CHAPTER XXXVIII.
The very name of Jeffries spread terror and despair through the various prisons in the west of England in which the unfortunate participators in Monmouth's rebellion were confined. He was known to be the unscrupulous tool of arbitrary power. He was known to love blood, and to revel in misery. He was probably the only judge who ever disgraced the English bench by openly rejoicing in the power to torture or to slay. He was the terror of the bar, the brow-beater of witnesses, the bully of a jury. With a sufficient knowledge of the law to twist it to his own purposes, and make it serve the ends that were dictated to him; with a sufficient contempt for it to set it at naught when it interfered with his designs; with a sagacity and clearness of judgment that were applied only to derive from any case all the arguments it could afford in favor of a prejudiced judgment; with an impudent daring befitting only the brothel or the gambling-house, he feared no consequences so long as his savage instincts could be gratified, he shrunk from no opprobrium so long as it was a means to wealth and power.
The news soon spread far and wide that Jeffries was coming down to judge the prisoners in the West. It was soon followed by intelligence of his having opened the commission at Winchester, of his having tried the Lady Alice Lisle for harboring two unfortunate rebels, of his having violated the first principles of justice and the strict letter of the law, of his having brow-beat, insulted, and abused the witnesses, and wrung by threats and violence a verdict of guilty from a reluctant jury. Then came the sentence that she should be burned alive in the public market-place, and then the mockery of mercy in the commutation of the sentence to another kind of death. Dismay spread through all hearts; for no man found himself safe, however conscious he might be of innocence. The safeguards of law and justice were gone. Party prejudices, private malice, cupidity, revenge, caprice, could at any time strike its victim from the judgment seat; and men learned to fear enemies whom they had contemned and scorned before.
If such was the feeling produced throughout the public, what must have been the sensations with which prisoners already accused heard the fatal tidings that Jeffries was coming on into the West? The savage jailers of the prison in which Ralph Woodhall was confined--men of the basest minds and lowest habits--took care that he should have the whole intelligence piece by piece. As far as personal comfort was concerned, they had consented, for high considerations, to improve his condition: he had a comfortable room in the governor's house; his food was no longer bread and water; he had pen and ink allowed him; and a good and honest lawyer was admitted to him; but the jailers, who loved misery next to money, took part payment for the conveniences they were bribed to allow, in torturing the prisoner with continual thoughts of his coming fate.
To say that Ralph gave himself up to despair would give no proper idea of the condition of his mind. He gave himself up for lost, indeed, and prepared to meet the worst with firmness, and in this respect, perhaps, a knowledge of the character of his judge was serviceable to him. There was very little uncertainty to be struggled with, the most unnerving of all agonies. He had not to think of chances, and calculate probabilities, and vacillate between hope and fear. He had only to prepare. Had any just judge been the person to try him, he would have entertained no doubt, no apprehension; for his full consciousness of innocence made him imagine that his innocence must be clearly established. But with a Jeffries on the bench, with his known corruptibility, with all the strong influence and great wealth of Lord Woodhall arrayed against the prisoner, there was little--there was no chance of an acquittal, and he felt that there was nothing remaining but by an honest and firm defense to keep his name pure for after time, and to make ready to die with manly fortitude.
That was a bitter task enough. He was in the bloom of youth, full of the fresh vigor of early manhood, with every capability of enjoyment unimpaired, with the bright, cheerful world unclouded by disappointments, unsullied by vice. All that he had seen of life, up to a few months before, had been calm, cheerful happiness; and he had now to part with all. Hope, too, had opened her garden gates before him, and but a short time previously he had been breathing her odors and reveling among her flowers. All this was to be parted with--the bright expectations of love, the long vista of happy hours ever open to the eye of youth, the high aspirations, the brilliantly-painted pictures of fancy, were all to be given up together, and buried with him in the dark, cold grave. The strong energies; the warm, chivalrous courage; the firm, enduring resolution; the activity of thought, the might of a strong mind, which he had expected, exercised with honor and with faith, would lead him to distinction, were all to come to an end upon a public scaffold; and a death of dishonor was to close a brief, bright life of honest effort and unstained integrity.
For all this he had to prepare; but he did so, and did it well.
He wrote to his father, to Margaret, to Lady Danvers, and to Lord Woodhall, and on each letter he put the words, "To be delivered after my death." To all he gave the most solemn assurances, as a dying man, that he had no share whatsoever in the death of his cousin Henry, adding that he trusted to make the facts so clearly appear at his trial, that when prejudice and passion should have subsided, there would not be one man who would deny his innocence. At the same time, he declared the conviction that he should be condemned, alluding only generally to the circumstances which rendered that conviction reconcilable with the full consciousness of innocence.
His lawyer was active and eager; there was something in the young man's demeanor, in his calmness, in his firmness, in a certain cheerful tone with which he spoke of his coming fate, that touched the good man much, and he took more than a mere mercenary or a mere professional interest in the case. Ralph let him do what he would; but he showed considerable indifference to all the legal and technical points connected with his situation. He answered all the questions that were put to him frankly and sincerely, and gave a full and clear account of all the events affecting the case, as far as he knew them, mentioning the names of every one who had taken more or less part in the transactions which I have recorded.
The man of law rubbed his hands, and declared that if the evidence of the persons mentioned could be procured, there was no doubt about obtaining a verdict. There was one point, he said, that required some consideration. The trial ought to take place in the county where the alleged offense had been committed. "Doubtless," he added, "the crown is prepared to change the venue, and that is done so easily nowadays that any motive will suffice where the crown is concerned. I should not wonder to find in this instance the pretext is, the difficulty and inconvenience of moving you to Norfolk without the slightest consideration of the difficulty and expense to you of moving your witnesses hither. Perhaps, indeed, the trial may not come on, and you may still be sent to Norwich; but even in that case my labors will not have been in vain, for your defense will be fully prepared."
Ralph smiled faintly. "You have furnished me with the first ground of hope," he said, "and I am almost sorry for it. In Norfolk I should be certainly acquitted. Here I should be as certainly condemned; but I will not give way to any expectations. Those who have determined to condemn me have taken their precautions, depend upon it, and be you sure the venue will be changed."
"Well, well, it gives us a chance," said the lawyer; "great men sometimes make great mistakes, and an oversight may have been committed in this instance."
At this time he had stayed with Ralph, as was sometimes his custom, for several hours, and day had declined into night when he took his departure.
The old town of Dorchester was, I believe, not very much less in size at that time than at present. It was always a very prosperous and quiet town, not very much celebrated for any manufacture but that of ale. The streets were then very narrow and tortuous, and the houses opposite to the prison itself were only separated from the outer wall surrounding the old building by a road not four yards broad. They were low, mean houses, inhabited by the poorer classes, which have long since been swept away. Under the eaves of one of these houses, when the attorney came forth from the prison gates, he perceived a man standing with his figure clearly displayed by a light in one of the windows, for there were no lamps in the town at that period. It was a rainy night, however, and as the roof projected far, it afforded a shelter. The moment the attorney moved on, however, the man followed him, and at the end of the street overtook and tapped him on the shoulder.
"I want to speak with you," he said, in a civil tone. "Is your name Danes? Are you a lawyer?"
"Right in both," replied the attorney. "What do you want with me?"
"I want nothing," replied the man, "but a lady does. She wants to see you directly--a great lady, too, whom you must have heard of, if not seen."
"Who is she?" asked the attorney.
"Come with me, and you will see," replied the man; and Mr. Danes followed him with the full determination of taking to his heels if his guide conducted him to any place of suspicious appearance.
Far from so doing, however, the man led him to one of the most frequented parts of the town, and to the house of one of the most respectable inhabitants--a gentleman well affected also to the reigning family, and in some favor with the powers that were:
"Why, this is Mr. Winkworth's house," said the attorney.
"Very true," replied the man, laconically, and opened the door, for doors in Dorchester at that time usually remained unlocked till the family retired to rest. "Come up," said the man; and, passing several doors in the great hall, through which the sounds of conversation found their way, he led his companion up a broad, venerable stair-case of carved oak, and opened a door, saying, "Master Danes, my lady."
The attorney entered the room, and though it contained only two persons, he felt dazzled, as it were, not so much by the bright light which succeeded suddenly to darkness, as by the blaze of beauty before him. He paused a moment in his advance, thinking he had never before beheld two such beautiful creatures as those which were seated near the table with hand clasped in hand. One was dressed in deep mourning; and on the table near her lay one of those black half masks very commonly worn by ladies of that day, and known in France by the name of loup. The other was richly dressed in the style of the court; but even the costume of the day, which by that time was becoming stiff and rigid, could not conceal the beauty of her form. About the one there was a certain wild freshness and youthful grace that was very captivating; while the other, though evidently but a very little older, had a sort of quiet dignity and self-possession in her carriage which spoke the long-accustomed guest of courts.
The lawyer had not much time to observe, however, before the voice of the elder lady said, "Come in, Mr. Danes, and take a seat, if you please."
He thought he never heard such music in his life as the tones which proceeded from those sweet lips, and, advancing to the table, he remained standing, with his wet hat in his hand.
"You have seen me before, Mr. Danes," said the lady who had spoken, "but perhaps you do not recollect me."
"I can not say I do, my lady," replied the lawyer, "and yet I do not think I could forget you, if ever it had been my good fortune to see you."
"I was a little girl," she answered, with a faint smile; "you may perhaps, recollect Hortensia Danvers."
"Oh, God bless me, my lady!" said the lawyer, with a look of delight, "I remember you quite well, and your noble father, and your excellent lady mother. I owed my first success in life to them. What can I do to serve you? Nothing can give me greater pleasure, if it be in my power."
Hortensia made him take a seat, and then informed him that, having heard he had been engaged to prepare the defense of Mr. Ralph Woodhall, she had sent for him to inquire his opinion of the case, and to offer whatever assistance might be wanted, and she could give.
"The case would be very clear, my lady," replied the lawyer, "if we could count upon a fair jury and an unprejudiced judge--I must speak plainly, for the matter requires it--we know that his lordship, who is coming down here, is subject to all sorts of influences, and, to tell you the truth, I discover, what I have kept from the young gentleman himself, that no means, however unscrupulous or iniquitous, are neglected by the relations of the dead man to get a verdict against the living one."
"Hush!" said Hortensia, with a glance toward her fair companion, "hush, Mr. Danes! Do not impute such great blame to persons only moved by deep love for one whom they have lost."
"Let him speak, dear Hortensia," said Margaret, "let him speak plainly. It is necessary for you and for me to hear the truth, however bitter it may be."
"Indeed, my lady," said the lawyer, "in a matter of this kind, where life and death are concerned, one can not stop to pick words. If Mr. Woodhall should be tried here, a verdict is very likely to go against him, for the most violent influence is being used to prejudice the minds of juries, and the same influence will undoubtedly be exerted upon the judge."
"But can he not be tried somewhere else?" asked Hortensia.
"He ought to be tried in Norfolk," replied Mr. Danes; "but the crown can change the venue, and there is but the remotest possible chance of their neglecting to do so till too late for these assizes. They won't stand upon any forms of law, depend upon it, and perhaps may break through all recognized principles of justice; but nevertheless we may thwart them if they do make any mistakes, though there are few men at the bar who dare to face Jeffries."
"The boldest, the most skillful, the most learned, must be retained, at whatever cost," said Hortensia, eagerly. "I make myself responsible for the amount, Mr. Danes, whatever it may be. Hesitate at no expense whatever; use all the means that may suggest themselves; for, in proportion to the vigor of the efforts made to oppress, so must be the vigor of our efforts to defend."
As she spoke, she laid her hand upon Margaret's, and pressed it gently; and, if there was ever abnegation of self in a woman's heart, it was in Hortensia's at that moment.
"This is very necessary kindness, my lady," said the attorney, "for witnesses have to be brought from a great distance, and the little means we have will be consumed in that part of the affair. The fees of eminent lawyers are very great; and my only hope was that old Mr. Woodhall might arrive and bring a further supply; but he has not come."
"Let not that stand in the way for a moment," replied Hortensia; "I am responsible to you for any amount employed in this case."
"If so," said the lawyer, gazing at her with an inquiring look, "we might try what can be done with his lordship himself. I think it would answer if the sum were large enough."
The blood rushed into Hortensia's face, and there was an evident struggle.
"I can not say that," said she, "I can not tell you to do any thing that is wrong; but this I will say, Mr. Danes, do all that is necessary to insure that real justice is arrived at, and I will shrink from no engagement that you may make for me. Now, can you explain to me some circumstances that I do not understand. It appears even to my eyes, unlearned in the law as I am, that it may be necessary and right to summon myself and all the servants who were with me at the Duke of Norfolk's when the supposed quarrel took place, to give our evidence at the trial. But I find that several other persons attached to my household, who were not near the spot, but resided at Danvers's New Church at the time, have likewise received notice to appear--what can be the cause of this, Mr. Danes?"
"Rather strange, certainly, my lady," said the lawyer. "But was not the young gentleman at your house for some time after the event?"
"He was," replied Lady Danvers; "but I see not how that can affect the question whether he did or did not kill his cousin in a duel, and whether the circumstances attending that duel were fair."
"They may think they can prove admissions of some kind," said the lawyer; "but still, I will acknowledge it strikes me as strange; and where it is evident that there is an intention to persecute rather than prosecute, one does become suspicious of every move in the game. I will tell you what I will do, my lady. I know something of most of the men engaged in the courts here. Some of them have already given information as to the unfair means which are being employed to obtain a condemnation. I will go and see if I can discover any motive for the proceeding you mention. Can you give me the names of your people who have been subpœnaed?"
Lady Danvers wrote down five or six names on a piece of paper, and at the head of them appeared that of the steward, Mr. Drayton. Furnished with these, the attorney went upon his way; and, in the mean time, Margaret and Hortensia remained for some time alone, conversing sadly on the topic which occupied the thoughts of both. Other subjects connected with Margaret's own fate and circumstances mingled from time to time with their discourse; and when, at length, she rose to go, Hortensia repeated twice the injunction to be firm.
"While there is life there is hope, dear Margaret," she said; "and, though your fate may never be united to that of the man you love, you owe it to him, methinks, never to wed one whom you so justly abhor. What I have told you this night of the character of that man is more than mere hearsay, and I should as soon expect oil and water to mingle as you to give your hand to him. I must not go with you back, for doubtless your father has returned by this time, and I should be no very welcome guest, I suspect; but two of my men shall accompany you, although, in this good town of Dorchester, one might walk alone, I believe, without much risk."
"I hope my father has not returned," said Margaret, timidly. "I fear he might be angry at my absence. He has become exceedingly irascible since I refused to listen to Robert Woodhall's suit;" and the tears rose in her eyes while she added, "He never showed me such unkindness before. Where shall I find my maid?"
"We will call her in," replied Lady Danvers; and, after having summoned the good woman from another room, she kissed Margaret tenderly, saying, "Hope still, dear girl, hope still."
"Ay, hope still!" repeated Lady Dangers to herself when Margaret had left her. "You may hope, poor Margaret. One of the strange turns of Fate may open before you long vistas of happiness. For me, the view is closed all round. Well, I can be an anchorite even here."
A few minutes after Mr. Danes returned, but it was only to bring the intelligence that he could obtain no information. He seemed even more doubtful and suspicious regarding the circumstances to which Lady Danvers had called his attention than before. "Either the people themselves, who are immediately employed, do not know the motives," he said, "or they will not tell them; and, in either case, the matter does not look well. There must be motives of secrecy somewhere; and in such a case as this, where simple justice is concerned, that is in itself suspicious. However, my lady, all that we can do is to prepare the defense as carefully as possible. I must send off fresh messengers eastward this very night to hurry our witnesses; for I hear that his lordship is making speedy work of it on the way, and it would not surprise me if he were to refuse even a postponement of the trial, although our defense was necessarily incomplete." He then went on to ask Lady Danvers some questions as to what she could testify concerning the events of that night on which Henry Woodhall's death had taken place, and then left her with a mind but the more depressed from inquiries, the object of which she did not altogether see. She expressed her perfect readiness and willingness, however, to be called as a witness for the defense; and Mr. Danes went away, convinced that she would give her evidence well and firmly.