Part XX.
DISAPPEARANCES.
Now, my dear cousin, Mr. B., charming as he is in many points, has thelittle peculiarity of liking to change his lodgings once every threemonths on an average, which occasions some bewilderment to his countryfriends, who have no sooner learnt the 19 Belle Vue Road, Hampstead,than they have to take pains to forget that address, and to remember the27-1/2, Upper Brown Street, Camberwell; and so on, till I would ratherlearn a page of "Walker's Pronouncing Dictionary," than try to rememberthe variety of directions which I have had to put on my letters to Mr.B. during the last three years. Last summer it pleased him to remove toa beautiful village not ten miles out of London, where there is arailway station. Thither his friend sought him. (I do not now speak ofthe following scent there had been through three or four differentlodgings, where Mr. B. had been residing, before his country friendascertained that he was now lodging at R----.) He spent the morning inmaking inquiries as to Mr. B.'s whereabouts in the village; but manygentlemen were lodging there for the summer, and neither butcher norbaker could inform him where Mr. B. was staying; his letters wereunknown at the post-office, which was accounted for by the circumstanceof their always being directed to his office in town. At last thecountry friend sauntered back to the railway office, and while hewaited for the train he made inquiry, as a last resource, of thebook-keeper at the station. "No, sir, I cannot tell you where Mr. B.lodges--so many gentlemen go by the trains; but I have no doubt but thatthe person standing by that pillar can inform you." The individual towhom he directed the inquirer's attention had the appearance of atradesman--respectable enough, yet with no pretensions to "gentility,"and had, apparently, no more urgent employment than lazily watching thepassengers who came dropping in to the station. However, when he wasspoken to, he answered civilly and promptly. "Mr. B.? tall gentleman,with light hair? Yes, sir, I know Mr. B. He lodges at No. 8 MortonVillas--has done these three weeks or more; but you'll not find himthere, sir, now. He went to town by the eleven o'clock train, and doesnot usually return until the half-past four train."
The country friend had no time to lose in returning to the village, toascertain the truth of this statement. He thanked his informant, andsaid he would call on Mr. B. at his office in town; but before he leftR---- station, he asked the book-keeper who the person was to whom hehad referred him for information as to his friend's place of residence."One of the detective police, sir," was the answer. I need hardly say,that Mr. B., not without a little surprise, confirmed the accuracy ofthe policeman's report in every particular.
When I heard this anecdote of my cousin and his friend, I thought thatthere could be no more romances written on the same kind of plot asCaleb Williams; the principal interest of which, to the superficialreader, consists in the alternation of hope and fear, that the hero may,or may not, escape his pursuer. It is long since I have read the story,and I forget the name of the offended and injured gentleman, whoseprivacy Caleb has invaded; but I know that his pursuit of Caleb--hisdetection of the various hiding-places of the latter--his following upof slight clews--all, in fact, depended upon his own energy, sagacity,and perseverance. The interest was caused by the struggle of man againstman; and the uncertainty as to which would ultimately be successful inhis object; the unrelenting pursuer, or the ingenious Caleb, who seeksby every device to conceal himself. Now, in 1851, the offended masterwould set the detective police to work; there would be no doubt as totheir success; the only question would be as to the time that wouldelapse before the hiding-place could be detected, and that could not bea question long. It is no longer a struggle between man and man, butbetween a vast organised machinery, and a weak, solitary individual; wehave no hopes, no fears--only certainty. But if the materials of pursuitand evasion, as long as the chase is confined to England, are taken awayfrom the storehouse of the romancer, at any rate we can no more behaunted by the idea of the possibility of mysterious disappearances; andany one who has associated much with those who were alive at the end ofthe last century, can testify that there was some reason for such fears.
When I was a child I was sometimes permitted to accompany a relation todrink tea with a very clever old lady, of one hundred and twenty--or, soI thought then; I now think she, perhaps, was only about seventy. Shewas lively and intelligent, and had seen and known much that was worthnarrating. She was a cousin of the Sneyds, the family whence Mr.Edgeworth took two of his wives; had known Major Andre; had mixed inthe old Whig Society that the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire and "Buffand Blue Mrs. Crewe" gathered round them; her father had been one of theearly patrons of the lovely Miss Linley. I name these facts to show thatshe was too intelligent and cultivated by association, as well as bynatural powers, to lend an over easy credence to the marvellous; and yetI have heard her relate stories of disappearances which haunted myimagination longer than any tale of wonder. One of her stories wasthis:--Her father's estate lay in Shropshire, and his park gates openedright on to a scattered village, of which he was landlord. The housesformed a straggling, irregular street--here a garden, next a gable endof a farm, there a row of cottages, and so on. Now, at the end of thehouse or cottage lived a very respectable man and his wife. They werewell known in the village, and were esteemed for the patient attentionwhich they paid to the husband's father, a paralytic old man. In winterhis chair was near the fire; in summer they carried him out into theopen space in front of the house to bask in the sunshine, and to receivewhat placid amusement he could from watching the little passings to andfro of the villagers. He could not move from his bed to his chairwithout help. One hot and sultry June day all the village turned out tothe hay fields. Only the very old and the very young remained.
The old father of whom I have spoken was carried out to bask in thesunshine that afternoon, as usual, and his son and daughter-in-law wentto the hay making. But when they came home, in the early evening, theirparalyzed father had disappeared--was gone! and from that day forwardsnothing more was ever heard of him. The old lady, who told this story,said, with the quietness that always marked the simplicity of hernarrations, that every inquiry which her father could make was made, andthat it could never be accounted for. No one had observed any strangerin the village; no small household robbery, to which the old man mighthave been supposed an obstacle, had been committed in his son's dwellingthat afternoon. The son and daughter-in-law (noted, too, for theirattention to the helpless father) had been afield among all theneighbors the whole of the time. In short, it never was accounted for,and left a painful impression on many minds.
I will answer for it, the detective police would have ascertained everyfact relating to it in a week.
This story from its mystery was painful, but had no consequences to makeit tragical. The next which I shall tell, (and although traditionary,these anecdotes of disappearances which I relate in this paper arecorrectly repeated, and were believed by my informants to be strictlytrue,) had consequences, and melancholy ones, too. The scene of it is ina little country town, surrounded by the estates of several gentlemen oflarge property. About a hundred years ago there lived in this small townan attorney, with his mother and sisters. He was agent for one of the'squires near, and received rents for him on stated days, which, ofcourse, were well known. He went at these times to a small public house,perhaps five miles from ----, where the tenants met him, paid theirrents, and were entertained at dinner afterwards. One night he did notreturn from this festivity. He never returned. The gentleman whose agenthe was employed the Dogberrys of the time to find him and the missingcash; the mother, whose support and comfort he was, sought him with allthe perseverance of faithful love. But he never returned, and by and bythe rumor spread that he must have gone abroad with the money; hismother heard the whispers all around her, and could not disprove it; andso her heart broke, and she died. Years after, I think as many as fifty,the well-to-do butcher and grazier of ---- died; but, before his death,he confessed that he had waylaid Mr. ---- on the heath close to the town,almost within call of his own house, in
tending only to rob him; butmeeting with more resistance than he anticipated, had been provoked tostab him, and had buried him that very night deep under the loose sandof the heath. There his skeleton was found; but too late for his poormother to know that his fame was cleared. His sister, too, was dead,unmarried, for no one liked the possibilities which might arise frombeing connected with the family. None cared if he was guilty or innocentnow.
If our detective police had only been in existence!
This last is hardly a story of unaccounted for disappearance. It is onlyunaccounted for in one generation. But disappearances never to beaccounted for on any supposition are not uncommon, among the traditionsof the last century. I have heard (and I think I have heard it in one ofthe earlier numbers of "Chambers's Journal") of a marriage which tookplace in Lincolnshire about the year 1750. It was not then _de riguer_that the happy couple should set out on a wedding journey; but instead,they and their friends had a merry, jovial dinner at the house of eitherbride or groom; and in this instance the whole party adjourned to thebridegroom's residence, and dispersed; some to ramble in the garden,some to rest in the house until the dinner hour. The bridegroom, it isto be supposed, was with his bride, when he was suddenly summoned awayby a domestic, who said that a stranger wished to speak to him; andhenceforward he was never seen more. The same tradition hangs about anold deserted Welsh hall, standing in a wood near Festiniog; there, too,the bridegroom was sent for to give audience to a stranger on hiswedding day, and disappeared from the face of the earth from that time;but there they tell in addition, that the bride lived long,--that shepassed her threescore years and ten, but that daily, during all thoseyears, while there was light of sun or moon, to lighten the earth, shesat watching,--watching at one particular window, which commanded a viewof the approach to the house. Her whole faculties, her whole mentalpowers, became absorbed in that weary watching; long before she died shewas childish, and only conscious of one wish--to sit in that long, highwindow, and watch the road along which he might come. She was asfaithful as Evangeline, if pensive and inglorious.
That these two similar stories of disappearance on a wedding-day"obtained," as the French say, shows us that any thing which adds to ourfacility of communication, and organization of means, adds to oursecurity of life. Only let a bridegroom try to disappear from an untamed_Katherine_ of a bride, and he will soon be brought home like a recreantcoward, overtaken by the electric telegraph, and clutched back to hisfate by a detective policeman.
Two more stories of disappearance, and I have done. I will give you thelast in date first, because it is the most melancholy; and we will windup cheerfully (after a fashion.)
Some time between 1820 and 1830, there lived in North Shields arespectable old woman and her son, who was trying to struggle intosufficient knowledge of medicine to go out as ship surgeon in a Balticvessel, and perhaps in this manner to earn money enough to spend asession in Edinburgh. He was furthered in all his plans by the latebenevolent Dr. G----, of that town. I believe the usual premium was notrequired in his case; the young man did many useful errands and officeswhich a finer young gentleman would have considered beneath him; and heresided with his mother in one of the alleys (or "chares,") which leaddown from the main street of North Shields to the river. Dr. G---- hadbeen with a patient all night, and left her very early on a winter'smorning to return home to bed; but first he stepped down to hisapprentice's home, and bade him get up, and follow him to his own house,where some medicine was to be mixed, and then taken to the lady.Accordingly the poor lad came, prepared the dose, and set off with itsome time between five and six on a winter's morning. He was never seenagain. Dr. G---- waited, thinking he was at his mother's house; shewaited, considering that he had gone to his day's work. And meanwhile,as people remembered afterwards, the small vessel bound to Edinburghsailed out of port. The mother expected him back her whole life long;but some years afterwards occurred the discoveries of the Hare and Burkehorrors, and people seemed to gain a dark glimpse at his fate; but Inever heard that it was fully ascertained, or indeed, more thansurmised. I ought to add, that all who knew him spoke emphatically as tohis steadiness of purpose and conduct, so as to render it improbable inthe highest degree that he had run off to sea, or suddenly changed hisplan of life in any way.
My last story is one of a disappearance which was accounted for aftermany years. There is a considerable street in Manchester, leading fromthe centre of the town to some of the suburbs. This street is called atone part Garratt, and afterwards, where it emerges into gentility andcomparatively country, Brook Street. It derives its former name from anold black-and-white hall of the time of Richard the Third, orthereabouts, to judge from the style of building; they have closed inwhat is left of the old hall now; but a few years since this old housewas visible from the main road; it stood low, on some vacant ground, andappeared to be half in ruins. I believe it was occupied by several poorfamilies, who rented tenements in the tumble-down dwelling. But formerlyit was Gerard Hall, (what a difference between Gerard and Garratt!) andwas surrounded by a park, with a clear brook running through it, withpleasant fish ponds, (the name of these was preserved, until verylately, on a street near), orchards, dove-cotes, and similarappurtenances to the manor-houses of former days. I am almost sure thatthe family to whom it belonged were Mosleys; probably a branch of thetree of the lord of the Manor of Manchester. Any topographical work ofthe last century relating to their district would give the name of thelast proprietor of the old stock, and it is to him that my story refers.
Many years ago there lived in Manchester two old maiden ladies, of highrespectability. All their lives had been spent in the town, and theywere fond of relating the changes which had taken place within theirrecollection; which extended back to seventy or eighty years from thepresent time. They knew much of its traditionary history from theirfather, as well; who, with his father before him, had been respectableattorneys in Manchester, during the greater part of the last century;they were, also, agents for several of the county families, who, drivenfrom their old possessions by the enlargement of the town, found somecompensation in the increased value of any land which they might chooseto sell. Consequently the Messrs. S----, father and son, wereconveyancers in good repute, and acquainted with several secret piecesof family history; one of which related to Garratt Hall.
The owner of this estate, some time in the first half of the lastcentury, married young; he and his wife had several children, and livedtogether in a quiet state of happiness for many years. At last, businessof some kind took the husband up to London; a week's journey those days.He wrote, and announced his arrival; I do not think he ever wrote again.He seemed to be swallowed up in the abyss of the metropolis, for nofriend (and the lady had many and powerful friends) could ever ascertainfor her what had become of him; the prevalent idea was that he had beenattacked by some of the street robbers who prowled about in those days,that he had resisted, and had been murdered. His wife gradually gave upall hopes of seeing him again, and devoted herself to the care of herchildren; and so they went on, tranquilly enough, until the heir becameof age, when certain deeds were necessary before he could legally takepossession of the property. These deeds Mr. S---- (the family lawyer)stated had been given up by him into the missing gentleman's keepingjust before the last mysterious journey to London, with which I thinkthey were in some way concerned. It was possible that they were still inexistence, some one in London might have them in possession, and beeither conscious or unconscious of their importance. At any rate, Mr.S----'s advice to his client was that he should put an advertisement inthe London papers, worded so skilfully that any one who might hold theimportant documents should understand to what it referred, and no oneelse. This was accordingly done; and although repeated, at intervals,for some time, it met with no success. But, at last, a mysterious answerwas sent, to the effect that the deeds were in existence, and should begiven up; but only on certain conditions, and to the heir himself. Theyoung man, in consequence, went up to London; a
nd adjourned, accordingto directions, to an old house in Barbacan; where he was told by a man,apparently awaiting him, that he must submit to be blindfolded, and mustfollow his guidance. He was taken through several long passages beforehe left the house; at the termination of one of these he was put into asedan chair, and carried about for an hour or more; he always reportedthat there were many turnings, and that he imagined he was set downfinally not very far from his starting-point.
When his eyes were unbandaged, he was in a decent sitting-room, withtokens of family occupation lying about. A middle-aged gentlemanentered, and told him that, until a certain time had elapsed (whichshould be indicated to him in a particular way, but of which the lengthwas not then named), he must swear to secrecy as to the means by whichhe obtained possession of the deeds. This oath was taken, and then thegentleman, not without some emotion, acknowledged himself to be themissing father of the heir. It seems that he had fallen in love with adamsel, a friend of the person with whom he lodged. To this young womanhe had represented himself as unmarried; she listened willingly to hiswooing, and her father, who was a shopkeeper in the city, was not averseto the match, as the Lancashire 'squire had a goodly presence, and manysimilar qualities, which the shopkeeper thought might be acceptable tohis customers. The bargain was struck; the descendant of a knightly racemarried the only daughter of the city shopkeeper, and became a juniorpartner in the business. He told his son that he had never repented thestep he had taken; that his lowly-born wife was sweet, docile andaffectionate; that his family by her was large; and that he and theywere thriving and happy. He inquired after his first (or rather, Ishould say, his true) wife with friendly affection; approved of what shehad done with regard to his estate, and the education of his children;but said that he considered he was dead to her, as she was to him. Whenhe really died he promised that a particular message, the nature ofwhich he specified, should be sent to his son at Garratt; until thenthey would not hear more of each other; for it was of no use attemptingto trace him under his incognito, even if the oath did not render suchan attempt forbidden. I dare say the youth had no great desire to traceout the father, who had been one in name only. He returned toLancashire; took possession of the property at Manchester; and manyyears elapsed before he received the mysterious intimation of hisfather's real death. After that he named the particulars connected withthe recovery of the title-deeds to Mr. S----, and one or two intimatefriends. When the family became extinct, or removed from Garratt, itbecame no longer any very closely kept secret, and I was told the taleof the disappearance by Miss S----, the aged daughter of the familyagent.
Once more, let me say, I am thankful I live in the days of the detectivepolice; if I am murdered, or commit a bigamy, at any rate my friendswill have the comfort of knowing all about it.
Part XXI.
LOADED DICE.
Several years ago I made a tour through some of the southern counties ofEngland with a friend. We travelled in an open carriage, stopping for afew hours a day, or a week, as it might be, wherever there was any thingto be seen; and we generally got through one stage before breakfast,because it gave our horses rest, and ourselves the chance of enjoyingthe brown bread, new milk, and fresh eggs of those country roadsideinns, which are fast becoming subjects for archaeological investigation.
One evening my friend said, "To-morrow, we will breakfast at T----. Iwant to inquire about a family named Lovell, who used to live there. Imet the husband and wife and two lovely children, one summer, atExmouth. We became very intimate, and I thought them particularlyinteresting people, but I have never seen them since."
The next morning's sun shone as brightly as heart could desire, andafter a delightful drive, we reached the outskirts of the town aboutnine o'clock.
"O, what a pretty inn!" said I, as we approached a small white house,with a sign swinging in front of it, and a flower garden on one side.
"Stop, John," cried my friend; "we shall get a much cleaner breakfasthere than in the town, I dare say; and if there is any thing to be seenthere, we can walk to it;" so we alighted, and were shown into a neatlittle parlor, with white curtains, where an unexceptionable ruralbreakfast was soon placed before us.
"Pray do you happen to know any thing of a family called Lovell?"inquired my friend, whose name, by the way, was Markham. "Mr. Lovell wasa clergyman."
"Yes, ma'am," answered the girl who attended us, apparently thelandlord's daughter, "Mr. Lovell is the vicar of our parish."
"Indeed! and does he live near here?"
"Yes, ma'am, he lives at the vicarage. It is just down that laneopposite, about a quarter of a mile from here; or you can go across thefields, if you please, to where you see that tower, it's close bythere."
"And which is the pleasantest road?" inquired Mrs. Markham.
"Well, ma'am, I think by the fields is the pleasantest, if you don'tmind a stile or two; and, besides, you get the best view of the abbey bygoing that way."
"Is that tower we see part of the abbey?"
"Yes, ma'am," answered the girl; "and the vicarage is just the otherside of it."
Armed with these instructions, as soon as we had finished our breakfastwe started across the fields, and after a pleasant walk of twentyminutes we found ourselves in an old churchyard, amongst a cluster ofthe most picturesque ruins we had ever seen. With the exception of thegray tower, which we had espied from the inn, and which had doubtlessbeen the belfry, the remains were not considerable. There was the outerwall of the chancel, and the broken step that had led to the highaltar, and there were sections of aisles, and part of a cloister, allgracefully festooned with mosses and ivy; whilst mingled with thegrass-grown graves of the prosaic dead, there were the massive tombs ofthe Dame Margerys and the Sir Hildebrands of more romantic periods. Allwas ruin and decay; but such poetic ruins! such picturesque decay! Andjust beyond the tall great tower, there was the loveliest, smilinglittle garden, and the prettiest cottage, that imagination couldpicture. The day was so bright, the grass so green, the flowers so gay,the air so balmy with their sweet perfumes, the birds sang so cheerilyin the apple and cherry trees, that all nature seemed rejoicing.
"Well," said my friend, as she seated herself on the fragment of apillar, and looked around her, "now that I see this place, I understandthe sort of people the Lovells were."
"What sort of people were they?" said I.
"Why, as I said before, interesting people. In the first place, theywere both extremely handsome."
"But the locality had nothing to do with their good looks, I presume,"said I.
"I am not sure of that," she answered; "when there is the leastfoundation of taste or intellect to set out with, the beauty of externalnature, and the picturesque accidents that harmonise with it, do, I ampersuaded, by their gentle and elevating influences on the mind, makethe handsome handsomer, and the ugly less ugly. But it was not alone thegood looks of the Lovells that struck me, but their air of refinementand high breeding, and I should say high birth--though I know nothingabout their extraction--combined with their undisguised poverty and asevident contentment. Now, I can understand such people finding here anappropriate home, and being satisfied with their small share of thisworld's goods; because here the dreams of romance writers about love ina cottage might be somewhat realized; poverty might be graceful andpoetical here; and then, you know, they have no rent to pay."
"Very true," said I; "but suppose they had sixteen daughters, like ahalf-pay officer I once met on board a steam packet?"
"That would spoil it, certainly," said Mrs. Markham; "but let us hopethey have not. When I knew them they had only two children, a boy and agirl, called Charles and Emily; two of the prettiest creatures I everbeheld."
As my friend thought it yet rather early for a visit, we had remainedchattering in this way for more than an hour, sometimes seated on atombstone, or a fallen column; sometimes peering amongst the carvedfragments that were scattered about the ground, and sometimes lookingover the hedge into the little garden, the wicket of
which wasimmediately behind the tower. The weather being warm, most of thewindows of the vicarage were open, and the blinds were all down; we hadnot yet seen a soul stirring, and were just wondering whether we mightventure to present ourselves at the door, when a strain of distant musicstruck upon our ears. "Hark!" I said; "how exquisite! It was the onlything wanting to complete the charm."
"It is a military band, I think," said Mrs. Markham; "you know we passedsome barracks before we reached the inn."
Nearer and nearer drew the sounds, solemn and slow; the band wasevidently approaching by the green lane that skirted the fields we hadcome by. "Hush!" said I, laying my hand on my friend's arm, with astrange sinking of the heart; "they are playing the Dead March in Saul!Don't you hear the muffled drums? It's a funeral, but where's thegrave?"
"There!" said she, pointing to a spot close under the hedge where someearth had been thrown up; but the aperture was covered with a plank,probably to prevent accidents.
There are few ceremonies in life at once so touching, so impressive, sosad, and yet so beautiful as a soldier's funeral! Ordinary funerals,with their unwieldy hearses and feathers, and the absurd looking mutes,and the "inky cloaks" and weepers of hired mourners, always seem to melike a mockery of the dead; the appointments border so closely on thegrotesque; they are so little in keeping with the true, the only view ofdeath that can render life endurable!
There is such a tone of exaggerated--forced, heavy, overacted gravityabout the whole thing, that one had need to have a deep personalinterest involved in the scene, to be able to shut one's eyes to theburlesque side of it. But a military funeral, how different! There yousee death in life and life in death! There is nothing overstrained,nothing overdone. At once simple and solemn, decent and decorous,consoling, yet sad. The chief mourners, at best, are generally truemourners, for they have lost a brother with whom "they sat but yesterdayat meat;" and whilst they are comparing memories, recalling how merrythey had many a day been together, and the solemn tones of that sublimemusic float upon the air, we can imagine the freed and satisfied soulwafted on those harmonious breathings to its heavenly home; and ourhearts are melted, our imaginations exalted, our faith invigorated, andwe come away the better for what we have seen.
I believe some such reflections as these were passing through our minds,for we both remained silent and listening, till the swinging to of thelittle wicket, which communicated with the garden, aroused us; butnobody appeared, and the tower being at the moment betwixt us and it, wecould not see who had entered. Almost at the same moment a man came infrom a gate on the opposite side, and advancing to where the earth wasthrown up, lifted the plank and discovered the newly-made grave. He wassoon followed by some boys, and several respectable-looking persons cameinto the enclosure, whilst nearer and nearer drew the sound of themuffled drums; and now we descried the firing party and their officer,who led the procession with their arms reversed, each man wearing abovethe elbow a piece of black crape and a small bow of white satin ribbon;the band still playing that solemn strain. Then came the coffin, borneby six soldiers. Six officers bore up the pall, all quite young men; andon the coffin lay the shako, sword, side-belt, and white gloves of thedeceased. A long train of mourners marched two and two, in open file,the privates first, the officers last. Sorrow was imprinted on everyface; there was no unseemly chattering, no wandering eyes; if a word wasexchanged, it was in a whisper, and the sad shake of the head showed ofwhom they were discoursing. All this we observed as they marched throughthe lane that skirted one side of the churchyard. As they neared thegate the band ceased to play.
"See there!" said Mrs. Markham, directing my attention to the cottage;"there comes Mr. Lovell. O, how he has changed!" and whilst she spoke,the clergyman, entering by the wicket, advanced to meet the processionat the gate, where he commenced reading the funeral service as he movedbackwards towards the grave, round which the firing party, leaning ontheir firelocks, now formed. Then came those awful words, "Ashes toashes, dust to dust," the hollow sound of the earth upon the coffin, andthree volleys fired over the grave finished the solemn ceremony.
When the procession entered the churchyard, we had retired behind thebroken wall of the chancel, whence, without being observed, we hadwatched the whole scene with intense interest. Just as the words "Ashesto ashes! dust to dust!" were pronounced, I happened to raise my eyestowards the gray tower, and then, peering through one of the narrowslits, I saw the face of a man--such a face! Never to my latest day canI forget the expression of those features! If ever there was despair andanguish written on a human countenance, it was there! And yet so young!so beautiful! A cold chill ran through my veins as I pressed Mrs.Markham's arm. "Look up at the tower!" I whispered.
"My God! What can it be?" she answered, turning quite pale. "And Mr.Lovell, did you observe how his voice shook? At first I thought it wasillness; but he seems bowed down with grief. Every face looks awestruck!There must be some tragedy here--something more than the death of anindividual!" and fearing, under this impression, that our visit mightprove untimely, we resolved to return to the inn, and endeavor todiscover if any thing unusual had really occurred. Before we moved Ilooked up at the narrow slit--the face was no longer there; but as wepassed round to the other side of the tower, we saw a tall, slenderfigure, attired in a loose coat, pass slowly through the wicket, crossthe garden, and enter the house. We only caught a glimpse of theprofile; the head hung down upon the breast; the eyes were bent uponthe ground; but we knew it was the same face we had seen above.
We went back to the inn, where our inquiries elicited some informationwhich made us wish to know more; but it was not till we went into thetown that we obtained the following details of this mournful drama, ofwhich we had thus accidentally witnessed one impressive scene.
Mr. Lovell, as Mrs. Markham had conjectured, was a man of good family,but no fortune; he might have had a large one, could he have made up hismind to marry Lady Elizabeth Wentworth, a bride selected for him by awealthy uncle who proposed to make him his heir; but preferring povertywith Emily Dering, he was disinherited. He never repented his choice,although he remained vicar of a small parish, and a poor man all hislife. The two children whom Mrs. Markham had seen were the only onesthey had, and through the excellent management of Mrs. Lovell, and themoderation of her husband's desires, they had enjoyed an unusual degreeof happiness in this sort of graceful poverty, till the young Charlesand Emily were grown up, and it was time to think what was to be donewith them. The son had been prepared for Oxford by the father, and thedaughter, under the tuition of her mother, was remarkably well educatedand accomplished; but it became necessary to consider the future:Charles must be sent to college, since the only chance of finding aprovision for him was in the church, although the expense of maintaininghim there could be ill afforded; so, in order in some degree to balancethe outlay, it was, after much deliberation, agreed that Emily shouldaccept a situation as governess in London. The proposal was made byherself, and the rather consented to, that, in case of the death of herparents, she would almost inevitably have had to seek some such means ofsubsistence. These partings were the first sorrows that had reached theLovells.
At first all went well. Charles was not wanting in ability nor in amoderate degree of application: and Emily wrote cheerily of her newlife. She was kindly received, well treated, and associated with thefamily on the footing of a friend. Neither did further experience seemto diminish her satisfaction. She saw a great many gay people, some ofwhom she named; and, amongst the rest, there not unfrequently appearedthe name of Herbert. Mr. Herbert was in the army, and being a distantconnection of the family with whom she resided, was a frequent visitorat their house. "She was sure papa and mamma would like him." Once themother smiled, and said she hoped Emily was not falling in love; but nomore was thought of it. In the mean time Charles had found out thatthere was time for many things at Oxford, besides study. He wasnaturally fond of society, and had a remarkable capacity for excellingin all kinds of games. He was agreeable
, lively, exceedingly handsome,and sang charmingly, having been trained in part singing by his mother.No young man at Oxford was more _fete_; but alas! he was very poor, andpoverty poisoned all his enjoyments. For some time he resistedtemptation; but after a terrible struggle--for he adored his family--hegave way, and ran in debt, and although his imprudence only augmentedhis misery, he had not resolution to retrace his steps, but advancedfurther and further on this broad road to ruin, so that he had come homefor the vacation shortly before our visit to T----, threatened with allmanner of annoyances if he did not carry back a sufficient sum tosatisfy his most clamorous creditors. He had assured them he would doso, but where was he to get the money? Certainly not from his parents;he well knew they had it not; nor had he a friend in the world from whomhe could hope assistance in such an emergency. In his despair he oftenthought of running away--going to Australia, America, New Zealand, anywhere; but he had not even the means to do this. He sufferedindescribable tortures, and saw no hope of relief.
It was just at this period that Herbert's regiment happened to bequartered at T----. Charles had occasionally seen his name in hissister's letters, and heard that there was a Herbert now in thebarracks, but he was ignorant whether or not it was the same person; andwhen he accidentally fell into the society of some of the juniorofficers, and was invited by Herbert himself to dine at the mess, prideprevented his ascertaining the fact. He did not wish to betray that hissister was a governess. Herbert, however, knew full well that theirvisitor was the brother of Emily Lovell, but partly for reasons of hisown, and partly because he penetrated the weakness of the other, heabstained from mentioning her name.
Now, this town of T---- was, and probably is, about the dullest quarterin all England. The officers hated it; there was no flirting, nodancing, no hunting, no any thing. Not a man of them knew what to dowith himself. The old ones wandered about and played at whist, the youngones took to hazard and three-card loo, playing at first for moderatestakes, but soon getting on to high ones. Two or three civilians of theneighborhood joined the party, Charles Lovell among the rest. Had theybegun with playing high, he would have been excluded for want of funds;but whilst they played low, he won, so that when they increased thestakes, trusting to a continuance of his good fortune, he was eager togo on with them. Neither did his luck altogether desert him; on thewhole he rather won than lost: but he foresaw that one bad night wouldbreak him, and he should be obliged to retire, forfeiting his amusementand mortifying his pride. It was just at this crisis, that one night, anaccident, which caused him to win a considerable sum, set him upon thenotion of turning chance into certainty. Whilst shuffling the cards hedropped the ace of spades into his lap, caught it up, replaced it in thepack, and dealt it to himself. No one else had seen the card, noobservation was made, and a terrible thought came into his head!
Whether loo or hazard was played, Charles Lovell had, night after night,a most extraordinary run of luck. He won large sums, and saw before himthe early prospect of paying his debts and clearing all hisdifficulties.
Amongst the young men who played at the table, some had plenty of moneyand cared little for their losses; but others were not so well off, andone of these was Edward Herbert. He, too, was the son of poor parentswho had straightened themselves to put him in the army, and it was withinfinite difficulty and privation that his widowed mother had amassedthe needful sum to purchase for him a company, which was now becomingvacant. The retiring officer's papers were already sent in, andHerbert's money was lodged at Cox and Greenwood's; but before the answerfrom the Horse Guards arrived, he had lost every sixpence. Nearly thewhole sum had become the property of Charles Lovell.
Herbert was a fine young man, honorable, generous, impetuous, andendowed with an acute sense of shame. He determined instantly to payhis debts, but he knew that his own prospects were ruined for life; hewrote to the agents to send him the money and withdraw his name from thelist of purchasers. But how was he to support his mother's grief? Howmeet the eye of the girl he loved? She, who he knew adored him, andwhose hand, it was agreed between them, he should ask of her parents assoon as he was gazetted a captain! The anguish of mind he suffered threwhim into a fever, and he lay for several days betwixt life and death,and happily unconscious of its misery.
Meantime, another scene was being enacted elsewhere. The officers, whonight after night found themselves losers, had not for some timeentertained the least idea of foul play, but at length, one of themobserving something suspicious, began to watch, and satisfied himself,by a peculiar method adopted by Lovell in "throwing his mains," that hewas the culprit. His suspicions were whispered from one to another, tillthey nearly all entertained them, with the exception of Herbert, who,being looked upon as Lovell's most especial friend, was not told. Sounwilling were these young men to blast for ever the character of thevisitor whom they had so much liked, and to strike a fatal blow at thehappiness and respectability of his family, that they were hesitatinghow to proceed, whether to openly accuse him or privately reprove andexpel him, when Herbert's heavy loss decided the question.
Herbert himself, overwhelmed with despair, had quitted the room, therest were still seated around the table, when having given each other asignal, one of them, called Frank Houston, arose and said: "Gentlemen,it gives me great pain to have to call your attention to a very strange,a very distressing circumstance. For some time past there has been anextraordinary run of luck in one direction--we have all observed it--allremarked on it. Mr. Herbert has at this moment retired a heavy loser.There is, indeed, as far as I know, but one winner amongst us; but one,and he a winner to a considerable amount; the rest are all losers. Godforbid that I should rashly accuse any man! Lightly blast any man'scharacter! But I am bound to say, that I fear the money we have lost hasnot been fairly won. There has been foul play! I forbear to name theparty--the facts sufficiently indicate him."
Who would not have pitied Lovell, when, livid with horror and consciousguilt, he vainly tried to say something? "Indeed--I assure you--Inever"--but words would not come; he faultered and rushed out of theroom in a transport of agony. They did pity him; and when he was gone,agreed amongst themselves to hush up the affair; but unfortunately, thecivilians of the party, who had not been let into the secret, took uphis defence. They not only believed the accusation unfounded, but feltit as an affront offered to their townsman; they blustered about it agood deal, and there was nothing left for it but to appoint a committeeof investigation. Alas! the evidence was overwhelming! It turned outthat the dice and cards had been supplied by Lovell. The former, stillon the table, were found on examination to be loaded. In fact, he hadhad a pair as a curiosity long in his possession, and had obtainedothers from a disreputable character at Oxford. No doubt remained of hisguilt.
All this while Herbert had been too ill to be addressed on the subject;but symptoms of recovery were now beginning to appear; and as nobody wasaware that he had any particular interest in the Lovell family, theaffair was communicated to him. At first he refused to believe in hisfriend's guilt, and became violently irritated. His informants assuredhim they would be too happy to find they were mistaken, but that sincethe inquiry no hope of such an issue remained, and he sank into a gloomysilence.
On the following morning, when his servant came to his room door, hefound it locked. When, at the desire of the surgeon, it was broken open,Herbert was found a corpse, and a discharged pistol lying beside him. Aninquest sat upon the body, and the verdict brought in was _TemporaryInsanity_. There never was one more just.
Preparations were now made for the funeral--that funeral which we hadwitnessed; but before the day appointed for it arrived, another chapterof this sad story was unfolded.
When Charles left the barracks on that fatal night, instead of goinghome, he passed the dark hours in wandering wildly about the country;but when morning dawned, fearing the eye of man, he returned to thevicarage, and slunk unobserved to his chamber. When he did not appear atbreakfast, his mother sought him in his room, where she found
him inbed. He said he was very ill--and so indeed he was--and begged to beleft alone; but as he was no better on the following day, she insistedon sending for medical advice. The doctor found him with all thosephysical symptoms that are apt to supervene from great anxiety of mind;and saying he could get no sleep, Charles requested to have somelaudanum; but the physician was on his guard, for although the partiesconcerned wished to keep the thing private, some rumors had got abroadthat awakened his caution.
The parents, meanwhile, had not the slightest anticipation of thethunderbolt that was about to fall upon them. They lived a very retiredlife, were acquainted with none of the officers, and they were evenignorant of the amount of their son's intimacy with the regiment. Thus,when news of Herbert's lamentable death reached them, the mother said toher son, "Charles, did you know a young man in the barracks calledHerbert; a lieutenant, I believe? By the bye, I hope it's not Emily'sMr. Herbert."
"Did I know him?" said Charles, turning suddenly towards her, for, underpretence that the light annoyed him, he always lay with his face to thewall. "Why do you ask, mother?"
"Because he's dead. He had a fever and----"
"Herbert dead!" cried Charles, suddenly sitting up in the bed.
"Yes, he had a fever, and it is supposed he was delirious, for he blewout his brains; there is a report that he had been playing high, andlost a great deal of money. What's the matter dear? O, Charles, Ishouldn't have told you! I was not aware that you knew him?"
"Fetch my father here, and mother, you come back with him!" saidCharles, speaking with a strange sternness of tone, and wildly motioningher out of the room.
When the parents came, he bade them sit down beside him; and then, witha degree of remorse and anguish that no words could portray, he toldthem all; whilst they, with blanched cheeks and fainting hearts,listened to the dire confession.
"And here I am," he exclaimed, as he ended, "a cowardly scoundrel, thathas not dared to die! O Herbert! happy, happy Herbert! Would I were withyou!"
At that moment the door opened, and a beautiful, bright, smiling,joyous face peeped in. It was Emily Lovell, the beloved daughter, theadored sister, arrived from London in compliance with a letter receiveda few days previously from Herbert, wherein he had told her that by thetime she received it, he would be a captain. She had come to introducehim to her parents as her affianced husband. She feared no refusal; wellshe knew how rejoiced they would be to see her the wife of so kind andhonorable a man. But they were ignorant of all this, and in the fulnessof their agony, the cup of woe ran over, and she drank of the draught.They told her all before she had been five minutes in the room. How elsecould they account for their tears, their confusion, their bewilderment,their despair?
Before Herbert's funeral took place, Emily Lovell was lying betwixt lifeand death in a brain fever. Under the influence of a feeling easily tobe comprehended, thirsting for a self-imposed torture, that by its verypoignancy should relieve the dead weight of wretchedness that lay uponhis breast, Charles crept from his bed, and slipping on a loose coatthat hung in his room, he stole across the garden to the tower, whence,through the arrow slit, he witnessed the burial of his sister's lover,whom he had hastened to the grave.
Here terminates our sad story. We left T---- on the following morning,and it was two or three years before any farther intelligence of theLovell family reached us. All we then heard was, that Charles had gone,a self-condemned exile, to Australia; and that Emily had insisted onaccompanying him thither.
* * * * *
Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:
to have taken taken entire possession=> to have taken entire possession{pg 8}
whose sinster aspects=> whose sinister aspects {pg 13}
cooly informed him=> coolly informed him {pg 30}
which his conduet=> which his conduct {pg 45}
which had been abtsracted=> which had been abstracted {pg 110}
both of the clerk Dubarie=> both of the clerk Dubarle {pg 113}
Lavasseur, went down stairs=> Levasseur, went down stairs {pg 136}
Levassuer=> Levasseur {pg 139 x 2}
They were both apparantly=> They were both apparently {pg 145}
by there rude and insolent notice=> by thier rude and insolent notice{pg 146}
Mr. Augustus Seville=> Mr. Augustus Saville {pg 162}
he mutered=> he muttered {pg 183}
client's will all be coming to us=> clients will all be coming to us {pg260}
judgment againt him=> judgment against him {pg 263}
before the magistate=> before the magistrate {pg 268}
evidence repecting them=> evidence respecting them {pg 269}
But supposing it to be=> {pg 270}
doubt of its accuaracy=> doubt of its accuracy {pg 274}
Viotti's divison of violin-playing=> Viotti's division of violin-playing{pg 281}
was held exeused=> was held excused {pg 286}
have satisfied him=> have sstisfied him {pg 294}
constant sucession of=> constant succession of {pg 294}
he will at at once appreciate=> he will at once appreciate {pg 306}
modest young recuit=> modest young recruit {pg 312}
giving a satifactory reason=> giving a satisfactory reason {pg 345}
and the the tower=> and the tower {pg 366}
as far as I I know=> as far as I know {pg 373}
Recollections of a Policeman Page 20
