Читать книгу A Terrible Secret - May Agnes Fleming - Страница 24

"In all the annals of mysterious crime (began the editor, with intense evident relish), nothing more mysterious, or more awful, has ever been known, than the recent tragedy at Catheron Royals. In the annals of our town, of our county, of our country we may almost say, it stands unparalleled in its atrocity. A young and lovely lady, wedded little better than a year, holding the very highest position in society, in the sacred privacy of her own household, surrounded by faithful servants, is struck down by the dagger of the assassin. Her youth, her beauty, the sanctity of slumber, all were powerless to shield her. Full of life, and hope, and happiness, she is foully and hideously murdered—her babe left motherless, her young husband bereaved and desolate. If anything were needed to make the dreadful tragedy yet more dreadful, it is, that Sir Victor Catheron lies, as, we write, hovering between life and death. The blow, which struck her down, has stricken him too—has laid him upon what may be his death-bed. At present he lies mercifully unconscious of his terrible loss tossing in the delirium of violent brain fever.

"Who, we ask, is safe after this? A lady of the very highest rank, in her own home, surrounded by her servants, in open day, is stabbed to the heart. Who, we ask again, is safe after this? Who was the assassin—what was the motive? Does that assassin yet lurk in our midst? Let it be the work of the coroner and his jury to discover the terrible secret, to bring the wretch to justice. And it is the duty of every man and woman in Chesholm to aid, if they can, that discovery."

* * * * *

From Tuesday's Edition.

The inquest began at one o'clock yesterday in the parlor of the Mitre Inn, Lady Helena Powyss, of Powyss Place, and Miss Inez Catheron being present. The first witness called was Ellen Butters.

ELLEN BUTTERS sworn.—"I was Lady Catheron's maid; I was engaged in London and came down with her here; on the afternoon of Friday, 16th, I last saw my lady alive, about half-past six in the afternoon; she had dressed for dinner; the family dinner hour is seven; saw nothing unusual about her; well yes, she seemed a little out of spirits, but was gentle and patient as usual; when I had finished dressing her she threw her shawl about her, and took a book, and said she would go out a few minutes and take the air; she did go out, and I went down to the servant's hall; sometime after seven Jane Pool, the nurse, came down in a great flurry and said—"

THE CORONER.—"Young woman we don't want to hear what Jane Pool said and did. We want to know what you saw yourself."

ELLEN BUTTERS (sulkily).—"Very well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. If Jane Pool hadn't said Sir Victor had gone off to Powyss Place, and that she didn't think it would be proper to disturb my lady just then, I would have gone up to my lady for orders. Jane had her supper and went up to the nursery for baby. She came back again after awhile—it was just past eight—in a temper, saying she had left my lady asleep when she took away baby, and returned to awake her. She had met Miss Inez who ordered her away about her business, saying my lady was still asleep. Jane Pool said—"

THE CORONER—"Young woman, we don't want to hear what Jane Pool said. Jane Pool will tell her own story presently; we won't trouble you to tell both. At what hour did you go up to the nursery yourself?"

ELLEN BUTTERS (more sulkily).—"I disremember; it was after eight. I could tell all about it better, if you wouldn't keep interrupting and putting me out. It was about a quarter or twenty minutes past eight, I think—"

THE CORONER (dogmatically).—"What you think won't do. Be more precise if you please, and keep your temper. What o'clock was it, I say, when you went up to the nursery?"

ELLEN BUTTERS (excitedly).—"It was about a quarter or twenty minutes past eight—how can I know any surer when I don't know. I don't carry a watch, and didn't look at the clock. I'm sure I never expected to be badgered about it in this way. I said I'd go and wake my lady up and not leave her there, to catch her death, in spite of fifty Miss Catherons. I rapped at the door and got no answer, then I opened it and went in. There was no light, but the moon was shining bright and clear, and I saw my lady sitting, with her shawl around her, in the arm-chair. I thought she was asleep and called her—there was no answer. I called again, and put my hand on her bosom to arouse her. Something wet my hand—it was blood. I looked at her closer, and saw blood on her dress, and oozing in a little stream from the left breast. Then I knew she had been killed. I ran screaming from the room, and down among the rest of the servants. I told them—I didn't know how. And I don't remember any more, for I fell in a faint. When I came to I was alone—the rest were up in the nursery. I got up and joined them—that's everything I know about it."

Ellen Butters retired, and William Hooper was called. This is Mr.

Hooper's evidence:

"I have been butler in Sir Victor Catheron's family for twenty years. On the night of Friday last, as I sat in the servants' hall after supper, the young woman, Ellen Butters, my lady's London maid, came screeching downstairs like a creature gone mad, that my lady was murdered, and frightened us all out of our senses. As she was always a flighty young person, I didn't believe her. I ordered her to be quiet, and tell us what she meant. Instead of doing it she gave a sort of gasp and fell fainting down in a heap. I made them lay her down on the floor, and then follow me up to the nursery. We went in a body—I at the head. There was no light but the moon-light in the room. My lady lay back in the arm-chair, her eyes closed, bleeding and quite dead. I ran up to Miss Inez's room, and called her. My master was not at home, or I would have called him instead. I think she must have been dead some minutes. She was growing cold when I found her."

"William Hooper," continued the Chesholm Courier, communicatively, "was cross-examined as to the precise time of finding the body. He said it was close upon half-past eight, the half hour struck as he went up to Miss Inez's room."

James Dicksey was next called. James Dicksey, a shambling lad of eighteen, took his place, his eyes rolling in abject terror, and under the evident impression that he was being tried for his life. Every answer was wrung from this frightened youth, as with red-hot pincers, and it was with the utmost difficulty anything consistent could be extorted at all.

"About half-past six on Friday evening, Mr. Dicksey was rambling about the grounds, in the direction of the laurel walk. In the open ground it was still quite light, in the laurel walk it was growing dusk. As he drew near, he heard voices in the laurel walk—angry voices, though not very loud—the voices of a man and a woman. Peeped in and saw my lady. Yes, it was my lady—yes, he was sure. Was it likely now he wouldn't know my lady? The man was very tall, had a furrin-looking hat pulled over his eyes, and stood with his back to him. He didn't see his face. They were quarrelling and—well yes, he did listen. Heard the man call her 'Ethel,' and ask for money. She wouldn't give it to him. Then he asked for jewels. She refused again, and ordered him to go. She was very angry—she stamped her foot once and said: 'If you don't go instantly I'll call my husband. Between you and your sister you will drive me mad.' When she said that, he guessed at once, who the big furrin-looking man was. It was Miss Inez's brother, Mr. Juan Catheron. Had heard tell of him often, and knew he had been at the house the night of my lady's arrival, and that there had been a row."

Mr. Dicksey was here sharply reprimanded, informed that his suspicions and hearsays were not wanted, and requested to come back to the point. He came back.

"My lady wouldn't give him anything, then he got mad and said: (James Dicksey had been vaguely impressed by these remarkable words at the time, and had been silently revolving them ever since) 'Give me the jewels, or by all the gods I'll blow the story of your marriage to me all over England!'"

The breathless silence of coroner, jury, and spectators at this juncture was something not to be described. In that profound silence, James Dicksey went rambling on to say, that he could swear before the Queen herself to those words, that he had been thinking them over ever since he had heard them, and that he couldn't make top or tail of them.

THE CORONER (interrupting)—"What further did you overhear? Be careful, remember you are on oath."

JAMES DICKSEY.—"I heard what my lady said. She was in an awful passion, and spoke loud. She said, 'You will not, you dare not, you're a coward; Sir Victor has you in his power, and if you say one word you'll be silenced in Chesholm jail.' Then she stamped her foot again, and said, 'Leave me, Juan Catheron; I am not afraid of you.' Yes; he was sure of the name; she called him Juan Catheron, and looked as if she could eat him alive. He had heard no more; he was afraid of being caught, and had stolen quietly away. Had said nothing at all about it to any one, was afraid it might reach my lady's ears, and that he would lose his place for eavesdropping. At ten o'clock that night was told of the murder, and was took all of a-tremble. Had told Superintendent Ferrick something of this next day, but this was all—yes so help him, all he had heard, and just as he had heard it."

James Dicksey was rigidly cross-examined, and clung to his testimony with a dogged tenacity nothing could alter or shake. He could swear positively to the name she had uttered, to the words both had spoken, if he were dying. A profound sensation ran through the room as James Dicksey sat down—a thrill of unutterable apprehension and fear.

The examination of these three witnesses had occupied the whole of the afternoon. The court adjourned until next morning at ten o'clock.

On Tuesday morning, despite the inclemency of the weather (said the Chesholm Courier to its readers) the parlor of the "Mitre," the halls, the stairways, and even the inn yard were filled at the hour of nine. The excitement was intense—you might have heard a pin drop in the silence, when the examination of witnesses was resumed. William Hooper was again called to take the stand:

THE CORONER.—"You remember, I suppose, the evening on which Sir

Victor brought Lady Catheron home?"

WITNESS.—"I do."

CORONER.—"You had a visitor on that night. You admitted him, did you not, Mr. Hooper? Who was that visitor?"

"It was Mr. Juan Catheron."

"Was Mr. Juan Catheron in the habit of visiting Catheron Royals?"

"He was not."

"Can you recollect, how long a period had elapsed since his previous visit?"

"Mr. Catheron had not been at the Royals for over four years. He was wild—there was ill-feeling between him and my master."

"Between him and his sister also?"

"I don't know. I—believe so." Here the witness looked piteously at the jury. "I had rather not answer these questions, gentlemen, if you please. I'm an old servant of the family—whatever family secrets may have come under my knowledge, I have no right to reveal."

THE CORONER (blandly).—"Only a few more, Mr. Hooper. We require to know on what footing Mr. Juan Catheron stood with his family. Did he ever come to Catheron Royals to visit his sister?"

"He did not."

"Had he ever been forbidden the house?"

"I—believe so."

"On the evening of Sir Victor and Lady Catheron's arrival, his visit was entirely unexpected then?"

"I don't know."

"You admitted him?"

"I did."

"What did he say to you?"

"I don't remember. Some rattling nonsense—nothing more. He was always lightheaded. He ran upstairs and into the dining-room before I could prevent it."

"How long did he remain?"

"About twenty minutes—not longer, I am certain. Then he came running back and I let him out."

"Had there been a quarrel?"

"I don't know," doggedly; "I wasn't there. Mr. Juan came down laughing, I know that. I know nothing more about it. I have never seen him since."