East Lynne Part 109

"I swear that I am innocent," pa.s.sionately uttered Otway Bethel.

"Well, sir, you have only got to prove it," civilly rejoined the policeman.

Miss Carlyle and Lady Isabel leaned from the window, their curiosity too much excited to remain silent longer. Mrs. Hare was standing by their side.

"What is the matter?" both asked of the upturned faces immediately beneath.

"Them two--the fine member as wanted to be, and young Bethel--be arrested for murder," spoke a man's clear voice in answer. "The tale runs as they murdered Hallijohn, and then laid it on the shoulders of young d.i.c.k Hare, who didn't do it after all."

A faint wailing cry of startled pain, and Barbara flew to Mrs. Hare, from whom it proceeded.

"Oh, mamma, my dear mamma, take comfort! Do not suffer this to agitate you to illness. Richard is innocent, and it will surely be so proved.

Archibald," she added, beckoning to her husband in her alarm, "come, if you can, and say a word of a.s.surance to mamma!"

It was impossible that Mr. Carlyle could hear the words, but he could see that his wife was greatly agitated, and wanted him.

"I will be back with you in a few moments," he said to his friends, as he began to elbow his way through the crowd, which made way when they saw who the elbower was.

Into another room, away from the gay visitors, they got Mrs. Hare, and Mr. Carlyle locked the door to keep them out, unconsciously taking out the key. Only himself and his wife were with her, except Madame Vine, in her bonnet, who had been dispatched by somebody with a bottle of smelling salts. Barbara knelt at her mamma's feet; Mr. Carlyle leaned over her, her hands held sympathizingly in his. Madame Vine would have escaped, but the key was gone.

"Oh, Archibald, tell me the truth. You will not, deceive me?" she gasped, in earnest entreaty, the cold dew gathering on her pale, gentle face. "Is the time come to prove my boy's innocence?"

"It is."

"Is it possible that it can be that false, bad man who is guilty?"

"From my soul I believe him to be," replied Mr. Carlyle, glancing round to make sure that none could hear the a.s.sertion save those present. "But what I say to you and Barbara, I would not say to the world. Whatever be the man's guilt, I am not his Nemesis. Dear Mrs. Hare, take courage, take comfort--happier days are coming round."

Mrs. Hare was weeping silently. Barbara rose and laid her mamma's head lovingly upon her bosom.

"Take care of her, my darling," Mr. Carlyle whispered to his wife.

"Don't leave her for a moment, and don't let that chattering crew in from the next room. I beg your pardon, madame."

His hand had touched Madame Vine's neck in turning round--that is, had touched the jacket that encased it. He unlocked the door and regained the street, while Madame Vine sat down with her beating and rebellious heart.

Amidst the shouts, the jeers, and the escort of the mob, Sir Francis Levison and Otway Bethel were lodged in the station-house, preparatory to their examination before the magistrates. Never, sure, was so mortifying an interruption known. So thought Sir Francis's party. And they deemed it well, after some consultation amongst themselves, to withdraw his name as a candidate for the membership. That he never had a shadow of chance from the first, most of them knew.

But there's an incident yet to tell of the election day. You have seen Miss Carlyle in her glory, her brocaded silk standing on end with richness, her displayed colors, her pride in her n.o.ble brother. But now could you--or she, which it is more to the purpose--have divined who and what was right above her head at an upper window, I know not what the consequence would have been.

No less an eyesore to Miss Carlyle than that "brazen hussy," Afy Hallijohn! Smuggled in by Miss Carlyle's servants, there she was--in full dress, too. A green-and-white checked sarcenet, flounced up to the waist, over a crinoline extending from here to yonder; a fancy bonnet, worn on the plait of hair behind, with a wreath and a veil; delicate white gloves, and a swinging handkerchief of lace, redolent of musk. It was well for Miss Corny's peace of mind ever after that she remained in ignorance of that daring act. There stood Afy, bold as a sunflower, exhibiting herself and her splendor to the admiring eyes of the mob below, gentle and simple.

"He is a handsome man, after all," quoth she to Miss Carlyle's maids, when Sir Francis Levison arrived opposite the house.

"But such a horrid creature!" was the response. "And to think that he should come here to oppose Mr. Archibald!"

"What's that?" cried Afy. "What are they stopping for? There are two policemen there! Oh!" shrieked Afy, "if they haven't put handcuffs on him! Whatever has he done? What can he have been up to?"

"Where? Who? What?" cried the servants, bewildered with the crowd. "Put handcuffs on which?"

"Sir Francis Levison. Hush! What is that they say?"

Listening, looking, turning from white to red, from red to white, Afy stood. But she could make nothing of it; she could not divine the cause of the commotion. The man's answer to Miss Carlyle and Lady Dobede, clear though it was, did not quite reach her ears.

"What did he say?" she cried.

"Good Heavens!" cried one of the maids, whose hearing had been quicker than Afy's. "He says they are arrested for the wilful murder of Hal---of your father, Miss Afy! Sir Francis Levison and Otway Bethel."

"What!" shrieked Afy, her eyes starting.

"Levison was the man who did it, he says," continued the servant, bending her ear to listen. "And young Richard Hare, he says, has been innocent all along."

Afy slowly gathered in the sense of the words. She gasped twice, as if her breath had gone, and then, with a stagger and a shiver, fell heavily to the ground.

Afy Hallijohn, recovered from her fainting fit, had to be smuggled out of Miss Carlyle's, as she had been smuggled in. She was of an elastic nature, and the shock, or the surprise, or the heat, whatever it may have been, being over, Afy was herself again.

Not very far removed from the residence of Miss Carlyle was a shop in the cheese and ham and b.u.t.ter and bacon line. A very respectable shop, too, and kept by a very respectable man--a young man of mild countenance, who had purchased the good-will of the business through an advertis.e.m.e.nt, and come down from London to take possession. His predecessor had ama.s.sed enough to retire, and people foretold that Mr.

Jiffin would do the same. To say that Miss Carlyle dealt at the shop will be sufficient to proclaim the good quality of the articles kept in it.

When Afy arrived opposite the shop, Mr. Jiffin was sunning himself at the door; his shopman inside being at some urgent employment over the contents of a b.u.t.ter-cask. Afy stopped. Mr. Jiffin admired her uncommonly, and she, always ready for anything in that way, had already enjoyed several pa.s.sing flirtations with him.

"Good day, Miss Hallijohn," cried he, warmly, tucking up his white ap.r.o.n and pushing it round to the back of his waist, in the best manner he could, as he held out his hand to her. For Afy had once hinted in terms of disparagement at that very ap.r.o.n.

"Oh--how are you Jiffin?" cried Afy, loftily, pretending not to have seen him standing there. And she condescended to put the tips of her white gloves into the offered hand, as she coquetted with her handkerchief, her veil, and her ringlets. "I thought you would have shut up your shop to-day, Mr. Jiffin, and taken a holiday."

"Business must be attended to," responded Mr. Jiffin, quite lost in the contemplation of Afy's numerous attractions, unusually conspicuous as they were. "Had I known that you were abroad, Miss Hallijohn, and enjoying a holiday, perhaps I might have done it, too, in the hope of coming across you somewhere or other."

His words were bona fide as his admiration. Afy saw that, so she could afford to treat him rather de haut en bas. "And he's as simple as a calf," thought she.

"The greatest pleasure I have in life, Miss Hallijohn, is to see you go by the shop window," continued Mr. Jiffin. "I'm sure it's like as if the sun itself pa.s.sed."

"Dear me!" bridled Afy, with a simper, "I don't know any good that can do you. You might have seen me go by an hour or two ago--if you had possessed eyes. I was on my way to Miss Carlyle's," she continued, with the air of one who proclaims the fact of a morning call upon a d.u.c.h.ess.

"Where could my eyes have been?" exclaimed Mr. Jiffin, in an agony of regret. "In some of those precious b.u.t.ter-tubs, I shouldn't wonder! We have had a bad lot in, Miss Hallijohn, and I am going to return them!"

"Oh," said Afy, conspicuously resenting the remark. "I don't know anything about that sort of thing. b.u.t.ter-tubs are beneath me."

"Of course, of course, Miss Hallijohn," deprecated poor Jiffin. "They are very profitable, though, to those who understand the trade."

"What is all that shouting?" cried Afy, alluding to a tremendous noise in the distance, which had continued for some little time.

"It's the voters cheering Mr. Carlyle. I suppose you know that he's elected, Miss Hallijohn?"

"No, I didn't."

"The other was withdrawn by his friends, so they made short work of it, and Mr. Carlyle is our member. G.o.d bless him! there's not many like him.

But, I say, Miss Hallijohn, whatever is it that the other one has done?

Murder, they say. I can't make top nor tail of it. Of course we know he was bad enough before."