A Dark Night's Work (21 page)

So March came round; Lent was late that year. The great nosegays of
violets and camellias were for sale at the corner of the Condotti, and
the revellers had no difficulty in procuring much rarer flowers for the
belles of the Corso. The embassies had their balconies; the attaches of
the Russian Embassy threw their light and lovely presents at every pretty
girl, or suspicion of a pretty girl, who passed slowly in her carriage,
covered over with her white domino, and holding her wire mask as a
protection to her face from the showers of lime confetti, which otherwise
would have been enough to blind her; Mrs. Forbes had her own hired
balcony, as became a wealthy and respectable Englishwoman. The girls had
a great basket full of bouquets with which to pelt their friends in the
crowd below; a store of moccoletti lay piled on the table behind, for it
was the last day of Carnival, and as soon as dusk came on the tapers were
to be lighted, to be as quickly extinguished by every means in everyone's
power. The crowd below was at its wildest pitch; the rows of stately
contadini alone sitting immovable as their possible ancestors, the
senators who received Brennus and his Gauls. Masks and white dominoes,
foreign gentlemen, and the riffraff of the city, slow-driving carriages,
showers of flowers, most of them faded by this time, everyone shouting
and struggling at that wild pitch of excitement which may so soon turn
into fury. The Forbes girls had given place at the window to their
mother and Ellinor, who were gazing half amused, half terrified, at the
mad parti-coloured movement below; when a familiar face looked up,
smiling a recognition; and "How shall I get to you?" was asked in
English, by the well-known voice of Canon Livingstone. They saw him
disappear under the balcony on which they were standing, but it was some
time before he made his appearance in their room. And when he did, he
was almost overpowered with greetings; so glad were they to see an East
Chester face.

"When did you come? Where are you? What a pity you did not come sooner!
It is so long since we have heard anything; do tell us everything! It is
three weeks since we have had any letters; those tiresome boats have been
so irregular because of the weather." "How was everybody—Miss Monro in
particular?" Ellinor asks.

He, quietly smiling, replied to their questions by slow degrees. He had
only arrived the night before, and had been hunting for them all day; but
no one could give him any distinct intelligence as to their whereabouts
in all the noise and confusion of the place, especially as they had their
only English servant with them, and the canon was not strong in his
Italian. He was not sorry he had missed all but this last day of
carnival, for he was half blinded and wholly deafened, as it was. He was
at the "Angleterre;" he had left East Chester about a week ago; he had
letters for all of them, but had not dared to bring them through the
crowd for fear of having his pocket picked. Miss Monro was very well,
but very uneasy at not having heard from Ellinor for so long; the
irregularity of the boats must be telling both ways, for their English
friends were full of wonder at not hearing from Rome. And then followed
some well-deserved abuse of the Roman post, and some suspicion of the
carelessness with which Italian servants posted English letters. All
these answers were satisfactory enough, yet Mrs. Forbes thought she saw a
latent uneasiness in Canon Livingstone's manner, and fancied once or
twice that he hesitated in replying to Ellinor's questions. But there
was no being quite sure in the increasing darkness, which prevented
countenances from being seen; nor in the constant interruptions and
screams which were going on in the small crowded room, as wafting
handkerchiefs, puffs of wind, or veritable extinguishers, fastened to
long sticks, and coming from nobody knew where, put out taper after taper
as fast as they were lighted.

"You will come home with us," said Mrs. Forbes. "I can only offer you
cold meat with tea; our cook is gone out, this being a universal festa;
but we cannot part with an old friend for any scruples as to the
commissariat."

"Thank you. I should have invited myself if you had not been good enough
to ask me."

When they had all arrived at their apartment in the Babuino (Canon
Livingstone had gone round to fetch the letters with which he was
entrusted), Mrs. Forbes was confirmed in her supposition that he had
something particular and not very pleasant to say to Ellinor, by the
rather grave and absent manner in which he awaited her return from taking
off her out-of-door things. He broke off, indeed, in his conversation
with Mrs. Forbes to go and meet Ellinor, and to lead her into the most
distant window before he delivered her letters.

"From what you said in the balcony yonder, I fear you have not received
your home letters regularly?"

"No!" replied she, startled and trembling, she hardly knew why.

"No more has Miss Monro heard from you; nor, I believe, has some one else
who expected to hear. Your man of business—I forget his name."

"My man of business! Something has gone wrong, Mr. Livingstone. Tell
me—I want to know. I have been expecting it—only tell me." She sat
down suddenly, as white as ashes.

"Dear Miss Wilkins, I'm afraid it is painful enough, but you are fancying
it worse than it is. All your friends are quite well; but an old
servant—"

"Well!" she said, seeing his hesitation, and leaning forwards and griping
at his arm.

"Is taken up on a charge of manslaughter or murder. Oh! Mrs. Forbes,
come here!"

For Ellinor had fainted, falling forwards on the arm she had held. When
she came round she was lying half undressed on her bed; they were giving
her tea in spoonfuls.

"I must get up," she moaned. "I must go home."

"You must lie still," said Mrs. Forbes, firmly.

"You don't know. I must go home," she repeated; and she tried to sit up,
but fell back helpless. Then she did not speak, but lay and thought.
"Will you bring me some meat?" she whispered. "And some wine?" They
brought her meat and wine; she ate, though she was choking. "Now,
please, bring me my letters, and leave me alone; and after that I should
like to speak to Canon Livingstone. Don't let him go, please. I won't
be long—half an hour, I think. Only let me be alone."

There was a hurried feverish sharpness in her tone that made Mrs. Forbes
very anxious, but she judged it best to comply with her requests.

The letters were brought, the lights were arranged so that she could read
them lying on her bed; and they left her. Then she got up and stood on
her feet, dizzy enough, her arms clasped at the top of her head, her eyes
dilated and staring as if looking at some great horror. But after a few
minutes she sat down suddenly, and began to read. Letters were evidently
missing. Some had been sent by an opportunity that had been delayed on
the journey, and had not yet arrived in Rome. Others had been despatched
by the post, but the severe weather, the unusual snow, had, in those
days, before the railway was made between Lyons and Marseilles, put a
stop to many a traveller's plans, and had rendered the transmission of
the mail extremely uncertain; so, much of that intelligence which Miss
Monro had evidently considered as certain to be known to Ellinor was
entirely matter of conjecture, and could only be guessed at from what was
told in these letters. One was from Mr. Johnson, one from Mr. Brown, one
from Miss Monro; of course the last mentioned was the first read. She
spoke of the shock of the discovery of Mr. Dunster's body, found in the
cutting of the new line of railroad from Hamley to the nearest railway
station; the body so hastily buried long ago, in its clothes, by which it
was now recognised—a recognition confirmed by one or two more personal
and indestructible things, such as his watch and seal with his initials;
of the shock to everyone, the Osbaldistones in particular, on the further
discovery of a fleam or horse-lancet, having the name of Abraham Dixon
engraved on the handle; how Dixon had gone on Mr. Osbaldistone's business
to a horse-fair in Ireland some weeks before this, and had had his leg
broken by a kick from an unruly mare, so that he was barely able to move
about when the officers of justice went to apprehend him in Tralee.

At this point Ellinor cried out loud and shrill.

"Oh, Dixon! Dixon! and I was away enjoying myself."

They heard her cry, and came to the door, but it was bolted inside.

"Please, go away," she said; "please, go. I will be very quiet; only,
please, go."

She could not bear just then to read any more of Miss Monro's letter; she
tore open Mr. Johnson's—the date was a fortnight earlier than Miss
Monro's; he also expressed his wonder at not hearing from her, in reply
to his letter of January 9; but he added, that he thought that her
trustees had judged rightly; the handsome sum the railway company had
offered for the land when their surveyor decided on the alteration of the
line, Mr. Osbaldistone, &c. &c. She could not read anymore; it was Fate
pursuing her. Then she took the letter up again and tried to read; but
all that reached her understanding was the fact that Mr. Johnson had sent
his present letter to Miss Monro, thinking that she might know of some
private opportunity safer than the post. Mr. Brown's was just such a
letter as he occasionally sent her from time to time; a correspondence
that arose out of their mutual regard for their dead friend Mr. Ness. It,
too, had been sent to Miss Monro to direct. Ellinor was on the point of
putting it aside entirely, when the name of Corbet caught her eye: "You
will be interested to hear that the old pupil of our departed friend, who
was so anxious to obtain the folio
Virgil
with the Italian notes, is
appointed the new judge in room of Mr. Justice Jenkin. At least I
conclude that Mr. Ralph Corbet, Q.C., is the same as the
Virgil
fancier."

"Yes," said Ellinor, bitterly; "he judged well; it would never have
done." They were the first words of anything like reproach which she
ever formed in her own mind during all these years. She thought for a
few moments of the old times; it seemed to steady her brain to think of
them. Then she took up and finished Miss Monro's letter. That excellent
friend had done all which she thought Ellinor would have wished without
delay. She had written to Mr. Johnson, and charged him to do everything
he could to defend Dixon and to spare no expense. She was thinking of
going to the prison in the county town, to see the old man herself, but
Ellinor could perceive that all these endeavours and purposes of Miss
Monro's were based on love for her own pupil, and a desire to set her
mind at ease as far as she could, rather than from any idea that Dixon
himself could be innocent. Ellinor put down the letters, and went to the
door, then turned back, and locked them up in her writing-case with
trembling hands; and after that she entered the drawing-room, looking
liker to a ghost than to a living woman.

"Can I speak to you for a minute alone?" Her still, tuneless voice made
the words into a command. Canon Livingstone arose and followed her into
the little dining-room. "Will you tell me all you know—all you have
heard about my—you know what?"

"Miss Monro was my informant—at least at first—it was in the
Times
the day before I left. Miss Monro says it could only have been done in a
moment of anger if the old servant is really guilty; that he was as
steady and good a man as she ever knew, and she seems to have a strong
feeling against Mr. Dunster, as always giving your father much
unnecessary trouble; in fact, she hints that his disappearance at the
time was supposed to be the cause of a considerable loss of property to
Mr. Wilkins."

"No!" said Ellinor, eagerly, feeling that some justice ought to be done
to the dead man; and then she stopped short, fearful of saying anything
that should betray her full knowledge. "I mean this," she went on; "Mr.
Dunster was a very disagreeable man personally—and papa—we none of us
liked him; but he was quite honest—please remember that."

The canon bowed, and said a few acquiescing words. He waited for her to
speak again.

"Miss Monro says she is going to see Dixon in—"

"Oh, Mr. Livingstone, I can't bear it!"

He let her alone, looking at her pitifully, as she twisted and wrung her
hands together in her endeavour to regain the quiet manner she had
striven to maintain through the interview. She looked up at him with a
poor attempt at an apologetic smile:

"It is so terrible to think of that good old man in prison!"

"You do not believe him guilty!" said Canon Livingstone, in some
surprise. "I am afraid, from all I heard and read, there is but little
doubt that he did kill the man; I trust in some moment of irritation,
with no premeditated malice."

Ellinor shook her head.

"How soon can I get to England?" asked she. "I must start at once."

"Mrs. Forbes sent out while you were lying down. I am afraid there is no
boat to Marseilles till Thursday, the day after to-morrow."

"But I must go sooner!" said Ellinor, starting up. "I must go; please
help me. He may be tried before I can get there!"

"Alas! I fear that will be the case, whatever haste you make. The trial
was to come on at the Hellingford Assizes, and that town stands first on
the Midland Circuit list. To-day is the 27th of February; the assizes
begin on the 7th of March."

"I will start to-morrow morning early for Civita; there may be a boat
there they do not know of here. At any rate, I shall be on my way. If
he dies, I must die too. Oh! I don't know what I am saying, I am so
utterly crushed down! It would be such a kindness if you would go away,
and let no one come to me. I know Mrs. Forbes is so good, she will
forgive me. I will say good-by to you all before I go to-morrow morning;
but I must think now."