Revelation,
or,
A Death at Delaford
[Chapters 1-3] [Chapters 6-7] [Chapters 8-9] [Chapters 10-11] [Chapters 12-13] [Chapters 14-15] [Chapters 16-17]
Chapter Four
Marianne did not sleep at all. Tim's arrival occasioned a burst of activity in the house as she and the servants discussed and debated and gathered the items the colonel would need to make his cruel incarceration a little less intolerable: clothing, bedding, wholesome food from Mrs. Howell's kitchen, a writing desk and supplies, the most comfortable of the lighter chairs. She was pathetically grateful for the ceaseless flutter and bustle, even for the buzz of alarmed chatter among the servants, for such distraction saved her a little from the new surge of panic that threatened at the edges of her mind. Christopher imprisoned! Alone and friendless, separated for an endless night from all support, all succor-- It rent her heart to think of him so.
Upon her hearing Tim's report a spell of dizziness had gripped her and she had sunk into a chair; but she vanquished the swoon even before Mrs. Baynes could fumble her salts from her pocket, and was able to read her husband's brief but somewhat reassuring letter without the words swimming too badly upon the page. How good he was to concern himself with her state of mind even during his own ordeal! Seeing his steady hand, she was calmed. She sent word to the parsonage at once, but knew that Elinor and Edward would not return for another hour or more. She too was alone. But Tim had had several miles in which to accustom himself to the appalling situation and was also guided by orders from his master, and even so great a shock had not made Mrs. Baynes incompetent. They began to assemble the items the colonel had requested, piling boxes and cases in the foyer, and soon Marianne was able to direct them a little. No one could know what sort of accommodation he would be granted, and so she chose clothing both warm and cool, both fine and informal--for though he would want to look the gentleman he was, he would not want to soil his best garments should he be forced to engage in any sort of labor. Now and then as she carefully folded his shirts and breeches and collected his toilet articles she was almost overwhelmed with the desire to throw herself upon the bed and sob into the pillows; but such a surrender to anger and despair, no matter how warranted the emotions, would not be of any use to her husband in his awful predicament, and would only give the servants greater cause for gossip. Scolding herself for her weakness, she persevered.
At last all the supplies had been readied, and Tim was sent home to see his parents and siblings for a little while before his departure at dawn, for his absence might be long indeed. George went to his quarters in the stables to sleep; he would drive Tim and his various burdens to Dorchester, and had been checking the cart and harness twice and thrice over so that there would be no delay in their setting out or mishap on the road. Mrs. Baynes, Mrs. Howell, and Polly withdrew to exclaim in the privacy of the kitchen over the horror of their master's plight, and, after two hours of breathless and demanding activity, Marianne found herself suddenly with no distraction at all. Polly had summoned the courage to say that her cousin had spent two months in Dorset Gaol and had reported that "it weren't as terrible as he expected." Marianne had thanked her graciously but reflected that the cousin had not been under accusation of murder. Desperately she busied herself with trying to anticipate her husband's further needs. Books! He must have books. He had requested a number of volumes on the law, but he must have more pleasant reading than those. She filled another box with his favorites and with some that he had planned to read in the coming weeks.
Elinor and Edward arrived some while after midnight, having paused only to look in upon their sleeping daughter. They were full of solicitous consternation and offers of whatever aid they could give, and their sympathy prompted Marianne at last to give full vent to her dismay. "He is there alone in that awful place--it was all I could do not to send Tim at once! Oh, I think I shall go mad if I do not see him and talk with him--!"
"Marianne, you cannot!" her sister protested. "He has begged you not to endanger yourself so. And you must think of Joy--"
"But he will have no friend there at all!"
"He will have one friend, at least," said Edward. "I shall go to see him tomorrow after the vestry meeting. And I shall speak to Haydock and place myself at his disposal, should he want someone to travel to London or elsewhere."
"Oh Edward, you are a dear brother! I do thank you. I have never felt so angry in all my life. I want to hit something--preferably Lord Melgrove!"
Elinor was taken aback by such extreme feeling, but she detected no suggestion of that hysteria that would formerly have rendered her sister helpless; though Marianne clutched at a handkerchief and dabbed repeatedly at eyes and nose reddened from weeping, she was coherent and could successfully direct her outrage into purposeful action. "Word is already spreading," she warned her sister. "We were questioned at the Osgoods' about the events of last night. By midday tomorrow the entire village will know all the particulars of this new development."
"It will be in the papers soon anyway, both the account itself and Mr. Haydock's offer of a reward. Surely all our neighbors will share my belief in Christopher's innocence and my faith in his eventual acquittal. --Though I must say we seem to have little faith in Mr. Haydock--the foyer is filled with enough provisions to keep Christopher half a year."
As there remained but two or three hours until daybreak, Marianne did not sleep after her sister and brother left her, but spent the time writing to her husband, pouring out her worry and indignation as fast as her pen could scrape across the paper. And then she tore that letter into shreds, for how could she burden him with her fears when he must use all his energy to combat his own? She began again, less frantically, and had this new letter ready to entrust to Tim when he and George had finished loading the cart at first light.
She watched them down the lane, wishing them a swift journey though knowing that at the slow pace of a laden cart they would probably not reach Dorchester before noon, and then drifted back into the house to wait. Already she was weary of waiting, weary and half-mad with the strain. Elinor, visiting after breakfast on her way to pay calls, scolded her for not sleeping. "I could not possibly sleep," Marianne replied, "thinking of him in that horrible place--" But she did doze for a few minutes while nursing Joy, and though she felt somehow that she should not have been able even to close her eyes, she admitted that she really must rest--but when she lay down on her bed she was instantly awake.
Sleep proving itself hopeless for the present, she rose again and began to write a few unhappy but necessary letters--to her mother and Margaret, to Sarah and Claude, a very difficult message to Eliza. She also wrote, though it was something of a liberty, to Jonah Masters. She was not as well acquainted with Masters as one might wish before sending such a plea, but she felt that he was the sort of man who might be able to propose a course of action that she and even her husband's lawyer might not consider. She reflected, with a pang of deep regret and offended regard for what she viewed as a betrayal, that only the day before she might have turned to Mr. Wilverton. "I do not ask you to come," she wrote to Masters, "for I know you are concerned for your wife's safety, but I am seeking advice from all avenues I can think of, and I would be most grateful for any suggestion you might make."
Polly took the letters to the post, to be sent as expresses, and Marianne knew that she would be long delayed on her return, its being market day in Delaford. She almost wept to think of the number of inquisitive callers who would soon descend upon her, and wished that the manor were a castle and she could simply raise the drawbridge and shut out the world. But she must face them all, must show herself confident and unafraid, certain of her husband's eventual exoneration. Today, however, she would protect herself, for at last her head was swimming with sleeplessness and shock. She told Mrs. Baynes that she was not at home to any body but Elinor, and this time when she lay down she fell into a deep, but not dreamless, sleep.
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At first the knock on the door and the housekeeper's voice made her think that time had fallen back upon itself and it was again the previous morning, before the secure foundations of her world had been snatched from beneath her feet. She turned to Christopher beside her to tell him not to answer the dreadful summons, to fly! fly! from accusation and peril. And then she woke fully to the realization that her husband was not beside her, would not be beside her for days, weeks, months--and she was grateful to have a summons of her own to answer so that she would not collapse back into the bedclothes under the weight of her grief.
"I'm terribly sorry to wake you, madam," said Mrs. Baynes, "knowing that you need your sleep, but it's Mr. Haydock and Constable Parker below, and they greatly wish to see you, and I thought perhaps you would wish to see them, as they are both soon away from the village on errands, they say, and you would have no more chance to talk with them until perhaps two or three days hence. They are very sorry to disturb you, but begged me to ask if you would grant them a bit of your time."
Marianne rubbed sleep from her eyes and looked at the clock; it was almost one o'clock. "It is all right, Mrs. Baynes. Of course I will see them, and I must not sleep the entire day away. I am surprised that Constable Parker is so impudent as to intrude upon me after what he has done."
"He did let Mr. Haydock do all the talking."
"I wonder that Mr. Haydock even suffers his company. Please tell them I shall be down as soon as I dress, and ask Polly to bring me a cup of strong tea."
The hurry of dressing quickly, a splash of cold water upon her face, and a few sips of tea made her feel alert, if not refreshed, and she entered the drawing room scarcely fifteen minutes after her feet had touched the floor.
They rose to meet her, Haydock an elegant, slightly built man with silver hair, Parker a stocky fellow with black hair and strong cheekbones and jaw. She was fairly well acquainted with Mr. Haydock, as he was a not infrequent guest at her table, but with Parker she had had very little direct interaction. She knew, however, that her husband held him in high esteem, had personally persuaded him to accept the post of constable during this period when food shortages and the resultant tension provoked all manner of quick-tempered brawling and petty theft, and resolved, for Christopher's sake, to show him courtesy. But as Parker only bowed and said nothing beyond a respectful greeting, he gave her little reason to be otherwise. Haydock seemed at first to be uncertain what to say, and wasted several minutes apologizing for troubling her, hoping that she understood that they did not like to pry, wishing that there were any way to carry out their investigation without upsetting her--until, impatient with his dithering, she assured both men that anything they said or asked could not possibly upset her to a greater degree than she had been already, and that they could be assured of her complete cooperation in all avenues of their inquiry.
Thus Marianne learned something of what had transpired at Wilverton Hall, the particulars of which Brandon had conveyed to Haydock after the latter's arrival--learned to what indignities her husband had been subjected. "How dare they treat him with such vile disrespect! To accuse him of base ulterior motivation even in the adoption of his ward's child--I can hardly credit such an insult! To twist an act of such generosity into one that is merely self-serving, even sinister-- Have they forgotten all their association with him? They could name few gentlemen among their acquaintance possessing equal integrity, an equal sense of responsibility toward those who depend upon them. How dare they accuse him of such low, deceitful intentions!"
Both men were quite visibly startled by her bitter attack; outrage they had seen many times before, but never from the charming mistress of Delaford. Reminding herself that though emotional storms were in their way satisfying they were hardly productive, she drew a calming breath and made an effort to speak more rationally. "My husband's adoption of John Brandon Williams was, in any case, not his own idea. Miss Williams requested it."
Haydock's eyebrows rose. "The Colonel might have diminished Mr. Humphries's influence on that point had he said as much."
"He is not in the habit of discussing private family matters with others, particularly with such as Mr. Humphries. Besides, your report does seem to suggest that the effort would have been futile."
"I fear so, madam."
"I shall never forgive Mr. Wilverton for this affront--never!"
Constable Parker joined the exchange at last. "He was in somewhat of a corner, ma'am. I don't see as how he could have spoken openly against Lord Melgrove. And to be quite honest, ma'am--he is not entirely convinced of the colonel's innocence." Marianne's cheeks flushed, but she pressed her lips together and said nothing. "He did tell us, though, when we spoke to him earlier, that if he can be of any help to us we are certainly to ask him."
"That is very generous of him," Marianne said with some asperity, "--especially when he has already let pass a better opportunity to be of genuine assistance. And you, Constable? Given your actions, you must be convinced of his guilt."
"You mustn't think so, ma'am. If I might be so bold--I don't feel I've been allowed to do my duty as I see it. The Colonel--and Mr. Wilverton, too, if I may say it to you--have taught me about looking close at evidence and not clutching at one explanation over another because it's the easier. When there are no witnesses such evidence as you have is all the more important, and I do mean evidence of character as well as stray buttons that anybody might pick up in a road. It does seem to me as that housekeeper at Allenham has been reading too many accounts of murder trials, and she's too quick to judge a man she has never met; and were it in my hands alone I wouldn't credit her remarks as highly as some. I've worked with the colonel for nigh onto two years, and I don't believe he'd shoot a man in the back in such a cowardly manner. If he be guilty, I will support a prosecution of him, though he be my patron and has been good to me. But I want the guilty man in prison, not just any man, and I am not yet persuaded that we have him."
Parker was by this time very red in the face, but so far was Marianne from being offended by the length and forcefulness of his speech that she now thought him the finest exemplar of his profession in all of England. Brandon had often said that Parker, owner of a tidy farm worth one hundred twenty pounds a year, was an uneducated but canny man who thought for himself, and she now saw the proof of his assessment. "Oh, Mr. Parker, I am so relieved to hear you say so. Would that Mr. Wilverton also thought as you do. Were you able then to learn nothing of value at Allenham?"
"Very little, ma'am." The constable's voice was pleasant and deliberate. "Nobody at the house seems to be acquainted with Mr. Willoughby's particular friends except one or two, and they were not at home when I called. I do intend to return as soon as ever I can, though I don't expect they will know aught of his doings in this neighborhood--they seem to spend most of their time in town, from what folk say."
Marianne sighed in frustration, and Parker seemed to nod agreement. "How have you proceeded since then?"
"This morning we've spoken with the innkeeper and the coroner, ma'am, and with the people who found the, er, the body. And we've been out to where they found him and looked over the road and the hedges and woods nearby--which I ought to have done yesterday but for being sent on to Allenham."
"Did you find anything there?"
"Nothing in the grass or wood, and if there was ever anything helpful in the road it was long covered over or kicked away. I hoped to find something to tell me whether he'd died at once, or crawled a little ways--whether his hand might have closed about that button as he dragged himself along, if you see my meaning--" Haydock's frantic gestures finally caught the constable's attention, and again the color rose into his face. "Forgive me, Mrs. Brandon! I do get caught up in the puzzle sometimes, and forget who I'm talking to--and you were so keen to know-- Please forgive me, ma'am--I haven't forgotten you were acquainted with the, er, the deceased."
At this unveiled reference to a lady's past and private concerns, Haydock turned pale and lifted a hand as if he were about to clap it over Parker's mouth, or perhaps over his own; but Marianne, not overly sensitive to matters of propriety in the most unremarkable of occasions and very much less so now, waved away Parker's apology. "The circumstances justify any liberty, Mr. Parker. You must ask me anything you believe necessary."
"Well then, ma'am, can you think of any reason that he would come to see you--perhaps, if you will pardon me, ma'am, without your husband's knowledge?"
"No. We had not spoken in a very long time. Indeed I had seen him but twice, at parties, and as he made no attempt to speak with me then, when he could have done so with impunity, I cannot think that he should have suddenly decided to approach me in such an incriminating manner." But there had been his anguished visit to Cleveland-- Was it possible that Willoughby had been coming to see her? But at Cleveland he had only wanted forgiveness before she succumbed to that illness for which he had been in part responsible, a selfish motivation that would not now apply.
"You are very candid, ma'am--I thank you. It does make my job easier if I don't have to be delicate." Parker's broad face fairly glowed with admiration. Haydock looked as if he might faint. "You will, I hope, forgive a further intrusion-- Would Miss Williams, do you suppose, be able to offer any useful information?"
"I do not believe so, Constable, and I hope you will not trouble her. As you know something of her circumstances, you will understand that she is very vulnerable to social embarrassment. In any case, Mr. Willoughby was even less forthcoming with her than he was with me; his deceit was more calculating. It is very unlikely that she learned anything from him that would help you. But I have written to her this morning of what has occurred; if she offers any relevant particulars I shall of course convey them to you at once."
"Thank you, ma'am. We shall hope for the unlikely. We did also hope to speak with your servants today as well, if we may, to see if they can tell us anything about that button."
"Of course you may, but first I must tell you what I myself have learned."
Impressed by her initiative, they drew the same ambiguous conclusions from her investigation as she and Elinor had done, and her discovery was useful to them in their conversations with the servants. One by one, Mr. and Mrs. Baynes, Mrs. Howell, Polly, and the several others went nervously into the drawing room; each emerged relieved, though disappointed that he or she had not been the one to provide the crucial fact needed to solve the mystery. When Marianne, who had passed those two hours alternately in the nursery and the library, rejoined them, the faces of the two men told her that they had learned nothing of immediate relevance.
"What will you do now?" she asked.
"I must first consult my law books," Mr. Haydock replied, "and then I shall visit the colonel and interview his manservant, either this evening or on the morrow. I also intend to appeal to the magistrates in Dorchester."
"And I must try to find out where Mr. Willoughby had been that night," said Parker in his turn, "and whether maybe he met up with some trouble there that followed him."
"And you leave immediately?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do you want a horse, or funds? I know that your expenses will be reimbursed by the parish, but you might well be away for several days. You will need lodging and meals--"
"I do have a good horse, ma'am, but--well, I might have a need to buy a few pints here and there. Folk do get more talkative when their throats are wet." She fetched him a purse full of coins, and he took it with a grateful bow. "Do not hesitate to ask for more if you should need it--you must spare no expense. Mr. Haydock has already been told the same. My husband will be most grateful for your efforts to save him--as, of course, am I."
"I feel I must say again, ma'am," Parker said, a little hesitantly, "that I want to find the truth, whatever it may be."
Marianne smiled. "When you find it, you will prove my husband's innocence."
"I do hope it turns out so, ma'am. I do truly hope it does."
They departed, and seemed to take with them all the energy that had sustained her while she conversed with them and waited anxiously for the result of their interviews with the servants. She was thankful that she had been able to provide a little material aid in the effort to save her husband, rather than merely sit and wait for news, as she was henceforth doomed to do. Aromas of meat and vegetables and pies wafted from the kitchen, but food could not entice her now, and so she returned to the nursery and, excusing the nurse for an hour, lifted Joy, fast asleep though she was, into her arms.
Her last sight of her husband had been in this room; their last embrace had been beside their sleeping child. She missed him, feared for him dreadfully. Those emotions had eclipsed all others--all concern for her own reputation, all pleasure in reading or music or woodland walks, even the grief she should have felt, had briefly felt, for Willoughby.
Why had Willoughby been so near? Once in the vicinity it was not strange that he might perhaps look down the lane toward the house in which she now dwelt, that he might even feel a clutch of envy at his heart that his rival had gained what he himself had lost, but it was very strange indeed that he should meet trouble just here. Surely he had simply been visiting friends in a neighboring town and had been felled by a highwayman--though why he should be abroad so late was a riddle, as was how he might have been separated from his wife when it was known they were travelling together. Or rather--and she did not know whether she should scold herself for the speculation that now occurred to her--it was perhaps nothing much of a riddle after all, given Willoughby's own judgment of himself as a libertine. If he had been visiting a mistress--if it had been the basest of his sins that had caused her husband and herself such misery--she would never grieve for him again, would never regret his passing. And yet in the same moment that she hated him she could feel sorrow that she did.
Joy stirred in her arms, and woke and smiled, and Marianne resolved to give Willoughby no further consideration until her husband was out of danger. How she would divert her mind and heart from their terrors if she did not have her darling Joy to occupy her, she did not know. She began to sing the first song that came into her head, an old ballad about a soldier taken away to war:
Here I sit on Buttermilk Hill
Who could blame me cry my fill,
Every tear would turn a mill,
Johnny's gone for a soldier.Oh my baby, oh my love,
Gone the rainbow, gone the dove,
Your father was my only love,
Johnny's gone for a soldier.Me, oh my, I loved him so,
It broke my heart to see him go,
And only time will heal my woe,
Johnny's gone for a soldier.Oh my baby, oh my love,
Gone the rainbow, gone the dove,
Your father was my only love,
Johnny's gone for a soldier.I sold my flax, I sold my wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel,
So it in battle, he may wield,
Johnny's gone for a soldier.Oh my baby, oh my love,
Gone the rainbow, gone the dove,
Your father was my only love,
Johnny's gone for a soldier.1
As it was a favorite for a melancholy mood, she had sung it many times, but never before had it wrenched from her such a flood of tears.
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1 Hear the music at Lesley Nelson's Folk Music Site: Johnny's Gone for a Soldier. Very special thanks to Lou for pointing me to the song and the site! [Return]
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Chapter Five
Waking long before Padgett's keys rattled in the iron lock, Brandon watched the square of blackness in the outside wall lighten to barred gray and then a pale, cheerless blue. His limbs and joints were stiff, the mattress having turned out to be, in fact, inferior to any he had ever slept upon while in the army; he stretched, and paced about as well as he could in the limited space, trying not to rub at the several bites on his face and neck and hands. He could not expect Tim for several hours, even if he had left Delaford at first light--several hours before he could hope to have news of Marianne, to see a letter in her own hand, to learn how she bore this emergency, and whether Joy continued to improve. From the trees and fields beyond the wall rose a merry chorus of bird song, and he thought how incongruous was the sound.
Padgett, when he arrived, displayed no more deference than he had the night before. "You can have first turn at the privy if you want it," said he; "there's an advantage to being a gentleman!" His coarse laughter echoed off the cold stone walls. The other prisoners hooted and spat obscenities as Brandon made his way past their cells to the crude offices upon the landing, several openly scoffing at Padgett's attempts to strike the fingers they had hooked through the bars.
"Mr. Henley said to tell you he'll send washing and shaving things if you want them," said Padgett in a grudging manner upon escorting him back to his cell, and as Brandon did not know when Tim would arrive with his own, he accepted. Through the open door he listened to the prison come awake--to the futile demands for more bread and beer; to the inmates being escorted to their work in the bakery or the hat factory amid threats from Padgett and his fellow turnkey; to the wagons lumbering through the gates laden with vegetables and fish from the market; to a sudden scuffle, more noisy than deadly, that nevertheless resulted in a summons to the surgeon to close a wound. Though he was free to move about the yards as he liked, he thought perhaps he would be wise to avoid the other prisoners to the extent that he could until they became accustomed to his presence among them. In any case, he preferred not to go abroad until he looked less like a bristle-cheeked lout who had slept in his clothing.
At length a maid appeared with a large basket containing pitcher, soap, towel, razor, comb, and clothes-brush, which she set carefully upon the bed. "Mr. Henley would be pleased if you would join him for breakfast, sir," she informed him in a shaking voice. She was very young, and clearly uneasy; possibly she did not have frequent cause to enter the cell blocks, and certainly she could have had little close contact with accused murderers of any rank. She did not refuse the sixpence he offered her, however, though she did seem to appreciate his promise to tell Mr. Henley that he must send his manservant with her should she come again.
By the time he had made his appearance less disreputable, the yards had emptied except for those prisoners sweating over huge cauldrons of boiling laundry, and he enjoyed a relatively quiet passage to the keeper's quarters, assaulted only by stares and muttering. He found, and reflected that he should not be surprised that it should be so, that the yards seemed to him smaller, gloomier, and altogether more oppressive than they had ever seemed before, now that he surveyed them from a very different perspective. Mr. Henley greeted with him with an offensively cheerful "Good-morning," and explained that since he and his wife never breakfasted together he would be honored if the colonel would join him daily at about nine o'clock. Brandon agreed with as much graciousness as he could summon, not from any desire for Henley's company, but from the practical consideration of its being the surest way to ingratiate himself with the man in whose power he might remain for the coming months.
Over an assortment of bread and cakes and honey and coffee that he might have consumed in his own breakfast room, he was subjected to Mr. Henley's ruminations as to how he should be treated. "You say your manservant will arrive later this morning? You must not wait so long for clean accommodation. After our meal we shall visit the women's yard; I think you will find several eager to work for you. I am glad you will have your servant with you; though the male prisoners would be happy to take your money they would be surly and lazy; the women will serve you better. I took the liberty of culling some fine vegetables and fruit for you from the market wagon this morning, as your man has missed the morning delivery. Oh, there is no need to thank me, sir--though you will share my table but in the morning, all your meals must be as palatable as my own--"
An hour of such vulgar sycophancy, from one who had not the knack of employing it without making himself look foolish, was almost enough to cause Brandon to rue his willingness to begin each day as Mr. Henley's guest. But he reminded himself of the possible benefits, not the least of which would be the occupation of one hour out of every twenty-four.
The cell block for female prisoners was identical to that for the men, but not as densely populated, and certainly not as perilous, these prisoners of the fairer sex having rarely committed any crime of violence. Of those who came forward in response to Henley's blunt announcement that here was a gentleman prisoner who wanted a maid, Brandon chose the two who seemed cleanest and least sullen, and they were sent to scrub out his cell and replace the mattress while he walked along the corridors on the upper level, where there was a little breeze. Aloft he was more easily visible to those prisoners who were inclined to scrutinize his activity, but the air was close and warm in the yard, and he wished especially to avoid the fellow with the cough, who was very thin and looked to be consumptive.
He had never before been within these walls alone; always he had been in the company of his fellow justices. The hostile eyes that followed him now reminded him somewhat of the first uncomfortable tenants' meeting he had addressed as the new master of Delaford. Those to whom he spoke had held longstanding grievances against his father and brother and feared that he would be equally neglectful or harsh, or at best indifferent, caring more for army matters than for the efficient and responsible management of an estate and the welfare of those who depended upon it. Those critics he had soon won over, but with these he would find no common concerns; they were two parties fundamentally opposed. Though he was confident that the prisoners would not dare to harm him, their resentment was plain even in their silence, and was expressed by two or three in bitter invective when he would not employ them as well; they were angered by his ease, but if he would be easy, they clearly felt that they should profit by it, that he should hire additional menservants rather than make use of one to whom he already paid a salary.
Tim and George arrived a little before noon, and though Brandon was pleased that they had made a swift and safe journey, the roads, they said, being dry and not very crowded, he paid little attention to the supplies and furnishings they began to unload with the help of Henley's manservant, so engrossed was he in the most treasured and welcome item they had brought.
"My dearest husband," Marianne had written, and he could picture her at her desk, a frown of concentration between her brows, "I will not dwell on the extreme indignation I felt when Tim brought word of this gross insult to your character and person, for you know my heart well and can guess what I feel. It is enough to say that I shall never speak to Lord Melgrove again, or to the abominable Mr. Humphries." Her hand was steady, the strokes of her pen bold, and he was greatly relieved to know that at present she was more angry than fearful. "You will want to hear of Joy--she is much better, and has eaten well and babbled to me with almost her usual energy. I enclose a little sketch of her by Elinor, made just now while she slept, and an impression of her palm only slightly smudged--" Here he paused to unfold the second paper, and beheld a sweet likeness of his sleeping child, with beside it a print of her tiny palm and fingers--and for a minute or two he was unable to read any further. "--only slightly smudged, which you know we never could have gotten had she not been asleep. Elinor and Edward send their love--in fact, you will see Edward himself later today, as he is very kindly coming over to see you. Yesterday--it is strange to say yesterday, for I have not slept and to me it is still today--yesterday Elinor and I acted the part of constable and inspected the box of buttons in your dressing room--none are missing, but we came to no conclusion as to what that might mean. Christopher, I beg you to ask Mr. Haydock to keep me informed, though I know he will be very busy. Remember that I can do nothing but wait powerlessly for news. It is agony to be unable to help you-- For the present I shall be the dutiful wife, and obey your wish that I not come to Dorchester, but please, my husband, do not think that I can remain at home for months, sheltered while you suffer. If this matter is not resolved very soon I shall in turn beg you to allow me to come. And if you should object, I shall then remind you that you have given me pin money quite sufficient to take lodgings--you see the hazards of generosity to a headstrong wife! Please, dearest Christopher, do take care. Do whatever is necessary to guard your safety, for Joy and I do need you. I shall write to you every day. Please, please write to me. Your devoted Marianne."
Brandon read this heartfelt communication again and again, and by the time the small table and chairs filled the center of the cell and his writing desk was situated beneath the window, he had very nearly memorized it. He sent George and Tim to an alehouse for a hearty meal while he wrote a reply, which he gave into the former's keeping when the two men returned. "You will have a solitary journey this time, George."
"I'll sing loud to keep myself awake," the coachman replied with a laugh. And then he became uncharacteristically somber, and shifted his feet a little. "We all do hope to see you home soon, sir."
"Thank you, George. Obey Mrs. Brandon as you would myself, and--take care of her and my daughter."
"That we will, sir--you may rest easy on that score. All best to you. So long, Tim!" And with an ungainly but courteous bow, he left them.
A silence descended upon the cell, and then Tim spoke hesitantly. "I don't quite know what to do, sir. Samuel, that is Mr. Henley's servant, told me you already hired the cell cleaned."
"Mr. Henley was very anxious that I be made as comfortable as possible. The fact that part of the women's wages will go to himself and even more to the prison, thus improving his accounts, probably had not the slightest influence on his solicitude. The women will also tend to our washing."
"That's a relief, sir, as I'm not a good hand at washing--or so my mum always does say."
"I am told I shall be fed from Mr. Henley's kitchen, though not at Mr. Henley's table save at breakfast. In a little while you may ask his servants about the time his dinner is usually prepared, the use of a serving cart, and so forth. But just now you must rest--you have had rather an exhausting day and night. You see we have brought in a cot for you--though it has no canopy or feather pillows. Have you had any sleep at all?"
"Aye, sir--in the cart. I couldn't keep my eyes open. If I'd had to drive myself I might have got all the way to Dover before I woke up."
"I am glad the journey was not too arduous."
Tim's pleasant features made a grimace. "The worst of it was that last bit, from those great ugly doors."
"I regret very much that you are forced to share, to some degree, my incarceration."
Tim looked at the walls so close about him, and seemed to shrink a little with dismay. "I do confess I've never been in a gaol before, sir--not even for one night."
"Nor have I. But remember that those great ugly doors will allow you to pass through them. Every day you must walk about the town, in order to get some fresh air and exercise--indeed I shall employ you most frequently in taking correspondence to the post-office. And you are free to write to your family whenever you like--I will gladly prepay the postage."
"That's very good of you, sir--it will ease my mum's mind to hear from me."
"I dare say you hardly expected, when you came to my house, such an occurrence as this."
"No, sir. My dad did always say that if I didn't work I'd find myself in gaol, and now--"
"And now it is your work that has put you in gaol. I do hope your father appreciates the irony."
Tim looked impressed that he could smile, and Brandon tried not to appear as though he himself were surprised. "He does think it a great joke, sir--but meaning no disrespect to you, of course. He knows it's all a terrible mistake. He wanted me to ask you, sir--it is all going to turn out right, isn't it?" Tim's father, long a tenant of Delaford, was a lively, decent man whose concern, though genuine, was no doubt as much for his land as for his landlord.
"I certainly hope so. But I think we had better prepare ourselves for a long stay."
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The remainder of the morning passed quietly, Brandon perusing his law books (after reading Marianne's letter several more times) and Tim, to his own abject mortification and his master's forgiving amusement, falling asleep upon his cot. Brandon was beginning to think of dinner when a very welcome individual rapped his knuckles upon the door frame.
"Ferrars!" He jumped up to clasp his brother's hand. "Marianne wrote that you would appear today--it is very good of you to come. Tim, will you locate some tea, and tell the cook that I shall have a guest for dinner?" He motioned Edward to a chair, and seated himself opposite. "I am sorry to be the cause of such a bothersome journey for you. I do seem to be apologizing to a number of people for having inconvenienced them."
"It is hardly your choice to be here. How are you, Colonel? Marianne will demand a full report."
"Have you seen Marianne today? Is she well?"
"She is as well as one could hope--by which I mean that naturally she is worried, as are we all, but she is bearing the strain in admirable fashion--I am directed especially by my wife to tell you so."
"Would you tell me if she were not?"
Edward smiled. "No--but I should probably become evasive, and then you would guess. But Marianne is not the primary sufferer here. How are you?"
"My circumstances could be very much worse than they are. I am not beaten every hour, or chained to a post in the sun. But I am glad to have been occupied this morning, and glad my books and writing materials have arrived. And I am very grateful to be granted civilized company."
"You might see Haydock as well if he can get here before evening. When I spoke to him earlier, he said he first intended to visit Marianne."
Brandon frowned. "I trust he will demonstrate a proper concern for her feelings."
"It seems to me that in this situation, such concern may be a luxury he cannot afford."
"All the same, I will not have her badgered."
"Yes, Haydock is very much a badgering sort of man--I myself have seen him shout at three women a day! Really, Colonel, there is no cause for worry. Haydock is a gentleman, and Marianne is determined that she will not be mastered by her fears."
"You are very reassuring--I thank you."
Edward gave a little nod. And then he said: "In crossing the yard I met a wayward member of my flock, young Michael Bell, serving six months for petty theft. He wanted reassurance about his family, which I was able to provide. In his case prison is a great success; he is filled with remorse and promises never to trespass again. Will you be so repentant, sir, when you come into the world again?"
Brandon's smile at first contained both startled mirth and gratitude for his brother's effort to cheer him, but very quickly turned bitter. "Repentant of mercy, perhaps. If I had killed Willoughby three years ago I would not be in this predicament now." Suddenly he leaned forward, his tone becoming earnest. "Ferrars--you do believe that in this instance at least, I have nothing of which to repent?"
Edward hastened to express his confidence. "Of course I do. You swore your innocence to Marianne--that is enough for me."
"I am very pleased to hear it. And what are Marianne's feelings with regard--has she spoken of--Willoughby?"
"Not to me. And very little, apparently, to Elinor. I would venture to say that her thoughts at present are of you alone."
"And mine are very much of her, not least because she has been cheated of the opportunity to grieve for him--should she choose to. That cannot be beneficial to her emotional state."
"But it is not in your power to alter that circumstance, and so you must not agitate yourself in contemplating it. Marianne will simply have to bear with that as well. She can grieve for Mr. Willoughby at a later time--should she choose to. Grief must often be delayed when there are responsibilities to be met."
Brandon sat back in his chair. "You are a wise man, Mr. Ferrars. And Joy--have you seen her?"
"Yes, I stopped before I came away. She is really much improved--I think you may stop worrying about her."
"And do you ever stop worrying about Rosalind?"
Again Edward smiled. "Not for a moment."
There was a silence, and then Brandon rose and began a slow circuit of the cell. "I cannot help thinking that--I might never see my daughter again."
"You must not talk in that way," Edward said very firmly. "You must not discourage yourself when the fight has hardly begun. All will be well in the end."
"And have you received direct assurance from a higher power?"
"No. I simply have faith that an innocent man will not be convicted of murder."
"It has happened before. You might have heard of the Cranton case--I was refreshing my memory of it just now. Cranton was convicted of murder and hanged, and two years later another man confessed to the crime. Juries and judges do err. They are men, and therefore fallible."
Edward could think of nothing to say in reply that would not sound banal or callous, but he would nevertheless have uttered something of the sort merely to keep the painful silence from lengthening, had not Tim appeared with a laden serving cart. Once the meal was readied upon the small table, Tim having gained some experience in serving during the larger of the Brandons' dinner parties and comporting himself quite well, Edward proceeded to make a great show of tasting each course and evaluating it as if he dined in the finest hotel in London. "You have a very competent cook, sir. In fact I am astonished to find such elegance here. You are a resourceful gentleman indeed!"
"I have a resourceful wife. I did not request rugs, or cushions, or prints for the walls--Marianne thought of those. Clearly she is determined to surround her husband with the finer things of life so that he will not return to her a barbarian." Brandon attacked his mutton with a new energy. "I hope you will forgive my indulgence in self-pity. We need a pleasant topic, or at least a more interesting one. Tell me about the vestry meeting today. What was decided about the new church roof?"
"We got so far as agreeing that one is necessary, and then--" Edward's tone here became rather wry. "--I must confess that we spent the remainder of the meeting talking about you."
"I see. Of course it is all over the village by now. Soon, no doubt, it will be all over the county. How are people greeting the news?"
"You will not be surprised to learn that you are fast becoming the principal subject discussed over dinner tables, store counters, office railings, and barnyard fences. Alehouse business, of course, has tripled. But do not sigh, sir!--" (for Brandon was doing just that) "--those who were not aware of your encounter with Mr. Willoughby are thrilled to hear of it, for though they have long known you to be a decent, respectable sort of gentleman, they now know you to be a noteworthy one as well, and they hope to be interviewed for the papers as your bosom friends. You did not realize that you can claim several dozen bosom friends, did you, sir? Yes, it is all very exciting."
"So exciting that you make me afraid ever to return!"
Edward laughed. "Do forgive my jesting, Colonel--though there is some truth to it, I fear. But I am all gravity when I say that no one with whom I spoke in the village this morning, and none of the friends with whom they had spoken, believes for one instant that you would ever commit willful murder. If the case goes so far--and we all pray that it does not--I think you can depend upon a determined petition to the home secretary for mercy or a pardon."
"That is very gratifying--but to beg official pardon for a crime I did not commit seems at the moment the ultimate indignity. Shall I sacrifice dignity for life, Mr. Ferrars?"
The remainder of the meal passed in this fashion, with attempts at levity brought up short by the unintentional but inevitable contemplation of looming peril. But the moments of levity, if brief, were genuine, and Edward felt that his efforts were not wholly in vain, that his coming had done a little to hearten his friend.
Just as he was preparing to take his leave, Mr. Haydock arrived, and so he remained for a while, in order that he might carry as full a report as possible to Marianne.
As Haydock had not yet dined, Tim was sent to bring him a tray, the serving cart having been removed a little while before; when he returned he was startled to find himself accosted by the lawyer. "I shall want to talk to you before I go, young man."
"To me, sir?" Tim replied in a tone of great alarm, the sudden shaking of his hand nearly upsetting Haydock's wine glass.
"Yes, so keep yourself nearby. I cannot search for you through every inn in Dorchester."
"Y-yes, sir," Tim mumbled, and escaped to the corridor as soon as he could.
"I presume that you are simply interviewing all of my servants," Brandon said with a frown. "I would not like to hear that you actively suspect Tim. He has been with me for several years and has always done his work well."
"No, sir--unless he gives me reason to. I talked to the others this morning with Mr. Parker. He's nearly the last--I shall have to catch up with your coachman when I return to Delaford."
"Mr. Parker was with you at my house?"
"Yes, sir. It was he, in fact, who suggested that he accompany me--though at first he might have regretted doing so in the face of Mrs. Brandon's very cold reception. I think she would cheerfully have flayed him, before he made it clear to her that he is not persuaded of your guilt." Haydock proceeded to describe for his client the particulars of his and the constable's visit to Delaford. "I must say that I did think Mr. Parker was rather too coarse in his information and questions, but Mrs. Brandon did not flinch; she is a woman of courage, if I may say so, sir."
"I have always thought so. She wishes to be kept informed of the progress of your investigations, to the extent that you have the time, and I ask that you honor her request."
"I shall, as I can--though I shall have little to tell her until I receive word from Parker, who set out at once from the manor. For myself, I have an appointment tomorrow morning to see the chief justice; he has agreed to hear my petition to grant bail over Lord Melgrove's decision--though as he is of a reformist, not to say almost egalitarian bent, and an intimate friend of his lordship's, I have little hope of success; but I must make the attempt. I place greater hope in the advertisements, which will appear in the Exeter and Dorchester papers beginning tomorrow. Mr. Willoughby was a fine-looking gentleman; it would be surprising if he did not catch the eye of someone who might tell us something of the company he kept that night. The promise of fifty pounds should stir the dullest memory. And Mr. Parker will be asking his questions as well, at every inn on the turnpike."
"Parker is tenacious, but he cannot search forever."
"No--and even if he could, a random attack by a highwayman would leave no prior indications for him to find."
"Mr. Haydock," Edward interjected with no little annoyance, "I have been occupied these last several hours in trying to stop Colonel Brandon from nursing his own gloomy tendencies. I beg you to conceal yours."
"Your pardon, Rector, but Colonel Brandon does have some reason to be gloomy. He faces one very solid piece of evidence against him, and can offer none in his favor. I presume, sir, that you have thought of no explanation for the button?"
"That cursed button! No--none."
"Surely," said Edward, "there is every reason to believe that a jury will not convict on such flimsy circumstantial evidence--especially not a gentleman of the colonel's character and reputation."
"Convictions on flimsier evidence occur at every Sessions and Assizes."
"Not of gentlemen, and not for murder."
"No--but it is a slenderer hope than you seem to think it, sir. Earl Milcomb1 went to the gallows for murdering his steward--his rank was no protection to him."
"That was forty years ago, and Earl Milcomb was guilty beyond doubt--all his servants were witnesses." Brandon rose abruptly and began to pace, and Edward added hastily, "Forgive me, Colonel--I cannot claim Mr. Haydock's professional justification for insensitivity."
Haydock refilled his wineglass and made circles in the air with the stem. "It is hardly insensitive to train a clear eye upon the implications of a case. We must do the same to the facts of the case. As we cannot yet discredit the one solid piece of evidence, we must do our best to discredit the charge of murder that it supports. We can convincingly argue that as Mr. Willoughby was following no plan of travel, he could not be presumed by someone wishing to do away with him to be in any particular place at any particular time; consequently we can argue that there existed no malice aforethought." Edward was nodding relieved approval of this lawyerly logic, but his relief was crushed by Haydock's next words. "Your previous encounter with Mr. Willoughby, however, will suggest to a jury an unpremeditated killing in the heat of passion. That Mr. Willoughby was not where he was expected to be, and that he had become separated from his wife, might--with Mr. Humphries's enthusiastic assistance--lead them to speculate that he was about something of which he wanted Mrs. Willoughby to have no knowledge, and that you discovered him in his attempt. Such speculation might, I believe, despite Mr. Humphries's most determined exertions, be turned to our advantage. If we ourselves were to emphasize such extreme provocation, we might persuade a jury, despite the duel, to bring in a conviction of manslaughter--"
Brandon turned upon him, venting the anger he felt toward his enemy upon the man who only tried to be his advocate. "Such a provocation would be a complete fabrication! I have said it many times: if Mr. Willoughby had designs upon my wife, I did not know it. He is the last man on earth whose honor I would wish to defend, but I know of no attempt on his part to harass Mrs. Brandon. I have told you repeatedly, Haydock, that I will not confess, by word or by silence, to a crime of which I am innocent."
Haydock looked suddenly older. "If we cannot explain that button, sir, you may have no other choice if you wish to save your life."
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1Earl Milcomb is based on Laurence, Earl Ferrers, who was hanged at Tyburn on 5 May 1760. The case was still very much part of the public consciousness at the end of the century. I've changed the earl's name for obvious reasons :). [Return]
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Continue to Chapters 6-7