CHAPTER XXXIV.
"Sir ---- will be with you in ten minutes, Sir," said the landlord of the great inn, the Green Dragon, at S----, addressing the liberated prisoner. "He has been sent for by the judges. Dinner was ordered at six; but a message came to put it off for half-an-hour."
Chandos bowed his head, and the landlord withdrew, leaving him alone in the sitting-room of the great barrister, who, as soon as the trial was over, had sent him a note, begging him to dine with him. He took up a book. It was a volume of celebrated trials. A page was turned down at that of Mr. Cowper, afterwards Lord Cowper, for murder; and although we have seen the very sparing use made of it by the counsel, every page was marked with thick marginal notes in pencil, evidently freshly written. Chandos had not much time allowed him to read; for a minute or two after he had opened the work he heard the voice of his little solicitor, inquiring with quick reiteration, "Where is he? where is Mr. Winslow? What number did you say?" and in another moment he was in the room.
"My dear Sir," said the solicitor, shaking him warmly by the hand, "I congratulate you a thousand times upon the result of the trial. It was a most splendid defence--magnificent--unequalled,--our learned friend out-did himself. Did you mark how he jumped over all the difficulties? how lightly he trod upon the dangerous ground? Really it was a treat to hear him--the whole bar rings with it. It is really worth undergoing a trial for such a defence."
"It is at least some compensation for the pain of one, to find that I have such a friend," replied Chandos. "I am waiting for him now with a heart full of gratitude."
"He may be a little while first," said the solicitor, with a very cunning look, "he's about that little awkward affair; but it can make no difference now--verdict given. In the meantime, I have just come to say a word or two upon business, my dear Sir. You were considerate enough to give me a power of attorney, and also to execute a deed in case of the worst, which, when you have a moment's leisure, must all be rearranged, as the best, and not the worst has happened. But in the meantime I have taken the most prompt measures to secure the furniture, books, statues, pictures, and other chattels, left you under your late worthy father's will. Now perhaps, as the fees and other expenses are heavy--perhaps you would--as I understand you are going to London directly--give me some little security in the shape of a lien upon said property for the amount of costs. I have got a small document here merely a few words, which will answer all the purposes, if you will look it over."
"Certainly," answered Chandos Winslow, taking the paper out of his hand. "But you will understand, my good Sir, that I intend to pay these costs from other resources; and therefore you must assure me that you will not use this paper, which, I see, gives you power to sell, unless I fail in discharging your account within a reasonable time."
"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," cried the lawyer, "it is merely as a security--nothing more, I can assure you--all shall be taken care of, and held sacred as the great seal."
"An inventory of all these effects," continued Chandos, "has been already made by a friend of mine; and as it seems fair enough that you should have some means of paying yourself, I will sign the paper upon the understanding I have mentioned."
"Ah--oh--yes; here are pen and ink," said the solicitor: and the paper was signed.
"I thank you most sincerely, my dear Sir," said Chandos Winslow, "for the interest you have taken, and the skill you have displayed in this sad affair. But let me inquire what you meant just now? You spoke as if my friend, Sir ----, was absent on business of mine, and as if I knew what that business is. Will you have the goodness to explain?"
"Oh, it is about that fellow who is so unfortunately like you," said the lawyer, "the man whom Mr. Fleming and his servant must have mistaken for you. He came to the door of the court just at the end, and wanted to force his way in--did you not hear all the hubbub? But Dickins, the tipstaff, is a capital fellow; and as soon as he had got authority, he took him into custody, and walked him off. If he had got in, he would have spoiled the whole defence, and played the devil."
Chandos Winslow sunk down into his chair in horror and mortification. "And is it possible," he exclaimed, "that the life of an innocent man can depend upon a mere mistake of one person for another, and that in an English court of justice too?"
"Quite possible, my dear Sir," replied the little lawyer, "when the party accused will not explain suspicious circumstances. I am perfectly confident of your innocence--always have been--all those who are well acquainted with you are the same; and it seems that our leader knows it from the facts that you have stated to him. Indeed, it was that carried him through; for if he had not been perfectly sure, I do not think even he could have made such a defence. But I can tell you, Mr. Winslow, that if that worthy had got into court when he tried, you'd have had a verdict of 'guilty' against you; unless, indeed, Sir ---- had some back card to play: which I think he had--always did think he had--and that kept my courage up. Perhaps the real story would have popped out, if the alibi had failed. However, there is no use thinking of these things now. We've got a verdict: all's safe; and not all the judges in England can overset it."
"But there is something more to an honest man than merely getting a verdict," said Chandos, gravely. "When it is known how the verdict has been obtained, what will men think of me? How can I be satisfied with such an acquittal, obtained by a gross and extraordinary error."
"Oh! in courts of justice, my dear Sir, it is very customary to combat error by error. You were likely to be hanged by one fallacious train of evidence: we have saved you by another. Error for error, that's all--rather odd, but very satisfactory."
"By no means satisfactory to me," replied Chandos Winslow.
The little lawyer grinned as if a merry reply was rising to his lips; for to win the cause was all he cared for; and the means seemed to him of very little consequence. But his answer was cut short by the entrance of the great barrister, who shook the late prisoner warmly by the hand, without, however, venturing to congratulate him upon the result of the trial. The little solicitor took his leave; and as soon as he was gone Sir ---- turned kindly to his friend, and, taking him by the hand, he said, "I understand all that you feel, my dear Winslow; but put your mind at ease. No one will doubt your innocence, although we were obliged to take advantage of a good man's mistake to gain a verdict from the jury."
"It is bitterly mortifying to me," answered Chandos Winslow; "to feel that I have been acquitted solely by an error."
"What could be done?" answered the barrister. "You prohibited me from using the only legitimate means of defence; and, although the demolition of a great part of the evidence against you by my young friend B----'s cross-examination, taken with the fact of another person having been coming from the grounds at the very time of the murder, might have raised a doubt in the minds of the jury, and you might have obtained a verdict in your favour after long hesitation; yet the suspicion which would then have attached to you, would have been very strong, and very general. As it is, no doubt will rest with any one, but the two or three who may have seen your friend Lockwood, and remarked the extraordinary likeness between you."
"And yet that, my dear friend," replied Chandos, "will be enough to embitter the whole of the rest of my life."
"Do not suffer it to do so," answered his friend; "for the judge who tried the case is quite convinced of your innocence: and I must now tell you, though it may spoil your dinner, that suspicion has lighted on the right person."
"How so?" answered Chandos, starting up. "I trust you have not mentioned any of the facts."
"They are all still under the seal of confession," replied the barrister, with a smile; "but the circumstances are these. A person by the name of Lockwood, who, it seems, is your half-brother, was taken into custody for creating a disturbance at the door of the court. He mentioned some circumstances to the constables, which were reported to the judge, who saw him in his room after the rising of the court. The great likeness instantly struck his lordship. He made inquiries which brought out the whole story of Lockwood's visit to Mr. Fleming. I was immediately sent for, and had to submit to a veiled and courteous reproach for the course I had thought fit to pursue. For a moment Lucifer had nearly prevailed to make me treat his lordship somewhat cavalierly; for the trial was over, and he had nothing to say to it; but thinking better of the matter, I showed him that it was impossible for me to refuse evidence in your favour voluntarily tendered; and, at the same time, I gave him my word of honour, that I would not have pursued the course I did pursue, unless I had the most positive certainty of your innocence, although circumstances which I was not permitted to mention, prevented me from proving the real facts before the jury. His lordship is very keen and quick in his combinations: he had Lockwood in again while I was there, and asked him two or three questions, which elicited the following facts: that your brother and Mr. Roberts were by no means upon good terms, and that several sharp discussions had taken place between them;--that Mr. Roberts had discovered, among some papers at Winslow Abbey, a memorandum in your father's handwriting, to the effect that a will of a much more recent date than the one proved had been given into your brother's hands some time before Sir Harry's death; that Roberts knew the particulars of that will, which were very favourable to yourself; and that he had gone over from Winslow Abbey to Northferry House, in order to communicate the facts to you. This, of course, was sufficient to show that you could have no earthly motive for taking the poor man's life; but when Lockwood went on to state, that Sir William at the very time of the murder was at Northferry House, his lordship immediately connected that fact with the hasty return of some one from the grounds through the green-house, and some strange circumstances which have got abroad regarding your brother's marriage with Miss Tracy--with Miss Emily Tracy, I mean," he added, seeing Chandos Winslow's face change as he spoke.
"My brother's marriage with Miss Tracy!" exclaimed the latter; "I never heard of it."
"Oh, yes," continued the barrister, "they were married--or half married; for I believe the lady fainted in the midst of the ceremony; and a letter having been suddenly given to your brother, he left his bride in the church and went abroad. All these circumstances made out a case of suspicion in the judge's mind against Sir William, which he strove cunningly enough to confirm by putting some dexterous questions to me. I was as silent as the dead; and after some further conversation he dismissed your friend Lockwood with a reprimand. Nevertheless, I feel sure his lordship will hold some communication with the magistrates on the subject; but do not believe they will be able to prove anything against your brother without your evidence."
"Which they will never have," replied Chandos Winslow.
"But which they ought to have," replied the barrister, shaking his head; "and now my good friend, I must run away, to cleanse my face and hands from the filth of courts. I have invited two or three of the bar to meet you. After dinner, at half-past nine, and at a quarter-past ten, I have two consultations. At eleven I am off for London; and if you will take a place in my carriage, I will give you a little advice by the way; for, from Lockwood's information, I think you would have a good case for stopping the sale of Winslow Abbey."
"I must go over to Northferry first," replied Chandos; "but I will see you when I come to town. I am afraid, however, it is too late to stop the sale."
"Oh dear, no," replied his friend; "the only thing that is too late is my toilet; for I hear the voice of our learned antagonist, inquiring for my rooms;" and, running through the neighbouring door, he made his escape just as Sergeant ---- was announced.
It was with no very pleasant feelings, it must be confessed, that Chandos Winslow found himself tête-à-tête with a man who had moved heaven and earth to hang him, not more than four or five hours before. But whatever notion he had previously formed of the worthy sergeant's demeanour in private life, from the part he had borne in the trial, it was very speedily dissipated after he entered unwigged and ungowned. The sergeant shook him heartily by the hand, congratulated him with a very joyous laugh, upon the result of the trial, and talked of the whole affair in which a fellow-creature's life had been at stake, as if it had been a mere game at cards, where Sir ---- had held most trumps, and won the rubber. Never was there a more jovial companion; and when they sat down to dinner, after several other barristers had arrived, the sergeant laughed and talked and cracked his jokes, and drank his champagne, till one of the uninitiated might have thought a consultation with him, after the meal, an expedient somewhat dangerous.
The conversation during dinner principally turned upon snipe-shooting. There was very little law; and the "feast of reason and the flow of soul" did not afford the banquet the lawyers seemed most to delight in. Habit is very strong in its power over the body; but, I think, even stronger with the mind. The most vehement rivalries, the most mournful ceremonies, the most tragic scenes, aye, even the most fatal events lose their great interest when they become habitual. The statesman, the undertaker, the physician, the soldier can bear witness to it, as they feast after the fierce debate, the solemn funeral, the painful death-bed, or the battle-field. Nothing on earth ever makes twice the same impression. How those lawyers laughed and talked, though two trials had taken place since that of Chandos Winslow had terminated, and a woman had been condemned to death, a man had been sent to expiate one half of a criminal life by labouring during the rest in chains and exile!
Chandos felt benumbed by the heavy weight of the past, and not cheered by the light emptiness of the present; so that he was glad when dinner was over, and coffee drunk. The men of law betook themselves to earnest consultations, reinvigorated by the temporary repose; for in reality and truth, during that seeming revel, the giant minds had but been sleeping. It was rest that they took: and happy are they who are enabled to cast off the burden of heavy thought, the moment that it is no longer necessary to bear it.
Chandos took leave of his friend for the time, and ordered a chaise for Northferry; but while it was in preparation he issued forth to inquire in the town for Lockwood. His search was vain, however. He found out the place where his half-brother had dined, after being discharged from custody by the judge's order; and he learned at the prison that he had been there to inquire after him; but nothing more could he discover, and the demeanour of the people of whom he inquired was not pleasant. They neither said nor did indeed anything that was uncivil; but there was an instant look of intelligence wherever he presented himself, which said, as plainly as a look can speak, "There is the man who was tried for murder!" It was all very painful; and he returned to the inn, feeling himself a marked man for the rest of life.
It was a very painful feeling: it must ever be so; to know that his name would never be mentioned without suspicion--that wherever he appeared the tale would be told--the past spoken of. He fancied he saw the shrugged shoulder, the significant smile, the doubtful look--that he heard the poisonous insinuation, the affected tone of candour, and the half-veiled accusation. On his name there was a stain, in his reputation a vulnerable point: every enemy could strike him there--every false friend, every jealous rival could wound him, either with the bold broad charge, or the keen and bitter sneer. He had been tried for murder! It was a terrible fate; but it was irrevocable. The brand, he thought, was upon him which no Lethe can wash out.