Kitabı oku: «The Shadow of a Sin», sayfa 8

CHAPTER XX

The court at Loadstone was crowded to excess. Since the town was built there had never been so great a sensation. The terrible murder at Oakton had been a subject of discussion over all England. The colonel was one of the most prominent men in the county; he had always been very proud and very exclusive, and the county had grown proud of the old aristocrat. It was a terrible blow to him when his nephew was charged with wilful murder.

All the élite of the county had crowded to the trial. Loadstone had never been so full; the hotels could not hold half the number who flocked to hear Claude Lennox tried. There were no more lodgings to be had for love or money. It was not only the county people who testified their interest. Claude Lennox was well-known, and had been courted, popular, and eagerly fêted in London drawing-rooms. Many of his old friends, members of his club came to see him tried.

It was an unusual case because of the rank, wealth, and position of the accused – Claude Lennox, the idol of London coteries, the Adonis of the clubs, the heir of grand, exclusive Colonel Lennox. Then the murder seemed so utterly motiveless. The young man swore most solemnly that he knew nothing of the deceased – that she was a stranger whom he had relieved. The handkerchief found upon her he said was his, and that it had been given from motives of charity, to bind her bruised hand. The address on the scrap of paper he admitted was in his own writing – he had given it to her, hoping that either his mother or his aunt would be able to find her work. More than that he refused to say. He refused to account for his time – to say where he had been that night – to make any attempt to prove an alibi. He was asked who was his companion at Oakton station, and he refused to answer. His lawyer was in despair. The able counsel whom his distracted mother had sent to his assistance declared themselves completely nonplussed.

"Tell us how you passed the night," they had said, "so that we may know what line of defense to adopt."

"I cannot," he replied. "I swear most solemnly that I know nothing of the murder. More than that I cannot say."

"It is probable you may pay for your obstinacy with your life," said Sergeant Burton, one of the shrewdest lawyers in England.

"There are things more painful than death," Claude replied, calmly; and then the sergeant clapped his hands. "There is a woman in the case," he said – "I am sure of it."

Sergeant Burton and Mr. Landon were retained as counsel for Claude; but never were counsel more hopeless about their case than they. They could call no witnesses in Claude's favor – they did not know whom to call. "He will lose his life," said Mr. Landon, with a groan. "What infatuation! What folly! It strikes me he could clear himself if he would."

But the twenty-third of July had come round, and as yet Claude had made no effort to clear or defend himself. The morning of his trial had dawned at last. It was a warm, beautiful summer day, the sun shone bright and warm. Loadstone streets were filled, and Loadstone Assize Court was crowded. There was quite a solemn hush when "The Crown vs. Lennox" came on. Most of those present knew Claude Lennox – some intimately, others by sight. They looked curiously at him, as he stood in the dock; the air of aristocratic ease and elegance that had always distinguished him was there still, but the handsome face had lost its debonair expression; there were deep lines upon it – lines of thought and care.

"How do you plead, prisoner at the bar – Guilty, or Not Guilty?"

The silence was profound.

"Not guilty, my lord," replied the clear voice; and in some vague way a thrill of conviction shot through each one that the words were true.

Then the business of the trial began. All present noticed the depressed air of the prisoner's counsel and the confident look of the counsel for the prosecution.

"No rebutting evidence," seemed to be the mysterious whisper circulating through the court.

Then the counsel for the prosecution stated his case. It seemed clear and conclusive against the accused; yet the dauntless face and upright figure were hardly those of a murderer. The prisoner was absent from home the whole of the night on which the murder was committed; he was seen at Leybridge station with a woman; he was observed to walk with her toward the meadow where the body was found; his handkerchief was found tightly clinched in her hands, and his London address in her pocket; witnesses would swear to having seen him return alone to Oakton Park, looking terribly agitated. At the same time, the counsel for the Crown admitted that there had been no witnesses to the deed; that no possible motive could be ascribed for the murder; that against the moral character of Mr. Lennox there was not one word to say; that no weapon had been found near the scene of the murder; that on the clothes worn by Mr. Lennox at the time there was not the least stain of human blood. These were points, the counsel admitted, that were in favor of the accused.

At this juncture, just as people were remarking how depressed the prisoner's counsel were looking, there was a slight commotion in the crowded court. A note, written in pencil, was handed to Sergeant Burton; as he read it a sudden light came over his face, and he hastily quitted his seat, first handing the note to the junior counsel, who read:

"I have evidence to give that will save Mr. Lennox's life. Can you spare a few minutes to hear what I have to say?

"Hyacinth Vaughan."

Sergeant Burton was absent for a little while; but he returned in time to hear the concluding part of the opposing counsel's speech. It told hard against the accused, but the learned sergeant only smiled as he listened. He seemed to have grown wonderfully composed. Then the witnesses for the prosecution were called, and gave their evidence clearly enough. Some in court who had felt sure of Claude's innocence began to waver now. Who was with him at Leybridge? That was the point. There was no cross-examination of the witnesses.

"I have no questions to ask," said the counsel. "My client admits the perfect truth of all the evidence."

"This is my case, gentlemen of the jury," concluded the counsel for the prosecution, as he sat down.

"And it is a strong one, too," thought most of the people present. "How can all these facts be explained away?"

Then Sergeant Burton rose.

"Gentlemen of the jury," he said, "this is the most painful case I have ever conducted; a more grievous mistake than this accusation of murder against an innocent gentleman has never been made. I will prove to you not only that he is quite innocent of the crime, but that, in his chivalrous generosity, he would rather have forfeited his life than utter one word in his own defense which would shadow, even in the slightest, a woman's honor. I will prove to you that, although the accused was at Leybridge with a lady, and not only spoke to, but relieved the deceased, yet that he is entirely innocent of the crime laid to his charge."

The silence that followed was profound. For the first time Claude's face grew anxious and he looked hurriedly around.

"The first witness I shall call," said the learned counsel, "is one who will tell you where Mr. Lennox spent his time on the night of the murder; will tell you how he relieved the poor woman; will, in short, give such evidence as shall entirely free him of the most foul charge. Call Miss Hyacinth Vaughan."

At the mention of the name the prisoner started and his face flushed crimson.

"Why did she come?" some one near heard him murmur. "I would have died for her."

Then, amid profound and breathless silence, there entered the witness-box a graceful girlish figure, on which all eyes were immediately bent. She raised her veil, and a thrill of admiration went through that thronged assembly as the beautiful, colorless face, so lovely, so pure, so full of earnest purpose, was turned to the judge. She did not seem to notice the hundreds of admiring, wondering eyes – it was as though she stood before the judge alone.

"Do not speak, Hyacinth," said the prisoner, vehemently; and in a low voice he added: "I can bear it all – do not speak."

"Silence!" spoke the judge, sternly. "This is a court of justice; we must have no suppression of the truth."

"Your name is Hyacinth Vaughan?" was the first question asked.

"My name is Hyacinth Vaughan," was the reply; and the voice that spoke was so sweet, so sad, so musical, that people bent forward to listen more eagerly. Sergeant Burton looked at the beautiful, pallid, high-bred face.

"You were in the company of the accused on the night of Wednesday, the 12th of June?"

"Yes," she said.

"Will you state what happened?" asked the sergeant, blandly.

Hyacinth looked at the judge: her lips opened, and then closed, as though she would fain speak, but could not. It was an interval of intense excitement in court.

"Will you tell us why you were in his company, Miss Vaughan, and whither you went?" said the sergeant.

"My lord," she said – for it was at the judge she looked always – of the presence of the jury she seemed totally ignorant – "I will tell you all about it. I went away with Mr. Lennox – to go to London – to be married there."

"Unknown to your friends?" asked the judge.

"Unknown to anyone."

Here Hyacinth paused, and the lips that had been speaking turned deathly white.

"Tell us about it in your own way, Miss Vaughan," said the judge – the sight of that tortured young face moved him to deepest pity – "do not be afraid."

Then the fear seemed to die away from her: in all that vast assembly she saw no face but that of the judge looking steadily and intently at her own.

"My lord," she said, "I was very dull at home; everyone was kind to me, but there was no one there of my own age, and I was very dull. I made Mr. Lennox's acquaintance, and liked him very much – I thought I loved him – and when he asked me to run away from home and marry him I was quite willing."

"But what need was there to run away?" asked the judge, kindly. He knew the question pained her, for her lips quivered and her whole face changed.

"In our folly there were reasons that seemed to us to make it imperative," she replied. "My friends had other views for me, and I was to start for the Continent on Friday, the fourteenth of June. It seemed certain to us that unless we were married at once we should never be married at all."

"I understand," put in the judge, kindly; "go on with your story."

"I did not think much about it, my lord," continued Hyacinth, – "that is, about the right and the wrong of it – I thought only of the romance; and we agreed to go up to London by the train that passed Oakton soon after midnight. I left my home and met Mr. Lennox at the end of my grandparents' grounds; we went to the station together. I kept out of sight while he took tickets for both of us at the booking-office."

"The clerk at Oakton station will prove that the accused purchased two tickets," interrupted Sergeant Burton. The judge nodded, and the young girl continued:

"We got into the train and went as far as Leybridge. There the train stopped. Mr. Lennox told me that the mail train we were to meet had been delayed by an accident, and that we should have to wait some hours at the station. The morning was breaking then, and we were alarmed lest someone should come to the station who might recognize me. Mr. Lennox suggested that, as the morning was bright and pleasant, we should go through the fields, and I gladly consented."

All this time the clear, sweet young voice sounded like music in the warmth and silence of the summer air.

"We reached the field called Lime Meadow, and stood there, leaning over the stile, when I thought I saw something under a hedge. We went to see. It was a woman who had been sleeping there. My lord, she looked very faint, very wild and weak. We spoke to her. She told us that her name was Anna Barratt, and that she was married, but that she was very unhappy. She was going with her husband to Liverpool. She told us her story, my lord, and it frightened me. She told us that she had once been a bright happy girl at home, and that against her mother's advice she had eloped with the man who had sought her hand, and married him. Her words struck me like a sharp blow. She said it was better to break one's heart at home than to run away from it. Mr. Lennox was very sorry for her; and, when I saw her poor bruised hand lying on the grass, I bound it up. My lord, I asked Mr. Lennox for his handkerchief, and I wrapped it around her hand."

There was such a murmur of excitement in the court that the speaker was obliged to pause.

"Go on, Miss Vaughan," said the judge. Still looking at him, and him only, she continued:

"Mr. Lennox gave her some money. She told us that her husband beat her; that he had bruised her hand, and that she was quite sure he would come back to murder her. Then Mr. Lennox told her, that if she feared that, to get up and come away; he gave her two sovereigns and told her to go to London. He wrote down his address on a piece of folded paper, and told her if she would either come or write to that address, his mother would befriend her. She asked Heaven to bless us, my lord, and turned away her head, as though she were tired. We walked on, and did not see her again."

And again Hyacinth paused, while those in court seemed to hang upon the words that came from her lips.

"Then, my lord," she continued, "I began to think of what she had said – that it was better to break one's heart at home than to run away from it. All at once the folly and wickedness of what I was about to do appeared to me. I began to cry, and begged of Mr. Lennox to take me home."

"A very common termination to an elopement," observed the judge.

"Mr. Lennox was very kind to me," continued the earnest voice. "When he saw that I really wanted to go home, he took me back to Oakton, and left me in the grounds where we had met so short a time before. My lord, I swear to you most solemnly that this is the whole truth."

"Will you explain to us," inquired the prosecution, "why, knowing all this, you have allowed matters to proceed so far against the accused? Why did you not come forward earlier, and reveal the truth?"

"My lord," she said, still looking at the quiet face of the judge, "I knew nothing of the case until twenty-four hours ago. I started with my grandparents on the Friday morning for the Continent, and have been living at Bergheim since. I knew of the trial only the night before last, and I came hither at once."

"You came alone; and immediately?"

"Yes," she replied. "I have lost everything by so coming. I can never go back among my kindred again. I shall never be forgiven."

There was a brief pause. The foreman of the jury gave a written paper to the usher to be handed to the judge – a paper which intimated that the jury did not think it necessary to go on with the case, feeling convinced, from the evidence of Miss Vaughan, that Mr. Lennox was perfectly innocent of the crime imputed to his charge. The judge read the paper carefully, and then, looking at the witness, said:

"Miss Vaughan, you committed a great error – an error perhaps in some degree excusable from your youth. But you have atoned for it more nobly than error was ever atoned for before. At the risk of losing all most dear to you, and of exposing yourself to the comments of the world, you have come forward to save Mr. Lennox. I, for one, must express my admiration of your conduct. Your evidence has acquitted the prisoner – the jury have intimated that there is no need to proceed with the case."

Then arose cheers that could not be silenced. In vain the judge held up his hand in warning and the usher cried "Silence!"

"Heaven bless her," cried the women, with weeping eyes.

"She is a heroine!" the men said, with flushed faces.

There was a general commotion; and when it had subsided she had disappeared. Those who had watched her to the last said that when the judge, in his stately manner, praised her, her face flushed and her lips quivered; then it grew deathly pale again, and she glided away.

CHAPTER XXI

The famous trial was over; the "sensation" was at an end. The accused Claude Lennox stood once more free among his fellow-men. Loud cheers greeted him, loud acclamations followed him. He was the popular idol. His friends surrounded him. "Bravo, Claude, old friend! I thought it would come right. We knew you were innocent. But what a terrible thing circumstantial evidence is!" Claude stood in the midst of a large circle of well-wishers. Colonel Lennox, whose anger had all vanished when he found his nephew in real danger, stood by his side. He seemed to have grown older and grayer.

"It was a narrow escape for you, Claude," he said, and his voice trembled and his limbs shook.

"My thanks are due to Heaven," said the young man, reverently. "Humanly speaking, I owe my life to that brave girl who has risked everything to save me. Oh, uncle, where is she? We are talking idly here when I owe my life to her; and I know all she has suffered and lost to save me."

They went back hurriedly to the court, but there was no trace of Hyacinth. People stood in little groups in the street, and of every group she was the subject of conversation.

"I shall never forget her," said one woman, "if I live to be a hundred years old. They may talk of heroines if they like, but I never heard of one braver than she has been."

"Did you hear that, uncle?" cried Claude. "How they admire her! She is noble, good, and true. I know what it has cost her to come forward; I know what a home she has had – her people all so rigid, so cold, so formal. How am I to thank her?"

"Marry her at once, Claude," said Colonel Lennox.

"She would not have me. You do not know her, uncle; she is truth itself. How many girls do you think would have had the resolution to turn back on such a journey as she had begun? She does not love me, I am sure; but after what has happened to-day, I would die for her. Where is she? My mother must take her home at once."

They made inquiries, but there was no trace of her. In the general confusion that ensued, amid the crowding of friends to congratulate Claude, and the hurrying of witnesses, no one had noticed her. She had been the centre of observation for a brief interval, and then she had disappeared, and no one had noticed which way she went. Colonel Lennox and Claude were both deeply grieved; they sought Hyacinth everywhere, they sent messengers all over the town, but no trace of her could be found. Claude was almost desperate; he had made every arrangement – his mother was to take her back to Belgrave Square, and he himself was to go at once to Bergheim to win Hyacinth's pardon from her relatives there.

"There is nothing," he said to himself, over and over again, "that I would not do for her."

He was bitterly disappointed; he would not leave Loadstone until every instruction had been given for communication with him or with Colonel Lennox, if any news should be heard of her. When this was done, he complied with his mother's anxious entreaty and returned with her to London.

"It has been a narrow escape," she said, with a shudder, "and a terrible disgrace. I cannot bear to think of it. You, with your unblemished name, your high position and prospects in life, to be accused of wilful murder! I do not believe you will ever live it down, Claude!"

"Yes, he will," cried the colonel, heartily; "whoever remembers his disgrace, as you term it, will remember also that he was saved by the truth and bravery of the finest and noblest girl in England."

"I will redeem my character, mother," said Claude, earnestly; "this has made a true man of me. I was not very earnest before, but I have paid a terrible price for my boyish escapade. The future with me shall atone for the past."

"The boy is right enough," cried the colonel; "what he says is perfectly true. He wanted more of earnest purpose, and the ordeal that he has just undergone will give it to him. He shall not suffer for the mistake. I will say now what I have never said before – Claude shall be my heir; and," added the colonel, with unconscious egotism, "the world will easily pardon the youthful escapades of the master of Oakton Park."

So Claude's mother did not return quite broken-hearted to London. The trial had been a nine days' wonder – a great sensation; but people seemed more inclined to blame the stupidity of Hyacinth's relatives than the young man, whose fault had been simply that of loving a lovely girl too well. Mrs. Lennox watched anxiously to see if her son had lost caste; but she could not perceive that he had. He was heir of the rich old Indian colonel – heir of Oakton Park. The Duchess of Grandecourt invited him to Rummere Park, and Lady Ansley gave him pretty clearly to understand that her daughter knew how to appreciate him.

"No great harm has been done," sighed the anxious mother, "and I may thank that brave young girl for matters being no worse."

On the third day after the assizes had begun a gentleman – a stranger – drove up hurriedly to the Loadstone court-house. His handsome face was white and haggard, his eyes were dim with fear. He looked as though he had been travelling night and day, and had known neither sleep nor rest. He sprung impatiently from the carriage and hurried up the steps of the court-house. He saw one of the officers standing inside, and he went up to him eagerly.

"Has the trial for murder commenced?" he asked.

"It is over, sir. It was finished the day that it was begun."

"Tell me all about it, please. Make haste – my time is precious. Was there a young lady – did a young lady come to give evidence?"

"Yes; and her evidence saved the prisoner's life, sir. I will tell you as briefly as I can."

He repeated what had taken place, and as he spoke, an expression of pity came over the handsome face of the listener.

"Poor child," he murmured to himself – "my brave, noble love! What was the young lady's name?" he asked, aloud.

"Vaughan, sir – I remember it well – Hyacinth Vaughan."

"Thank you," said the gentleman, remunerating his informant. "And now can you tell me where she is? Where did she go after the trial?"

"There are many who would like to know that, sir. Colonel Lennox has offered a hundred pounds to anyone who will bring him news of her. I should say every inch of ground in Loadstone had been searched over and over again."

Adrian Darcy – for it was he – looked at the man in bewildered surprise.

"You don't mean to tell me that she is lost?" he cried.

"She is indeed, sir. There have been advertisements, and rewards have been offered; but all has been in vain. The gentleman whose life she saved – Mr. Lennox – is almost wild about her disappearance. But, if you are interested in the case, read the report in the Loadstone Journal. It is a splendid one."

"Lost one!" repeated Adrian. "It is impossible! Oh, my darling, my child-like, innocent love, what terrible fate has befallen you?"