Mildred Arkell Volume Iii Part 19

Fauntleroy. "I told the gentleman as you was dead tired and wasn't to be woke up till eight in the morning, but he took my light and would come up."

"I must see you, Serjeant," said Mr. Fauntleroy.

"See me! I'm in bed and asleep. Who the d.i.c.kens is it?"

"Mr. Fauntleroy. Don't you know my voice? Can I come in?"

"No; the door's bolted."

"Then just come and undo it. For, see you, I must."

"Can't it wait?"

"If it could I should not have disturbed you. Open the door and you shall judge for yourself."

Serjeant Wrangle was heard to tumble out of bed in a lump, and undo the bolt of the door. Eliza concluded that he was in his night attire, and modestly threw her ap.r.o.n over her face. Mr. Fauntleroy entered.

"The most extraordinary thing has turned up in Carr versus Carr," cried he. "Never had such a piece of luck, just in the nick of time, in all my practice."

"Do shut the door," responded Serjeant Wrangle; "I shall catch the shivers."

Mr. Fauntleroy shut the door, shutting out Eliza, who forthwith sat down on the top stair, and wished she had ten ears. "Have you not a dressing-gown to put on?" cried he to the serjeant.

"I'll listen in bed," replied the serjeant, vaulting into it.

A whole hour did that ill-used Eliza sit on the stairs, and not a syllable could she distinguish, listen as she would, nothing but an eager murmuring of voices. When Mr. Fauntleroy came out, he put the candle in her hand and she attended him to the door, but not in a gracious mood.

"I thought you were going to stop all night, sir," she ventured to say.

"Dreadful dreary it was, sitting there, a-waiting."

"Why did you not wait in the kitchen?"

"Because every minute I fancied you must be coming out. Good night, sir."

"Good night," returned Mr. Fauntleroy, putting half-a-crown in her hand.

"There; that's in case you have to wait on the stairs for me again."

Eliza brightened up, and officiously lighted Mr. Fauntleroy some paces down the street, in spite of the gas-lamp at the door, which shone well.

"What a good humour the old lawyer's in!" quoth she. "I wonder what his business was? I heard him say something had arose in Carr and Carr."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE SECOND DAY.

Tuesday morning dawned, and before nine o'clock the Nisi Prius court was more densely packed than on the preceding day: all Westerbury--at least, as many as could push in--were anxious to hear his lordship's summing up. At twenty-eight minutes after nine, the javelins of the sheriff's men appeared in the outer hall, ushering in the procession of the judges.

The senior judge proceeded to the criminal court; the other, as on the Monday, took his place in the Nisi Prius. His lordship had his notes in his hand, and was turning to the jury, preparatory to entering on his task, when Mr. Serjeant Wrangle rose.

"My lord--I must crave your lordship's permission to state a fact, bearing on the case, Carr versus Carr. An unexpected witness has arisen; a most important witness; one who will testify to the abstraction from the register; one who was present when that abstraction was made. Your lordship will allow him to be heard?"

Serjeant Siftem, and Mynn and Mynn, and Squire Carr and his son Valentine, and all who espoused that side, looked contemptuous daggers of incredulity at Serjeant Wrangle. But the judge allowed the witness to be heard, for all that.

He came forward; a remarkably handsome boy, at the stage between youth and manhood. The judge put his silver gla.s.ses across his nose and gazed at him: he thought he recognised those beautiful features.

"Swear the witness," cried some official.

The witness was sworn.

"What is your name?" demanded Serjeant Wrangle.

"Henry Cheveley Arkell."

"Where do you reside?"

"In Westerbury, near the cathedral."

"You are a member of the college school and a chorister, are you not?"

interposed the judge, whose remembrance had come to him.

"A king's scholar, my lord, and senior chorister."

"Were you in St. James's Church on a certain night of last November?"

resumed Serjeant Wrangle.

"Yes. On the twentieth."

"For how long? And how came you to be there?"

"I went in to practise on the organ, when afternoon school was over, and some one locked me in. I was there until nearly two in the morning."

"Who locked you in?"

"I did not know then. I afterwards heard that it was one of the senior boys."

"Tell the jury what you saw."

Henry Arkell, amidst the confused scene, so unfamiliar to him, wondered which was the jury. Not knowing, he stood as he had done before, looking alternately at the examining counsel and the judge.

"I went to sleep on the singers' seat in the organ-gallery, and slept until a noise awoke me. I saw two people stealing up the church with a light; they turned into the vestry, and I went softly downstairs and followed them, and stood at the vestry door looking in."

"Who were those parties?"

"The one was Mr. George Prattleton; the other a stranger, whose name I had heard was Rolls. George Prattleton unlocked the safe and gave Rolls the register, and Rolls sat down and looked through it: he was looking a long while."

"What next did you see?"