Force and Fraud (30 page)

“I'll kill you, if you don't take care what you are about, Master Jonathan,” exclaimed the stranger. And, leaving the prostrate form of Pierce Silverton, he was about to rush on the landlord but at that moment, old Crofts, who had followed his master, cried out, “It is Jarvis, the villain who drowned my poor boy!”

“I told you I'd send you after him – so here goes!” And so saying, Maddox hurled the decanter at the head of the aged father. He fell bleeding on the ground, and was with difficulty led out of the room.

Meantime the ruffian seeing that he must ultimately be overpowered, resolved to sell his life dearly. He rushed from one of his enemies to another; but never directing a blow in vain. It was a scene of general confusion; the women having also added to the tumult.

“Go and fight somewhere else, and don't push anyone on Mr Silverton,” cried Mrs Roberts. “I'm afraid he's badly hurt already.”

They tried to raise him, but he lay still and senseless.

“He's very ill. Oh, Roberts, Roberts! What shall we do? Mr Garlick! Mr Garlick, do come here.”

The young surgeon entered hastily, but the lamp having been upset, and the moon having passed from opposite the window, he could not tell the extent of the injury; serious, however, it must be, for the pulse of Silverton did not beat.

“Get out of the room and bring a light, do you hear? Are you all mad?” exclaimed Philip Garlick; and though he did not communicate his fears, it was evident that he felt extreme anxiety regarding the condition of his friend.

All this while the cause of the accident was foaming about the room like a wild beast at bay. If one man seized him by the throat, he felled him with a blow; if another endeavoured to trip him up, he disabled him with a kick. But a light was now brought, and the landlord, taking up a bridle that poor old Crofts had let fall, slung it like a lasso, and caught the ruffian by the neck.

“Why, he is Dick Thrashem!” exclaimed Harry, who had just returned to the township.

“Thrashem? That fellow is John Smith, the man who went to England on the
Robespierre
,” cried Mr Speedy; for that young gentleman, now being articled to a solicitor in the neighbourhood, was a frequent visitor at
The Southern Cross
.

“He is Jarvis! I'll take my oath he is Jarvis, who came back in the
Robespierre
, and who pushed my poor son off the boat,” added old Crofts, who, though wounded, could not resist the pleasure of witnessing the capture of his child's destroyer.

“I reckon he is all those blackguards, and a dozen more besides,” said the landlord, as he tightened the lasso about the neck of the prisoner.

“Take him away, for God's sake, Roberts,” said Philip Garlick. “And here, you women, get some hot water. Eh, Silverton, my dear fellow; speak, can't you?”

But he could not; and he never spake again. The strong man had crushed, or strangled him; for either injury was sufficient to destroy his delicate frame, even without the mental torments he must have long endured. Every effort was made to restore him, but all were equally unavailing; and when the truth at length became apparent, a cry of sorrow broke from those tender-hearted women who had so often and so cheerfully surrounded him with their cares.

The room was at length cleared, and the scene of Pierce Silverton's happy dreams – the scene of that fearful strife – now became the Chamber of the Dead!

 

“What could have caused the quarrel?”

“Who could feel any enmity for that amiable man?”

“Was that ruffian mad, or only drunk?”

“Or…” It was in vain to guess. The victim could not reveal the secret, his murderer would not. But the event soon became known, and
The Southern Cross
was more crowded than it had been even on the day of Herbert Lindsey's committal to prison. There were also more passions let loose, and a greater excuse for their display, because, at the same time, the murderer and the murdered were under one roof. It would not, however, do to let the former remain very long there, as he had burst his bonds, and still more injuries were inflicted ere they could be replaced. Several members of the police at last arrived, and, strongly manacled, the ruffian was dragged to a place of temporary confinement.

“Eh, Harry, where are you going at this hour?” asked Mr Roberts, as Saunders went to fetch his horse out of the stable.

“To Mount Alpin, to be sure, Mr Roberts,” replied Harry.

“Then mind you, don't say anything to Miss Flora about this affair.”

“Me tell her? I wouldn't for twenty pounds; no, not for a hundred.”

“And don't go about the place with that sorrowful look, or she'll guess that something's gone wrong.”

“Then hang me if I go; for I'm not one of those fellows that can put my face into joy when my heart's in mourning, and I'm right down cut up about poor Mr Silverton – dash'd if I'm not!” With that, the honest countryman sat down on some logs of wood, and cried like a child.

“Sad business indeed,” exclaimed the landlord, “but don't take on that way. I say, just have an eye to this place, or there'll be another horse gone. That scoundrel has laid poor Croft's head open, and Garlick says he won't be fit for work these six weeks.”

“And I'll bet what you like, Mr Roberts, that him who did that business is the same as the chap who stole the horse, 'specially as he turns out to be that Dick Thrashem. But I wonder what Mr Lindsey will think of him for a picture now. In my humble opinion, it's only honest men that's good for pictures. But what that scoundrel could have agin Mr Silverton 'mazes me.”

Harry had by this time rather bewildered himself by his numerous conjectures; his allusion to the horse, however, suggested another to Mr Roberts, who remarked, “Poor Silverton said someone wanted the greys in the morning, but don't let anyone have them without telling me.”

Alas, Pierce Silverton! Other horses, and a very different carriage from that your fond fancy had dreamt of will bear you on your journey.

“The grey horses, and two great bride cakes, came here that
I
never ordered, and
this
found in the poor dear boy's pocket. To think if he should have been going to be married – how she will take on!” And Mrs Roberts, who had now joined her husband, displayed a wedding ring that Mr Garlick had taken out of Silverton's waistcoat-pocket. For whom that golden circlet was intended, none could conjecture.

A sad and sleepless night was that at
The Southern Cross
. Anxious and restless was the following day. Mrs Roberts, nevertheless, did not neglect her duties, and when Mr Lovelaw called on his way to the court, she went to meet him with a melancholy smile. As the grief of the good landlady could not under any circumstances be of a silent character, after expressing her sorrow in the most demonstrative manner, and calling on the gentleman to do the same, she said, “Och, then, you may tell O'Twig to get that fellow hanged, without going to the bother of having him tried.”

“My dear madam,” replied Mr Lovelaw, “do you not know that every man has a right to be tried, and heaven forbid that the greatest criminal should be deprived of this privilege.”

A supporter of the rights of man was Mr Lovelaw.

It was noon, and as yet no one had returned to Mount Alpin. Most people about
The Southern Cross
were busy enough; and those who were not, shrunk from the task of bearing the ill-tidings to the friend – for they did not know that
she
was to have been the wife – of the dead. And that very hour was to have witnessed their union.

But though not aware of, what ought to have been her deep interest in Pierce Silverton, they were all debating who should be the informant, when a buggy was seen approaching the hotel. It came on at a rapid rate, for although its occupants did not know anything respecting the tragedy of the preceding evening, they were conscious that something terrible had transpired, for they had noticed horror on the countenance of all they met. In fact, several people, on hearing the sound of a carriage, had just looked from their doors and suddenly hidden themselves again.

“Now might one suppose that we were bringing the plague, or some evil along with us? Just look at those people! How they seem to avoid us,” said Mr Manners to his companion.

“There is something wrong; something terrible has happened. Horror is written on every face,” replied Herbert Lindsey. For he it was, whom the kind-hearted magistrate having injured in thought, was now overwhelming with attention.

A few minutes more, and they were fully informed of the catastrophe, although the cause was as great a mystery to them, as to the most ignorant of the crowd.

“Good God! How terrible,” said Lindsey to Philip Garlick, as they stood together by the lifeless remains of Pierce Silverton. And the true man shed tears of regret for the loss of the false one.

“Poor fellow, so young, and so amiable!” exclaimed Mr Manners, but he suddenly added, “How does Miss McAlpin bear the shock? They were such old friends.”

“Bless your life, Mr Manners,” said Mrs Roberts, “nobody has dared to tell her; and all the more because we didn't know it, that is–”

Mrs Roberts was about to express her doubts as to the precise relation in which the man and the young lady had stood towards each other, but the sight of Herbert Lindsey restrained her tongue, and the thought that he might as well find out for himself.

“Come along then, Lindsey; it must be our duty to communicate this sad intelligence,” said Mr Manners; and the two gentlemen departed for Mount Alpin.

And how did they find Flora? Like a maniac – they supposed for a moment.

But she had heard nothing of the transaction, and was very calmly preparing herself for the marriage. Not yet attired in her gorgeous dress, but wearing a loose wrapper of white muslin – her long dark hair hanging over her shoulders, for she had been in the act of plaiting it when her thoughts had reverted to Herbert's letters.

What right would she, the wife of another, have to such things? No. Every trace of that first engagement must be destroyed; so, having collected them together, she threw them into a little grate that stood within the hearth and, after lighting a tall wax candle – probably the first that came to her hand – was about to set fire to these once prized treasures.

The gentlemen not having seen Miss McAlpin when they first entered, asked Miss Garlick where she was. Bessie, half suspecting something more than friendship existed between Flora and Pierce Silverton, replied sullenly that she did not know, but she thought Miss McAlpin had taken leave of her senses.

“It is the shock. She must have heard of it. Ah, look at her!” exclaimed Herbert to Mr Manners.

It should be explained that the dwelling was a low cottage of one story, consisting of several rooms, added at different periods to the original structure. It was rather intersected with passages, and at the end of one where they were standing was the apartment of Miss McAlpin. She had been regardless of the observation of Miss Garlick and the servants, and was now unconscious that anyone else was in the house. Therefore, as she stood, in her white robe – her cheeks pale from want of sleep, her eyes straining to see the remains of her once treasured letters, her hair loose, and a flaming taper in her hand – she looked like some fanatic priestess, about to celebrate a savage rite.

Nor was the idea of her madness immediately dispersed, as when Herbert approached, exclaiming, “Flora! Dearest Flora, this sad intelligence has overwhelmed you,” she replied,

“Beware! Nor dare to insult me with your presence!”

“I insult you, Flora?”

“Yes, Sir; your presence is an insult. Mr Manners, I request you to turn that person out of my house.”

“But Miss McAlpin, I cannot consistently do that, as I brought him here.”

“Very well, Sir, as you choose. Mr Silverton will be here directly, and he shall interpose his authority. I must now wish you good morning.” So saying, she withdrew into her room, locking herself in.

A most uncomfortable position for all parties; but what remained to be done? Bessie Garlick ran down the garden to the spot where she had often laid in wait for Pierce Silverton, and the two gentlemen walked about the verandah; but in the course of an hour Miss McAlpin sent word that she would be glad to see Mr Manners in the drawing-room.

“You had better not come until I ascertain what all this is about,” said the gentleman to Herbert Lindsey; and leaving the disappointed lover to overcome his vexation as well as he could, Mr Manners proceeded to the apartment specified by the imperious heiress. There he found her sitting in great state, and attired in a bridal costume. His own experience informed him that there had been several instances of females associating the idea of a marriage with that of death, (supposing a strong attachment for the deceased had existed), and he immediately made up his mind that Flora was crazed for love of Silverton.

“My dear Miss McAlpin it pains me to see you so attired at such a moment.”

“It is becoming the occasion, Mr Manners; but if you had not been my father's friend, I should not have thought it necessary to inform you of my intentions, which are to marry Mr Silverton this day.”

“That you cannot do.”

“I should like to know who is to prevent it.”

“The God who has taken him from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“That Pierce Silverton is dead – murdered!”

“Dead? Dead! He who really loved me; whom I would have married for revenge. Ah! God, forgive.”

Flora threw herself on her knees, and at length she wept. Then Mr Manners knew that she was not mad. This was some consolation and cautiously and tenderly he revealed the history of the murder. He drew from her an explanation of her conduct; and informed her that as soon as he ascertained the mistake respecting Annie Lowe, he had written to clear up the mistake. And more than all, he told her that Herbert
was true.