CHAPTER VIII.
In one of the "outhouses" which constituted the servants' quarters, inthat which common parlance denominated the "back-yard" at "Elm Bluff,"an old negro woman sat smoking a pipe.
The room which she had occupied for more than forty years, presented asingular melange of incongruous odds and ends, the flotsam of a longterm of service, where the rewards, if intrinsically incommensurate,were none the less invaluable, to the proud recipient. The floor wascovered by a faded carpet, once the pride of the great drawing-room,but the velvet pile had disappeared beneath the arched insteps and highheels of lovely belles and haughty beaux, and the scarlet feathers andpeacock plumes that originally glowed on the brilliant buff ground,were no longer distinguishable.
An old-fashioned piece of furniture, coeval with diamond shoe-buckles,ruffled shirts and queues, a brass bound mahogany chiffonier, withbrass handles and tall brass feet representing cat claws, stood in onecorner; and across the top was stretched a rusty purple velvet strip,bordered with tarnished gilt gimp and fringe, a fragment of the coverwhich belonged to the harp on which General Darrington's grandmotherhad played.
The square bedstead was a marvel in size and massiveness, and the heavymahogany posts nearly black with age, and carved like the twistedstrands of a rope, supported a tester lined with turkey-red pleatings,held in the centre by the talons of a gilt spread-eagle. So tall wasthe bed, that three steps were required to ascend it, and the spacethus left between the mahogany and the floor, was hidden by a valanceof white dimity, garnished with wide cotton fringe. Over this spaciousplace of repose, a patchwork quilt of the "rising sun" patterndisplayed its gaudy rays, resembling some sprawling octopus, ratherthan the face of Phoebus.
The contents of a wide mantel board flounced with fringed dimity,(venerable prototype of macrame and Arrasene lambrequins), would havefilled with covetousness the soul of the bric-a-brac devotee; andgraced the counters of Sypher.
There were burnished brass candle-sticks, with extinguishers in theshape of prancing griffins, and snuffers of the same metal, fashionedafter the similitude of some strange and presumably extinct saurian;and a Dresden china shepherdess, whose shattered crook had long sincedisappeared, peeped coquettishly through the engraved crystal of a tallcandle shade at the bloated features of a mandarin, on a tea-pot with acracked spout--that some Darrington, stung by the gad-fly of travel,had brought to the homestead from Nanking. A rich blue glass vasepoised on the back of a bronze swan, which had lost one wing and partof its bill in the combat with time, hinted at the rainbow splendors ofits native Prague, and bewailed the captivity that degraded itsultra-marine depths into a receptacle for cut tobacco.
The walls, ceiled with curled pine planks, were covered with a motleyarray of pasted and tacked pictures; some engraved, many colored, andranging in comprehensiveness of designs, from Bible scenes cut frommagazines, to "riots" in illustrated papers; and even the garish gloryof circus and theatre posters.
In one corner stood an oak spinning-wheel, more than centenarian inage, fallen into hopeless desuetude, but gay with the strings ofscarlet pepper pods hung up to dry, and twined among its silent spokes.On a trivet provided with lizard feet that threatened to crawl away,rested a copper kettle bereft of its top, once the idol of threegenerations of Darringtons, to whom it had liberally dispensed "hotwater tea," in the blessed dead and embalmed era of nursery rule andparental power; now eschewed with its despised use, and packed to thebrim with medicinal "yarbs," bone-set, horse mint, life everlasting,and snake-root.
In front of the fire which roared and crackled in the cavernouschimney, "Mam' Dyce" rocked slowly, enjoying her clay pipe, andmeditatively gazing up at an engraved portrait of "Our FirstPresident," suspended on the wall. It was appropriately framed inblack, and where the cord that held it was twined around a hook, a bowand streamers of very brown and rusty crape fluttered, when a draughtentered the apartment.
Obese in form, and glossy black in complexion, "Mam' Dyce" retained inold age the scrupulous neatness which had characterized her youth, whenpromoted to the post of seamstress and ladies' maid, she had ruled theservants' realm at "Elm Bluff" with a sway as autocratic as that ofCatherine over the Muscovites. Her black calico dress, donned asmourning for her master, was relieved by a white apron tied about theample waist; a snowy handkerchief was crossed over the vast bosom, anda checked white and black turban skilfully wound in intricate foldsaround her gray head, terminated in a peculiar knot, which was thepride of her toilet. A beautiful spotted pointer dog with ears likebrown satin, was lying asleep near the fire, but suddenly he lifted hishead, rose, stretched himself and went to the door. A moment later itopened, and the whilom major-domo, Abednego, came in; put his stick inone corner, hung his hat on a wooden peg, and approached the fireplace.
"Well, ole man; you know I tole you so."
"You wimmen would ruther say that, than eat pound cake. Supposin' youdid tell me, what's the upshot?"
"That gimlet-eyed weasel is snuffing round you and me; but we won'tturn out to be spring chickens, ready picked."
"Which is to signify that Miss Angerline smells a mouse? Don't talkparables, Dyce. What's she done now?"
"She is hankering after that hankchiff. 'Pears to me, if she only wenton four legs 'sted of two, she would sell high for a bloodhound."
"Great Nebuckadanzer! How did she find out?"
"Don't ax me; ax the witches what she has in cahoot. I always tole you,she had the eyes of a cunjor, and she has sarched it out. Says she sawyou when you found it; which ain't true. Eavesdrapping is her trade;she was fotch up on it, and her ears fit a key-hole, like a bung plugsa barrel. She has eavesdrapped that hankchiff chat of our'n somehow.Wuss than that, Bedney, she sot thar this evening and faced me down,that I was hiding something else; that I picked up something on thefloor and hid it in my bosom, after the crowner's inquess. Sez I:'Well, Miss Angerline, you had better sarch me and be done with it, ifyou are the judge, and the jury, and the crowner, and the law, and havegot the job to run this case.' Sez she, a-squinting them venomous eyesof her'n, till they looked like knitting needles red hot: 'I leave thesarching to be done by the cunstable--when you are 'rested andhandcuffed for 'betting of murder.' Then my dander riz. Sez I, 'Crackyour whip and go ahead! You know how, seeing you is the offspring of aYankee overseer, what my marster, Gin'l Darrington, had 'rested forbeating one of our wimen, on our 'Bend' plantation. You and your pa isas much alike, as two shrivelled cow peas out'en one pod. Fetch yourcunstable, and help yourselves.'"
Dyce rose, knocked the ashes out of her pipe, and stood like a duskyimage of an Ethiopian Bellona.
"Drat your servigerous tongue! Now the fat's in the fire, to be sho!Ever since I tuck you for better for wuss, I have been trying to larnyou 'screshun! and I might as well 'a wasted my time picking a banjofor a dead jackass tu dance by; for you have got no more 'screshun thanold Eve had, in confabulating with the old adversary! Why couldn't youtemperlize? Sassing that white 'oman, is a aggervating mistake."
Under ordinary circumstances, Bedney and Dyce prided themselves on thepurity of their diction, and they usually abstained from plantationdialect; but when embarrassed, frightened or excited, they invariablyrelapsed into the lingo of the "Quarters."
"Hush! What's that? A screech owull! Bedney, turn your pocket."
With marvellous swiftness she plunged her hand into her dress pocket,and turned it wrong side out, scattering the contents--thimble, thread,two "scalybarks," and some "ground peas" over the floor. Then stooping,she slipped off one shoe, turned it upside down, and hung it thus on ahorseshoe fastened to the mantel board.
"Just lem'me know when you have appinted to hold your sarching, and Iwill make it convenient to have bizness consarning that bunch of horgsand cattle, I am raising on shares in the 'Bend' plantation: and youcan have your sarching frolic," said Bedney, too angry to heed thesuperstitious rites.
Dyce made a warning gesture, and listened intently.
"I am a-thinking you will be c
hief cook and bottle-washer at thatsarching, for the appintment is at hand. Don't you hear Pilot bayingthe cunstable?"
She sank into her rocking-chair, picked up a gray yarn sock, and beganto knit unconcernedly; but in a significant tone, she added, noddingher head:
"Hold your own hand, Bedney; don't be pestered about mine. I'll hoe myrow; you 'tend to yourn."
Then she leaned back, plying her knitting needles, and began to chant:"Who will be the leader when the Bridegroom comes?"
Hearing the knock on the door, her voice swelled louder, and Bedney,the picture of perplexity, stood filling his pipe, when the bolt wasturned, and a gentleman holding a whip and wearing a long overcoatentered the room.
"Good evening, Bedney. Are you and Dyce holding a camp meeting all byyourselves? I hallooed at the gate till your dog threatened to devourme, and I had to scare him off with my buggy whip."
"Why, how'dy, Mars Alfred? I am mighty glad to see you! Seems like oldtimes, to shake hands with you in my cabin. Lem'me take off yourovercoat, sir, and gim'me your hat, and make yourself comfortable, hereby the jam of the chimbly."
"No, Bedney, I can't spare the time, and I only want a little businessmatter settled before I get back to town to my office. Thank you, Dyce,this is an old-time rocker sure enough. It is a regular 'SleepyHollow.'"
Mr. Churchill pushed back his hat, and held his gloved hand toward thefire.
"Bedney, I want to see that handkerchief you found in your master'sroom, the day after he was murdered."
"What hankchuf, Marse Alfred? I done tole everything I know, to theCrowner's inquess."
"I dare say you did; but something was found afterward. I want to seeit."
"Who has been villifying of me? You have knowed me ever since you wasknee-high to a duck, and I--."
"Nobody has vilified you, but Miss Dobbs saw you examining something,which she says you pushed up your coat sleeve. She thinks it was ahandkerchief, but it may have been valuables. Now it is my duty, asDistrict Solicitor, to discover and prosecute the person who killedyour master, and you ought to render me every possible assistance. Anyunwillingness to give your testimony, or surrender the articles found,will cast suspicion on you, and I should be sorry to have you arrested."
"Fore Gord, Marse Alfred, I--"
"Own up, husband. You did find a hankchef. You see, Marse Alfred, wehelped to raise that poor young gal's mother; and Bedney and me was'votedly attached to our young Mistiss, Miss Ellie, and we thought oleMarster was too hard on her, when she run off with the furrin fiddler;so when this awful 'fliction fell upon us and everybody was cusing MissEllie's child of killing her own grandpa, we couldn't believe no suchonlikely yarn, and Bedney and me has done swore our vow, we will standby that poor young creetur, for her ma's sake; for our young mistisswas good to us, and our heart strings was 'rapped round her. We doesnot intend, if we can help it, to lend a hand in jailing Miss Ellie'schild, and so, after the Crowner had 'liceted all the facts as he said,and the verdict was made up, Bedney and me didn't feel no crampings inour conscience, about holding our tongues. Another reason why we wantedto lay low in this hiere bizness, was that we didn't hanker aftersitting on the anxious seats of witnesses in the court-house; and beingcalled ongodly thieves, and perjured liars, and turned wrong side outby the lie-yers, and told our livers was white, and our hearts blackerthan our skins. Marse Alfred, Bedney and me are scared of that court;what you call the law, cuts curous contarabims sometimes, and when thebroad axe of jestice hits, there is no telling whar the chips will fly;it's wuss than hull-gull, or pitching heads and tails. You are alie-yer, Marse Alfred, and you know how it is yourself; and I beg yourpardon, sir, for slighting the perfession; but when I was a little gal,I got my scare of lie-yers, and it has stuck to me like a kuckleburrow.One Christmas eve jest before ole Marster got married, he had a egg-nogparty; and a lot of gentlemen was standing 'round the table in thedining-room. One of 'em was ole Mr. Dunbar, Marse Lennox' father, andhe axed ole Marster if he had saved that game rooster for him, as hepromised, Marster told him he was very sorry, but some rogue had donegone and burnt some sulphur the week before in his henhouse, and baggedthat 'dentical rooster. Presently Mr. Dunbar axed if Marster would lethim have one of the blue hen's roosters, if he would catch the roguefor him before midnight. Of course Marster said he would. Mr. Dunbar(Marse Lennox' pa), he was practicing law then, had a pot full of smuton the bottom, turned upside down on the dining-room flo', and he andMarster went out to the hen-'ouse and got a dominicker rooster andshoved him under the pot. Then they rung the bell, and called everydarkey on the place into the dining-room, and made us stand in a line.I was a little gal then, only so high, but I followed my daddy in thehouse, and I never shall disremember that night, 'cause it broke up ourhome preachment. Mr. Dunbar made a speech, and the upshot of it was,that every darkey was to walk past the pot and rub his finger in thesmut; and he swore a solemn oath, that when the pusson that stole thatfine game rooster, touched the pot, the dominicker rooster would crow.As Marster called our names, we every one marched out and rubbed thepot, and when all of us had tried, the rooster hadn't crowed. Mr.Dunbar said there was some mistake somewhere, and he made us step upand show hands, and make prints on his hankcher; and lo, and behold!one darkey had not touched the pot; his forefinger was clean; so Mr.Dunbar says, 'Luke, here is your thief?' and shore 'nuff, it was ourpreacher, and he owned up. I never forgot that trick, and from that day'till now, I have been more scared of a lie-yer, than I am of a maddog. They is the only perfession that the Bible is agin, for you knowthey jawed our Lord hisself, and he said, 'Woe! woe! to you lie-yers.'Now, Marse Alfred, if you have made up your mind you are gwine to havethat hankcher, it will be bound to come; for if it was tied to amillstone and drapped in the sea, you lie-yers would float it intocourt; so Bedney, jest perduce what you found."
"That is right, Dyce; I am glad your opinion of my profession hasforced you to such a sensible conclusion. Come, Bedney, no balking now."
Perplexed by Dyce's tactics, Bedney stood irresolute, with hishalf-filled pipe slipping from his fingers; and he stared at his wifefor a few seconds, hoping that some cue would be furnished.
"Bedney, there's no use in being cantankerous. If you won't perduce it,I will."
Plunging her hand into the blue glass bowl, she pushed aside thetobacco, and extracted a key; then crossed the room, lifted the valanceof the patriarchal bed, and dragged out a small, old-fashioned hairtrunk, ornamented with stars and diamonds of brass tack heads. Drawingit across the floor, she sat down near Mr. Churchill, and bending over,unlocked and opened it. After removing many articles of clothing, andsundry heirlooms, she lifted from the bottom a bundle, which she laidon her lap, and edging her chair closer to the Solicitor, proceeded tounfold the contents. The outside covering was a richly embroideredCanton crape shawl, originally white, now yellow as old ivory; but whenthis was unwrapped, there appeared only an ordinary sized brown gourd,with a long and singularly curved handle, as crooked as a ram's horn.Bending one of her knitting needles into a hook, Dyce deftly insertedit in the neck, where it joined the bowl, and after manoeuvring a fewseconds, laid down the needle, and with the aid of her thumb andforefinger slowly drew out a long roll, tightly wrapped with thread.Unwinding it, she shook the roll, and a small, gray object, about twoinches long, dropped into her lap. Mr. Churchill sat leaning a littleforward, as if intent on Dyce's movements, but his elbow rested on thearm of the rocking chair, and holding his hand up to screen his facefrom the blaze of the fire, he was closely watching Bedney. When Dyceshook out and held up a faded, dingy blue silk handkerchief, the lawyernoted a sudden twinkle in the old man's eyes, but no other featuremoved, and he stooped to take a coal of fire from the hearth.
"There is the hankchuf that Bedney found. But mebbe you don't know whatthis is, that I wrapped up in it, to bring us good luck?"
She spread the handkerchief over his knee, and held up the small grayfurry object, which had fallen from its folds.
"Rabbit's foot? Let
me see; yes, that is the genuine left hind foot. Iknow all about it, because when my regiment was ordered to the front,my old colored Mammy--Ma'm Judy--who nursed me, sewed one just likethat, inside the lining of my coat skirt. But, Dyce, that rabbit's footwas not worth a button; for the very first battle I was in, a cannonball killed my horse under me, and carried away my coat tail--rabbit'sfoot and all. Don't pin your faith to left hind feet, they are fatalfrauds. You are positive, this is the handkerchief Bedney found? Itsmells of asafoetida and camphor, and looks like it had recently beentied around somebody's sore throat."
"Marse Alfred, I will swear on a stack of Bibles high as the 'Piscopalchurch steeple, that Bedney Darrington gim'me that same blue hankcher,and he said he found it. I wasn't with him when he found it, but Ihardly think he would 'a stole a' old rag like that. I have perducedit! now if you want to sarch behind it, you must tackle Bedney."
She resumed her knitting and her lips closed like the spring of a steeltrap.
"Dyce, I haven't heard the rooster crow yet. Somebody has fought shy ofthe pot. See here, I am in earnest now, and I will give you both afriendly word of warning. Your actions are so suspicious, that unlessyou produce the real article you found, I shall be obliged to send youto jail, and try you for the murder. How do I know that you and Bedneyare not the guilty parties, instead of General Darrington'sgranddaughter? This soiled rag will impose neither upon me, nor uponthe court, and I give you five minutes to put into my possession thereal genuine handkerchief. I shall know it when I see it, because it iswhite, with red spots on the border."
"Paddle your own 'dug out,' Bedney, and show your s'creshun. If MarseAlfred wants to set the red-eyed hounds of the Law on an innocent'oman, let him blow his horn."
She knitted assiduously, and looked composedly at her husband, whoselower jaw had suddenly fallen, while his eyelids blinked nervously, asthough attacked by St. Vitus' dance.
"Only five minutes, Bedney."
Mr. Churchill took out his watch, and held it open.
"You see, Marse Alfred, I--"
"I don't see anything but an infernal fraud you two have planned. Onlythree minutes more. There is a constable waiting at the gate, and if hecan not persuade you to--"
"Bedney, step and fetch him in, and let Marse Alfred see the sarchingjob done up all right."
"No, I don't hunt foxes that way. Instead of searching this cabin, wewill just march you both instanter out of these comfortable quarters,and let you try how soft the beds are, at the 'State boarding-house.'You will sleep cold on iron bunks, and miss your feathers and yourcrazy quilts. Time's up."
He closed his watch, with a snap, and rose as he returned it to hispocket.
"Hold on, Marse Alfred! My head ain't hard enough to run it plum into awolf's jaws. I ain't 'sponsible for nobody's acts but my own, and ifDyce have committed a pius fraud, in this here hank'cher bizness, toscreen Miss Ellie's child, why, you see yourself, I had no hand in it.I did find that blue 'rag,' as you seen fit to call it, but it was nighon to twenty years ago, when I pulled it out of the breast pocket of adead Yankee officer, we found lying across a cannon, what my oldMarster's regiment captured at the battle of Manassas. I gin it to mywife as a screw-veneer o' the war and she have treasured it accordin'.You are a married man yourself, Marse Alfred, and you are obleedged toknow that wedlock is such a tight partnership, that it is an awfullyresky thing for a man to so much as bat his eyes, or squint 'em, towardthe west, when the wife of his bosom has set her'n to the east. I havealways 'lowed Dyce her head, 'pecially in jokes like that one she wasplaying on you just now, 'cause St. John the Baptist said a man mustforsake father and mother and cleave unto his wife; but conjugularharness is one thing, and the law is another, and I don't hanker afterforsaking my pine-knot fire, and feather bed, to cleave unto jail bars,and handcuffs. I see you are tired of Dyce's jokes, and you meanbizzness; and I don't intend to consume no more of your valuablesolicitous time. Dyce, fetch me that plank bottom cher to stand on."
"Fetch it yourself. Paddling your own canoe, means headin' for the milldam."
Bedney hastened to procure the designated chair, which he mounted infront of the mantel piece, and thence reaching up to the portrait ofPresident Lincoln, took it carefully down from the hook. With the bladeof his pocket-knife, he loosened some tacks which secured the thin pineslats at the back of the picture, and removed them. He took everythingfrom the frame, and blank dismay seized him, when the desired objectwas nowhere visible.
"Marse Alfred, I swear I tacked that hank'cher in the back of this hereportrait, between the pasteboard and the brown paper, only yestiddy;and 'fore Gord! I haint seen it since."
Grasping his wife's shoulder, he shook her, until her tall turbanquivered and bent over like the Tower of Pisa, and Mr. Churchill sawthat in his unfeigned terror, drops of perspiration broke out on hiswrinkled forehead.
"Have you turned idjut, that you want us both to be devoured by theroarin' lion of the Law? My mammy named me Bedney, not Dani-yell, andshe had oughter, for Gord knows, you have kept me in a fiery furnaceever since I tuck you for better for wurser, mostly wurser. I want thathank'cher, and you'd better believe--I want it quick. I found it, andI'm gwine to give it up; and you have got no right to jeppardy my life,if you are fool enough to resk your own stiff neck. Gim'me thathank'cher! Fantods is played out. I would ruther play leap frog over abuzz-saw than--than--pester and rile Marse Alfred, and have thecunstable clawing my collar."
"You poor, pitiful, rascally, cowardly creetur! Whar's that oath youdone swore, to help 'fend Miss Ellie's child? And you a deacon, high inthe church! If I had found that hank'cher, I would hide it, tillGabriel's horn blows; and I would go to jail or to Jericho; and beforeI would give testimony agin my dear young Mistiss's poor friendlessgal, I would chaw my tongue into sassage meat. That's the diffuncebetween a palavering man full of 'screshun, and a 'oman who means whatshe says; and will stand by her word, if it rains fire and brimstone.Betrayin' and denying the innercent, has been men's work, ever sincethe time of Judas and Peter. Now, Marse Alfred, Bedney did tack thehank'cher inside the portrait of President Linkum, 'cause we thoughtthat was the saftest place, but I knowed the house would be sarched, soI jest hid it in a better place. Since he ain't showed no more backbonethan a saucer of blue-mange, I shall have to give it up; but if I hadfound it, you would never set your two eyes on it, while my head iswarm."
She stooped, lifted the wide hem of her black calico skirt, andproceeded to pick out the stitches which held it securely. When she hadripped the thread about a quarter of a yard, she raised the edge of theunusually deep hem, and drew out a white handkerchief with a coloredborder.
Bedney snatched it from her, and handed it to the Solicitor, who leanedclose to the fire, and carefully examined it. As he held it up by thecorners, his face became very grave and stern, and he sighed.
"This is evidently a lady's handkerchief, and is so important in thecase, that I shall keep it until the trial is over. Bedney, come to myoffice by nine o'clock to-morrow, as the Grand Jury may ask you somequestions. Good bye, Dyce, shake hands; for I honor your loyalty toyour poor young mistress, and her unfortunate child. You remind me ofmy own old mammy. Dear good soul, she was as true as steel."
As Mr. Churchill left the house, Bedney accompanied him to the gate.When he returned, the door was locked. In vain he demanded admittance;in vain tried the windows; every entrance was securely barred, andthough he heard Dyce moving about within, she deigned no answer to hisearnest pleadings, his vehement expostulations, or his fierce threatsof summary vengeance. The remainder of that night was spent by Pilotand his irate master in the great hay bin of the "Elm Bluff" stables.When the sun rose next morning, Bedney rushed wrathful as Achilles, toresent his wrongs. The door of his house stood open; a fire glowed onthe well swept hearth, where a pot of boiling coffee and a plate ofbiscuit welcomed him; but Dyce was nowhere visible, and a vigoroussearch soon convinced him she had left home on some pressing errand.
Two hours later, Mrs.
Singleton opened the door of the small roomadjoining her own bedchamber, to which she had insisted upon removingthe prisoner.
Beryl stood leaning against the barred window, and did not even turnher head.
"Here is a negro woman, begging to see you for a few moments. She saysshe is an old family servant of General Darrington's."
Standing with her back toward the door, the prisoner put out one handwith a repellent gesture:
"I have surely suffered enough from General Darrington and his friends;and I will see nobody connected with that fatal place, which has been acurse to me."
"Just as you please; but old Auntie here, says she nursed your mother,and on that account wants to see you."
Without waiting for permission, Dyce darted past the warden's wife,into the room, and almost before Beryl was aware of her presence, stoodbeside her.
"Are you Miss Ellie's daughter?"
Listlessly the girl turned and looked at her, and Dyce threw her armsaround her slender waist, and falling on her knees hid her face inBeryl's dress, sobbing passionately. In the violence of her emotion,she rocked back and forth, swaying like a reed in some fierce blast thetall form, to whom she clung.
"Oh, my lovely! my lovely! To think you should be shut up here! To seeMiss Ellie's baby jailed, among the off-scourings of the earth! Oh, youbeautiful white deer! tracked and tore to pieces by wolves, and hounds,and jackalls! Oh, honey! Just look straight at me, like you was facingyour accusers before the bar of God, and tell me you didn't kill yourgrandpa. Tell me you never dipped your pretty hands in ole Marster'sblood."
Tears were streaming down Dyce's cheeks.
"If you knew my mother, how can you think it possible her child couldcommit an awful crime?"
"Oh, God knows--I don't know what to think! 'Peers to me the world isturned upside down. You see, honey, you are half and half; and while Iam perfectly shore of Miss Ellie's half of you, 'cause I can alwaysswear to our side, the Darrington in you, I can't testify about yourpa's side; he was a--a--"
"He was as much a gentleman, as my mother was a lady; and I wouldrather be his daughter, than call a king my father."
"I believe you! There ain't no drop of scrub blood in you, as I cansee, and if you ain't thoroughbred, 'pearances are deceitful. I lovedyour ma; I loved the very ground her little feet trod on. I fed her outof my own plate many a time, 'cause she thought her Mammy's vittils wassweeter than what Mistiss 'lowed her to have; and she have slept in mybosom, and these arms have carried her, and hugged her, and--and--oh,Lord God A'mighty! it most kills me to see you, her own little babyhere! In this awful, cussed den of thieves and villi-yans! Oh, honey!for God's sake, just gin me some 'surance you are as pure as you look;just tell me your soul is a lily, like your face."
Beryl stooped, put her hand on the turbaned head, and bending it back,so as to look down into the swimming eyes, answered:
"If I had died when I was a month old, my baby soul would not havefaced God any more innocent of crime then, than I am to-day. I had nomore to do with taking General Darrington's money and his life, thanthe archangels in Heaven."
"Bless God! Now I am satisfied. Now I see my way clare. But it sets myblood afire to see you here; it's a burning shame to put my dear youngMistiss' child in this beasts' cage. I can't help thinking of that poorbeautiful white deer, what Marster found crippled, down at our 'Bend'Plantation, that some vagabond had shot. Marster fotch it up home, andof all the pitifulist sights!"
Dyce had risen, and covering her face with her white apron, she weptfor some minutes.
"Are you not the wife of Bedney, who saved my mother's life, when thebarn burned?"
"Yes, honey, I am Mam' Dyce, and if I am spared, I will try to saveyour'n. That is what has brung me here. You are 'cused of the robb'ryand the murder, and you have denied it in the court; but chile, thelie-yers are aworking day and night fur to hang you, and little is madeof much, on your side, and much is spun out of little, on theirn. Theyare more cunning than foxes, and bloodthirstier than panters, and theyno more git tired than the spiders, that spin and piece a web as fastas you break it. Three nights ago, I got down on my knees, and I kisseda little pink morocco slipper what your Ma wore the day when she tookher first step from my arm to her own mother's knees, and I swore asolemn oath, if I could help free Miss Ellie's child, I would do it.Now I want to ask you one thing. Did you lose anything that day youcome to our house, and had the talk with old Marster?"
"Nothing, but my peace and happiness."
"Are you shore you didn't drap your hank'cher?"
"Yes, I am sure I did not, because I wrapped it around somechrysanthemums I gathered as I went away."
"Well, a lady's hank'cher was found in Marster's room, and it did smellof chloryform. Bedney picked it up, and we said nothing and laid low,and hid the thing; but that Godforsaken and predestinated sinner, MissAngeline, kept sarching and eavesdrapping, and set the lie-yers on thescent, and they have 'strained Bedney on peril of jailing him, toperduce it. When it got into their claws, and I thought it might belonkto you, my teeth chattered, and I felt like the back of my frock was aice-warehouse. Now, honey, can you testify before God and man, thathank'cher ain't yourn?"
"I certainly can. I had only three handkerchiefs with me when I lefthome, and I have them still. Here is one, the other two lie yonder. Butthat handkerchief is worth everything; because it must belong to thevile wretch who committed the crime, and it will help to prove myinnocence. Where is it?"
"The Grand Jury is setting on it."
Here Dyce looked cautiously around, and tip-toed to the door; findingit ajar, closed it, then stole back. Putting her lips close to Beryl'sear, she whispered:
"Did you lose a sleeve button?"
"No. I did not wear any."
"Thank God! I feel like all the bricks in the court-house was liftedoff my heart, and flung away. I was in fear and trimbling about thatbutton, 'cause I picked it up, just under the aidge of the rug, whereole Marster fell, when he got his death blow; and as sure as the comingof the Judgment Day, it was drapped by the pusson who killed him. I wasso afeared it might belonk to you, that I have been on the anxious seatever since I found it; and I concluded the safest way was to bring ithere to you. I am scared to keep it at home, 'cause them yelping wolvesas wears the sheepskins of Justice, are on my tracks. I would nevergive it up, if I was chopped to mince meat; but Bedney ain't got nomore than enuff backbone for half of a man, and the lie-yersdiscomfrizzle him so, I could not trust him, when it comes to thescratch. Now that button is worth a heap, and I am precious careful ofit. Look here."
She took from her pocket two large pods of red pepper, which lookedexactly alike, but the end of one had been cut out around the stem,then neatly fitted back, and held in place by some colorless cement.Beckoning Beryl to follow, Dyce went closer to the window, and with theaid of her teeth drew out the stem. Into her palm rolled a circularbutton of some opaque reddish-brown substance, resembling tortoiseshell, and enamelled with gilt bunches of grapes, and inlaid leaves ofmother-of-pearl. Across the top, embossed in gilt letters ran the word"Ricordo."
The old woman lifted her open palm, and as Beryl saw the button, agasping, gurgling sound broke from her. She snatched it, stared at it.Then the Gorgon head slipped through her fingers, she threw herselfagainst the window, shook the iron bar frantically; and one desperatecry seemed to tear its way through her clinched teeth, over her ashylips:
"Oh, Mother! Mother--Mother! You are nailing me to a cross."
At the Mercy of Tiberius Page 8
