A Dark Night's Work (22 page)

For one moment he stood looking at her as if he longed to comfort her by
more words. He thought better of it, however, and silently left the
room.

For a long time Ellinor sat still; now and then taking up Miss Monro's
letter, and re-reading the few terrible details. Then she bethought her
that possibly the canon might have brought a copy of the
Times
,
containing the examination of Dixon before the magistrates, and she
opened the door and called to a passing servant to make the inquiry. She
was quite right in her conjecture; Dr. Livingstone had had the paper in
his pocket during his interview with her; but he thought the evidence so
conclusive, that the perusal of it would only be adding to her extreme
distress by accelerating the conviction of Dixon's guilt, which he
believed she must arrive at sooner or later.

He had been reading the report over with Mrs. Forbes and her daughters,
after his return from Ellinor's room, and they were all participating in
his opinion upon it, when her request for the
Times
was brought. They
had reluctantly agreed, saying there did not appear to be a shadow of
doubt on the fact of Dixon's having killed Mr. Dunster, only hoping there
might prove to be some extenuating circumstances, which Ellinor had
probably recollected, and which she was desirous of producing on the
approaching trial.

Ellinor, having read the report of Dixon's examination in the newspaper,
bathed her eyes and forehead in cold water, and tried to still her poor
heart's beating, that she might be clear and collected enough to weigh
the evidence.

Every line of it was condemnatory. One or two witnesses spoke of Dixon's
unconcealed dislike of Dunster, a dislike which Ellinor knew had been
entertained by the old servant out of a species of loyalty to his master,
as well as from personal distaste. The fleam was proved beyond all doubt
to be Dixon's; and a man, who had been stable-boy in Mr. Wilkins's
service, swore that on the day when Mr. Dunster was missed, and when the
whole town was wondering what had become of him, a certain colt of Mr.
Wilkins's had needed bleeding, and that he had been sent by Dixon to the
farrier's for a horse-lancet, an errand which he had remarked upon at the
time, as he knew that Dixon had a fleam of his own.

Mr. Osbaldistone was examined. He kept interrupting himself perpetually
to express his surprise at the fact of so steady and well-conducted a man
as Dixon being guilty of so heinous a crime, and was willing enough to
testify to the excellent character which he had borne during all the many
years he had been in his (Mr. Osbaldistone's) service; but he appeared to
be quite convinced by the evidence previously given of the prisoner's
guilt in the matter, and strengthened the case against him materially by
stating the circumstance of the old man's dogged unwillingness to have
the slightest interference by cultivation with that particular piece of
ground.

Here Ellinor shuddered. Before her, in that Roman bed-chamber, rose the
fatal oblong she knew by heart—a little green moss or lichen, and thinly-
growing blades of grass scarcely covering the caked and undisturbed soil
under the old tree. Oh, that she had been in England when the surveyors
of the railway between Ashcombe and Hamley had altered their line; she
would have entreated, implored, compelled her trustees not to have sold
that piece of ground for any sum of money whatever. She would have
bribed the surveyors, done she knew not what—but now it was too late;
she would not let her mind wander off to what might have been; she would
force herself again to attend to the newspaper columns. There was little
more: the prisoner had been asked if he could say anything to clear
himself, and properly cautioned not to say anything to incriminate
himself. The poor old man's person was described, and his evident
emotion. "The prisoner was observed to clutch at the rail before him to
steady himself, and his colour changed so much at this part of the
evidence that one of the turnkeys offered him a glass of water, which he
declined. He is a man of a strongly-built frame, and with rather a
morose and sullen cast of countenance."

"My poor, poor Dixon!" said Ellinor, laying down the paper for an
instant, and she was near crying, only she had resolved to shed no tears
till she had finished all, and could judge of the chances. There were
but a few lines more: "At one time the prisoner seemed to be desirous of
alleging something in his defence, but he changed his mind, if such had
been the case, and in reply to Mr. Gordon (the magistrate) he only said,
'You've made a pretty strong case out again me, gentlemen, and it seems
for to satisfy you; so I think I'll not disturb your minds by saying
anything more.' Accordingly, Dixon now stands committed for trial for
murder at the next Hellingford Assizes, which commence on March the
seventh, before Baron Rushton and Mr. Justice Corbet."

"Mr. Justice Corbet!" The words ran through Ellinor as though she had
been stabbed with a knife, and by an irrepressible movement she stood up
rigid. The young man, her lover in her youth, the old servant who in
those days was perpetually about her—the two who had so often met in
familiar if not friendly relations, now to face each other as judge and
accused! She could not tell how much Mr. Corbet had conjectured from the
partial revelation she had made to him of the impending shame that hung
over her and hers. A day or two ago she could have remembered the exact
words she had used in that memorable interview; but now, strive as she
would, she could only recall facts, not words. After all, the Mr.
Justice Corbet might not be Ralph. There was one chance in a hundred
against the identity of the two.

While she was weighing probabilities in her sick dizzy mind, she heard
soft steps outside her bolted door, and low voices whispering. It was
the bedtime of happy people with hearts at ease. Some of the footsteps
passed lightly on; but there was a gentle rap at Ellinor's door. She
pressed her two hot hands hard against her temples for an instant before
she went to open the door. There stood Mrs. Forbes in her handsome
evening dress, holding a lighted lamp in her hand.

"May I come in, my dear?" she asked. Ellinor's stiff dry lips refused to
utter the words of assent which indeed did not come readily from her
heart.

"I am so grieved at this sad news which the canon brings. I can well
understand what a shock it must be to you; we have just been saying it
must be as bad for you as it would be to us if our old Donald should turn
out to have been a hidden murderer all these years that he has lived with
us; I really could have as soon suspected Donald as that white-haired
respectable old man who used to come and see you at East Chester."

Ellinor felt that she must say something. "It is a terrible shock—poor
old man! and no friend near him, even Mr. Osbaldistone giving evidence
again him. Oh, dear, dear! why did I ever come to Rome?"

"Now, my dear, you must not let yourself take an exaggerated view of the
case. Sad and shocking as it is to have been so deceived, it is what
happens to many of us, though not to so terrible a degree; and as to your
coming to Rome having anything to do with it—"

(Mrs. Forbes almost smiled at the idea, so anxious was she to banish the
idea of self-reproach from Ellinor's sensitive mind, but Ellinor
interrupted her abruptly:)

"Mrs. Forbes! did he—did Canon Livingstone tell you that I must leave to-
morrow? I must go to England as fast as possible to do what I can for
Dixon."

"Yes, he told us you were thinking of it, and it was partly that made me
force myself in upon you to-night. I think, my love, you are mistaken in
feeling as if you were called upon to do more than what the canon tells
me Miss Monro has already done in your name—engaged the best legal
advice, and spared no expense to give the suspected man every chance.
What could you do more even if you were on the spot? And it is very
possible that the trial may have come on before you get home. Then what
could you do? He would either have been acquitted or condemned; if the
former, he would find public sympathy all in his favour; it always is for
the unjustly accused. And if he turns out to be guilty, my dear Ellinor,
it will be far better for you to have all the softening which distance
can give to such a dreadful termination to the life of a poor man whom
you have respected so long."

But Ellinor spoke again with a kind of irritated determination, very
foreign to her usual soft docility:

"Please just let me judge for myself this once. I am not ungrateful. God
knows I don't want to vex one who has been so kind to me as you have
been, dear Mrs. Forbes; but I must go—and every word you say to dissuade
me only makes me more convinced. I am going to Civita to-morrow. I
shall be that much on the way. I cannot rest here."

Mrs. Forbes looked at her in grave silence. Ellinor could not bear the
consciousness of that fixed gaze. Yet its fixity only arose from Mrs.
Forbes' perplexity as to how best to assist Ellinor, whether to restrain
her by further advice—of which the first dose had proved so useless—or
to speed her departure. Ellinor broke on her meditations:

"You have always been so kind and good to me,—go on being so—please,
do! Leave me alone now, dear Mrs. Forbes, for I cannot bear talking
about it, and help me to go to-morrow, and you do not know how I will
pray to God to bless you!"

Such an appeal was irresistible. Mrs. Forbes kissed her very tenderly,
and went to rejoin her daughters, who were clustered together in their
mother's bedroom awaiting her coming.

"Well, mamma, how is she? What does she say?"

"She is in a very excited state, poor thing! and has got so strong an
impression that it is her duty to go back to England and do all she can
for this wretched old man, that I am afraid we must not oppose her. I am
afraid that she really must go on Thursday."

Although Mrs. Forbes secured the services of a travelling-maid, Dr.
Livingstone insisted on accompanying Ellinor to England, and it would
have required more energy than she possessed at this time to combat a
resolution which both words and manner expressed as determined. She
would much rather have travelled alone with her maid; she did not feel
the need of the services he offered; but she was utterly listless and
broken down; all her interest was centred in the thought of Dixon and his
approaching trial, and perplexity as to the mode in which she must do her
duty.

They embarked late that evening in the tardy
Santa Lucia
, and Ellinor
immediately went to her berth. She was not sea-sick; that might possibly
have lessened her mental sufferings, which all night long tormented her.
High-perched in an upper berth, she did not like disturbing the other
occupants of the cabin till daylight appeared. Then she descended and
dressed, and went on deck; the vessel was just passing the rocky coast of
Elba, and the sky was flushed with rosy light, that made the shadows on
the island of the most exquisite purple. The sea still heaved with
yesterday's storm, but the motion only added to the beauty of the
sparkles and white foam that dimpled and curled on the blue waters. The
air was delicious, after the closeness of the cabin, and Ellinor only
wondered that more people were not on deck to enjoy it. One or two
stragglers came up, time after time, and began pacing the deck. Dr.
Livingstone came up before very long; but he seemed to have made a rule
of not obtruding himself on Ellinor, excepting when he could be of some
use. After a few words of common-place morning greeting, he, too, began
to walk backwards and forwards, while Ellinor sat quietly watching the
lovely island receding fast from her view—a beautiful vision never to be
seen again by her mortal eyes.

Suddenly there was a shock and stound all over the vessel, her progress
was stopped, and a rocking vibration was felt everywhere. The quarter-
deck was filled with blasts of steam, which obscured everything. Sick
people came rushing up out of their berths in strange undress; the
steerage passengers—a motley and picturesque set of people, in many
varieties of gay costume—took refuge on the quarter-deck, speaking
loudly in all varieties of French and Italian
patois
. Ellinor stood up
in silent, wondering dismay. Was the
Santa Lucia
going down on the
great deep, and Dixon unaided in his peril? Dr. Livingstone was by her
side in a moment. She could scarcely see him for the vapour, nor hear
him for the roar of the escaping steam.

"Do not be unnecessarily frightened," he repeated, a little louder. "Some
accident has occurred to the engines. I will go and make instant
inquiry, and come back to you as soon as I can. Trust to me."

He came back to where she sat trembling.

"A part of the engine is broken, through the carelessness of these
Neapolitan engineers; they say we must make for the nearest port—return
to Civita, in fact."

"But Elba is not many miles away," said Ellinor. "If this steam were but
away, you could see it still."

"And if we were landed there we might stay on the island for many days;
no steamer touches there; but if we return to Civita, we shall be in time
for the Sunday boat."

"Oh, dear, dear!" said Ellinor. "To-day is the second—Sunday will be
the fourth—the assizes begin on the seventh; how miserably unfortunate!"

"Yes!" he said, "it is. And these things always appear so doubly
unfortunate when they hinder our serving others! But it does not follow
that because the assizes begin at Hellingford on the seventh, Dixon's
trial will come on so soon. We may still get to Marseilles on Monday
evening; on by diligence to Lyons; it will—it must, I fear, be Thursday,
at the earliest, before we reach Paris—Thursday, the eighth—and I
suppose you know of some exculpatory evidence that has to be hunted up?"