CHAPTER XXXVIII. A STEP IN VAIN.
Grounsell lost no time in summoning to his aid Mr. Hipsley, one of the leading members of the Irish bar; but while he awaited his coming, difficulties gathered around him from every side. Lenahan, the old farmer, who was at first so positive about the identity of the prisoner, began to express some doubts and hesitations on the subject “It was so many years back since he had seen him, that it was possible he might be mistaken;” and, in fact, he laid far more stress on the fashion of a certain fustian jacket that the man used to wear than on any marks and signs of personal resemblance.
The bold defiance of Meekins, and his insolent threats to expose the Daltons to the world, assailed the poor doctor in various ways; and although far from feeling insensible to the shame of figuring on a trial, as having terrorized over a prisoner, the greater ruin that impended on his friends absorbed all his sorrows.
Had he been the evil genius of the family, he could scarcely have attained a greater degree of unpopularity. Frank's illness—for since the night at the jail his mind had not ceased to wander—was, in Kate's estimation, solely attributable to Grounsell's interference, all the more unpardonable because inexplicable. Lady Hester regarded him as the disturber of all social relations, who, for some private ends, was involving everybody in lawsuits; and the old Count had most natural misgivings about a man who, having assumed the sole direction of a delicate affair, now confessed himself utterly unable to see the way before him.
To such an extent had mortification and defeat reduced the unhappy doctor, that when Hipsley arrived he was quite unable to give anything like a coherent statement of the case, or lay before the astute lawyer the points whereon he desired guidance and direction. Meanwhile the enemy were in a state of active and most menacing preparation. Meekins, discharged from jail, was living at an inn in the town, surrounded by a strong staff of barristers, whose rank and standing plainly showed that abundant pecuniary resources supplied every agency of battle.
Numerous witnesses were said to have been summoned to give their evidence, and the rumor ran that the most ardent votary of private scandal would be satiated with the tales and traits of domestic life the investigation would expose to the world.
Hipsley, who with practised tact soon saw the game about to be played, in vain asked Grounsell for some explanation of its meaning. There was a degree of malignity in all the proceedings which could only be accounted for on the supposition of a long-nourished revenge. How was he to understand this? Alas! poor Grounsell knew nothing, and remembered nothing. Stray fragments of conversation and scattered passages of bygone scenes were jumbled up incoherently in his brain, and it was easy to perceive that a very little was wanting to reduce his mind to the helpless condition of Frank Dalton's.
The charge of a conspiracy to murder his relative, brought against a gentleman of fortune and position, was an accusation well calculated to excite the most painful feelings of public curiosity, and such was now openly avowed to be the allegation about to be brought to issue; and, however repugnant to credulity the bare assertion might appear at first, the rumor was artfully associated with a strong array of threatening circumstances. Every trivial coldness or misunderstanding between Dalton and his brother-in-law, Godfrey, were now remembered and revived. All the harsh phrases by which old Peter used to speak of the other's character and conduct—Dalton's constant use of the expression, “What's the use of his money; will he ever enjoy it?”—was now cited as but too significant of a dreadful purpose; and, in a word, the public, with a casuistry which we often see, was rather pleased to credit what it flattered its own ingenuity to combine and arrange. Dalton was well known to have been a passionate, headstrong man, violent in his resentments, although ready to forgive and forget injuries the moment after. This temper, and his departure for the Continent, from which he never returned, were all the substantial facts on which the whole superstructure was raised.
If Hipsley saw that the array of evidence was far from bringing guilt home to Dalton, he also perceived that the exposure alone would be a terrible blow to the suffering family. The very nature of the attack evinced a deep and hidden vengeance. To avert this dreadful infliction seemed, then, his first duty, and he endeavored by every means in his power to ascertain who was the great instigator of the proceeding, in which it was easy to see Meekins was but a subordinate. The name of Father Cahill had twice or thrice been mentioned by Grounsell, but with a vagueness of which little advantage could be taken. Still, even with so faint a clew, Hipsley was fain to be content, and after several days' ineffectual search, he at last discovered that this priest, in company with another, was residing at the little inn of “The Rore.”