BOOK III
HAD BATSY LIVED!
XXX
WHAT FOLLOWED THE STRIKING OF THE CLOCK
It was the last day of the inquest, and to many it bade fair to be theleast interesting. All the witnesses who had anything to say had longago given in their testimony, and when at or near noon Sweetwater slidinto the inconspicuous seat he had succeeded in obtaining near thecoroner, it was to find in two faces only any signs of the eagerness andexpectancy which filled his own breast to suffocation. But as thesefaces were those of Agnes Halliday and Amabel Page, he soon recognisedthat his own judgment was not at fault, and that notwithstanding outwardappearances and the languid interest shown in the now laggingproceedings, the moment presaged an event full of unseen but vitalconsequence.
Frederick was not visible in the great hall; but that he was near athand soon became evident from the change Sweetwater now saw in Amabel.For while she had hitherto sat under the universal gaze with only thefaint smile of conscious beauty on her inscrutable features, she rousedas the hands of the clock moved toward noon, and glanced at the greatdoor of entrance with an evil expectancy that startled even Sweetwater,so little had he really understood the nature of the passions labouringin that venomous breast.
Next moment the door opened, and Frederick and his father came in. Theair of triumphant satisfaction with which Amabel sank back into her seatwas as marked in its character as her previous suspense. What did itmean? Sweetwater, noting it, and the vivid contrast it offered toFrederick's air of depression, felt that his return had been well timed.
Mr. Sutherland was looking very feeble. As he took the chair offeredhim, the change in his appearance was apparent to all who knew him, andthere were few there who did not know him. And, startled by theseevidences of suffering which they could not understand and feared tointerpret even to themselves, more than one devoted friend stole uneasyglances at Frederick to see if he too were under the cloud which seemedto envelop his father almost beyond recognition.
But Frederick was looking at Amabel, and his erect head and determinedaspect made him a conspicuous figure in the room. She who had called upthis expression, and alone comprehended it fully, smiled as she met hiseye, with that curious slow dipping of her dimples which had more thanonce confounded the coroner, and rendered her at once the admiration andabhorrence of the crowd who for so long a time had had the opportunityof watching her.
Frederick, to whom this smile conveyed a last hope as well as a lastthreat, looked away as soon as possible, but not before her eyes hadfallen in their old inquiring way to his hands, from which he hadremoved the ring which up to this hour he had invariably worn on histhird finger. In this glance of hers and this action of his began thestruggle that was to make that day memorable in many hearts.
After the first stir occasioned by the entrance of two such importantpersons the crowd settled back into its old quietude under the coroner'shand. A tedious witness was having his slow say, and to him a fullattention was being given in the hope that some real enlightenment wouldcome at last to settle the questions which had been raised by Amabel'sincomplete and unsatisfactory testimony. But no man can furnish what hedoes not possess, and the few final minutes before noon passed bywithout any addition being made to the facts which had already beenpresented for general consideration.
As the witness sat down the clock began to strike. As the slow,hesitating strokes rang out, Sweetwater saw Frederick yield to a suddenbut most profound emotion. The old fear, which we understand, ifSweetwater did not, had again seized the victim of Amabel's ambition,and under her eye, which was blazing full upon him now with a fell andsteady purpose, he found his right hand stealing toward the left in thesignificant action she expected. Better to yield than fall headlong intothe pit one word of hers would open. He had not meant to yield, but nowthat the moment had come, now that he must at once and forever choosebetween a course that led simply to personal unhappiness and one thatinvolved not only himself, but those dearest to him, in disgrace andsorrow, he felt himself weaken to the point of clutching at whateverwould save him from the consequences of confession. Moral strength andthat tenacity of purpose which only comes from years of self-controlwere too lately awakened in his breast to sustain him now. As strokeafter stroke fell on the ear, he felt himself yielding beyond recovery,and had almost touched his finger in the significant action of assentwhich Amabel awaited with breathless expectation, when--was it miracleor only the suggestion of his better nature?--the memory of a face fullof holy pleading rose from the past before his eyes and with an innercry of "Mother!" he flung his hand out and clutched his father's arm ina way to break the charm of his own dread and end forever the effects ofthe intolerable fascination that was working upon him. Next minute thelast stroke of noon rang out, and the hour was up which Amabel had setas the limit of her silence.
A pause, which to their two hearts if to no others seemed strangelyappropriate, followed the cessation of these sounds, then the witnesswas dismissed, and Amabel, taking advantage of the movement, was aboutto lean toward Mr. Courtney, when Frederick, leaping with a bound to hisfeet, drew all eyes towards himself with the cry:
"Let me be put on my oath. I have testimony to give of the utmostimportance in this case."
The coroner was astounded; everyone was astounded. No one had expectedanything from him, and instinctively every eye turned towards Amabel tosee how she was affected by his action.
Strangely, evidently, for the look with which she settled back in herseat was one which no one who saw it ever forgot, though it conveyed nohint of her real feelings, which were somewhat chaotic.
Frederick, who had forgotten her now that he had made up his mind tospeak, waited for the coroner's reply.
"If you have testimony," said that gentleman after exchanging a fewhurried words with Mr. Courtney and the surprised Knapp, "you can do nobetter than give it to us at once. Mr. Frederick Sutherland, will youtake the stand?"
With a noble air from which all hesitation had vanished, Frederickstarted towards the place indicated, but stopped before he had taken ahalf-dozen steps and glanced back at his father, who was visiblysuccumbing under this last shock.
"Go!" he whispered, but in so thrilling a tone it was heard to theremotest corner of the room. "Spare me the anguish of saying what I haveto say in your presence. I could not bear it. You could not bear it.Later, if you will wait for me in one of these rooms, I will repeat mytale in your ears, but go now. It is my last entreaty."
There was a silence; no one ventured a dissent, no one so much as made agesture of disapproval. Then Mr. Sutherland struggled to his feet, castone last look around him, and disappeared through a door which hadopened like magic before him. Then and not till then did Frederick moveforward.
The moment was intense. The coroner seemed to share the universalexcitement, for his first question was a leading one and brought outthis startling admission:
"I have obtruded myself into this inquiry and now ask to be heard bythis jury, because no man knows more than I do of the manner and causeof Agatha Webb's death. This you will believe when I tell you that _I_was the person Miss Page followed into Mrs. Webb's house and whom sheheard descend the stairs during the moment she crouched behind thefigure of the sleeping Philemon."
It was more, infinitely more, than anyone there had expected. It was notonly an acknowledgment but a confession, and the shock, the surprise,the alarm, which it occasioned even to those who had never had muchconfidence in this young man's virtue, was almost appalling in itsintensity. Had it not been for the consciousness of Mr. Sutherland'snear presence the feeling would have risen to outbreak; and many voiceswere held in subjection by the remembrance of this venerated man's lastlook, that otherwise would have made themselves heard in despite of therestrictions of the place and the authority of the police.
To Frederick it was a moment of immeasurable grief and humiliation. Onevery face, in every shrinking form, in subdued murmurs and open cries,he read instant and complete condemnat
ion, and yet in all his life fromboyhood up to this hour, never had he been so worthy of their esteem andconsideration. But though he felt the iron enter his soul, he did notlose his determined attitude. He had observed a change in Amabel and achange in Agnes, and if only to disappoint the vile triumph of the oneand raise again the drooping courage of the other, he withstood theclamour and began speaking again, before the coroner had been able tofully restore quiet.
"I know," said he, "what this acknowledgment must convey to the minds ofthe jury and people here assembled. But if anyone who listens to methinks me guilty of the death I was so unfortunate as to have witnessed,he will be doing me a wrong which Agatha Webb would be the first tocondemn. Dr. Talbot, and you, gentlemen of the jury, in the face of Godand man, I here declare that Mrs. Webb, in my presence and before myeyes, gave to herself the blow which has robbed us all of a mostvaluable life. She was not murdered."
It was a solemn assertion, but it failed to convince the crowd beforehim. As by one impulse men and women broke into a tumult. Mr. Sutherlandwas forgotten and cries of "Never! She was too good! It's all calumny! Awretched lie!" broke in unrestrained excitement from every part of thelarge room. In vain the coroner smote with his gavel, in vain the localpolice endeavoured to restore order; the tide was up and over-swepteverything for an instant till silence was suddenly restored by thesight of Amabel smoothing out the folds of her crisp white frock with anincredulous, almost insulting, smile that at once fixed attention againon Frederick. He seized the occasion and spoke up in a tone of greatresolve.
"I have made an assertion," said he, "before God and before this jury.To make it seem a credible one I shall have to tell my own story fromthe beginning. Am I allowed to do so, Mr. Coroner?"
"You are," was the firm response.
"Then, gentlemen," continued Frederick, still without looking at Amabel,whose smile had acquired a mockery that drew the eyes of the jury towardher more than once during the following recital, "you know, and thepublic generally now know, that Mrs. Webb has left me the greaterportion of the money of which she died possessed. I have never beforeacknowledged to anyone, not even to the good man who awaits this jury'sverdict on the other side of that door yonder, that she had reasons forthis, good reasons, reasons of which up to the very evening of her deathI was myself ignorant, as I was ignorant of her intentions in my regard,or that I was the special object of her attention, or that we were underany mutual obligations in any way. Why, then, I should have thought ofgoing to her in the great strait in which I found myself on that day, Icannot say. I knew she had money in her house; this I had unhappily beenmade acquainted with in an accidental way, and I knew she was of kindlydisposition and quite capable of doing a very unselfish act. Still, thiswould not seem to be reason enough for me to intrude upon her late atnight with a plea for a large loan of money, had I not been in adesperate condition of mind, which made any attempt seem reasonable thatpromised relief from the unendurable burden of a pressing anddisreputable debt. I was obliged to have money, a great deal of money,and I had to have it at once; and while I know that this will not serveto lighten the suspicion I have brought upon myself by my lateadmissions, it is the only explanation I can give you for leaving theball at my father's house and hurrying down secretly and alone into townto the little cottage where, as I had been told early in the evening, asmall entertainment was being given, which would insure its being openeven at so late an hour as midnight. Miss Page, who will, I am sure,pardon the introduction of her name into this narrative, has taken painsto declare to you that in the expedition she herself made into town thatevening, she followed some person's steps down-hill. This is very likelytrue, and those steps were probably mine, for after leaving the house bythe garden door, I came directly down the main road to the corner of thelane running past Mrs. Webb's cottage. Having already seen from thehillside the light burning in her upper windows, I felt encouraged toproceed, and so hastened on till I came to the gate on High Street. HereI had a moment of hesitation, and thoughts bitter enough for me torecall them at this moment came into my mind, making that instant,perhaps, the very worst in my life; but they passed, thank God, and withno more desperate feeling than a sullen intention of having my own wayabout this money, I lifted the latch of the front door and stepped in.
"I had expected to find a jovial group of friends in her little groundparlour, or at least to hear the sound of merry voices and laughter inthe rooms above; but no sounds of any sort awaited me; indeed the houseseemed strangely silent for one so fully lighted, and, astonished atthis, I pushed the door ajar at my left and looked in. An unexpected andpitiful sight awaited me. Seated at a table set with abundance ofuntasted food, I saw the master of the house with his head sunk forwardon his arms, asleep. The expected guests had failed to arrive, and he,tired out with waiting, had fallen into a doze at the board.
"This was a condition of things for which I was not prepared. Mrs. Webb,whom I wished to see, was probably up-stairs, and while I might summonher by a sturdy rap on the door beside which I stood, I had so littledesire to wake her husband, of whose mental condition I was well aware,that I could not bring myself to make any loud noise within his hearing.Yet I had not the courage to retreat. All my hope of relief from themany difficulties that menaced me lay in the generosity of thisgreat-hearted woman, and if out of pusillanimity I let this hour go bywithout making my appeal, nothing but shame and disaster awaited me. Yethow could I hope to lure her down-stairs without noise? I could not, andso, yielding to the impulse of the moment, without any realisation, Ihere swear, of the effect which my unexpected presence would have on thenoble woman overhead, I slipped up the narrow staircase, and catching atthat moment the sound of her voice calling out to Batsy, I stepped up tothe door I saw standing open before me and confronted her before shecould move from the table before which she was sitting, counting over alarge roll of money.
"My look (and it was doubtless not a common look, for the sight of amass of money at that moment, when money was everything to me, rousedevery lurking demon in my breast) seemed to appall, if it did notfrighten her, for she rose, and meeting my eye with a gaze in whichshock and some strange and poignant agony totally incomprehensible to mewere strangely blended, she cried out:
"'No, no, Frederick! You don't know what you are doing. If you want mymoney, take it; if you want my life, I will give it to you with my ownhand. Don't stain yours--don't--'
"I did not understand her. I did not know until I thought it overafterward that my hand was thrust convulsively into my breast in a waywhich, taken with my wild mien, made me look as if I had come to murderher for the money over which she was hovering. I was blind, deaf toeverything but that money, and bending madly forward in a state ofmental intoxication awful enough for me to remember now, I answered herfrenzied words by some such broken exclamations as these:
"'Give, then! I want hundreds--thousands--now, now, to save myself!Disgrace, shame, prison await me if I don't have them. Give, give!' Andmy hand went out toward it, not toward her; but she mistook the action,mistook my purpose, and, with a heart-broken cry, to save me, ME, fromcrime, the worst crime of which humanity is capable, she caught up adagger lying only too near her hand in the open drawer against which sheleaned, and in a moment of fathomless anguish which we who can neverknow more than the outward seeming of her life can hardly measure,plunged against it and--I can tell you no more. Her blood and Batsy'sshriek from the adjoining room swam through my consciousness, and thenshe fell, as I supposed, dead upon the floor, and I, in scarcely bettercase, fell also.
"This, as God lives, is the truth concerning the wound found in thebreast of this never-to-be-forgotten woman."
The feeling, the pathos, the anguish even, to be found in his tone madethis story, strange and incredible as it seemed, appear for the momentplausible.
"And Batsy?" asked the coroner.
"Must have fallen when we did, for I never heard her voice after thefirst scream. But I shall speak of her again. What I must now explain ish
ow the money in Mrs. Webb's drawer came into my possession, and how thedagger she had planted in her breast came to be found on the lawnoutside. When I came to myself, and that must have been very soon, Ifound that the blow of which I had been such a horrified witness had notyet proved fatal. The eyes I had seen close, as I had supposed, forever,were now open, and she was looking at me with a smile that has neverleft my memory, and never will.
"'There is no blood on you,' she murmured. 'You did not strike the blow.Was it money only that you wanted, Frederick? If so, you could have hadit without crime. There are five hundred dollars on that table. Takethem and let them pave your way to a better life. My death will help youto remember.' Do these words, this action of hers, seem incredible toyou, sirs? Alas! alas! they will not when I tell you"--and here he castone anxious, deeply anxious, glance at the room in which Mr. Sutherlandwas hidden--"that unknown to me, unknown to anyone living but herself,unknown to that good man from whom it can no longer be kept hidden,Agatha Webb was my mother. I am Philemon's son and not the offspring ofCharles and Marietta Sutherland!"