Читать книгу Bertha Shelley - Aubrey Burnage - Страница 7

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Black shadows fall

From the lindens tall,

That lift aloft their massive wall

Against the southern sky;

And from the realms

Of the shadowy elms

A tide-like darkness overwhelms

The fields that round us lie!

—LONGFELLOW.

Much surprised at the mysterious manner of her cousin's visitors, Miss Egerton hurried back to the house.

'What have you done with Percy, Anne?' Dr. Sinclair asked, as she entered the drawing-room alone.

'I have just left him in the park, uncle, talking with two gentlemen,' she answered.

'Do you know who they are, Anne?' pursued the old gentleman, laying down his book.

'They are strangers to me, uncle; and I expect they are not friends of Percy's, for he seemed very much annoyed at their disturbing him in the park, instead of coming to the house.'

'Some one come about the lease of the farm that Schofield left, I dare say; I will go and see them,' said Dr. Sinclair, rising. 'They have no right to bother Percy about these matters. In what part of the park did you leave him, Anne?'

'Near the oak avenue, uncle; you can see him from the lawn.'

Little aware of the real object of his son's visitors, Dr. Sinclair went in search of them, to attend, as he supposed, to the business of letting his vacant farm; and Miss Egerton retired to her boudoir. Her conversation in the park with Percy had revived the bright memories of the past, when Hubert first won her trusting love; and her heart was full. Would he never forsake his evil ways? Would he never become more worthy of her? Poor Anne! Strange that so much sorrow should be crowded into the life of one so fair!

The scene that met her view as she opened the door was not calculated to relieve her feelings. The children had strayed from the nursery into her room, and were up to their eyes in mischief; Little Maud was perched upon the table, blue-eyed Alice, standing tiptoe upon a footstool, was peeping into the mysterious chaos of her cousin's desk, while Florence, presiding over the fun, was scattering the contents of the desk about and searching for curiosities. Miss Egerton stood at the door, spellbound.

'Look Allie! here's a bit of poetry addressed to cousin Anne, and it's got Percy's name at the bottom,' said Florence, as she opened an old envelope and drew out a letter.

'O, what fun, Flo! Let me see it!' cried the excited Alice.

'Wait a little, and I'll read it,' said Florence.

Alice mounted upon the table, and sat with arms folded in an attitude of deep attention, while Miss Florence read in a voice of great importance—

"Lines to my-cousin Anne, on presenting her with a brooch on her twelfth birthday. Accept my love with this brooch, sweet Anne, And wear them both as long as you can. The one is made of mother-of-pearl, But the other's of far more worth, my girl. The one you'll wear till it's broken or lost, And then forget it—so little its cost; But the other will follow you night and day, Till death—that's if you don't fling it away. The more it's worn the brighter it shines, Like gold that comes from the Indian mines. Then say, dear maid, you accept with the brooch My love? Ah! a frown? Nay, do not reproach! What! Anne, art offended? O, fie! O, fie! Though anger may add a new charm to your eye, And give a fresh touch to the delicate tint Of lily and rose on your cheek, 'tis a hint That of my gifts, the best of the two, You do not prize as you ought to do. I'm sorry, indeed, that my offer offends, But come, my girl, let us kiss, and be friends!"

While Florence was reading, the pair perched upon the table looked on as grave and knowing as a couple of young owls, and when she had finished they joined her in a hearty laugh. For a moment, Anne felt very much inclined to box Miss Florence's ears (what young lady would not, at finding the contents of her desk strewn upon the table, and her letters made a laughing-stock of, by a troop of mischievous children?) but she suppressed her rising temper, and, closing the door behind her, startled the youngsters, in the midst of their mirth, by stepping up to the table and saying, gently, 'Who gave you permission to enter my room, Florence?'

Florence turned round, and the burning flush which overspread her cheeks showed that she knew she had done wrong in opening her cousin's desk; but she artfully concealed her feelings, and asked, with quiet effrontry, 'Did Percy write this for you, cousin Anne?'

'Yes, Florence, your brother did write those lines, when he was a little boy no older than you. They are only childish nonsense; but I value them as I do many other things in my desk, as mementos of the happy days of childhood. But this is not the question. What would you think of any one who would go into your papa's library, when he was away, and pry into his desk?'

'I would say he was very mean and wicked!' replied Florence, her eyes flashing at the bare idea of anyone daring to touch anything belonging to her father.

'Why would it be wicked and mean, Florence?' asked Anne, looking steadily into the delinquent's eyes.

'Because he—he—because he would be interfering with what did not belong to him,' replied Florence, in confusion.

'I think I know a little girl who has been interfering with what does not belong to her. What can I think but that she is both mean and wicked?'

Poor Florence hung down her head and was silent.

'Now, don't you think, Flo., that a girl who could open another person's desk is unworthy of being trusted?'

The little culprit burst into tears, and Alice and Maud, though not exactly knowing what was the matter, joined in chorus.

'I have been very thoughtless and wicked, cousin Anne; but I am really very sorry, and I won't do so any more!' sobbed the repentant Flo.

'I will forgive you, Florence; and I hope you will, in future, recollect the meanness of prying into other people's secrets, and never be guilty of it again. Now, go and tell aunt what you have done, and ask her forgiveness too.'

'Oh, cousin, I don't like to!' exclaimed Florence, ashamed to own her fault.

'My dear child,' said Miss Egerton, 'if you really are sorry, you will go without murmuring. If you were not ashamed to open my box, why be ashamed to confess it? Your mamma will be far more vexed at knowing you were afraid to own your fault, than at your being guilty of it.'

Florence reluctantly went into the drawing-room to report her misconduct, and Anne set to work sorting her papers, and putting them back into the desk, while the little ones, still perched upon the table, dried their eyes, and amused themselves by watching her at work. Anne had scarcely completed her task when Florence came running back in great excitement. 'Oh, cousin Anne, mamma's crying, and papa's walking up and down the room so fast, I think he must be ill!' she said, as she burst into the boudoir.

Without waiting to lock her desk, Anne hurried into the drawing-room—a strange terror at her heart. She found her aunt in tears, and her uncle pacing the room in great perturbation. An open letter was lying upon a table near her aunt's seat. It was written hurriedly, and was in pencil. She picked it up and read it. It was from Percy, explaining the cause of his having to accompany the police into York, and asking his father to go to him at once. The note was concluded by an assurance of his innocence, and a request that his father would keep the real nature of the charge a secret from his mother and the girls, as long as possible, as it would be sure to distress them. It was plain enough now, why the strange gentlemen wished to see him alone! Dr. Sinclair stopped before Anne, and, taking the letter from her, read it again.

'There is only a mistake, Mary. I have no doubt it will be easily removed!' he said, to comfort his wife, though he had grave doubts of the mistake being removed without the delay and disgrace of a regular trial, 'I will go at once, and see what can be done,' and without waiting for a reply, he hurried away to the stables, and taking Marlborough, galloped off to town. Being broken-down seemed no hindrance to the old horse, and he covered the distance as quickly as even Whirlwind himself could have done.

Mrs. Sinclair was completely prostrated by the dreadful intelligence. She relapsed from one fit of hysterics into another, till she was completely exhausted. Her boy, her Percy, in jail for a terrible crime! Oh, it was agony to think of! Anne strove to compose her aunt by leading her thoughts to Him whose all-powerful arm still held Percy in its protecting fold; but her grief was too recent, too poignant to allow her to think of anything but the awful calamity that had fallen upon her beloved son. She realized all the danger of the position of one accused of forgery, and all the disgrace that would cling to him, even if acquitted. The possibility of his being guilty never once crossed her mind.

Miss Egerton had no time to give way to her own sorrow. With much difficulty, she and the housekeeper removed Mrs. Sinclair to her bedroom, and after sending the children up to the nursery, she sat watching by her aunt's bedside. Her heart was very heavy, and she longed to go to the prison to comfort her cousin; but duty bade her remain where she could be of service, and she sat watching all the long, weary hours, until her uncle returned with the distressing details of the arrest. Oh, how long seemed those tedious hours to the pale watcher! Time crawled by slowly, as if bent on prolonging her suspense.

Percy Sinclair, on finding himself locked in the cold cell, sat down upon the rough prison stretcher to collect his thoughts. All had occurred so suddenly, that it seemed more like a dream; but as he glanced around the dim-lighted cell, and up to the grated window, the terrible truth of reality was forcibly impressed upon him. But half-an-hour ago, he was a free man, with prospects so fair and promising, and now——! He had not long been brooding over his altered position, when he heard the bolts slowly drawn back, and some one enter the cell. Supposing it to be the jailer, he did not look up, but sat with his head supported upon his hands, in deep dejection.

'My son, what terrible visitation is this that has fallen upon us!' exclaimed a voice tremulous with grief.

Percy rose at the well-known voice, and in a moment was in his fathers arm's.

'You cannot believe me guilty father?' he asked eagerly.

'I will not believe you are capable of anything dishonourable, or contrary to law, my dear boy. But what is it they accuse you of? your note was so vague!' answered the father.

Dr. Sinclair sat down, and Percy narrated to his father his conversation with Mr. Inspector Barlow, and at a glance the old gentleman saw the strong points of the case.

'My poor boy; it is indeed a serious charge, and there is so much circumstantial evidence against you, that I am afraid you will be committed; but we must strive to prepare a strong defence for the assizes. The court is so close, there is no time to lose. I must retain counsel at once!' he said.

'But, father, would it not be better to wait and see if I am committed before engaging a barrister?' Percy asked.

'My son,' returned the old gentleman, 'if this villain, Gregson and his companion, swear to the tale they told the police, and the people at the hotel support their evidence, nothing can save you from committal; and we must take advantage of the extra time to prepare your defence. Who would you like to have as counsel? There is no one in York I have much faith in.'

The father and son discussed the different aspects of the case, and the various barristers available. Percy recollected a rising young lawyer in London, who was gaining celebrity as a subtle and eloquent special pleader.

'I will start by to-night's coach for London, Percy, and see this Mr. Granville Dudley. He is said to be the most able pleader at the bar, and if money can secure his services, I will bring him back with me. I must go now, my son, as your mother is anxiously waiting my return. She is much affected by this trouble. Keep a brave heart. I have no doubt all will come right in the end!'

They parted with heavy hearts; for though each spoke hopefully, to reassure the other; both were oppressed with dark forebodings. When the door closed upon the retiring form of his father, Percy returned to the stretcher, and his gloomy meditations. As Dr. Sinclair was being let out at the gate, he begged the turnkey to make his son as comfortable as he could. He offered the official money to do so, but he drew back, and said, proudly, 'No, sir, thank you all the same! I never takes no pay to be malevolent. I've been up myself, and as innercent as a babby, and, of course, I've a sort of fellow-feeling for criminals. Whatever I can do to aggravate your son's comfort I will do cheerfully, and expect no other reward than the reputation of my own conscience!'

Dr. Sinclair, seeing honest Bob Starkey's benevolent meaning through his somewhat contradictory English, pressed his hand, gratefully, and then, mounting old Marlborough again, galloped back to Elmsdale, to allay the fears of his family, and to prepare for his stage-coach journey to London.