nay, Mary, thou know'st thou'st getten naught at home," urged Job.
And Mary, faint and weary, and with a heart too aching-full of othermatters to be pertinacious in this, withdrew her refusal.
They ate their dinner quietly; for to all it was an effort to speak:and after one or two attempts they had subsided into silence.
When the meal was ended Job began again on the subject they all hadat heart.
"Yon poor lad at Kirkdale will want a lawyer to see they don't puton him, but do him justice. Hast thought of that?"
Mary had not, and felt sure his mother had not.
Margaret confirmed this last supposition.
"I've but just been there, and poor Jane is like one dateless; somany griefs come on her at once. One time she seems to make surehe'll be hung; and if I took her in that way, she flew out (poorbody!) and said that in spite of what folks said, there were them ascould, and would prove him guiltless. So I never knew where to haveher. The only thing she was constant in, was declaring himinnocent."
"Mother-like!" said Job.
"She meant Will, when she spoke of them that could prove himinnocent. He was with Will on Thursday night, walking a part of theway with him to Liverpool; now the thing is to lay hold on Will andget him to prove this." So spoke Mary, calm, from the earnestnessof her purpose.
"Don't build too much on it, my dear," said Job.
"I do build on it," replied Mary, "because I know it's the truth,and I mean to try and prove it, come what may. Nothing you can saywill daunt me, Job, so don't you go and try. You may help, but youcannot hinder me doing what I'm resolved on."
They respected her firmness of determination, and Job almost gave into her belief, when he saw how steadfastly she was acting upon it.Oh! surest way of conversion to our faith, whatever it may be--regarding either small things, or great--when it is beheld as theactuating principle, from which we never swerve! When it is seenthat, instead of overmuch profession, it is worked into the life,and moves every action!
Mary gained courage as she instinctively felt she had made way withone at least of her companions.
"Now I'm clear about this much," she continued, "he was with Willwhen the--shot was fired."--(she could not bring herself to say,when the murder was committed, when she remembered WHO it was that,she had every reason to believe, was the taker-away of life)--"Willcan prove this: I must find Will. He wasn't to sail till Tuesday.There's time enough. He was to come back from his uncle's, in theIsle of Man, on Monday. I must meet him in Liverpool, on that day,and tell him what has happened, and how poor Jem is in trouble, andthat he must prove an alibi, come Tuesday. All this I can and willdo, though perhaps I don't clearly know how, just at present. Butsurely God will help me. When I know I'm doing right, I will haveno fear, but put my trust in Him; for I'm acting for the innocentand good, and not for my own self, who have done so wrong. I haveno fear when I think of Jem, who is so good."
She stopped, oppressed with the fulness of her heart. Margaretbegan to love her again; to see in her the same sweet, faulty,impulsive, lovable creature she had known in the former Mary Barton,but with more of dignity, self-reliance, and purpose.
Mary spoke again.
"Now I know the name of Will's vessel--the John Cropper; and I knowthat she is bound to America. That is something to know. But Iforgot, if I ever heard, where he lodges in Liverpool. He spoke ofhis landlady, as a good, trustworthy woman; but if he named hername, it has slipped my memory. Can you help me, Margaret?"
She appealed to her friend calmly and openly, as if perfectly awareof, and recognising the unspoken tie which bound her and Willtogether; she asked her in the same manner in which she would haveasked a wife where her husband dwelt. And Margaret replied in thelike calm tone, two spots of crimson on her cheeks alone bearingwitness to any internal agitation.
"He lodges at a Mrs. Jones', Milk-House Yard, out of NicholasStreet. He has lodged there ever since he began to go to sea; sheis a very decent kind of woman, I believe."
"Well, Mary! I'll give you my prayers" said Job. "It's not often Ipray regular, though I often speak a word to God, when I'm eithervery happy or very sorry; I've catched myself thanking Him at oddhours when I've found a rare insect, or had a fine day for an out;but I cannot help it, no more than I can talking to a friend. Butthis time I'll pray regular for Jem, and for you. And so willMargaret, I'll be bound. Still, wench! what think yo of a lawyer?I know one, Mr. Cheshire, who's rather given to th' insect line--anda good kind o' chap. He and I have swopped specimens ma
ny's thetime, when either of us had a duplicate. He'll do me a kind turnI'm sure. I'll just take my hat, and pay him a visit."
No sooner said, than done.
Margaret and Mary were left alone. And this seemed to bring backthe feeling of awkwardness, not to say estrangement.
But Mary, excited to an unusual pitch of courage, was the first tobreak silence.
"O Margaret!" said she, "I see--I feel how wrong you think I haveacted; you cannot think me worse than I think myself, now my eyesare opened." Here her sobs came choking up her voice.
"Nay," Margaret began, "I have no right to"--
"Yes, Margaret, you have a right to judge; you cannot help it; onlyin your judgment remember mercy, as the Bible says. You, who havebeen always good, cannot tell how easy it is at first to go a littlewrong, and then how hard it is to go back. Oh! I little thoughtwhen I was first pleased with Mr. Carson's speeches, how it wouldall end; perhaps in the death of him I love better than life."
She burst into a passion of tears. The feelings pent up through theday would have vent. But checking herself with a strong effort, andlooking up at Margaret as piteously as if those calm, stony eyescould see her imploring face, she added--
"I must not cry; I must not give way; there will be time enough forthat hereafter, if--I only wanted you to speak kindly to me,Margaret, for I am very, very wretched; more wretched than any onecan ever know; more wretched, I sometimes fancy, than I havedeserved--but that's wrong, isn't it, Margaret? Oh! I have donewrong, and I am punished: you cannot tell how much."
Who could resist her voice, her tones of misery, of humility? Whowould refuse the kindness for which she begged so penitently? NotMargaret. The old friendly manner came back. With it, maybe, moreof tenderness.
"Oh! Margaret, do you think he can be saved; do you think they canfind him guilty, if Will comes forward as a witness? Won't that bea good alibi?"
Margaret did not answer for a moment.
"Oh, speak! Margaret," said Mary, with anxious impatience.
"I know nought about law, or alibis," replied Margaret meekly; "but,Mary, as grandfather says, aren't you building too much on what JaneWilson has told you about his going with Will? Poor soul, she'sgone dateless, I think, with care, and watching, and overmuchtrouble; and who can wonder? Or Jem may have told her he was going,by way of a blind."
"You don't know Jem," said Mary, starting from her seat in a hurriedmanner, "or you would not say so."
"I hope I may be wrong! but think, Mary, how much there is againsthim. The shot was fired with his gun; he it was as threatened Mr.Carson not many days before; he was absent from home at that verytime, as we know, and, as I'm much afeard, some one will be calledon to prove; and there's no one else to share suspicion with him."
Mary heaved a deep sigh.
"But, Margaret, he did not do it," Mary again asserted.
Margaret looked unconvinced.
"I can do no good, I see, by saying so, for none on you believe me,and I won't say so again till I can prove it. Monday morning I'llgo to Liverpool. I shall be at hand for the trial. O dear! dear!And I will find Will; and then, Margaret, I think you'll be sorryfor being so stubborn about Jem."
"Don't fly off, dear Mary; I'd give a deal to be wrong. And now I'mgoing to be plain spoken. You'll want money. Them lawyers is nobetter than a sponge for sucking up money; let alone your huntingout Will, and your keep in Liverpool, and what not. You must takesome of the mint I've got laid by in the old tea-pot. You have noright to refuse, for I offer it to Jem, not to you; it's for hispurposes you're to use it."
"I know--I see. Thank you, Margaret; you're a kind one at any rate.I take it for Jem; and I'll do my very best with it for him. Notall, though; don't think I'll take all. They'll pay me for my keep.I'll take this," accepting a sovereign from the hoard which Margaretproduced out of its accustomed place in the cupboard. "Yourgrandfather will pay the lawyer, I'll have nought to do with him,"shuddering as she remembered Job's words, about lawyers' skill inalways discovering the truth, sooner or later; and knowing what wasthe secret she had to hide.
"Bless you! don't make such ado about it," said Margaret, cuttingshort Mary's thanks. "I sometimes think there's two sides to thecommandment; and that we may say, 'Let others do unto you, as youwould do unto them,' for pride often prevents our giving others agreat deal of pleasure, in not letting them be kind, when theirhearts are longing to help; and when we ourselves should wish to dojust the same, if we were in their place. Oh! how often I've beenhurt, by being coldly told by persons not to trouble myself abouttheir care, or sorrow, when I saw them in great grief, and wanted tobe of comfort. Our Lord Jesus was not above letting folk ministerto Him, for He knew how happy it makes one to do aught for another.It's the happiest work on earth."
Mary had been too much engrossed by watching what was passing in thestreet to attend very closely to that which Margaret was saying.From her seat she could see out of the window pretty plainly, andshe caught sight of a gentleman walking alongside of Job, evidentlyin earnest conversation with him, and looking keen and penetratingenough to be a lawyer. Job was laying down something to be attendedto she could see, by his uplifted forefinger, and his whole gesture;then he pointed and nodded across the street to his own house, as ifinducing his companion to come in. Mary dreaded lest he should, andshe be subjected to a closer cross-examination than she had hithertoundergone, as to why she was so certain that Jem was innocent. Shefeared he was coming; he stepped a little towards the spot. No! itwas only to make way for a child, tottering along, whom Mary hadoverlooked. Now Job took him by the button, so earnestly familiarhad he grown. The gentleman looked "fidging fain" to be gone, butsubmitted in a manner that made Mary like him in spite of hisprofession. Then came a volley of last words, answered by briefestnods, and monosyllables; and then the stranger went off withredoubled quickness of pace, and Job crossed the street with alittle satisfied air of importance on his kindly face.
"Well! Mary," said he on entering, "I've seen the lawyer, not Mr.Cheshire though; trials for murder, it seems, are not his line o'business. But he gived me a note to another 'torney; a fine fellowenough, only too much of a talker! I could hardly get a word in, hecut me so short. However, I've just been going over the principalpoints again to him; maybe you saw us! I wanted him just to comeover and speak to you himsel, Mary, but he was pressed for time; andhe said your evidence would not be much either here or there. He'sgoing to the 'sizes first train on Monday morning, and will see Jem,and hear the ins and outs from him, and he's gived me his address,Mary, and you and Will are to call on him (Will 'special) on Mondayat two o'clock. Thou'rt taking it in, Mary; thou'rt to call on himin Liverpool at two, Monday afternoon?"
Job had reason to doubt if she fully understood him; for all thisminuteness of detail, these satisfactory arrangements, as heconsidered them, only seemed to bring the circumstances in which shewas placed more vividly home to Mary. They convinced her that itwas real, and not all a dream, as she had sunk into fancying it fora few minutes, while sitting in the old accustomed place, her bodyenjoying the rest, and her frame sustained by food, and listening toMargaret's calm voice. The gentleman she had just beheld would seeand question Jem in a few hours, and what would be the result?
Monday: that was the day after to-morrow, and on Tuesday, life anddeath would be tremendous realities to her lover; or else deathwould be an awful certainty to her father.
No wonder Job went over his main points again--
"Monday; at two o'clock, mind; and here's his card. 'Mr.Bridgnorth, 41, Renshaw Street, Liverpool.' He'll be lodgingthere."
Job ceased talking, and the silence roused Mary up to thank him.
"You're very kind, Job; very. You and Margaret won't desert me,come what will."
"Pooh! pooh! wench; don't lose heart, just as I'm beginning to getit. He seems to think a deal on Will's evidence. You're sure,girls, you're under no mistake about Will?"
"I'm sure," said Mary
, "he went straight from here, purposing to goto see his uncle at the Isle of Man, and be back Sunday night, readyfor the ship sailing on Tuesday."
"So am I," said Margaret. "And the ship's name was the JohnCropper, and he lodged where I told Mary before. Have you got itdown, Mary?" Mary wrote it on the back of Mr. Bridgnorth's card.
"He was not over-willing to go," said she as she wrote, "for he knewlittle about his uncle, and said he didn't care if he never know'dmore. But he said kinsfolk was kinsfolk, and promises was promises,so he'd go for a day or so, and then it would be over."
Margaret had to go and practise some singing in town; so, thoughloth to depart and be alone, Mary bade her friends good-bye.
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