Volume Two—Chapter Fifteen.
A Terrible Accident.
“My turn now,” said Moredock, with a low chuckle. “Times as he’s given me doses. He, he, he! I can give him one now.”
The old sexton took a key from his vest, and opened a curious old oaken corner cupboard, upon whose shelves were ranged a variety of objects which gleamed out from their prison, and seemed to suggest that they had not been honestly come by. The most prominent object, however, was a square, black schnapps bottle, with a footless glass turned upside down beside it.
“There, doctor,” chuckled the old man, as he made the cork squeak and the liquid gurgle when he poured some out; “that arn’t the same physic as you give me, but it’s real line, and was sent down to me by a London gent as I’ve dealt with many a time.”
North did not hesitate, but drank the dram of strong brandy at a gulp.
“That puts life into you, don’t it, doctor, eh? Better now?”
“Hah!” sighed North, returning the glass, and leaning back in the chair. “No, no; that will do.”
The stimulus did more than carry off the sensation of fainting, it gave back the power to think consistently; and North sat up as if considering what he should do next.
“He’s knocked you about a bit, doctor,” said Moredock, breaking in upon his musings.
“Eh? Yes; we had a sharp struggle,” said North, starting.
“Sent him home like a cur with his tail between his legs, haven’t you, doctor?”
North shuddered and caught Moredock’s arm.
“How did you know that—that he was there?”
“Oh, I foun’ it out!” said the old man evasively. “I’ve seen ends of cigars there and ashes on the floor; and I thought at first that parson smoked, and told him of it.”
“And—and what did he say?”
“Looked guilty,” chuckled the old man.
North was silent for a few moments, sitting with one hand across his eyes, trying to think out what he should do.
“Moredock,” he said, sharply turning on the old man; “why did you show me that to-night?”
The sexton gazed at him fixedly.
“Tell me—the truth.”
“Well, doctor, it didn’t do for young Squire Tom to be dessicating my church.”
“You had some other reason.”
“Well, it warn’t safe for us. He might ha’ foun’ us out.”
“Yes, exactly; but you would have warned me instead of taking me there. Why did you do that?”
“Well, doctor, of course I warn’t blind.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you see,” said the old man, with a grin, “the saxun’s pay arn’t much; and a man looks out for what’s coming to help him on.”
“I don’t understand you, man.”
“Well, berrin’s and christenin’s and marriagein’s as all bring in a bit more. I’ve sin it for long enough.”
“Seen what?”
“That you was doin’ a bit o’ courting up at the Rect’ry; and it didn’t seem nice for your young lady to be going out o’ nights to meet Squire Tom, and in my church.”
North groaned.
“Never you mind, doctor; I like you,” said Moredock soothingly.
“Was this—was this known about the village?”
“’Bout you, or ’bout young miss?”
“Both, man, both!”
“Nay, not it. I see a deal, because I’m a man as thinks, doctor. No; I don’t s’pose any one knows on it. But never you mind, doctor; gels always will be gels and listen to chaps like Squire Tom. But I say,” whispered the old man, with a chuckle, after crossing to the window and seeing that the print curtain was well drawn over the broken patch through which the leaden tobacco jar had been hurled, “did you give it him well?”
North groaned.
“Why, doctor! Took more bad?”
The old man glanced at the hand he had laid upon the doctor’s shoulder, and wiped it, for it was wet with blood; and the sight of the hideous smear seemed to raise a terrible thought in his brain.
“Why, doctor,” he said, in a low whisper; “you haven’t—you haven’t hurt him much?”
North seized the old man’s arm, and sat gazing wildly at him for a few moments without speaking. He was battling with the mental confusion that troubled him and kept him in a state of hesitancy, in which his mind drifted like a derelict at sea.
He mastered it at last, and began to see clearly that, from what the old sexton knew, he must continue to make him his confidant. There could be no half measures. For his own safety he must tell him all; though even now there was Leo, who knew of the encounter.
No; she dare not speak, suspect what she might. For her reputation’s sake, she must hold her tongue.
Meanwhile, the old man glanced at his hand again, and, with a look of disgust, went through the action of wiping it.
“Why, doctor—doctor!” he whispered; “don’t say you’ve—!”
“I couldn’t help it, Moredock,” said North excitedly. “It was in the struggle: it was a fight for life. We were both mad with rage, and I—I struck him.”
“Ay, ay, doctor; but you needn’t ha’ hit him so hard. Look at the blood! Deary, deary; and all this trouble about a gel.”
“I don’t know how it happened,” panted North, clinging tightly to the old man’s arm. “I must have given him a terrible blow.”
“But it’s a hanging matter, doctor—a hanging matter!” whispered the sexton. “Don’t hold me, man; I didn’t do it! I won’t be dragged into it! I didn’t know you’d go and do that!”
“I didn’t mean to, Moredock. It was in my rage.”
“But it’s murder, doctor; it’s murder, and they’ll try you for your life!”
“It must not be known. We must—”
“Nay, nay: it isn’t we,” protested the old man. “It was you did it. I was skeered about you both getting wild, and I thought I’d be out of it, and came home.”
“But you must help me, Moredock! You shall help me, man!”
“I can’t help you, doctor: it’s murder!” protested the sexton, trying to escape from the fierce grasp which held him.
“It was not murder! It was fair fight!” cried North fiercely. “And, look here, man, you cannot help yourself. You must help me to hide this terrible night’s work.”
The old man ceased struggling: for the doctor’s words impressed him, and he felt how thoroughly they two were linked together.
“But it’s like cutting short a man’s days,” he half whimpered.
“Silence! Do what I say, and no one need know what has occurred.”
“But—”
“Silence, I say!” cried North, firmly now. “Get your hat; we must go to the church at once.”
Moredock stood half bent, and with his head turned to his companion.
“Where—where is he, doctor?”
“In the Candlish vault. I carried him there!”
“Hah!”
The sexton drew a long breath. “You must come on and remove all traces of the struggle in the vestry, and then—”
“In the morslem, eh, doctor?” said the old man thoughtfully, and growing resigned to the difficulties of his position. “Well, we can put him where no one’s likely to find him there. Hey, doctor, but it’s been a bad thing for me to ha’ met you!”
“Your lanthorn and matches—quick!” said North. “There is no time to lose!”
“But if—if—doctor?”
“If what?”
“If it is found out, you’ll say a word for me. You’ve made me do all this. I do want to live my fifteen or twenty years more in peace.”
“Trust me as you’ve trusted me before,” said North, who was now speaking calmly enough, and had grasped the situation. “I tell you it was an accident—a horrible accident. It was in fair fight; and I have come off none too well.”
“I’ll stand by you, doctor,” said the old man; “and we’ll hide it safe. But there’s Dally,” he muttered to himself—“Dally. She’ll know there’s something wrong, for she won’t believe. Not that he has gone away out o’ fear o’ doctor? Ay, she’ll have to think that. My poor little lass—my poor little lass!”