The shock of his friend Osmond's dreadful death, taken in conjunction with the terrible accusation15 against his cousin, and the fact that he himself had been called upon to give evidence at the inquest, was considered by the gossips of the little town amply sufficient to account for Mr. St. George's illness. It was to be hoped that his health would be restored before the day appointed for his cousin's trial, he being one of the chief witnesses who would be called on that important occasion.
Tom Bristow was obliged to confess himself beaten, as Mr. Hoskyns had been beaten before him. There was a mystery about the case which he was totally unable to fathom16. His conviction of his friend's innocence never wavered for a single moment, and yet when he asked himself: How came the jet stud into Osmond's hand? How came the stains on Dering's shirt? he felt himself utterly unable to suggest any answer that would satisfy his own reason, or that would be likely to satisfy the reason of a judge and jury. It was very easy to say that Dering must be the victim of some foul conspiracy, but unless some proof, however faint, could be advanced of the existence of some such plot, his assertion would go for nothing, or merely be set down as the unwarranted utterance17 of a too partial friend.
Tom had not been half an hour in Lionel's company before he knew all about his friend's marriage, and next day he called on Edith with a note of introduction from her husband. Edith had beard so much, at different times, about Bristow, that she welcomed him with unfeigned gladness, and he, on his side, was deeply impressed with the sweet earnestness and womanly tenderness of her disposition18. He was not long in perceiving that Edith altogether failed to realize the full measure of her husband's danger. She talked as if his acquittal were a matter that admitted of no dispute; and on one occasion, Tom found her busy sketching19 out the plan of a Continental20 tour for Lionel and herself on which they were to start the day after the trial should be over. It made Tom's heart ache to see how sanguine21 she was; but, as yet, the necessity for undeceiving her had not arisen.
Mrs. Garside and Edith were living in quiet lodgings22 in a quiet part of the town. They had brought one servant with them--Martha Vince by name, from whom they had few or no secrets. Martha had been Edith's nurse, and had lived with her ever since, and hoped to stay with her till she died. To the world at large she seemed nothing more than a shrewd, hard-working, money-saving woman; but Edith knew well the faithful and affectionate heart that beat behind the plain exterior23 of Martha Vince.
The life led by the two ladies was necessarily a very lonely one, and they had no wish that it should be otherwise. They never went out, except to the prison, or to take a walk for health's sake through the quiet fields at the back of the town. They were always closely veiled when they went abroad, and to the people of Duxley their features were absolutely unknown. Mr. Hoskyns and Tom were their only visitors--their only friends in those dark hours of adversity.
"I am going to make a very singular request to-day," said Tom one afternoon, when he called to see the ladies as usual. "It is to ask you to give up these very comfortable rooms and transfer yourselves and baggage to Alder24 Cottage, a pleasant little furnished house, not more than half a mile from here, which just now happens to be to let."
"But my dear Mr. Bristow--" began Mrs. Garside.
"One moment, my dear Mrs. Garside," interrupted Tom. "I have another request to make: that you will not at present ask me my reasons for counselling this removal. You shall have them in a week or ten days without asking. Can you trust me till then?"
"Implicitly," answered Edith, with fervour. "When may we go and view our new home?"
"Now--to-morrow--any time. Only take the cottage, and don't be more than a week before you are installed there."
They were installed there in less than a week, despite Mrs. Garside's mild protestations that she couldn't, for the life of her, understand why that strange Mr. Bristow should want them to give up their comfortable apartments for a dull old house that looked for all the world as if it were haunted, and was built in such an out-of-the way place that to live there was really very little better than being buried alive. But Edith's faith in Tom was not to be shaken. She felt sure that he would not have asked them to take up their quarters in Alder Cottage without having good reasons for proposing such a removal. What those reasons were she was naturally somewhat anxious to know, but she hid her impatience26 from Tom, and waited with smiling resignation till it should please him to tell her the secret which she felt sure was lying perdu in his brain. That there was a secret she could not doubt, because Tom had stipulated27 that she should not even hint to Lionel that the change of residence had been instigated28 by him.
Tom was not at all like his usual self about this time. He was restless and uneasy, and seemed to have lost all relish29 for the ordinary avocations30 of his everyday life. There were days when he seemed as if he would give anything to get away from the company of his own thoughts, when he would hunt up some acquaintances of former years, whom he would invite to his rooms, and keep there with pressing hospitality till far into the small hours of morning. At other times he would lie on the sofa for hours together, brooding in darkness and solitude31; and his landlady32, going in about midnight with a light, would find him lying there, broad awake, with a look in his eyes which told her that his thoughts were far away.
Strange to say, the person whom Tom Bristow most frequently invited to his rooms was Jabez Creede, Mr. Hoskyns' dissipated clerk. As already stated, Tom had known Creede when he himself was a youth in the same office, but the two men were so dissimilar in every respect that that of itself did not seem sufficient to account for the intimacy33 which now existed between them--an intimacy which was evidently of Tom's own seeking.
Creede, whose life seemed to be one chronic34 round of debt and dissipation, would have been friendly with anybody who would have used him as Tom used him--who would have played cribbage with him so badly that he, Creede, always rose from the table a winner; and who would have treated him to unlimited35 supplies of tobacco, and innumerable glasses of Irish whiskey, hot and strong.
Tom would never allow Creede to leave his rooms till he was intoxicated36, not that the latter ever seemed particularly anxious to go before that happy consummation was arrived at. But Tom was so abstemious37 a mortal himself that the fact of his encouraging Creede to drink to excess was somewhat singular. "What a beast the fellow is!" he muttered, as he watched Creede go staggering down the street after one of their evenings together. "But he will answer my purpose better than any one else I could have chosen."
During the three weeks preceding Lionel's trial, Tom went to London about half-a-dozen times. He used to go up in the morning and come back in the evening. One morning he called at Alder Cottage on his way to the railway station. "I'm going up to town to-day," he said, "and while there I mean to buy and send you a certain article of furniture."
"Very thoughtful on your part, Mr. Bristow," said Edith with a smile. "But would you mind telling me what the article in question is?"
"It is a mahogany wardrobe, and it has been made to fit into the recess38 in your dressing-room."
"But I am not in want of a wardrobe, whether made of mahogany or any other wood," said Edith, with a puzzled look.
"That doesn't matter in the least. I shall buy it and send it all the same. The fact is I ordered it when I was in London a fortnight ago. I got Martha Vince to give me the measurement of the recess in which I want it to be fixed39."
Edith was mystified, but she had such implicit25 faith in Tom that she never demurred40 at anything he either said or did.
Two days later the wardrobe arrived. Tom in person had superintended its removal from the truck to the van at the railway station, and he was at Alder Cottage to receive it. The porters, by Tom's instructions, carried it as far as the landing upstairs, and there left it.
"It now remains41 to be unpacked42," said Tom, "and then Martha and I, with Mrs. Dering's permission, will try to fix it in the corner it is intended to occupy."
"But why not have kept the railway men to unpack43 and fix it?" asked Mrs. Garside.
"Because there is a little secret connected with this wardrobe," answered Tom, "of which we four alone must possess the key."
"I like secrets," said Mrs. Garside. "It is so delightful44 to know something that nobody else knows."
So the wardrobe was unpacked, and proved to be a very handsome and substantial piece of furniture indeed. It tested their united strength to move it into the position it was to occupy, but when once there they found that it fitted the recess exactly.
"Now for the secret!" said Mrs. Garside, as she sat down panting on a chair.
"Suppose we adjourn45 downstairs," said Tom. "I have much to say to you."
His tone was very grave. The colour faded out of Edith's cheeks as he spoke46. Her sensitive heart took alarm in a moment.
As soon as Mrs. Garside, Edith, and Tom had entered the parlour, Martha Vince discreetly47 shut the door upon them, and went back to her work in the kitchen.
"First of all," began Tom, "I must ask whether your servant, Martha Vince, has your entire confidence."
"My full and entire confidence," answered Edith, without a minute's hesitation48. "There is no more faithful creature breathing."
"My own idea of her exactly," said Tom.
"Such being the case, it would be as well that she should hear what I have to say to you."
So the bell was rung, and Martha was summoned to join the consultation1 in the parlour.
"Some of my proceedings49 must have appeared very strange to you, Mrs. Dering," said Tom, addressing himself to Edith. "If, at times, I have seemed over-intrusive, I must claim your forgiveness on the score of my thorough disinterestedness50. In all that I have done, I have been actuated by one motive51 only: that motive was the welfare of my dear friend, Lionel Dering."
"I believe you, from my heart," said Edith, earnestly. "But indeed, no such apology was needed--no apology at all."
Mrs. Garside coughed a dubious52 little cough. Really, that strange Mr. Bristow was more strange than usual this afternoon.
"In all the affairs of this life," went on Tom, "it is best never to expect too much: it is good to be prepared to face the worst."
"Ah!" said Edith, with a quivering, long-drawn53 sigh, "now I begin to understand you."
"The day fixed for Dering's trial is at hand: the weight of evidence against him is terribly strong: no human being can say what the result may be." He spoke very slowly and very gravely, and the faces of his listeners blanched54 as they heard him.
"And I--heaven help me!" faltered55 Edith, "was foolish enough to think that, because he is innocent, he could not fail to be acquitted56!"
"Of his innocence we are all perfectly57 satisfied. But the jury will also have to be satisfied of it. And therein lies the difficulty. Unless some strong evidence in his favour be forthcoming at the trial, it is just possible--mind, I only say just possible--that--that--in short, that it may go somewhat hard with him."
"My darling child, this is indeed a dreadful revelation!" sobbed58 Mrs. Garside.
But Edith neither sobbed nor spoke. She sat perfectly still, with white, drawn face, and with staring, horror-full eyes, that, gazing through the wide-open window, far away into the peaceful evening sky, seemed to see there some terrible vision of doom60, unseen of all the others.
"Oh dear! dear!" cried Mrs. Garside, "what a pity it is that you would insist on getting married!"
The words roused Edith from her waking trance. "I thank heaven doubly now that I was enabled to become the wife of Lionel Dering! If--if I must indeed lose him, he will still be mine beyond the grave. Our parting will not be for long. We shall----" She could say no more. She rose hastily, and went to the window, and stood there till her composure had in some measure come back to her.
"You have something more to tell me, Mr. Bristow," she said, as she went back to her chair after a little while.
"How sorry I am to have distressed61 you so much!" said Tom, with real feeling.
"Do not speak of that now, please. You have told me the truth, and I am grateful to you for it. I have been living too long in a fool's paradise."
"But you must not give way to despair. Dering's case is by no means a hopeless one, and I should not have said what I have said to you this afternoon, had I not been compelled to do so by another and a most important reason."
Edith looked at him rather wearily, as if anything that he might now say could have only the faintest possible interest for her.
"As I said before," resumed Tom, "it is always wise to prepare for the worst, although that worst may possibly never come. And this was the object I had in view, firstly, when I induced you to leave your lodgings in Duxley and come to live in this lonely little house; and, secondly62, when I had that piece of furniture made for you which we have just unpacked upstairs."
Edith's attention was keen enough now. "You speak in parables63!" she said with pitiful eagerness.
"In one moment I will enlighten you," said Tom. He leaned forward and spoke slowly and impressively, so that every word might be heard by his three auditors64. "If I find that the result of the trial is likely to be adverse65 to Lionel Daring, it is my fixed intention to assist him to escape from prison, and to hide him from pursuit in this very house!"
Mrs. Garside and Martha sat staring at Tom when he had done speaking as though they believed him to be mad. Edith's heart gave a great sob59 in which hope, and joy, and fear were commingled66.
"The first thing was to get you out of lodgings," resumed Tom. "While you were there, it would have been impossible for you to hide anybody. Fortunately, this house was to let. It is secluded67, and not overlooked from the windows of any other house, and consequently admirably adapted for the purpose I have in view. But in the house itself it was necessary to find some special hiding-place--some nook that would be safe from the prying68 eyes of the most acute and experienced police officer. Many were the hours I spent in cogitating70 over one scheme after another. The result was that I could think of no safer place in which to hide an escaped prisoner than my mahogany wardrobe."
"Hide him in a wardrobe!" exclaimed Mrs. Garside, in dismay. "Why, that would be one of the first places a police officer would look into."
"Precisely71 so," said Tom. "He might look into it a dozen times if he liked, and still he should not see all that it held. But we will go upstairs again, and the mystery shall be elucidated72."
So they went upstairs again to Edith's dressing-room, and Tom flung wide open the doors of the wardrobe. The ladies had seen similar articles of furniture scores of times before, and this one seemed in nowise different from any other. There was a shelf near the top; and below the shelf were the usual pegs73 on which to hang articles of clothing: and that was all. Disappointment was plainly visible on every face.
Tom smiled, and gave one of the brass74 pegs a downward pull. As he did so, they could hear the click of a little bolt as it shot back into its socket75. Then the back of the wardrobe, from the shelf downwards76, yielding to Tom's hand, opened slowly outwards77 on hidden hinges, disclosing, as it did so, a space sufficiently78 large for a man to stand upright in between itself--when shut--and the real back.
In order to illustrate79 thoroughly80 the use to which it was intended to put it, Tom stepped into the recess, and pulling the false back towards him, shut himself in. Seeing the wardrobe thus, no one would ever have suspected that anything was hidden in it. By pulling a ring, the person inside could open the door of his temporary prison, so that any one could step in and out at will, and almost as easily as if were simply going out of one room into another. Tom then explained the mechanism81 of the wardrobe, so that there could be no possible mistake should the necessity for using it ever arise. The recess in which the wardrobe stood was a very deep one, and this it was which had first given him the idea of utilizing82 it in the way described.
"This is the place in which I intend to hide Lionel Dering," said Tom, as he shut the wardrobe doors, "should his innocence not be proved at his trial, and should I succeed in effecting his escape from Duxley gaol83."
"But about his escape," said Mrs. Garside. "May I ask----" and then she stopped.
"Don't ask me anything at present, my dear madam," said Tom. "My scheme is hardly clear to my own mind as yet." Then, turning to Edith, he added, "But for all that, I hope that a day or two more will see it thoroughly perfected. Time enough then to trouble you with whatever other details it may be necessary for you to know."
"Some people say that the grand old days when Friendship was something more than an empty name are dead and gone for ever. I will never believe them when they tell me so in time to come."
So spoke Edith to Tom as they stood together for a moment at the door ere the latter took his leave.
"Dering saved my life," answered Tom, simply. "But for his brave heart, and his strong arm, the hand you now clasp in yours, and the body to which it belongs, would be mouldering84 at the bottom of the sea, or else have been buried by strangers in some nameless grave. Can such a service be readily forgotten?"
As Tom was walking through the town towards his lodgings he overtook Hoskyns. They walked down the street together, talking about the trial, which was fixed for the following Monday. Mr. Baldry, the wine and spirit merchant, was standing6 at the door of his counting-house as they approached. Judging from the appearance of Mr. Baldry's face, most people would have concluded that he was rather too fond of his own stock in trade, and most people would have been right in their supposition. Hoskyns stopped to speak to him, and proffered85 his snuff-box as usual. Tom nodded to him.
"You can send me another dozen of that claret--the same as the last," said Hoskyns. "That is if you, have any of it left in stock."
"I'll make an effort to find enough for an old friend," said Baldry, facetiously86. "By-the-by," he added, "since how long a time is it that you have taken to rambling87 by moonlight along lonely country roads after ten o'clock at night?"
"I have not the remotest idea, Baldry, what you are talking about," said Hoskyns, little stiffly.
"Oh, come now, among old friends that won't do, you know. Whether you're in love or not is best known to yourself: But it certainly did strike me as something out of the common way to see you walking all alone, between ten and eleven last night, under the lime trees on the Thornfield road."
"You speak in riddles," said Hoskyns. "I have not set foot on the Thornfield road for months."
Baldry stared at the lawyer, then rubbed his eyes, and then stared again. "Draw it mild, old friend," he said quietly. "Don't think for one moment that I want to pry69 into your private affairs, but I certainly thought there was no harm in my mentioning where I met you last night, especially as you seemed to make no secret of it yourself."
"I tell you again that I don't understand what you are driving at," said Hoskyns, testily88. "I tell you again that I have not set foot on the Thornfield road for months."
"Look here," said Baldry, and an angry flush overspread his face, making it redder than before, "do you mean to stand there and tell me in cold blood that you didn't stop me on the Thornfield road last night, as I was driving home between ten and eleven? That you didn't shout out to me, 'Hullo, Baldry, is that you, old boy?' That I didn't stop the mare89 for five minutes, while we talked about the weather and such like? That you didn't offer me your box, and that I didn't take out of it a pinch of that identical snuff which nobody but you in all Duxley makes use of? Do you mean to stand there and tell me all that?"
"Baldry," said Hoskyns, "for you to make such a statement as that is to prove that last night you must have been either crazy or drunk. Last night I never left the house after eight o'clock: as my servant could certify90 on oath. And as for the Thornfield road, I tell you once more that I have not set foot on it since last Christmas."
"Ned," shouted Baldry to some one inside, "come you here a minute."
The summons was responded to by a yellow-haired youth of sixteen.
"At what hour did I reach home last night?" asked Baldry.
"The clock had just struck eleven as you drove into the yard," answered Ned.
"Did I tell you, or did I not, that I had stopped and spoken to some one a few minutes previously91?"
"You said that you had just parted from Lawyer Hoskyns. That you had had five minutes' talk with him, and a pinch out of his box," answered the lad without a moment's hesitation.
"There! what did I tell you?" said Baldry, triumphantly92.
"Baldry, I give you my word of honour," said Hoskyns, "that I was not out of the house after eight o'clock, and that I never met you yesterday at all--indeed, I've not seen you to speak to you for nearly a week."
"Evidently a case of mistaken identity," said Tom.
"Mistaken identity be hanged!" said the irate93 wine merchant. "How about the snuff-box? Could I be mistaken in that? Not likely. No--no. I respect old friends, but I'll take the evidence of my own senses in preference to any man's word, however long I've known him." And with these words, Baldry retired94 into the recesses95 of his counting-house, and shut the door behind him with a bang.
Hoskyns and Tom resumed their walk down the street.
"An extraordinary circumstance, very," said the lawyer. "I am quite at a loss how to explain it."
"Baldry was always noted96 as being fond of his own spirits, wasn't he?" asked Tom.
"He was indeed, poor man: and I am afraid the habit clings to him still. He must have been in liquor last evening. That is the only way in which I can account for his hallucination."
END OF VOL. I.
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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conceal
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apprehension
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implicate
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| vt.使牵连其中，涉嫌 | |
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standing
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innocence
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aberration
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eminent
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utterly
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foul
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conspiracy
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lodging
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implicating
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| vt.牵涉，涉及（implicate的现在分词形式） | |
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accusation
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fathom
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utterance
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disposition
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sketching
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continental
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sanguine
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lodgings
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exterior
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alder
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impatience
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stipulated
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instigated
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relish
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avocations
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solitude
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landlady
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recess
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fixed
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remains
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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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unpack
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| vt.打开包裹（或行李），卸货 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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adjourn
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| v.（使）休会，（使）休庭 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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discreetly
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| ad.(言行)审慎地，慎重地 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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50
disinterestedness
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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blanched
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| v.使变白( blanch的过去式 )；使（植物）不见阳光而变白；酸洗（金属）使有光泽；用沸水烫（杏仁等）以便去皮 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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56
acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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parables
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| n.（圣经中的）寓言故事( parable的名词复数 ) | |
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auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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adverse
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| adj.不利的；有害的；敌对的，不友好的 | |
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commingled
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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prying
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| adj.爱打听的v.打听，刺探（他人的私事）( pry的现在分词 )；撬开 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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cogitating
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| v.认真思考，深思熟虑( cogitate的现在分词 ) | |
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precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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elucidated
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| v.阐明，解释( elucidate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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outwards
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| adj.外面的，公开的，向外的；adv.向外；n.外形 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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illustrate
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| v.举例说明，阐明；图解，加插图 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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mechanism
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| n.机械装置；机构，结构 | |
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utilizing
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| v.利用，使用( utilize的现在分词 ) | |
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83
gaol
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| n.(jail)监狱；(不加冠词)监禁；vt.使…坐牢 | |
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mouldering
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| v.腐朽( moulder的现在分词 )；腐烂，崩塌 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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facetiously
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| adv.爱开玩笑地；滑稽地，爱开玩笑地 | |
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87
rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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88
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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89
mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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90
certify
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| vt.证明，证实；发证书(或执照)给 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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92
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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93
irate
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| adj.发怒的，生气 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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95
recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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