East Lynne Part 67

"Whoever has been trying to put it off Richard Hare, and on to him, is a wicked, false-hearted wretch. It was Richard Hare, and n.o.body else, and I hope he'll be hung for it yet."

"You are telling me the truth, Afy?" gravely spoke Mr. Carlyle.

"Truth!" echoed Afy, flinging up her hands. "Would I tell a lie over my father's death? If Thorn had done it, would I screen him, or shuffle it off to Richard Hare? Not so."

Mr. Carlyle felt uncertain and bewildered. That Afy was sincere in what she said, was but too apparent. He spoke again but Afy had risen from her chair to leave.

"Locksley was in the wood that evening. Otway Bethel was in it. Could either of them have been the culprit?"

"No, sir," firmly retorted Afy; "the culprit was Richard Hare; and I'd say it with my latest breath--I'd say it because I know it--though I don't choose to say how I know it; time enough when he gets taken."

She quitted the room, leaving Mr. Carlyle in a state of puzzled bewilderment. Was he to believe Afy, or was he to believe the bygone a.s.sertion of Richard Hare?

CHAPTER XXIX.

A NIGHT INVASION OF EAST LYNNE.

In one of the comfortable sitting-rooms of East Lynne sat Mr. Carlyle and his sister, one inclement January night. The contrast within and without was great. The warm, blazing fire, the handsome carpet on which it flickered, the exceedingly comfortable arrangement of the furniture, of the room altogether, and the light of the chandelier, which fell on all, presented a picture of home peace, though it may not have deserved the name of luxury. Without, heavy flakes of snow were falling thickly, flakes as large and nearly as heavy as a crown piece, rendering the atmosphere so dense and obscure that a man could not see a yard before him. Mr. Carlyle had driven home in the pony carriage, and the snow had so settled upon him that Lucy, who happened to see him as he entered the hall, screamed out laughingly that her papa had turned into a white man.

It was now later in the evening; the children were in bed; the governess was in her own sitting room--it was not often that Miss Carlyle invited her to theirs of an evening--and the house was quite. Mr. Carlyle was deep in the pages of one of the monthly periodicals, and Miss Carlyle sat on the other side of the fire, grumbling, and grunting, and sniffling, and choking.

Miss Carlyle was one of your strong-minded ladies, who never condescended to be ill. Of course, had she been attacked with scarlet fever, or paralysis, or St. Vitus' dance, she must have given in to the enemy; but trifling ailments, such as headache, influenza, sore throat, which other people get, pa.s.sed her by. Imagine, therefore, her exasperation at finding her head stuffed up, her chest sore, and her voice going; in short, at having, for once in her life, caught a cold like ordinary mortals.

"What's the time, I wonder?" she exclaimed.

Mr. Carlyle looked at his watch. "It is just nine, Cornelia."

"Then I think I shall go to bed. I'll have a basin of arrowroot or gruel, or some slop of that sort, after I'm in it. I'm sure I have been free enough all my life from requiring such sick dishes."

"Do so," said Mr. Carlyle. "It may do you good."

"There's one thing excellent for a cold in the head, I know. It's to double your flannel petticoat crossways, or any other large piece of flannel you may conveniently have at hand, and put it on over your night-cap. I'll try it."

"I would," said Mr. Carlyle, smothering an irreverent laugh.

She sat on five minutes longer, and then left, wishing Mr. Carlyle good- night. He resumed his reading; but another page or two concluded the article, upon which Mr. Carlyle threw the book on the table, rose and stretched himself, as if tired of sitting.

He stirred the fire into a brighter blaze, and stood on the hearthrug.

"I wonder if it snows still?" he exclaimed to himself.

Proceeding to the window, one of those opening to the ground, he threw aside the half of the warm crimson curtain. It all looked dull and dark outside. Mr. Carlyle could see little what the weather was, and he opened the window and stepped half out.

The snow was falling faster and thicker than ever. Not at that did Mr.

Carlyle start with surprise, if not with a more unpleasant sensation; but a feeling a man's hand touch his, and at finding a man's face nearly in contact with his own.

"Let me come in, Mr. Carlyle, for the love of life! I see you are alone.

I'm dead beat, and I don't know but I'm dodged also."

The tones struck familiarly on Mr. Carlyle's ear. He drew back mechanically, a thousand perplexing sensations overwhelming him, and the man followed him into the room--a white man, as Lucy called her father.

Aye, for he had been hours and hours on foot in the snow; his hat, his clothes, his eyebrows, his large whiskers, all were white. "Lock the door, sir," were his first words. Need you be told that it was Richard Hare?

Mr. Carlyle fastened the window, drew the heavy curtains across, and turned rapidly to lock the two doors--for there were two to the room, one of them leading into the adjoining one. Richard meanwhile took off his wet smock-frock of former memory--his hat, and his false black whiskers, wiping the snow from the latter with his hand.

"Richard," uttered Mr. Carlyle, "I am thunderstruck! I fear you have done wrong to come here."

"I cut off from London at a moment's notice," replied Richard, who was literally shivering with the cold. "I'm dodged, Mr. Carlyle, I am indeed. The police are after me, set on by that wretch Thorn."

Mr. Carlyle turned to the sideboard and poured out a winegla.s.s of brandy. "Drink it, Richard, it will warm you."

"I'd rather have it in some hot water, sir."

"But how am I to get the hot water brought in? Drink this for now. Why, how you tremble."

"Ah, a few hours outside in the cold snow is enough to make the strongest man tremble, sir; and it lies so deep in places that you have to come along at a snail's pace. But I'll tell you about this business.

A fortnight ago I was at a cabstand at the West End, talking to a cab- driver, when some drops of rain came down. A gentleman and lady were pa.s.sing at the time, but I had not paid any attention to them. 'By Jove!' I heard him exclaim to her, 'I think we're going to have pepper.

We had better take a cab, my dear.' With that the man I was talking to swung open the door of his cab, and she got in--such a fair young lady, she was! I turned to look at him, and you might just have knocked me down with astonishment. Mr. Carlyle, it was the man, Thorn."

"Indeed!"

"You thought I might be mistaken in him that moonlight night, but there was no mistaking him in broad daylight. I looked him full in the face, and he looked at me. He turned as white as cloth. Perhaps I did--I don't know."

"Was he well dressed?"

"Very. Oh, there's no mistaking his position. That he moves in the higher cla.s.ses there's no doubt. The cab drove away, and I got up behind it. The driver thought boys were there, and turned his head and his whip, but I made him a sign. We didn't go much more than the length of a street. I was on the pavement before Thorn was, and looked at him again, and again he went white. I marked the house, thinking it was where he lived, and--"

"Why did you not give him into custody, Richard?"

Richard Hare shook his head. "And my proofs of his guilt, Mr. Carlyle? I could bring none against him--no positive ones. No, I must wait till I can get proofs to do that. He would turn round upon me now and swear my life away to murder. Well, I thought I'd ascertain for certain what his name was, and that night I went to the house, and got into conversation with one of the servants, who was standing at the door. 'Does Captain Thorn live here?' I asked him.

"'Mr. Westleby lives here,' said he; 'I don't know any Captain Thorn.'

"Then that's his name, thought I to myself. 'A youngish man, isn't he?'

said I, 'very smart, with a pretty wife?'

"'I don't know what you call youngish,' he laughed, 'my master's turned sixty, and his wife's as old.'

"That checked me. 'Perhaps he has sons?' I asked.

"'Not any,' the man answered; 'there's n.o.body but their two selves.'

"So, with that, I told him what I wanted--that a lady and gentleman had alighted there in a cab that day, and I wished to know his name. Well, Mr. Carlyle, I could get at nothing satisfactory; the fellow said that a great many had called there that day, for his master was just up from a long illness, and people came to see him."

"Is that all, Richard?"

"All! I wish it had been all. I kept looking about for him in all the best streets; I was half mad--"