Amidst the barristers who arrived was Mr. Ollivera. He was a young man; and it was only the second time he had come on circuit. After leaving college he had travelled a good deal, and also sojourned in different foreign countries, acquiring legal experience, and did not take up his profession at home as early as some do. A fresh-coloured, pleasing, bright looking man was he, his curly hair of a light auburn, his eyes blue, his figure elastic5 and of middle height. All the world liked John Ollivera. He was essentially6 of a practical nature, of sound sense, of pure mind and habits, holding a reverence7 for all things holy; and in every respect just the last man who could have been suspected of a tendency to lay violent hands on himself.
He had written to secure his former lodgings8 at Mr. Jones's in High Street, and proceeded to them at once on arriving at the station. It was the third time he had lodged9 there. At the previous assizes in July he had gone there first; and the whole of the month of October, during the long vacation, he had been there again, having, as people supposed, taken a liking10 to the town. So that this was the third time.
He got in between six and seven on the Saturday evening. Ordered tea and two mutton chops, which were got for him at once, and then went out to pay a visit to a lady who lived within the precincts of the cathedral. She was a widow; her husband, Colonel Joliffe, having died about a year before, leaving her with a slender income and three expensive daughters. During the colonel's lifetime they had lived in good style, about two miles from the town; but a great part of his means died with him, and Mrs. Joliffe then took a small house in the city and had to retrench11 in all her ways. Which was a terrible mortification12 to the young ladies.
To this lady's house Mr. Ollivera took his way when his frugal13 dinner was over. He spent a couple of hours with them, and then returned to his rooms and got out his law papers, over which he remained until twelve o'clock, when he went to bed. He occupied the drawing-room, which was on the first floor over the shop, and looked to the street; and the bedroom behind it. On the following day, Sunday, he attended early prayers in the cathedral at eight o'clock, staying to partake of the Sacrament, and also the later service at eleven, when the judges and corporation were present. In the afternoon he attended the cathedral again, going to it with the Miss Joliffes; dined at home at five, which was also Mrs. Joliffe's dinner hour, and spent the rest of the evening at her house. Mrs. Jones, his landlady14, who had a vast amount of shrewd observation--and a shrewd tongue too on occasions, as well as a sharp one--gave it as her opinion that he must be courting one of the Miss Joliffes. He had been with them a little in his few days' sojourn4 at the July assizes, and a great deal with them during his stay in October.
On Monday morning the trials commenced, and Mr. Ollivera, though he had no cause on, was in court a great portion of the day. He left it in the afternoon, telling Mr. Kene that he had an appointment for half-past three, a disagreeable commission that had been entrusted15 to him, he added, and must go and keep it. About half-past four he appeared at his rooms; Mrs. Jones met him in the hall, and spoke16 to him as he went upstairs. When his dinner was sent up at five, the maid found him buried in a heap of law papers. Hastily clearing a space at one end of the table, he told her to put the dinner there. In less than half an hour the bell was rung for the things to be taken away, and Mr. Ollivera was then bending over his papers again.
The papers no doubt related to a cause in which he was to appear the following day. It was a civil action, touching17 some property in which Mrs. Joliffe was remotely though not actively18 interested. The London solicitors20 were the good old firm of Greatorex and Greatorex; Mr. Ollivera was a relative of the house; nephew of old Mr. Greatorex, in fact; and to him had been confided21 the advocacy of the cause. The name of the local solicitor19 it does not signify to mention. It was not a very important cause: but a new barrister thinks all his causes important, and Mr. Ollivera was an earnest, painstaking22 man, sparing himself no trouble that could conduce to success. He had declined a proffered23 dinner engagement for that evening, but accepted an invitation for the next. So much was known of his movements up to the Monday evening.
On that same evening, Mr. Bede Greatorex arrived at the station by the six o'clock train from London; took a fly, and was driven to the Star and Garter Hotel. He was the son of old Mr. Greatorex, and the second partner in the firm. His journey down had reference to the next day's action: something new had unexpectedly arisen; some slight information been gained of a favourable24 nature, and Mr. Greatorex, senior, had despatched his son to confer with Mr. Ollivera in preference to writing or telegraphing. Bede Greatorex was nothing loth, and entered on his flying journey with high good-humour, intending to be back in London by the following midday. He was a tall, fine-looking man, in face not unlike Mr. Ollivera, except that his hair and eyes were dark, and his complexion25 a clear, pale olive; his age about thirty-four. The cousins were cordial friends.
On arriving at the Star and Garter he declined refreshment26 then, having taken an early dinner before leaving town and asked to be directed to Mr. Ollivera's lodgings in High Street: which was readily done, High Street being in a direct line with the hotel. Mr. Bede Greatorex gained the house, and found it to be one of commodious27 proportions, the lower part occupied as a hosier's shop, whose windows were of plate-glass. Over the door in the middle was inscribed28 "Richard Jones, hosier and patent shirt-front maker29." There was a side entrance, wide and rather handsome; the house altogether being a good one. Ringing at the side bell, he inquired of the answering servant for Mr. Ollivera, and was at once shown up to him.
Mr. Ollivera was seated at the table, his back to the door. The papers he had been engaged upon were neatly30 stacked now, as if done with; he appeared to be writing a note; and a pistol lay at his elbow. All this was shown both to Mr. Bede Greatorex and the maid, by the bright flame of the moderator lamp; then lighted.
"Well, John!" cried the visitor, in a gay, laughing tone, before the girl could speak. "Don't be surprised at seeing me."
Mr. Ollivera turned round at the voice and evidently was surprised: surprised and pleased.
"Why, Bede!" he cried, starting up. "I'd as soon have expected to see a ghost."
They shook hands heartily31, and Mr. Bede Greatorex sat down. The maid, to save coming up again to ask, took the opportunity of inquiring when Mr. Ollivera would like tea; and was answered that he might not want any; if he did, he'd ring: he might be going out. As the servant shut the door she heard the visitor begin to explain his errand, and that his father had sent him in preference to writing. Her ears were always full of curiosity.
In about an hour's time, Mr. Bede Greatorex departed. A young man belonging to the house, Alfred Jones, who happened to be passing up the stairs when Mr. Greatorex was quitting the drawing-room, heard that gentleman make an appointment with Mr. Ollivera for the morning.
Mr. Bede Greatorex walked back to the hotel, ordered a fire made in his bedroom against night, took a glass of brandy-and-water, for he felt cold, washed the travelling dust off his face and hands, which he had not done before, had his coat brushed, and went out again. It was nine o'clock then, and he bent32 his steps quickly towards the cathedral to call on Mrs. Joliffe, having to inquire the way. It took him through High Street again, and as he passed his cousin's lodgings, the same servant who had shown him in was standing33 at the front-door, recognized him and dropped a curtsey.
In the drawing-room with Mrs. Joliffe were her three daughters, Louisa, Clare, and Mary; some three or four friends were also assembled. They were astonished to see Mr. Bede Greatorex: none of them knew him well, except Louisa, who had paid a long visit to his father's house the previous year. She changed colour when he was announced: and it may have been that his voice took a tenderer tone as it addressed her; his hand lingered longer in clasping hers than it need have done. She was an excessively fashionable young lady: not very young, perhaps six or seven-and-twenty: and if Bede Greatorex coveted34 her for a wife it was to be hoped his pockets were well lined. He spoke just a word to Mrs. Joliffe of having come down on a mission to Mr. Ollivera; not stating explicitly35 what it was; and said he was going back home in the morning.
"We are expecting Mr. Ollivera here tonight," observed Mrs. Joliffe. "He is late."
"Are you?" was the reply of Mr. Greatorex. "John said he might be going out, I remember, but I did not know it was to your house. Don't make too sure of him, Mrs. Joliffe, he seemed idle, and complained of headache."
"I suppose he is busy," remarked Mrs. Joliffe. "All you law people are busy at assize time."
"Louisa, is it as it should be between us?" whispered Bede Greatorex, in an opportunity that occurred when they were alone near the piano.
"Don't be silly, Mr. Greatorex," was the answer.
"Silly!"
She bent her bead36, not speaking.
"What do you mean, Louisa? Our engagement was entered upon deliberately37: you gave me every hope. You cannot play with me now. Speak, Louisa."
He had taken possession of her hand, and was keeping her before him; his dark eyes, gleaming with their doubt and love, looked straight into hers.
"What?" she faintly asked. "Why do you question it?"
"Because your manner is strange: you have avoided me ever since I came in."
"The surprise was so great."
"Surely a pleasant surprise. I intended it as such. Do you suppose I should have cared to come down on this business to Mr. Ollivera, when writing would have answered every purpose? No: I came to see you. And to learn why----"
"Not now. Don't you see mamma is looking at me?"
"And what though she is? I should have liked to speak to your mother tonight, but for----"
"Not tonight. I pray you not tonight. Take another opportunity."
The words reassured38 him.
"Then, Louisa, it is all right between us."
"Yes, yes, of course it is. You offended me, Bede, last January, and I--I have been vexed39. I'll write to you as soon as you get back home, and explain everything."
He pressed her hand with a lingering touch, and then released it. There was nothing in the wide world so coveted by Bede Greatorex as that false hand of hers: as many things, fair outside, false within, are coveted by us poor mortals, blind at the best. But Miss Joliffe looked half scared as she left him for a safer part of the room; her eyes and manner were alike restless. Bede followed her, and they were talking together at intervals40 in an undertone during the rest of the evening. Louisa being evidently ill at ease, but striving to conceal41 it.
At a quarter to eleven Mr. Bede Greatorex took his departure. In passing up High Street, his cousin's lodgings were on the opposite side of the way. He momentarily halted and stepped off the pavement as if he would have crossed to go in, and then hesitated, for the sitting-room42 was in darkness.
"The light's out: he's gone to bed, I dare say," said Mr. Greatorex, speaking aloud. "No good to disturb him." And a tradesman, who happened to be fastening his side-door and had got it about an inch open, overheard the words Mr. Greatorex having doubtless been quite unaware43 that he spoke to an auditor44.
Towards the top of High Street he met Mr. Kene, the barrister. The latter, after expressing some surprise at seeing him, and assuming he had come direct from Mr. Ollivera's, asked whether the latter was in.
"In and in bed," replied Mr. Greatorex.
"Indeed! Why it's not eleven o'clock."
"At any rate, there's no light in his room, or I should have gone up. He complained of headache: perhaps he has gone to bed early to sleep it off."
"I want to see him particularly," said the barrister. "Are you sure he is in bed?"
"You can go and ascertain45, Kene. Ring the people of the house up, should they have gone to bed too. I could see no light anywhere."
Mr. Kene did not care to ring people up, and decided46 to leave his business with Mr. Ollivera until the morning. He had been dining with some fellows he said, and had no idea how the time was running on. Linking his arm within that of Bede Greatorex, they walked together to the Star, and there parted. Mr. Greatorex went up at once to his chamber47, stirred the fire into a blaze, rang for the waiter, and ordered another glass of hot brandy-and-water.
"I think I must have taken cold," he observed to the man when it was brought to him. "There has been a chill upon me ever since I came here."
"Nothing more likely, sir," returned the waiter. "Them trains are such draughty things."
However Mr. Greatorex hoped he should be all right in the morning. He gave directions to be called at a quarter before eight, and the night wore on.
Some time before that hour chimed out from the cathedral clock, when the morning had come, he found himself aroused by a knocking at his door. A waiter, speaking from the outside, said that something had happened to Mr. Ollivera. Mr. Bede Greatorex, thinking the words odd, and not best pleased to be thus summarily disturbed, possibly from dreams of Louisa Joliffe, called out from the downy pillow (in rather a cross tone, it must be confessed) to know what had happened to Mr. Ollivera: and was answered that he was dead.
Springing out of bed, and dressing48 himself quickly, Bede Greatorex went downstairs, and found that Kene, who had brought the news, was gone again, leaving word that he had gone back to High Street. Mr. Greatorex hastened to follow.
The tale to be told was very singular, very sad, and Bede Greatorex could not help shivering as he heard it. His cold was upon him still. It appeared that nothing more had been seen or heard of Mr. Ollivera after Mr. Greatorex left him the previous evening. Mrs. Jones, the mistress of the house, had gone out at seven, when the shop closed, to sit by the bed-side of a dying relative; her sister, Miss Rye, was also out: the maid left in charge, the only servant the house kept, had taken the opportunity to spend her time in the street; standing now at her own door, now at other doors half a score yards off, as she could get neighbours' servants to gossip with. About half-past ten it occurred to the maid that she might as well go up and inquire if Mr. Ollivera wanted anything: perhaps the fact of his not having rung at all struck her as singular. She knew he had not gone out, or she must have seen him, for she had contrived49 to keep a tolerably steady lookout50 on the street door, however far she had wandered from it. Up she went, knocked at the door, got no answer, opened it, saw that the room was in darkness, and regarded it as a sure proof that Mr. Ollivera had left the room for the night, for he never put the lamp out in any other case.
"He's gone to bed early tonight," thought the girl, shutting the door again. "I hope to goodness he didn't ring, and me not hear it. Wouldn't missis fly out at me!"
And when Mrs. Jones came in, as she did soon after the girl got downstairs again, and inquired after Mr. Ollivera, she was told he had gone to bed.
Now it appeared that Miss Rye sat over the sitting-room fire (a parlour behind the shop, underneath51 Mr. Ollivera's bedroom) for some time after the rest of the house had retired52 to rest. When at length she went to bed, she was unable to sleep. Towards morning she dropped into a doze53 and was awakened54 (according to her own account) by a dream. A very vivid dream, that startled and unnerved her. She dreamt she saw Mr. Ollivera in his sitting-room--dead. And, as she seemed to look at him, a terrible amount of self-reproach, far greater than any she could ever experience in life, rushed over her mind, for not having gone in earlier to discover him. It was this feeling that awoke her: it had seemed that he cast it on her, that it came out direct to her from his dead presence, cold and lifeless though he was. So real did it all appear, that for some minutes after Miss Rye awoke, she could not believe it to be only a dream. Turning to look at her watch she saw it was half-past six, and the sun had risen. An early riser always, for she had to get her living by dressmaking, Miss Rye got up and dressed herself: but she could not throw off the impression made upon her; and a little before seven she went down and opened the door of Mr. Ollivera's sitting-room. Not so much to see whether it might be true or not, as to show to herself by ocular demonstration55 that it was not true: she might forget the impression then.
But it was true. What was Miss Rye's horror and astonishment56 at seeing him, Mr. Ollivera, there! At the first moment of opening the door, she observed nothing unusual. The white blinds were down before the windows; the tables, chairs, and other furniture were as customary; but as she stood looking in, she saw in an easy-chair near the table, whose back was towards her, the head of Mr. Ollivera. With a strange bounding-on of all her pulses; with a dread57 fear at her heart, that caused it to cease beating, Miss Rye went in and looked at him, and then flew out of the room, uttering startled cries.
The cries arose the house. Mrs. Jones, the young man Alfred Jones, and the servant-maid came flocking forth58: the two former were nearly dressed; the maid had been about her work downstairs. Mr. Ollivera lay back in the easy-chair, dead and cold. The right arm hung down over the side, and immediately underneath it on the carpet, looking as if it had dropped from the hand, lay the discharged pistol.
The servant and Alfred Jones ran two ways: the one for a doctor, the other to Mr. Kene the barrister, who had been intimate with Mr. Ollivera; Mrs. Jones, a shrewd, clever woman, locking the room up exactly as it was, until they should arrive.
But now, by a singular coincidence, it happened that Mr. Butterby, abroad betimes, was the first to meet the running servant-maid, and consequently, he was first on the scene. The doctor and Mr. Kene came next, and then Bede Greatorex. Such was the story as it greeted Bede's ears.
On the table, just as both he and the servant had seen them the night before, were the neatly-stacked law papers. Also a folded legal document that had been brought from town by himself, Bede Greatorex. There were also pens, ink, and a sheet of note-paper, on which some lines were written. They were as follows:--
"My Dear Friend,--It is of no use. Nothing more can be done. Should I never see you again, I beg you once for all to believe me when I say that I have made efforts, though they have been ineffectual. And when
"The pistol is ready to my hand. Goodbye."
The first portion of this letter, up to the point of the abrupt59 breaking off, was written in Mr. Ollivera's usual steady hand. The latter portion was scrawling60, trembling, and blotted61; the writing bearing but a faint resemblance to the rest. Acute Mr. Butterby remarked that it was just the kind of writing an agitated62 man might pen, who was about to commit an evil deed. There was no clue as to whom the note had been intended for, but it appeared to point too evidently to the intention of self-destruction. Nevertheless, there was one at least who doubted.
"Is it so, think you?" asked Mr. Kene, in a low tone, as he stood by the side of Bede Greatorex, who was mechanically turning over the papers on the table one by one.
"Is it what?" asked Bede, looking up, his tone sharp with pain.
"Self-destruction. There never lived a man less likely to commit it than your cousin, John Ollivera."
"As I should have thought," returned Mr. Greatorex. "But if it is not that, what else can it be?"
"There is one other possible solution, at least: putting any idea of accident aside."
The supposition of accident had not occurred to Bede Greatorex. A gleam of surprised cheerfulness crossed his face.
"Do you indeed think it could have been an accident, Kene? Then----"
"No; I think it could not have been," interrupted the barrister. "I said, putting the idea of that aside: it is the most improbable of any. I alluded63 to the other alternative."
Mr. Greatorex understood his meaning, and shrunk from its unpleasantness. "Who would harm Ollivera, Kene? He had not an enemy in the world."
"So far as we know. But I declare to you, Greatorex, I think it the more likely thing of the two."
Bede Greatorex shook his head. The facts, so far as they were yet disclosed, seemed decisive and unmistakable.
They passed into the bedroom. It was all just as the servant had left it the past evening, ready for the occupation of Mr. Ollivera. On a small table lay his Prayer-book, and the pocket Bible he was wont64 to carry with him in travelling. Bede Greatorex felt a sudden faintness steal over him as he looked, and leaned for a few moments against the wall.
But he had no time for indulging grief. He went out, inquiring for the telegraph office, and sent a message with the news to his father in town, softening65 it as well as circumstances allowed: as we all like to do at first when ill news has to be told. He simply stated that John (the familiar name Mr. Ollivera was known by at home) had died suddenly. The message brought down his brother, Frank Greatorex, some hours later.
To say that the town was thrown into a commotion66 almost equal to that of Mrs. Jones's house, would be superfluous67. A young barrister, known to many of the inhabitants, who had come in with the judges only on Saturday; who was to have led in a cause in the Nisi Prius Court on that very morning, Tuesday, and to be junior in another cause set down for Wednesday, in which Mr. Kene, the experienced and renowned68 Queen's Counsel, led, had been found dead! And by such a death! It took the public by storm. Mrs. Jones's shop was besieged69 to an extent that she had to put up her shutters70; High Street was impassable: and all those in the remotest degree connected with the deceased or with the circumstances, were followed about and stared at as though they were wild animals. Five hundred conjectures71 were hazarded and spoken: five hundred tales told that had no foundation. Perhaps the better way to collect the various items of fact together for the reader, will be to transcribe72 some of the evidence given before the coroner. The inquest was fixed73 to take place on the Wednesday morning, in the club-room of an inn lying conveniently near.
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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sojourn
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| v./n.旅居，寄居；逗留 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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retrench
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| v.节省，削减 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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frugal
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| adj.节俭的，节约的，少量的，微量的 | |
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landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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actively
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| adv.积极地，勤奋地 | |
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solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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solicitors
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| 初级律师( solicitor的名词复数 ) | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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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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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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refreshment
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| n.恢复，精神爽快，提神之事物；（复数）refreshments:点心，茶点 | |
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commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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explicitly
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| ad.明确地，显然地 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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auditor
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| n.审计员，旁听着 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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doze
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| v.打瞌睡；n.打盹，假寐 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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scrawling
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的现在分词 ) | |
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blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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softening
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| 变软，软化 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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superfluous
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| adj.过多的，过剩的，多余的 | |
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renowned
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| adj.著名的，有名望的，声誉鹊起的 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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conjectures
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| 推测，猜想( conjecture的名词复数 ) | |
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transcribe
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| v.抄写，誉写；改编(乐曲)；复制，转录 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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