Kitabı oku: «Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)», sayfa 20

CHAPTER XXVII. MURDER OF MR. KENNYFECK – CASHEL DETAINED ON SUSPICION

 
“Amid their feasting and their joy
A cry of ‘Blood!’ was heard.”
 

It was past midnight, and the scene within the walls of Tubbermore was one of the most brilliant festivity. All that could fascinate by beauty, – all that could dazzle by splendor, or amuse by fancy, or enliven by wit, were there, stimulated by that atmosphere of pleasure in which they moved. Loveliness elevated by costume, gayety exalted into exuberant joyousness by the impulse of a thousand high-beating hearts, passed and repassed, and mingled together, till they formed that brilliant assemblage wherein individuality is lost, and the memory carries away nothing but dreamy images of enjoyment, visions of liquid eyes and silky tresses, of fair rounded arms and fairy feet, with stray syllables that linger on the ear and vibrate in the heart for many a long year to come.

It would have been difficult to imagine that one, even one, amid that gorgeous throng, had any other thought than pleasure, so headlong seemed the impulse of enjoyment.’ In vain the moralist might have searched for any trace of that care which is believed to be the unceasing burden of humanity. Even upon those who sustained no portion of the brilliancy around them, pleasure had set its seal. Lady Janet herself wondered, and admired, and stared, in an ecstasy of delight she could neither credit nor comprehend. It was true, Linton’s absence – “unaccountable,” as she called it – was a sad drawback upon her enjoyment. Yet her own shrewdness enabled her to penetrate many a mystery, and detect beneath the dusky folds of more than one domino those who a few moments previous had displayed themselves in all the splendor of a gorgeous costume.

In vain did Lord Charles Frobisher cover his Tartar dress with a Laplander’s cloak and hood, to follow Miss Meek unnoticed. In vain did Upton abandon his royalty as Henry IV. for a Dominican’s cowl, the better to approach a certain fair nun with dark blue eyes; Lady Janet whispered, “Take care, Olivia,” as she passed her. Even Mrs. Leicester White, admirably disguised as a Gypsy Fortune-teller, did not dare to speculate upon Lady Janet’s “future” – possibly, out of fear of her “present.” Mr. Howie alone escaped detection, as, dressed to represent the Obelisk of the “Luqsor,” he stood immovable in the middle of the room, listening to everybody, and never supposed to be anything but an inanimate ornament of the saloon.

It was only when a minuet was about to be formed, and a question arose as to whether the obelisk could not be removed, that the Egyptian monument was seen slowly sidling off amidst the company, to the great amusement of all who had not opened their confidences beneath its shadow. For an instant, the laughter that circulated in many a distant group was directed to this quarter, and bursts of merriment were excited by the absurdity of the incident. With that mysterious instinct by which moods of joy or grief are perpetuated from heart to heart, till each in a crowded assembly is moved as is his neighbor, the whole room shook with convulsive laughter. It was just then – at the very moment when boundless pleasure filled every avenue of feeling – a terrible cry, shrill and piercing, burst upon the air. All was still – still as a lone church at midnight. Each gazed upon the other, as if silently asking, had he heard the sound? Again it came, louder and nearer; and then a long, loud, swelling chant rang out, wild and frantic as it rose, till it died away in a cadence of the very saddest and dreariest meaning.

“What is it? – what can it be?” were uttered by many in broken voices; while others, too much terrified to speak, sank half fainting upon their seats, their colorless cheek and livid lips in terrible contrast to their gay attire.

“There! listen to it again! – Good Heaven! what can it be?”

“It’s a death ‘keen’!” said a country gentleman, a magistrate named Goring; “something must have happened among the people?”

And now, none knew from what quarter arising, or by whom spoken, but the dreadful word “Murder” was heard through the room. Many issued forth to ask for tidings; some stayed to assure and rally the drooping courage of others; some, again, divested of the “motley,” moved hurriedly about, seeking for this one or that. All was terror, confusion, and dismay.

“Oh, here is Mr. Linton!” cried several, as, with his domino on his arm, pale, and like one terror-struck, he entered the room. “What is it, Mr. Linton? Do you know what has happened?”

“Get Mrs. Kennyfeck and the girls away,” whispered he to a friend, hurriedly; “tell them something – anything – but take them from this.”

“What!” exclaimed Meek, to whom Linton had whispered something, but in a voice too low to be clearly audible.

“Kennyfeck is murdered!” said Linton, louder.

As if the terrible tidings had floated on the air, in an instant it was on every tongue, and vibrating in every ear; and then, in heartrending screams of passionate grief, the cry of the widow and her children burst forth, cry following cry in wild succession. Seized with an hysteric paroxysm, Mrs. Kennyfeck was carried to her room; while of her daughters, the elder sat mute, speechless and, to all seeming, insensible; the younger struggling in convulsive passion to go to her father.

What a scene was that! How dreadful to mark the symbols of levity – the decorations by which pleasure would mock the stern realities of life – surrounded as they now were by suffering and sorrow! to see the groups as they stood; some ministering to one who had fainted, others conversing in low and eager whispers. The joyous smiles, the bright glances were gone, as though they had been by masks assumed at will; tears furrowed their channels through the deep rouge, and convulsive sobs broke from beneath corsets where joy alone had vibrated before. While in the ballroom the scene was one of terror and dismay, a few had withdrawn into a small apartment adjoining the garden, to consult upon what the emergency might require. These were drawn together by Linton, and included Sir Andrew MacFarline, the Chief Justice, Meek, and a few others of lesser note. In a few words Linton informed them that he heard the tidings as he passed through the hall; that a peasant, taking the mountain path to Scariff, had come upon the spot where the murder was committed, and found the body still warm, but lifeless – “he also found this weapon, the bore of which was dirty from a recent discharge as he took it up.”

“Why, this pistol is Mr. Cashel’s!” exclaimed Sir Andrew, examining the stock closely; “I know it perfectly – I have fired with it myself a hundred times.”

“Impossible, my dear Sir Andrew!” cried Linton, eagerly. “You must be mistaken.”

“Where is Mr. Cashel?” asked the Chief Justice.

“No one seems to know,” replied Linton. “At a very early hour this morning he left this in company with poor Kennyfeck. It would appear that they were not on the best of terms together; at least, some of the servants overheard angry words pass between them as they drove away.”

“Let us call these people before us,” said Sir Andrew.

“Not at present, sir. It would be premature and indiscreet,” interposed the judge., Then, turning to Linton, he added, “Well, sir, and after that?”

“After that we have no tidings of either of them.”

“I’ll swear to the pistol, onyhow,” said Sir Andrew, who sat staring at the weapon, and turning it about in every direction.

“Of what nature were the differences between Cashel and Kennyfeck supposed to be?” asked Meek of Linton.

“It is impossible to collect, from the few and broken sentences which have been reported; possibly, dissatisfaction on Cashel’s part at the difficulty of obtaining money; possibly, some misunderstanding about his intentions regarding one of the girls, whom the Kennyfecks were silly enough to suppose he was going to marry.”

A slight tap at the door here arrested their attention. It was Mr. Phillis, who came to say that footsteps had been heard in Mr. Cashel’s dressing-room, although it was well known he himself had not returned.

“Might he not have returned and entered the room unseen, sir?” said the Chief Justice, who cast a shrewd and piercing look upon the valet.

“Scarcely, my Lord, since he is known to every servant in the house, and people are passing and repassing in every direction.”

“But there is every reason to believe that he has not returned at all,” interposed Linton. “It is some one else has been heard in his dressing-room.”

“Would it not be as well to despatch messengers to Drumcoologan,” said Meek, “and assure ourselves of Cashel’s safety? Up to this we are ignorant if he have not shared the fate of poor Kennyfeck.”

“The very suggestion I was about to make. I ‘ll take Phillis along with me, and set out this instant,” cried Linton.

“We shall miss your assistance greatly here, sir,” said the Chief Justice.

“Your Lordship overvalues my poor ability; but I will hasten to the utmost, and be soon back again.” And thus saying, he left the room, followed by Phillis.

“There must be an inquest at once,” said the Chief Justice. “The coroner has power to examine witnesses on oath; and it seems to me that some clew to the affair will present itself.”

“As to this room, don’t you think it were proper to inquire if any one be really within it?” asked Meek.

“Yes; we will proceed thither together,” replied the judge.

“I canna be mistaken in the pistol; I ‘ll swear to that,” chimed in Sir Andrew, whose whole thoughts were centred on that object.

“Well, Mr. Goring,” said Meek, as that gentleman advanced to meet them in the corridor, “have you obtained any clew to this sad affair?”

The magistrate drew near, and whispered a few words in the other s ear. Meek started, and grasped the speaker’s arm convulsively; then, after a pause, said, “Tell the Chief Justice.” Mr. Goring approached, and said something in a low voice to the judge.

“Be cautious, sir; take care to whom you mention these circumstances, lest they be bruited about before we can examine into them,” said the Chief Justice; then retiring into a window with Sir Andrew and Meek, he continued: “This gentleman has just informed me that the impress of a boot with a high heel has been discovered near the spot where the murder was committed; which boot exactly tallies with that worn by Mr. Cashel.”

“The pistol is his; I’ll tak’ my oath on that,” muttered Sir Andrew.

“Here’s Phillis coming back,” said Meek. “What’s the matter, Phillis?”

“Mr. Linton sent me back, sir, to say that the ivy which covered the wall on the east end of the house has been torn down, and seems to infer that some one must have climbed up it, to reach my master’s dressing-room.”

“This is a very important circumstance,” said the Chief Justice. “Let us examine the room at once.” And so saying, he led the way towards it.

Not a word was spoken as the party passed along the corridor and ascended the stairs; each feared, even by a syllable, to betray the terrible suspicions that were haunting his mind. It was a solemn moment; and so their looks and gestures bespoke it. The house itself had suddenly become silent; scarce a sound was beard within that vast building, which so late had rung with revelry and joy. A distant door would clap, or a faintly heard shriek from some one still suffering from the recent shock; but all else was hushed and still.

“That is the room,” said Meek, pointing to a door, beneath which, although it was now daybreak, a stream of light issued; and, slight as the circumstance was, the looks exchanged among the party seemed to give it a significance.

The Chief Justice advanced and tapped at the door. Immediately a voice was heard from within that all recognized as Cashel’s asking, —

“Who’s there?”

“We want you, Mr. Cashel,” said the judge, in an accent which all the instincts of his habit had not rendered free from a slight tremor.

The door was immediately thrown wide, and Roland stood before them. He had not changed his dress since his arrival, and his torn sleeve and blood-stained trousers at once caught every eye that was fixed upon him. The disorder, too, was not confined to his own haggard look; the room itself was littered with papers and letters, with clothes strewn carelessly in every direction; and conspicuously amid all, an open pistol-case was seen, from which one of the weapons was missing. A mass of charred paper lay within the fender, and a great heap of paper lay, as it were, ready for burning, beside the hearth. There was full time for those who stood there to notice all these particulars, since neither spoke, but each gazed on the other in terrible uncertainty. Cashel was the first to break the silence.

“Well, sirs,” said he, in a voice that only an effort made calm, “are my friends so very impatient at my absence that they come to seek me in my dressing-room?”

“The dreadful event that has just occurred, sir,” said the judge, “makes apology for our intrusion unnecessary. We are here from duty, Mr. Cashel, not inclination, still less caprice.”

The solemnity of manner in which he spoke, and the grave faces around him on every side, seemed to apprise Roland that bad tidings awaited him, and he looked eagerly to each for an explanation. At length, as none spoke, he said, —

“Will no one vouchsafe to put an end to this mystification? What, I pray, is this event that has happened?”

“Mr. Kennyfeck has been murdered,” said the judge.

Roland staggered backwards, and grasped a chair for support. “When? – How? – Where?” said he, in a low voice, every accent of which trembled.

“All as yet is hidden in mystery, sir. We know nothing beyond the fact that his dead body was discovered in the Gap of Ennismore, and that a pistol-shot had penetrated his brain.” Sir Andrew grasped the weapon more tightly as these words were uttered.

“You left this in his company, Mr. Cashel?” asked Goring.

“Yes; we set out at daybreak for Drumcoologan, where an affair of business required our presence. We spent the whole of the day together, and as evening drew nigh, and our business had not been completed, I resolved to hasten back here, leaving him to follow whenever he could.”

“You have been on the best terms together, I believe?” said Goring.

“Stay – I cannot permit this,” interposed the Chief Justice, authoritatively. “There must be nothing done here which is not strictly honorable as well as legal. It is right that Mr. Cashel should understand that when an event of this nature has occurred, no one, however high his station, or umblemished his fame, can claim exemption from that scrutiny which the course of justice demands; and the persons latest in the company of the deceased are more peculiarly those exposed to such inquiry. I would, therefore, caution him against answering any questions here, which may be prejudicial hereafter.”

“Do I understand you aright, my Lord?” said Cashel, whose whole frame trembled with agitation as he spoke. “Do your words imply that I stand here in the light of a suspected party?”

“I mean to say, sir,” replied the judge, “that so long as doubt and obscurity veil the history of a crime, the accusation hangs over the community at large among whom it was enacted, and that those who were last seen in the presence of the victim have the greatest obligation to disconnect themselves with the sad event.”

“But you stopped me while about to do so,” cried Roland, angrily.

“I cautioned you, rather, against any disclosures which, whatever your innocence, might augment suspicion against you,” said the judge, mildly.

“These distinctions are too subtle for me, my Lord. The insult of such an accusation ought to be enough, without the aggravation of chicanery.” Then, turning to Meek, Roland went on: “You, at least, are above this meanness, and will listen to me patiently. Look here.” He took a sheet of paper as he spoke, and proceeded with a pen to mark out the direction of the two roads from Drumcoologan to Tubbermore. “Here stands the village; the road by which we travelled in the morning takes this line, skirting the base of the mountain towards the north: the path by which I returned follows a shorter course, and after crossing a little rivulet here, comes out at Ennismore, somewhere about this point.”

Just as Roland’s description reached thus far, a large drop of blood oozed from his wounded hand, and fell heavily upon the paper. There seemed something so terribly significant in its falling exactly on the very spot where the murdered body was found, that each looked at the other in anxious dread; and then, as if with a common impulse, every eye was bent on Cashel, who, heart-sick with indignant anger, stood unable to utter a word.

“I pray you, sir, do not misconstrue my advice,” said the judge, mildly, “nor resent a counsel intended for your good. Every explanation you may offer, hereafter, will be serviceable to your case; every detail you enter into, now, necessarily vague, and unsupported as it must be by other testimony, will only be injurious to you.”

Cashel seated himself in a chair, and crossing his arms, seemed to be lost in thought; then, suddenly starting to his feet, he cried, —

“Is all this a deep-laid scheme against my honor and my life, or do you, indeed, desire to trace this crime to its author? If so, let us mount our horses and scour the country; let us search every cabin; let us try if some discovery of a weapon – ”

“Ech, sirs, we hae the weapon!” said Sir Andrew, with a sardonic grin; “an’ it’s muckle like to its brither yonder,” pointing to the open pistol-case.

Roland turned suddenly, and now for the first time perceived that one of his pistols was missing from the case. Up to this moment his anger at the suspicions directed towards him was mingled with a degree of contemptuous disregard of them; but now, suddenly, a terrible fear shot through his heart that he was in the meshes of some deep-laid scheme for his ruin; and his mind ran over in eager haste every circumstance that seemed to point towards guilt. His presence with Kennyfeck on the mountain; his departure from Drumcoologan alone-, his unexplained reappearance in his own chamber, disordered and littered as it stood; his torn dress; his bleeding fingers; and lastly, the missing pistol, – arose in terrible array before him; and with a heart-sick sigh, he laid his forehead on the table, and never uttered a word.

It was at this juncture that a groom, splashed and heated from a hard ride, placed a small bit of twisted paper in Mr. Goring’s hand. It was written with pencil, and ran thus: —

Gap of Ennismore.

Dear G., – It looks badly; but I fear you have no other course than to arrest him. In fact, it is too late for anything else. Consult Malone and Meek.

Yours, in great haste, T. Linton.

Goring handed the note to the Chief Justice, who, having read it, passed it on to Meek. A nod from the latter, as he refolded the paper, seemed to accord concurrence with the counsel.

“Would it not be better to defer this till after the inquest?” he whispered.

“Are ye certain o’ findin’ him when ye want him?” dryly remarked Sir Andrew.

The Chief Justice conferred for a few seconds with Meek apart, and then approaching Cashel, addressed him in a tone inaudible to all but himself, —

“It would be excessively painful to us, Mr. Roland Cashel, to do anything which should subject you to vulgar remark or impertinent commentary; and as, until some further light be thrown upon this sad catastrophe, your detention is absolutely necessary, may I ask that you will submit to this rigor, without compelling us to any measures to enforce it?”

“Am I a prisoner, my Lord?” asked Roland, growing lividly pale as he spoke.

“Not precisely, sir. No warrant has been issued against you; but as it is manifestly for your advantage to disprove any suspicions that may attach to you in this unhappy affair, I hope you will see the propriety of remaining where you are until they be entirely removed.”

Roland bowed coldly, and said, —

“May I ask to be left alone?”

“Of course, sir; we have neither the right nor the inclination to obtrude ourselves upon you. I ought to mention, perhaps, that if you desire to confer with any friends – ”

“Friend!” echoed Cashel, in bitter derision; “such friends as I have seen around my table make the selection difficult.”

“I used the phrase somewhat technically, sir, as referring to a legal adviser,” said the judge, hastily.

“I thank you, my Lord,” replied Roland, haughtily. “I am a plain man, and am well aware that in your trade truth is no match for falsehood.” He walked to the window as he spoke, and by his gesture seemed to decline further colloquy.

The Chief Justice moved slowly away, followed by the others; Meek withdrawing last of all, and seeming to hesitate whether he should not say something as he went. At last he turned and said, —

“I sincerely trust, Mr. Cashel, that you will not connect me with this most painful suspicion; your own good sense will show you how common minds may be affected by a number of concurring circumstances; and how, in fact, truth may require the aid of ingenuity to reconcile and explain them.”

“I am not certain that I understand your meaning, sir,” said Cashel, sternly; “but when a number of ‘concurring circumstances’ seemed to point out those with whom I associated as blacklegs, parasites, and calumniators, I gave them the benefit of a doubt, and believed them to be gentle-men; I almost expected they might return the favor when occasion offered.”

For a second or two Meek seemed as if about to reply; but he moved noiselessly away at last and closed the door, leaving Roland alone with his own distracted thoughts.