“He was arrested, Miss Olivia. But his mother was Lord Stannington’s sister, so he had friends at court; and as for his brother, he moved heaven and earth to have him got off. And so those as knew most didn’t dare to come forward, and nothing wasn’t found; and as everybody knew the poor girl hadn’t had the best of characters, and had always been a bit gay, like, they said there wasn’t evidence enough, and Mr. Brander was never brought up.”
“But he remained in his parish! That would have been too much of a scandal if the suspicion had been strong. I think you have only been listening to a lot of tattle, Lucy;” said Miss Denison, trying to disguise the deep interest she could not help feeling in this gossip.
“Well, Miss Olivia, I only tell you what was told me,” said the girl, rather offended at the slur cast upon her information.
And she crossed over to the fireplace and began to break the lumps of coal into a blaze, to intimate that, in deference to her mistress’s wish, she had done with idle gossip. But, as she slyly guessed, the subject was far too interesting to be shelved like that.
Miss Denison took it up again abruptly, no longer attempting to hide the warmth of her feeling in the matter.
“How was it he stayed, then?” she asked.
“It was his brother’s doing, that, ma’am, I believe,” said Lucy, delighted to have her tongue loosed again. “He backed him up, and advised him to face it out, so everybody says. And his being so strong for his brother, and him thought so highly of himself, made people afraid to interfere, like. And so Mr. Vernon stayed. He had only a poor parish, full of colliers and such-like; and the poor folks liked him, because, for all his wild ways, he was good-humored and pleasant. So nobody objected much, and he quieted down all of a sudden, and grew quite changed, and worked very hard, so that now they think the world of him in his own parish, and wouldn’t change even to have Mr. Meredith himself for their clergyman. Only the story sticks to him, especially close round here, where the girl lived; and, no matter what he does, some of them can’t forget he’s a murderer.”
Olivia shuddered. It was quite true; such an incident in a man’s life was not one that you could forget. She let the subject drop without further comment, but it haunted her for the rest of the evening as she sat brooding over the fire. Lucy, who was of an industrious frame of mind, got out her darning and mended away busily. But she had a healthy appetite, and she had had nothing more satisfying than biscuits and a sandwich throughout the day. Gradually her longing glances fell more and more frequently on the despised supper basket which Mr. Brander had given her. At last she could hold out no longer.
“Are you hungry, Miss Olivia?” she asked, with plaintive meaning.
“Not very,” answered Miss Denison, waking with a start out of a troubled reverie. “But I daresay you are, Lucy. I forgot that I had wine and cake at—Mr. Brander’s.”