CHAPTER LV.
PHINEAS IN PRISON.
Phineas Finn himself, during the fortnight in which he was carriedbackwards and forwards between his prison and the Bow StreetPolice-office, was able to maintain some outward show of manlydignity,--as though he felt that the terrible accusation and greatmaterial inconvenience to which he was subjected were only, andcould only be, temporary in their nature, and that the truth wouldsoon prevail. During this period he had friends constantly withhim,--either Mr. Low, or Lord Chiltern, or Barrington Erle, or hislandlord, Mr. Bunce, who, in these days, was very true to him. And hewas very frequently visited by the attorney, Mr. Wickerby, who hadbeen expressly recommended to him for this occasion. If anybody couldbe counted upon to see him through his difficulty it was Wickerby.But the company of Mr. Wickerby was not pleasant to him, because, asfar as he could judge, Mr. Wickerby did not believe in his innocence.Mr. Wickerby was willing to do his best for him; was, so to speak,moving heaven and earth on his behalf; was fully conscious that thiscase was a great affair, and in no respect similar to those whichwere constantly placed in his hands; but there never fell from him asympathetic expression of assurance of his client's absolute freedomfrom all taint of guilt in the matter. From day to day, and ten timesa day, Phineas would express his indignant surprise that any oneshould think it possible that he had done this deed, but to all theseexpressions Mr. Wickerby would make no answer whatever. At lastPhineas asked him the direct question. "I never suspect anybody ofanything," said Mr. Wickerby. "Do you believe in my innocence?"demanded Phineas. "Everybody is entitled to be believed innocent tillhe has been proved to be guilty," said Mr. Wickerby. Then Phineasappealed to his friend Mr. Low, asking whether he might not beallowed to employ some lawyer whose feelings would be more in unisonwith his own. But Mr. Low adjured him to make no change. Mr. Wickerbyunderstood the work and was a most zealous man. His client wasentitled to his services, but to nothing more than his services. Andso Mr. Wickerby carried on the work, fully believing that PhineasFinn had in truth murdered Mr. Bonteen.
But the prisoner was not without sympathy and confidence. Mr. Low,Lord Chiltern, and Lady Chiltern, who, on one occasion, came tovisit him with her husband, entertained no doubts prejudicial to hishonour. They told him perhaps almost more than was quite true of thefeelings of the world in his favour. He heard of the friendship andfaith of the Duchess of Omnium, of Madame Goesler, and of Lady LauraKennedy,--hearing also that Lady Laura was now a widow. And then atlength his two sisters came over to him from Ireland, and wept andsobbed, and fell into hysterics in his presence. They were sure thathe was innocent, as was every one, they said, throughout the lengthand breadth of Ireland. And Mrs. Bunce, who came to see Phineas inhis prison, swore that she would tear the judge from his bench if hedid not at once pronounce a verdict in favour of her darling withoutwaiting for any nonsense of a jury. And Bunce, her husband, havingconvinced himself that his lodger had not committed the murder, waszealous in another way, taking delight in the case, and proving thatno jury could find a verdict of guilty.
During that week Phineas, buoyed up by the sympathy of his friends,and in some measure supported by the excitement of the occasion,carried himself well, and bore bravely the terrible misfortune towhich he had been subjected by untoward circumstances. But when themagistrate fully committed him, giving the first public decisionon the matter from the bench, declaring to the world at large thaton the evidence as given, prima facie, he, Phineas Finn, must beregarded as the murderer of Mr. Bonteen, our hero's courage almostgave way. If such was now the judicial opinion of the magistrate,how could he expect a different verdict from a jury in two months'time, when he would be tried before a final court? As far as he couldunderstand, nothing more could be learned on the matter. All thefacts were known that could be known,--as far as he, or rather hisfriends on his behalf, were able to search for facts. It seemed tohim that there was no tittle whatever of evidence against him. He hadwalked straight home from his club with the life-preserver in hispocket, and had never turned to the right or to the left. Till hefound himself committed, he would not believe that any serious andprolonged impediment could be thrown in the way of his liberty. Hewould not believe that a man altogether innocent could be in dangerof the gallows on a false accusation. It had seemed to him that thepolice had kept their hold on him with a rabid ferocity, strainingevery point with the view of showing that it was possible that heshould have been the murderer. Every policeman who had been near him,carrying him backward and forward from his prison, or giving evidenceas to the circumstances of the locality and of his walk home on thatfatal night, had seemed to him to be an enemy. But he had looked forimpartiality from the magistrate,--and now the magistrate had failedhim. He had seen in court the faces of men well known to him,--menknown in the world,--with whom he had been on pleasant terms inParliament, who had sat upon the bench while he was standing as aculprit between two constables; and they who had been his familiarfriends had appeared at once to have been removed from him by someunmeasurable distance. But all that he had, as it were, discounted,believing that a few hours,--at the very longest a few days,--wouldremove the distance; but now he was sent back to his prison, there toawait his trial for the murder.
And it seemed to him that his committal startled no one but himself.Could it be that even his dearest friends thought it possible that hehad been guilty? When that day came, and he was taken back to Newgateon his last journey there from Bow Street, Lord Chiltern had returnedfor a while to Harrington Hall, having promised that he would be backin London as soon as his business would permit; but Mr. Low came tohim almost immediately to his prison room. "This is a pleasant stateof things," said Phineas, with a forced laugh. But as he laughed healso sobbed, with a low, irrepressible, convulsive movement in histhroat.
"Phineas, the time has come in which you must show yourself to be aman."
"A man! Oh, yes, I can be a man. A murderer you mean. I shall have tobe--hung, I suppose."
"May God, in His mercy, forbid."
"No;--not in His mercy; in His justice. There can be no need formercy here,--not even from Heaven. When they take my life may Heforgive my sins through the merits of my Saviour. But for this therecan be no mercy. Why do you not speak? Do you mean to say that I amguilty?"
"I am sure that you are innocent."
"And yet, look here. What more can be done to prove it than has beendone? That blundering fool will swear my life away." Then he threwhimself on his bed, and gave way to his sobs.
That evening he was alone,--as, indeed, most of his evenings had beenspent, and the minutes were minutes of agony to him. The externalcircumstances of his position were as comfortable as circumstanceswould allow. He had a room to himself looking out through heavy ironbars into one of the courts of the prison. The chamber was carpeted,and was furnished with bed and chairs and two tables. Books wereallowed him as he pleased, and pen and ink. It was May, and no firewas necessary. At certain periods of the day he could walk alonein the court below,--the restriction on such liberty being that atother certain hours the place was wanted for other prisoners. As faras he knew no friend who called was denied to him, though he wasby no means certain that his privilege in that respect would not becurtailed now that he had been committed for trial. His food had beenplentiful and well cooked, and even luxuries, such as fish and wineand fruit, had been supplied to him. That the fruit had come fromthe hot-houses of the Duchess of Omnium, and the wine from Mr. Low'scellar, and the fish and lamb and spring vegetables, the cream andcoffee and fresh butter from the unrestricted orders of anotherfriend, that Lord Chiltern had sent him champagne and cigars,and that Lady Chiltern had given directions about the books andstationery, he did not know. But as far as he could be consoled bysuch comforts, there had been the consolation. If lamb and saladcould make him happy he might have enjoyed his sojourn in Newgate.Now, this evening, he was past all enjoyment. It was impossible thathe should read. How could a man fix his attention on any book, with acharge of murder agai
nst himself affirmed by the deliberate decisionof a judge? And he knew himself to be as innocent as the magistratehimself. Every now and then he would rise from his bed, and almostrush across the room as though he would dash his head against thewall. Murder! They really believed that he had deliberately murderedthe man;--he, Phineas Finn, who had served his country with repute,who had sat in Parliament, who had prided himself on living with thebest of his fellow-creatures, who had been the friend of Mr. Monk andof Lord Cantrip, the trusted intimate of such women as Lady Lauraand Lady Chiltern, who had never put his hand to a mean action, orallowed his tongue to speak a mean word! He laughed in his wrath,and then almost howled in his agony. He thought of the young lovingwife who had lived with him little more than for one fleeting year,and wondered whether she was looking down upon him from Heaven, andhow her spirit would bear this accusation against the man upon whosebosom she had slept, and in whose arms she had gone to her long rest."They can't believe it," he said aloud. "It is impossible. Why shouldI have murdered him?" And then he remembered an example in Latinfrom some rule of grammar, and repeated it to himself over and overagain.--"No one at an instant,--of a sudden,--becomes most base." Itseemed to him that there was such a want of knowledge of human naturein the supposition that it was possible that he should have committedsuch a crime. And yet--there he was, committed to take his trial forthe murder of Mr. Bonteen.
The days were long, and it was daylight till nearly nine. Indeed thetwilight lingered, even through those iron bars, till after nine. Hehad once asked for candles, but had been told that they could not beallowed him without an attendant in the room,--and he had dispensedwith them. He had been treated doubtless with great respect, butnevertheless he had been treated as a prisoner. They hardly deniedhim anything that he asked, but when he asked for that which they didnot choose to grant they would annex conditions which induced him towithdraw his request. He understood their ways now, and did not rebelagainst them.
On a sudden he heard the key in the door, and the man who attendedhim entered the room with a candle in his hand. A lady had come tocall, and the governor had given permission for her entrance. Hewould return for the light,--and for the lady, in half an hour. Hehad said all this before Phineas could see who the lady was. And whenhe did see the form of her who followed the gaoler, and who stoodwith hesitating steps behind him in the doorway, he knew her by hersombre solemn raiment, and not by her countenance. She was dressedfrom head to foot in the deepest weeds of widowhood, and a heavy veilfell from her bonnet over her face. "Lady Laura, is it you?" saidPhineas, putting out his hand. Of course it was Lady Laura. While theDuchess of Omnium and Madame Goesler were talking about such a visit,allowing themselves to be deterred by the wisdom of Mr. Low, she hadmade her way through bolts and bars, and was now with him in hisprison.
Of course it was Lady Laura.]
"Oh, Phineas!" She slowly raised her veil, and stood gazing at him."Of all my troubles this,--to see you here,--is the heaviest."
"And of all my consolations to see you here is the greatest." Heshould not have so spoken. Could he have thought of things as theywere, and have restrained himself, he should not have uttered wordsto her which were pleasant but not true. There came a gleam ofsunshine across her face as she listened to him, and then she threwherself into his arms, and wept upon his shoulder. "I did not expectthat you would have found me," he said.
She took the chair opposite to that on which he usually sat, andthen began her tale. Her cousin, Barrington Erle, had brought herthere, and was below, waiting for her in the Governor's house. Hehad procured an order for her admission that evening, direct from SirHarry Coldfoot, the Home Secretary,--which, however, as she admitted,had been given under the idea that she and Erle were to see himtogether. "But I would not let him come with me," she said. "I couldnot have spoken to you, had he been here;--could I?"
"It would not have been the same, Lady Laura." He had thought much ofhis mode of addressing her on occasions before this, at Dresden andat Portman Square, and had determined that he would always give herher title. Once or twice he had lacked the courage to be so hard toher. Now as she heard the name the gleam of sunshine passed from heraltogether. "We hardly expected that we should ever meet in such aplace as this?" he said.
"I cannot understand it. They cannot really think you killed him." Hesmiled, and shook his head. Then she spoke of her own condition. "Youhave heard what has happened? You know that I am--a widow?"
"Yes;--I had heard." And then he smiled again. "You will haveunderstood why I could not come to you,--as I should have done butfor this little accident."
"He died on the day that they arrested you. Was it not strange thatsuch a double blow should fall together? Oswald, no doubt, told youall."
"He told me of your husband's death."
"But not of his will? Perhaps he has not seen you since he heard it."Lord Chiltern had heard of the will before his last visit to Phineasin Newgate, but had not chosen then to speak of his sister's wealth.
"I have heard nothing of Mr. Kennedy's will."
"It was made immediately after our marriage,--and he never changedit, though he had so much cause of anger against me."
"He has not injured you, then,--as regards money."
"Injured me! No, indeed. I am a rich woman,--very rich. AllLoughlinter is my own,--for life. But of what use can it be tome?" He in his present state could tell her of no uses for such aproperty. "I suppose, Phineas, it cannot be that you are really indanger?"
"In the greatest danger, I fancy."
"Do you mean that they will say--you are guilty?"
"The magistrates have said so already."
"But surely that is nothing. If I thought so, I should die. If Ibelieved it, they should never take me out of the prison while youare here. Barrington says that it cannot be. Oswald and Violet aresure that such a thing can never happen. It was that Jew who did it."
"I cannot say who did it. I did not."
"You! Oh, Phineas! The world must be mad when any can believe it!"
"But they do believe it?" This, he said, meaning to ask a question asto that outside world.
"We do not. Barrington says--"
"What does Barrington say?"
"That there are some who do;--just a few, who were Mr. Bonteen'sspecial friends."
"The police believe it. That is what I cannot understand;--men whoought to be keen-eyed and quick-witted. That magistrate believes it.I saw men in the Court who used to know me well, and I could see thatthey believed it. Mr. Monk was here yesterday."
"Does he believe it?"
"I asked him, and he told me--no. But I did not quite trust him as hetold me. There are two or three who believe me innocent."
"Who are they?"
"Low, and Chiltern, and his wife;--and that man Bunce, and his wife.If I escape from this,--if they do not hang me,--I will rememberthem. And there are two other women who know me well enough not tothink me a murderer."
"Who are they, Phineas?"
"Madame Goesler, and the Duchess of Omnium."
"Have they been here?" she asked, with jealous eagerness.
"Oh, no. But I hear that it is so,--and I know it. One learns to feeleven from hearsay what is in the minds of people."
"And what do I believe, Phineas? Can you read my thoughts?"
"I know them of old, without reading them now." Then he put forth hishand and took hers. "Had I murdered him in real truth, you would nothave believed it."
"Because I love you, Phineas."
Then the key was again heard in the door, and Barrington Erleappeared with the gaolers. The time was up, he said, and he had cometo redeem his promise. He spoke cordially to his old friend, andgrasped the prisoner's hand cordially,--but not the less did hebelieve that there was blood on it, and Phineas knew that such washis belief. It appeared on his arrival that Lady Laura had not atall accomplished the chief object of her visit. She had broughtwith her various cheques, all drawn by Barrington Erle on hisbanker,--amounting a
ltogether to many hundreds of pounds,--whichit was intended that Phineas should use from time to time for thenecessities of his trial. Barrington Erle explained that the moneywas in fact to be a loan from Lady Laura's father, and was simplypassed through his banker's account. But Phineas knew that the loanmust come from Lady Laura, and he positively refused to touch it.His friend, Mr. Low, was managing all that for him, and he would notembarrass the matter by a fresh account. He was very obstinate, andat last the cheques were taken away in Barrington Erle's pocket.
"Good-night, old fellow," said Erle, affectionately. "I'll see youagain before long. May God send you through it all."
"Good-night, Barrington. It was kind of you to come to me." Then LadyLaura, watching to see whether her cousin would leave her alone fora moment with the object of her idolatry, paused before she gave himher hand. "Good-night, Lady Laura," he said.
"Good-night!" Barrington Erle was now just outside the door.
"I shall not forget your coming here to me."
"How should we, either of us, forget it?"
"Come, Laura," said Barrington Erle, "we had better make an end ofit."
"But if I should never see him again!"
"Of course you will see him again."
"When! and where! Oh, God,--if they should murder him!" Then shethrew herself into his arms, and covered him with kisses, though hercousin had returned into the room and stood over her as she embracedhim.
"Laura," said he, "you are doing him an injury. How should he supporthimself if you behave like this! Come away."
"Oh, my God, if they should kill him!" she exclaimed. But she allowedher cousin to take her in his arms, and Phineas Finn was left alonewithout having spoken another word to either of them.
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